#what will they do? 👀

[clowningaroundmars]

previously:

In the midst of the sudden chaos, Gwen’s wide eyes honed in on one particular screen, which was pointed directly at the collider room’s interior…

... And directly at earth-42’s Miles Morales himself.

now, in this chapter, we get to see how the kids get themselves out of this pickle! will they reconcile and set aside their differences to work together? and who is this Doctor Octopus from earth-42 anyways?! the nerve of this guy!

all will be revealed in this part. enjoy! :)

<< part 2 of 4 >>

Gwen jumped into action… into the security room. Once the men all filed out into the hallways, she webbed the door shut behind them.

There was no way of her knowing if this was even the only security room in the entire building, but whatever. Spiderpeople didn’t usually stop to think about such small details, not when time was of the essence!

As quickly as humanly possible, while also keeping an eye on the collider room’s screen, she followed the wires from the various TVs all hooked into one main power source behind the desks and found just what she was looking for: a main fuse box.

That was the lucky thing about being trapped in the basement level in most situations; it often gave anyone access to main power sources!

This one looked… strange, though. Definitely unlike any other power source she’s encountered before, with its glowing green lights and circuit-like patterns etched all over the inner panels. It looked somewhat like the circuits 42 played with in her own prison-room from before.

Whatever. All of these gadgets were destroyed the same way anyways, so without further ado…

BANG!

The panel almost blew Gwen’s right arm off, emitting weird green electric sparks everywhere and billowing smoke pathetically afterwards.

She shook her arm off and rubbed at her knuckles while turning back to the screens, relieved to see that her quick thinking got her just the results she was looking for.

Every single screen mounted on the walls and sitting on desks were black now. She accepted this small victory before focusing again.

Ok, no more time to waste. We gotta get to Miles!

Gwen bit her lip and flew up into the vents once more, absolutely high-tailing it through the enclosed space she was just in moments earlier. She didn’t care that she was most likely making a ruckus on the metal surface, the alarms were probably drowning the sounds out anyways.

Once Gwen reached the vent opening she initially entered, the guards had already made their way past the entrances and swarmed the interior, weapons drawn.

No trigger discipline on these guys, not a single one… what a shame.

Her wide lenses bounced everywhere trying to look for her friend and her sight led her from the tips of the goons' guns all the way over to...

The collider!

42 was perched on the top of one side of the super-collider that was in the process of being built, glaring down at the henchmen milling around near the lab equipment, taking their aim.

It was lucky that he was too far away for their bullets to hit with any semblance of accuracy, because once he saw them pour into the room, he quickly got to work, easily dodging their shots.

42 planted various small bombs that stuck to the sides of the intricate equipment, clawing at wires, hosing, and metal coils all the way down.

“Whaddya doin’ you morons? GET DOWN THERE!!” One of the goons bellowed at the crowd, prompting many of them to start a mad dash down the various stepladders in the corners of the room.

“Oh no you don’t!” Gwen shouted as she leaped through the air and flipped gracefully onto the scene. “You wanna get to him? Get through me, first!”

She pirouetted sharply, delivering a lethal kick to one of the henchmen’s sides and sending him sprawling and crashing through a couple of desks.

Chaos erupted once again, alarms still blaring through the compound, lights flashing, blows landing everywhere and shots ringing out every so often.

The burlier guys stuck to the fight, meanwhile the more agile ones of the bunch quickly snuck away from the fray and slid down the ladders down into the collider’s massive housing.

While Gwen handled the bigger guys, the small fries tumbled down the steep slope towards their second target. However, their odds were already stacked against them anyhow, since 42 was prepared for their eventual arrival.

Once the masked vigilante was done rigging up his bombs to one side of the collider’s build, he attached a grappling hook to it and used it to swing down and towards the small crowd already gathered directly underneath him.

One of the goons couldn’t even aim at the moving target, he didn’t get the chance to shoot; 42 flew right past them, leaving them nasty little surprises on their backs and sides, all the metal bombs softly beeping and counting down to the men's inevitable demise.

From there, 42 did a barrel-roll on the ground and got a running start uphill. Up, up, up, until he had to engage his anti-gravity sneakers in order to stick to all of the metallic components that lined the wall of the cavernous room in his climb back up to the lab.

With a grunt of effort, 42 hoisted himself up into the next fight, immediately leaping like a giant cat with his claws out at Gwen’s final foe.

The goon was the biggest guy of them all, tanking Gwen's hits like they were nothing. Curse that armor… if there was a way to get past all of his Kevlar, she would’ve done it ages ago!

But her prayers were answered when the man howled like a wounded bison suddenly, and he ducked and jived all around, dropping his weapon.

She leaped up onto a wall for safety, watching with wide eyes as 42 clung onto the man for dear life with his claws sunk into the man’s sides, eventually getting an arm around the man’s neck and choking him out slowly.

The man was not going down without a fight, though. They both plowed through a few desks and sent equipment flying everywhere in their struggle.

After the guy finally drops down onto his knees and passes out, both vigilantes suddenly turn as they hear various other boots clanging onto the metal bars of the ladders just below them.

Shit. The other guys finally made it to the ladders again, trying to get back up into the lab!

No time for that. 42 motions for Gwen to follow him, and she does-- after webbing one of the climbing henchman’s hands to the floor first.

He shouts with indignation, and she flips him off and laughs as they dash out of the room and out into the corridors once again.

The bombs then went off, all of the explosives detonating all at once and causing the area nearby to rumble as giant hunks of metal blew off of the collider and fell to the ground.

The screams of the men could be heard from blocks, echoing through the halls and following the fleeing teens.

But those weren’t all of the henchmen, unfortunately, and they had to run up and down the maze-like hallways to try and avoid being captured by Doc Ock’s other security personnel who hurried towards the commotion.

Bemusedly, Gwen thought back to those old Scooby Doo cartoons she used to watch often, where the Mystery Gang would run up and down hallways during their iconic chase scenes. Her and 42 were no Velma and Shaggy, but her brain still took her there anyways.

They skidded to a stop once a platoon of them seemed to turn down a corner from out of nowhere, weapons already brandished and pointing directly in front of them.

Wordlessly, 42 and Gwen glanced at each other with a mutual understanding between them: fight, or get skewered like kebabs.

Gwen nodded and raised her fists, her Spider Senses blaring loudly up and down her spine and racing up to the back of her head.

It was gonna be a tough fight down here in the limited space of the corridors in the underground, but it was going to have to be a fight nonetheless.

She took a deep breath and got to it, flipping, kicking, and using the bodies of the other henchmen for leverage, webbing up their weapons before they could even get to shooting them.

42 fought even more viciously, which was certainly a sight to see up close.

Gwen couldn’t really recall his fighting style since whenever they’d be on missions together before, they were often separated due to 42 often skulking off and doing his own thing regardless.

But apparently, he took no prisoners from what she was able to see.

In the chaos of the fight, she tried to still be mindful of his position and not accidentally whack him instead of their enemies, which meant she had to stop every so often to allow him to claw off a helmet or two.

He used his gauntlets liberally, but utilized his surroundings even more, even using an incapacitated henchman to knock over a couple of other ones like bowling pins. Every now and then, he needed to take the time to let his claws recharge, but that never interrupted his flow, which impressed Gwen more than she'd care to admit.

At one point, it seemed that they had most of the men handled, all but two completely incapacitated when the alarms stopped blaring all throughout the compound.

Gwen hesitated, straining to hear if any other possible goons were making their way over to their location, but 42 didn’t stop. He made quick work of knocking one man unconscious and then delivering the mother of all uppercuts to the last guy, finishing their fight.

He pointed up to a vent in the ceiling hidden between pipes and wires snaking all up and down the corridor and grabbed Gwen’s arm.

“There’s no time to waste. Let’s just go!” He growled, and she didn’t stop to argue.

With a mighty pull of her web, she freed the vent shaft opening and let the grate clatter onto the ground. She leaped up into it and promptly pulled 42 up in with her, webbing the grate back into its original position in order to conceal their last-minute escape route.

It seemed to work. At the very last hair-splitting second, several more heavy work boots stomped over to the mess, assessing if there were any dead bodies amongst the pile that the vigilantes left behind, quickly sweeping the area.

They went off to search in teams after their leader barked some more orders at them, and he also called the paramedics team onto the scene to remove all the injured parties from the premises.

The two teenagers were just about to start quietly removing themselves from the area, when a familiar voice calls out loudly to the leader.

“And what have we got here, gentlemen? Did you all let the girl escape?”

“Er, sir-- I mean Doctor… yes. When me and my men finally got here, the fight seemed to be over and the girl managed to get away…”

Gwen and 42 glanced at each other and then looked back down.

“Not a single one of you thick-headed fools managed to apprehend her?” The Doctor’s voice scoffed haughtily. “And why I keep you all on my payroll, I may never know…”

“I’m sorry, Doctor. We’re sealing the entrances and exits and setting up a tighter perimeter now. We won’t let her get away this time! Whole place is on lockdown now.”

Doc Ock finally came into the limited view of the two teens sat almost directly above him. He sniffed and surveyed the scene, stepping carefully over various different limbs all sprawled out in different directions, hands clasped behind his back as if he were surveying a shelf in a store.

He was a tall, reedy man, the complete opposite of Gwen's own version of Doc Ock, and definitely nothing like earth-1610’s female version of the villain. He had salt and pepper in his hair, a sharp goatee, and an even sharper suit on that reminded her a bit of Orlando Octavius…

And he looked every bit of evil that every Doctor Octopus has ever looked. Good to see that some things never change.

“What’s the status on the collider? Have we sealed off that area as well, or did you bumbling buffoons also let the girl destroy that, too?”

“It’s… uh,” the leader shifted nervously, clutching his gun. “There... there were explosives set off in the vicinity of the lab room. The collider’s status is still… unconfirmed…”

He trailed off slowly, eyes wide behind his helmet and mask.

Gwen almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.

The Doctor’s arms materialized and unfolded from a node on his back that seemed to almost blend in with his suit, snaking out from their resting place much in the same way that 42’s own mask and backpack technology seemed to work. All triangulated pieces of metal unfolding out from each other.

Gwen watched with rapt attention as those octopus arms hovered menacingly in the air, snapping their claws hungrily.

“Well then, you’d probably better make your way down there and confirm it, then, right?” The Doctor loomed over the poor henchman threateningly. “And you’d better pray that it’s all in one piece, if you want to live…”

“Y-yes sir,” the man gulped, backing up quickly to go and do just that.

The Doctor then turned to another cowering henchman who flinched when they made eye contact.

"And you," the villain says to him, "you go and search for that girl. She couldn't have gotten far, but we still don't know what we're dealing with yet. She's clearly... enhanced. Stay cautious, but shoot to kill."

Here, the Doctor cocks his head at the sight of claw marks left on one of his minions' faces. "... We're still not quite sure what we're dealing with here."

While the Doctor was tutting away disapprovingly at the way things turned out for his own personnel, 42 nudged Gwen on the shoulder silently and motioned for her to follow him. He tapped on his mask as a way of saying I know the way out, and turned around to sneak away from the area as quietly as possible.

After several minutes of crawling, they made it far enough out of possible earshot of anyone out on the hunt for them and so Gwen grabbed at 42’s leg to stop him. He sat on his heels and turned to look at her.

“They don’t know you’re in here with me!” Gwen whispered to him excitedly, peeling her mask off of her sweaty face. Her hair stuck to her forehead uncomfortably.

“Yeah, which would be a good thing… if I didn’t leave my bombs and claw marks everywhere back there. They… might still think it was all you, but we can't make decisions on assumptions like that right now.” Then, a small pause, and 42’s mask unfolded off of his own sweaty face too. “You, uh. You came back for me?”

“I saw the monitors in their security room, and you were on it. That’s why the alarms went off,” she breathed. "I think the security personnel went and got some food and then came back. That's how they saw you,"

“Damn. Of course… I thought they detected me going into the collider room, but… I shoulda guessed,” 42 shook his head disapprovingly.

Gwen placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Relax. I destroyed the main power supply for the security room and got you out of there alive, right? So we should still be good for now,”

42 gave her a lopsided grin. “Yeah, more like I saved your butt back there! That big dude in the lab could’ve turned you into mashed potatoes if I didn’t jump in.”

They chuckled quietly at each other and caught their breath.

“What a day, though, huh.” Gwen sighed, sagging against the vent wall and fanning herself with her mask. “Definitely didn’t think it’d end up this way.”

“Yeah, well. That’s vigilante work for ya,” 42 shrugged, disengaging his gauntlets and peeling off his gloves. “Just gotta roll with the punches.”

A few moments pass, and an irate Doctor Octopus shouts his way up and down corridors after receiving news of his beloved collider. Many work boots stomp along with him, communicators beeping and orders being shouted left and right. They come and go, never stopping their movements.

If only they had a single braincell to share between them, maybe they’d think to look into the vents for a bit, but Gwen was more than happy enough to let them take their sweet time figuring it out.

“You might be right… about the power sources here in this building, by the way,” Gwen comments, once the chaos dies down enough for them to whisper again comfortably. “My watch is busted, can’t even open a portal to let us out of here. And that fuse box in the security room… I’m not sure it was running on electricity, actually.”

“Gee, ya don’t say? Why is it that you never believe me when I tell you stuff? It’s seriously messing with me,” 42 scoffs.

Gwen groans. “Hey. Not this again! I’m on your side, remember? I just… I dunno. I guess I should trust you more, considering we’re trying to get out of this place together. But…” she sighs, running her gloved fingers through her sweaty hair.

42 peers at her out of the corner of his eyes. “But? What, I’m not trustworthy or something?”

“I’m Spiderwoman. I’m here on a mission… I usually have my head on my shoulders, for the most part. It’s just… ever since I landed here, it’s like there’s a fog hanging in my brain that won’t go away. I feel like I’m…”

“Not working to your full potential.” 42 finishes for her.

She looks up at him and then back down. “… Yeah. Yeah, that. Not fighting to my full potential. Not thinking to my full potential.”

"Don't say that," 42 mutters quietly, earning him another glance from his companion. "I mean... it was your idea to blow up the collider."

Gwen's own lips quirk a bit at that. "Was it?"

"Yep," 42 replies. "You got me thinking... maybe I am too up in my head about completing my mission. Maybe I can stop to ruin Doc Ock's day a little more while I'm here... right?"

"Ah," Gwen grins, "looks like I'm not the only one that's not thinking to their full potential!"

42 shrugs at that, unfolding his legs and leaning his head back on the wall behind him. “This dimension has ways of messing with your head, sometimes. It's not just you.”

“Being trapped in this place is also not helping at all,” Gwen points out, exhaling.

“Tell me about it. You think you’re out of your element? Imagine me. I kinda rely on this tech stuff to live, to fight.” He gestures to his gauntlets and mask. “Having so much of my gear go out of commission seriously sucks.”

Gwen jolted with a realization. “But you got it working, eventually! What was it that you did to your pack in the collider room earlier? Could you… could you do that with this watch?” She looked at him hopefully.

42 eyes the thing dubiously. “That’s a mini-collider on your wrist there. You saw what the Octopus was doing back in his lab, and even he wasn’t finished yet. We don’t have the facilities to fix that thing without potentially fucking up the space-time continuum... or worse. Unless you know what you’re doing?”

Gwen sighs again and leans back, studying the watch even closer.

“...No. I don’t,” she eventually answers. “Where’s Hobie Brown when you need him, am I right?”

42 exhales a laugh at that; internally, Gwen cheers.

“Yeah. Hobie ain’t around to save us. It’s just you and me.” Then, he gets serious, leaning forward. “Look. I’m not your Miles, y’know. We’re not BFFs like you two are. But we are allies and we need to get out of here alive right now. So…”

He sticks a hand out, sans gauntlet or glove. “Let’s just forget about all that stuff we said to each other earlier. Truce?” He asks, finally making eye contact with her.

Gwen takes it and shakes it, approving of his strong grip. It was getting pretty warm inside of these vents, and she was pretty sure he wanted to get the hell out of there too, so she nodded.

“Yeah. Truce.”

With their masks and gear back into place, they quickly and quietly traversed all up and down the winding vents, taking several turns and climbing up into certain spaces, avoiding large vent fans.

It seemed like they were crawling for hours before finally coming across yet another vent opening that looked down into a high-tech room.

This one looked like yet another lab in the endless maze that was this compound, all of them already starting to blur together in Gwen’s mind. So she was slightly confused when 42 stopped them both to peer down into it.

“What’s up?” She whispered, mindful of the personnel that still milled around right below them.

“This is it. This is where I’ve been needin’ to go.” 42 informs her.

“Wait… that wasn’t the collider room that you needed? What were you doing for so long in there, then?”

42 grunts and shakes his head. “I didn’t find the info I was looking for. But I did find more maps I could download in that side room. This is the real room we need.”

Gwen balked a bit and glanced down. “This place? What’s in here?”

“Security plans, drives, passcodes, hundreds of gigs worth of files and information. This is the payload,” 42 says hungrily.

Gwen sighs softly. “And you’re absolutely sure we need to hit this place up before escaping? For all we know, we could drop down and it might end up being a trap!”

42 glances down and cranes his neck to check the corners of the room as well before looking back up at Gwen.

“What’s the matter? Don't think you can handle another fight?” He challenges.

“I dunno about you, but I think we’ve been in here a little too long. Maybe we can hightail it out here now and live to tell the story, right? Just place a little tracking chip here and we’ll just be on our way!” Gwen seems uncharacteristically nervous.

42 shakes his head disappointingly. “Unbelievable. Why you chickening out all of a sudden?”

“I’m not! I’m just… I don’t want you to get hurt, okay? That Doc Ock looked… menacing. Like he might kill the both of us if he ever gets his hands-- er, tentacles-- on us.”

42 gives her a once-over. “He will. The Cartel never takes prisoners, not usually. But if we don’t do this today? Who knows how many other victims they’ll get their hands on if we don’t stop 'em?”

They lock eyes, lenses fixed on each other’s faces for a tense moment.

But shit, he was right. She couldn’t chicken out now, especially when this was earth-42’s Sinister Six they were talking about here.

After today’s events, who knew if anyone was ever going to be allowed back in ever again? By the time 42 and his uncle made it back here to this compound, it would probably already be shut down and scheduled for demolition, Doc Ock and his motley crew already long gone.

And with them, those hundreds of gigabytes of data that 42 mentioned as well...

It was true… Gwen had to back down and admit that 42 was right on the money on this one. It was probably going to be a hell of a fight if they were ever caught, but the lives of thousands of New Yorkers were on the line!

She would have to concede… even if it meant putting her only friend and ally in this entire dimension in danger.

He’s more than capable, Gwen’s conscience chimes in, and her memories flashed back to the millions of times she’s always underestimated her own Miles before, only to be proven wrong every single time.

… It was time to take the leap of faith yet again.

She sighed again. “Alright. But please do not get caught, okay? They don’t know you’re in here with me and I’d rather take the majority of the blame. Okay?”

42 gives a little shrug. “Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much? I got this. I always do. Just watch my six and be ready for anything. Cool?”

Gwen’s sure that he gives her a meaningful look behind his mask. She eventually relents and nods, placing her hands on the grates and taking a deep breath…

… Before giving it a mighty shove, and doing a handspring into the room.

The few armed guards sweeping through the room jumped in unison at the unexpected intrusion. With a few well-timed webs, she had them all glued to the floors and walls without a single shot ringing through the air.

Well, that was easier than she thought it would be!

Spotting a camera in the corner of the room, she quickly shot a web to cover it up and then webbed up the exits while she was at it, as well.

“Room’s clear,” Gwen announced to the air, prompting 42 to then quickly drop down from the vent opening and stalk over to the biggest computer monitors in the room. The computers were labeled with a very conspicuous figure 8 symbol most likely belonging to the man of the hour himself.

“I thought about what you said earlier, how they don’t know I’m in here with you,” 42 spoke as he reached behind him to detach a cord from his pack and plug it into one of the computers. “You’re right, and I think we should stick by that assumption, actually.”

Gwen nervously makes her way over to one of the exits, listening for any heavy work boots marching over to the very room they were in. ”Mmnyep! Yeah, I’m glad you said that! That means you’ll let me handle the fights from now on, right?”

“Whoa,” 42 tosses his head like a horse and glares at her for a moment. “Never said anything like that. I just mean, we might have a tactical advantage there. Right? Think about it,”

Gwen peered at the screen and gawked at the slowly loading download bar taking its sweet time copying files onto 42’s own drive. “Is that thing gonna, like… take a while, or?”

“What’s the matter? I told you to back me up, right? And you did just say you wanted to handle all the fights...”

STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP

The vibrations of several pairs of work boots thrum through the walls and floors like a steady heartbeat, growing louder and louder as they get closer and closer.

“Miles!” Gwen groans. “Time is kind of ticking here, man! We don’t have forever!”

42 tosses her one last glance back over his shoulder and steps back to assess his options.

Number one, he could destroy everything in this room, it being the data center of the compound and all. It wouldn’t help the resistance much, but it would be a major setback to one of the richest and most powerful villains in New York City.

Number two, he could stay and fight, completely blowing his cover and possibly jeopardizing his mission to come in completely undetected and sneak out with his prize. His escape plan mostly relied on the element of surprise as well, but then at least he wouldn’t be leaving precious info-- or his new friend-- behind.

Sure, she could handle the fight, most likely… but if she was captured…

There was no telling what Doc Ock would do to her. No, he couldn’t let that happen. And he most definitely didn’t want the Octopus getting his slimy little tentacles on that portal watch Gwen was sporting, either.

Quickly taking his pack off, he left the wire connected and called to Gwen.

“Web this thing onto my pack. That way, we can escape with it on me and we won’t have to wait.” He instructed.

Gwen goggled at him like he just spoke Mandarin Chinese all of a sudden. “The computer? That thing? It’s huge, it’s heavy! It’ll weigh you down! Let’s web it up to me instead,”

42 grunted in frustration. “I need my backpack. It’s got all my other gear in it, and you’re the one who’s mostly gonna be fighting goons off of us while we make a break for it. I can handle this!”

The boots were now outside of the doors, banging on the metal and shaking the piles of webs used to fortify it.

“INTRUDER, WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” A booming voice bellowed out from behind one of the doors. “COME OUT NOW AND WE’LL SPARE YOUR LIFE!”

“Oh right, like that’s gonna happen,” Gwen scoffs sarcastically.

She then turns back to 42 and looks determinedly into his mask’s lenses. She exhales.

“Fine! Fine, but if it’s heavy and slowing you down, you’ve got to let me know. Deal?”

“Yes, let’s go!”

Gwen does as she’s told and attaches the big computer tower to 42’s backpack as quickly as possible, giving it a final shake to make sure they were firmly glued together.

She motioned for 42 to turn around and helped him slip the pack back on, now weighing at least a few pounds heavier. He bent down to unplug it from its monitor, and then they were ready.

While she got them both prepped, she noticed that her web shooters were running quite low on their web fluid supply already, much to her chagrin.

Either way, no time to worry about that now. She'd just have to use them sparingly from now on.

They faced the door side-by-side.

“Are you sure you want to stay? I can boost you up into the vents again!” Gwen implored, desperation evident in her body language.

42 got into his fighting stance, gauntlets up. “This is our fight. We’re still outnumbered right now, but if we work well together, we can do what we did before. And maybe we can finally beat Doc Ock, too.”

Well, Gwen had to hand it to the kid. He had that charming kind of stubbornness that endeared her to her own Miles, and he wore it well.

It seemed like that was yet another constant through time and space; in every universe Miles Morales is in, he was always going to be annoyingly stubborn. And annoyingly self-sacrificing, too.

She relented. Leap of faith, after all.

“If you’re sure… then stick by me, and we’ll do it,” Gwen reassured him, hoping her smile under her mask was readable in any way at all.

They exchanged glances one more time, and then braced themselves for the inevitable.

[egophiliac]

crossing my fingers and wishing upon every star that chapter 10 finally brings us the tweel cards 🤞🤞

[jackharkness]

I am thinking that somebody needs a... makeover. Makeover!

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS (2019-) 4x06 “The Wedding”

[brainrotcharacters]

makes me giggle to think of X2 Logan meeting dp&w Logan when this is a thing

[spielzeugkaiser]

I come back for a hot second (and go into hiding pretty much right again) with some redrawn screencaps of what I'm watching currently!! 👀 All I have in me are the sillies-

[danicloth]

YOU DON’T BELONG HERE… YOU NEVER DID 🕷️

When you try to make a fanart and you get a poster jaja

[felsicveins]

I'm so lonesome all the time

Some sweet day

Gonna take away

This hurting inside

[justplaggin]

bsd 118: behold!! the tanizaki lore you've all been waiting for

the tanizaki lore:

[sugarpasteltmnt]

"Acolyte" Michelangelo has joined the group chat

THANK U AGAIN TO @anixolt for accepting this commission request!!! Looks like 'Dino'-tello has unexpected company 👀

Hailing from his own alternate reality, "Acolyte" Mikey & his brothers had a very different childhood than the mad Dogs we all know and love. Set in a feudal Japan-esque world, Mikey and his brothers were raised under the Ninja Tribunal in a remote temple as future protectors of humanity...

However, fate was unkind to the lackadaisical Michelangelo who doubted the legend of the foretold 'Krang Invasion'-- let alone it happening much sooner than anticipated.

[link to twitter thread]

More lore below! (but heed the content warnings!!)

CW: implied family death, implied child abuse

Inspired by the 2003 "Acolyte" Arc, Mikey and his brothers were given to the Ninja Tribunal as children to raise as warriors on account of being gifted with mystic abilities; something very rare and unheard of in their universe.

Mikey was the most mystically inclined of his brothers. Because of this, he doesn't take training very seriously. He's also the oldest brother in his universe, but takes that role very, very seriously.

Splinter was their "father"... however, he was the one who gave them to the Ninja Tribunal. And they weren't exactly 'lenient' with children. Not when their purpose was to become warriors to defend the world. Because of this, Mikey hates Splinter. With every fiber in his body.

But despite their upbringing, Mikey was fun and kind.

But homie cannot cook to save his life

However, due to events during the invasion... Mikey is the last man standing. On the whole planet.

And he Snaps

With elevated powers and grief, Mikey traverses the heavens to hunt Krang and their settlements.

He uses dried Krang blood as his mask, having lost his in battle (and Krang blood dries orange when oxidized)

He dots his yellow spots with a drop of Krang blood to mirror Krang eyes. Using mystic abilities, the faux eyes can move and "look" around too. Terrifying.

However, due to classic Hamato shenanigans— 'Acolyte' Mikey may find himself drawn to a very, very different place than a Krang settlement 👀👀👀

[boxdstars]

Raven and the Wolf 🐺

Girlkisser Clora is of the upmost importance to me, and who better than Hogwarts Lesbian Jesus herself to be put up to the task?

I love you pookie bear @choccy-milky (erm what the sigma)

[niki-sty1]

I love both sides of Shadowheart I imagine she's sweet to Lae'zel and would take care of her after battle and generally see Lae'zel as cute but she's also grumply a lot of the time so she might be dominant and mean when she's angry.

They would get married and still fight every day🖤🖤🖤

Twitter

[egophiliac]

time for skeleman

with the lack of any other info yet, all I can focus on are those Charles Lloyd-looking sunglasses. they are absolutely sending me. I feel like we're gonna fall through a tree or whatever and this stitched-up boney gentleman is gonna pop out from behind a gravestone and start serenading us with some smooth jazz on the saxophone.

or should I say...the saxoBONE???????

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Five

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Physical injury (i.e., Rhys and Cassian recovering post-Koschei), fluff, mating ceremonyyyyyyyyy (y'all I'm so excited I got so emotional writing this one)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It was strange how the absence of things could be so obvious. How silence could be more obnoxious than a crowded room. 

Three weeks had passed since Koschei’s death, and everyone was afraid to bring attention to the glaring absence of Cassian’s arm and Rhysand’s wings. 

At every meal, Nesta carefully cut up the Lord of Bloodshed’s food, and every night, Rhysand winnowed up to his bedroom. He no longer needed a wheelchair to move around, but walking up the stairs was a battle he won only half the time.

Azriel’s shadows were still missing. Gone to the wind. But their whispers grew in strength each day and Azriel would strain his ear to hear them. It gave you both hope that they’d return in time. 

“Daddy.” 

Rhysand froze halfway up the stairs, leaning against the wall with his legs crossed at the ankles. He subtly hid his hand behind his back, concealing the cane he relied on to walk around his own home. 

“Yes, Nyx.” 

The boy stood with his mother, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. Her wings were on full display, as were Nyx’s, in preparation for their daily flying lessons. For the first time, Rhysand would be unable to join them.

“We’re going flying. Do you… do you want to watch?” Nyx smiled shyly, one arm wrapped around his mother’s leg as he stared at the ground. “I can finally summon my wings during free fall. Just like we practiced.”

Rhysand strained to smile. “Go ahead with your mother. I’ll join you on the balcony soon.” 

“Ok,” the boy murmured and walked down the hall towards his parents’ bedroom. 

Feyre moved to be with her husband, her wings disappearing in a melting of light. She gently cupped his face in her hands. 

“It’s ok, my love,” Rhysand whispered, kissing her palms. Feyre smoothed back the swoop of hair that fell over his forehead. The strands were damp with sweat. “I don’t want you to keep Nyx waiting.” 

“Nyx is a patient boy. More patient than his father.” 

Rhys chuckled, blinking away tears. It was silly to hide these emotions from Feyre — she felt everything he did — but he wanted to at least try to be strong. To be her equal. Her High Lord. 

“Take your time, Rhys.” Her lips brushed against his and a piece of that ache in his chest fizzled out. It was incredible how his mate and wife could ease his burden with such a small touch. “I’ll be waiting with our son.” 

The moment Feyre disappeared into their bedroom and shut the door, Rhysand snapped his cane in half. Wood splinters flew out, embedding themselves in the wall and in the staircase, and he threw what remained down the stairs. 

Feyre, with all her love and patience, gave him the space to be angry. To grieve. But it helped her to know that Cassian, Azriel, and Emerie were already on their way. 

Rhysand made it to the third floor landing without his cane before the pain in his back became impossible to ignore. He sank to the floor. 

“Rhys—” The trio crowded around him. 

“Don’t say a fucking word, Cass.” They froze beside him, tucking their wings in tight. “I used to think the steps to the House of Wind were hard. Now I can’t even climb the stairs in my own fucking house.”

He hated this. He hated this with a burning passion. He was meant to be High Lord. He should have been at Feyre’s side, shaking out his wings and getting ready to taste the wind with his son. Instead here he was, sweat-soaked and shaking in front of his brothers and Emerie. 

After his mother and Selene’s death, he’d promised himself he would never lose his wings. They were a physical reminder of his Illyrian heritage. A heritage which so often went unseen beneath the veneer of a High Lord. Decades spent Under the Mountain had only cemented that promise in blood and salt. 

Amarantha may have stolen many things from him, but she’d never taken his wings. She’d never touched them. She’d never even seen them. 

Poison-laced calls of Amarantha’s whore and half-breed had always paled in comparison to the freedom of flying. A freedom he no longer had. 

“I’m not an Illyrian anymore,” Rhysand whispered grimly. The muscles in his back rolled, and even that small movement sent a thread of pain down his spine.  

Cassian and Azriel were stunned into silence. But not Emerie. Her gaze was too piercing, her tone too frank and unrelenting as she said, “My mother died without her wings.” 

Rhysand looked up at the female, slender and sharp as a blade. 

“At thirty-seven years old her father took a butcher’s knife and hacked them off before burying them in the snow just outside Windhaven.” She cocked her head to the side. “Tell me, was she not an Illyrian then?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Rhysand said pathetically. 

“It’s exactly what you meant. But you’re wrong. Your wings don’t make you an Illyrian, Rhys. If they did, myself and over half the females in those camps would have been banished from Illyria a long time ago.” 

There was a silence that followed, tense and filled with guilt until Emerie spoke again. 

“Do you know what they say about you in the camps? And I’m not talking about the males who whisper half-breed behind your back.” 

Rhysand took his head. 

“The young females whisper about the day you’ll find them worthy enough to steal away to Velaris — to your precious city you’d never let come to harm. They talk about the shops they’d get to see with the frosted cakes in the windows and the enchanted houses where they wouldn’t have to slave away over a stove or wring towels until their hands bled. That one day, you’ll recognize that they’re dreamers too who’ve only had their worst nightmares come true. The older ones are wiser than that. They don’t talk about escaping to a city they don’t know and don’t love, surrounded by strangers who might call them lesser-fae. They build their lives in the cold, and when the males come to burn it down, they either endure and build it up again, or they fight back however they can.” 

Emerie regarded him carefully, eyes halting on his violet eyes and the sharpness of his ears. 

“Wings don’t make you an Illyrian,” she repeated, “It’s in your blood. It’s what you're born into and the hands that raise you. Never say “I’m not an Illyrian” again, do you understand me?”

Rhysand swallowed the burning lump in his throat. Touched the short tips of his ears and wiped the tears gathering in his violet eyes. 

“Azriel, could you—could you bring me my cane? Please?” 

His brother walked down the steps without hesitation and retrieved the broken halves. 

It was a thing of beauty and strength, carved from ironwood and stained so dark it may as well have been sliced from a night sky. Rhysand put the two pieces together and closed his eyes. 

It was easy, miniscule magic to put the cane back together and far more difficult a feat to stand upright once again. He might have toppled backwards if not for Emerie. She gave him her shoulder to lean against.

“Still an Illyrian,” he murmured. 

It was a promise to himself and to his family. To the three Illyrian warriors who had found him. 

“Still an Illyrian.” Emerie patted his arm. “I understand you’ll still feel some self-pity for a while. It’s natural, but… try not to do it in a room I’m in.” 

“I can do that.” Rhysand leaned against his cane, limping towards his bedroom where his mate and son were waiting. “Oh and Emerie.” She turned her head towards him. “Thank you.” 

“Do you want me to just cut it for you?” 

“No, I like the way Nesta does it.” 

“Since when did you get so picky?” 

“Since I lost my fucking arm, Mor.” 

You snorted into your glass of wine and Azriel smiled as the pair continued bickering. He kept one hand under the table, rubbing small circles into your thigh. It wasn’t until Nesta decided to grace the early morning with her presence that Cassian turned his attention away from Mor, drawing Nesta down for a kiss. 

A fresh bruise painted his cheekbone purple, pink, and blue. 

Nesta gripped Cassian’s chin, turning his face to the side for a better look. “Who did this?”

“Emerie,” he said cheerfully. His grin was brighter than the sun. 

Today was the first time he’d sparred with anyone since he lost his arm and Emerie hadn’t gone easy on him. On the contrary, she’d taken every advantage her two arms afforded her until Cassian felt more tender than a steak on a butcher’s board. He hadn’t been thrown on his back so many times since the mating frenzy. 

It was a dirty, cunning way of fighting and he’d never appreciated the Illyrian female more. 

Nesta smirked at her friend with a glint in her eye that looked suspiciously like gratitude. 

Emerie only shrugged. She hadn’t experienced the same kind of loss that Cassian and Rhysand had, but she’d learned a great deal after her wing clipping. Carrying limbs that no longer worked was not so different from losing them entirely. It was all about a shifting of control and weight — about finding a new center of gravity and using weakness to your advantage. 

“Did you go easy on him?” Nesta asked. 

Emerie snorted. “Obviously not.”

“She fractured three ribs, but they’re healed now.” 

“Very nice.” 

Nesta settled down at her rightful seat beside Cassian and wordlessly cut up his breakfast. 

“Thanks, Nes.” 

“It’s the least I could do.” 

Cassian chuckled and pulled her close until she was nearly in his lap. “Don’t give me so much power, darling.” 

She huffed. “What power?”

“The power to win any argument in the future.” He stuck what remained of his right arm into the air and gave it a shake. It was a gentle, teasing reminder of who had cut it off in the first place. 

Nesta narrowed her eyes until they were two clips of ice. “Don’t make me regret letting you live.” 

“That’s much better.” 

Some people needed a gentle touch after horrible events, but there was nothing gentle about Cassian. He’d been born with the wild in his blood. He knew how to adapt and survive, and if surviving meant he would lose his arm and get more time with his mate, it was a trade he was more than happy to make.

Azriel seemed to be in agreement. He never took his eyes off you. More interested in seeing your reaction than hearing which comment had brought it to life.

Feyre nudged Rhys, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as she looked back and forth from her mate to you and Azriel. 

Now? Rhys asked. 

Yes, now! They’ve been staring at each other for the last thirty minutes. It’s honestly unnerving... Do you think they’ve already accepted the bond?

There’s no way in hell. We would have known. 

Azriel’s terribly good at keeping secrets. 

The fact that they haven’t been missing the last few months is proof enough. 

All the more reason to bring this up now so we can finally put them out of their misery. 

Feyre shot to her feet at the head of the table and Rhysand scrambled to attention after  her. 

“It has come to our attention that we never did say congratulations to a special couple in this room.”

“Oh gods,” Azriel muttered. 

Your face turned warm as everyone’s eyes and grins fell upon you and your mate.

“You didn’t think we forgot about your mating bond, did you?” Gwyn teased. 

“We were kind of hoping you had,” you said. “Not that we aren’t happy or—” You glanced over at Azriel. 

The first night you’d woken up in the Dawn Court you’d tried to crawl into his bones — an odd mixture of desperation and longing urging you to have your way with one other. Now, you were embarrassed to think that the first thing you’d tried to do after nearly dying, was sleep with your mate. 

Azriel smiled, bending towards you like a flower seeking sunlight in silent encouragement. It was such a small, natural gesture, and one that everyone noticed. Which also meant they clocked the blush on your cheeks as you gripped Azriel’s hand under the table. 

You cleared your throat. “We weren’t sure it was a good time with everything going on. We thought it might be wise to wait before—” 

“No more waiting!” Cassian declared, slamming his fist against the table so hard the silverware bounced. “I swear to the fucking gods, if you’re not in the frenzy by the end of the week, Y/n, I’ll have you force feed Azriel myself.” 

“We agreed we’d be gentle in our approach,” Elain reminded him. 

“There was a plan in place for this?” Lucien sputtered. “And you were a part of it?” 

She scoffed and lightly slapped his arm. Elain was a gentle, lovely creature when she wanted to be, and nothing melted her heart more than a good love story. 

“I think we are in need of a celebration,” Vassa whispered. It was the first collection of words the firebird had spoken in months. 

She’d sat for every meal at Lucien’s side completely silent. But this time, she reached a hand across the table and slid it into yours, squeezing tightly. Flashes of memory passed behind her eyes — memories of Jurian.

They weren’t fae. A mating bond was never in the cards for them. Which was why she felt strongly that you should be greedy with the time you had together. For there was no telling when it would end.

You sucked in a breath. You’d spoken at length about this with Azriel, tossing ideas back and forth during the night when the bond made your blood sing for more contact with the Shadowsinger. More touches.  

But you’d agreed that it was inappropriate to have even a private mating ceremony when everyone was hurting. To abandon them and disappear into the frenzy. 

Perhaps you’d both been wrong. 

Given how quick everyone was to swarm you and Azriel, you were definitely wrong. 

Rhysand hobbled over with his cane, kissing your cheek with a loud, obnoxious smack before aggressively disheveling Azriel’s hair. 

“The cottage—” Azriel began.

“I’ll have it finished by tonight.” Rhysand promised. 

Cassian threw his one good arm around Azriel’s shoulder, tugging him out of his chair and towards the door on a mission. Poor Lucien was also coerced into joining whatever debauchery Cassian had planned for their afternoon. He sulked after the pair with Rhysand. 

Nesta, Feyre, and Mor crowded around you, already deliberating which of the many-frequented boutiques in Velaris they would need to visit for your mating ceremony attire. 

You were positively overwhelmed by the attention and the realization that this was all happening. 

By midnight, you would be mated to the love of your life. 

Azriel slipped out from under Cassian’s arm, racing back across the room and falling to his knees. “I need a moment with you.” He breathed, thinly-veiled hunger in his eyes. 

One nod was all it took before he was guiding you to the kitchen and slamming the door on everyone’s whistling. 

Azriel pressed you against the kitchen door, chest heaving so hard you could feel every beat of his heart against your chest. 

You’d both been holding back with each other ever since returning to the Night Court. Propriety and respect for his brothers had demanded you wait to express your love and wanting. You didn’t want to slap them in the face with joy. 

But now that you had everyone’s overwhelming approval, well… Azriel was finding it nearly impossible to wait even a moment longer. 

He pressed his lips to yours and didn’t let go of his soft grip on your waist until you were both gasping for breath. But then you kissed him back, swallowing his sighs and gentle groans like there was honey on his tongue. Sweet and addictive and—

Rhysand rudely knocked on the door, his sultry voice a purr. “In the kitchen, Azriel? Really? I would have expected more from a gentleman like you.” 

“Fuck off, Rhys.” 

The High Lord chuckled, but slipped away all the same. 

Azriel grinned against your lips, your hands clasped together between your bodies. “I just wanted one last kiss before tonight.” 

“Tonight.” You nodded frantically. 

Tonight. 

You were doing this. You were really doing this. 

Then you realized what he’d said. “I won’t see you before then?”

“I don’t think the others will let us.” 

Your laughs rang in the air, bouncing off the kitchen cabinets like wedding bells. 

On the other side of your door you could feel everyone’s anticipation. And you couldn't keep them waiting much longer. They might just break down the door. 

“I’ll see you tonight.” You whispered before stealing one last kiss. 

“Tonight.” Azriel agreed. His breath curled around your ear, lips brushing against the tip as he promised, “Until then.”

Feyre, Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, Elain, and Mor descended upon the Palace of Thread and Jewels, all too eager to heap your arms full of the most expensive lace money could buy. 

You were about to marry into the Night Court and had a High Lord father who needed to make up for centuries of fatherly absence. There was more than enough gold to throw around.

“What do you think of this?” Feyre asked, draping the pale blue silk over your shoulder.

The clothier’s shop was bustling in the late morning, but no one dared step foot into the private room your family was set up in. The enchanted curtain blocked out all noise — tthe pinnacle of privacy.

You stood alone on a low platform, swishing the skirts of your dress and imagining what the finished product might look like. 

Farron, the clothier, had been quick to stitch a muslin mock up of the design you’d chosen, knotted fingers shocking in their dexterity as needle and thread disappeared and reappeared in her hand like some trick of the eye. She hadn’t even taken your measurements. One spin with your arms outstretched and she’d set about cutting the exact length of material needed for your mating ceremony gown. 

It was no wonder that she was Rhysand’s preferred clothier.

It still felt like a dream. Some wonderful, impossible dream as you took in the sight of the fabric over your chest. 

It glistened like moonlight and flowed like river water.

“Feyre, it’s perfect,” You breathed, touching the silken threads beneath your fingertips. 

“An excellent choice,” Farron said with a smile. She stood dutifully off to the side, tortoise-rimmed glasses growing her eyes to bug-like proportions.

You were a lovely thing in her eyes. A fine match for the Shadowsinger, indeed. 

Now, no one had told her that that was the cause for celebration. But she’d been clothing the Night Court males for a long while and knew them like the back of her hand. And you? You were made for the Shadowsinger. That much was clear. 

It was from centuries of experience that she classified the soft parting of your mouth and wide eyes. It was the look mates and brides alike adopted when they’d found the perfect dress. The one that would make them feel as perfect and precious as a pearl.

Your brows furrowed in concern. “My mating ceremony is tonight. Will it be ready by then?”

“Pfffft.” The clothier slapped her chest indignantly. “It will be ready in three hours time. You can return once after you’ve finished your shopping and we’ll have a final ceremony look ready for you, my dear.” 

With a dress being sewn together at Farron’s, Mor hurried you along to what she believed was the most critical part of any mating ceremony dress — the lingerie. The ordeal left a permanent blush on your cheeks as you quickly moved on to the shoemaker and then the jeweler. 

“Which one did you decide on?” Mor asked once again. She trailed at your heels, resting her chin on your shoulder as you kept your wares clutched to your chest. 

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Why not?” She whined. Red fingernails grazed the tissue paper that peaked out from the edges of the lingerie box. 

“Because that is for Azriel to know, and only Azriel,” you said, snatching the box out of her grasp. 

Nesta laughed. “What does it matter which pair she’s picked? It’s not like it will survive the first night of the frenzy.” 

Your cheeks burned with color. 

Mor giggled at your shyness. “Don’t act coy now, Y//n. We all know what you four read in your free time.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t benefit, love.” Emerie teased, squeezing Mor’s hip. 

“I never suggested such a thing.” 

Gwyn gagged when they kissed and everyone broke apart into fits of laughter in the streets, leaning against shoulders and stumbling on the cobblestones as they caught their breath. 

You were pressed in on all sides by familiar bodies, a comforting mixture of perfumes, and the sounds of laughter.

It’s happening. It’s really happening. 

Your grin could have put the sun to shame as you bounced on your heels in front of the mirror. 

Pale blue silk dipped down to the center of your chest and fell off your shoulders like mist. Wide, airy sleeves hovered at your elbows, ending in curls of hand-woven lace. A pair of ribbon-tie shoes and ear-tip cuffs completed the ensemble. 

They were both blue for Azriel — for your mate — who currently stood awestruck by the door. 

You didn’t startle when you caught a sliver of his reflection in the mirror. In fact, you were rather pleased to see his slack jaw and glistening eyes. 

“What do you think?” You asked as Azriel slipped out from the darkness and into your old bedroom. 

You hardly stepped foot in here anymore. Azriel’s bedroom had solidly become yours. Your clothes were mixed in with his. Your perfume bottles and soaps lined his bathroom. Your scent was tied to his bed, or rather your bed. 

“I think… I think you’re a dream, Y/n.” He spoke with a sigh. 

He melted into the curve of your neck, hands ghosting over your shoulders with a feather-light touch. 

He shook his head, as if disappointed. 

“No,” he corrected himself, “You’re far better than a dream because you’re real, and I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

“I could say the same about you,” you whispered. 

You leaned back against his chest and breathed deeply, feeling your heart soothe itself to the rhythm of his breathing and the scent of mountain air and cedar trees. 

He was beautiful. Black velvet encased his broad shoulders, cutting out a silhouette of pitch black night and highlighting the glow of his hazel eyes — like two chips of amber aglow in a dark wood. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from staring and threading your fingers into his soft, black curls, eliciting a soft groan from his lips that had your blood stirring to life. 

“I thought we were supposed to meet downstairs.” 

Azriel smiled. “I selfishly wanted to be the first to see you.” 

“That’s not selfish at all,” You hummed. You began tracing the gold cuffs that spanned the length of his ears and the subtle embroidery at the wrists and front of his shirt. They were distinctly Day Court fashions, and he wore them well. “These are new.” 

“I may or may not have reached out to your father for advice when picking out my clothes.” 

“I like them. Day Court colors suit you. They bring out the gold flecks in your eyes.” 

Azriel smiled, kissing the curve of your ears and playing with the sapphire necklace clasped around your neck. The drag of metal and fingertips over your chest had you shivering.  

You gently tugged at his hair and he obeyed the unspoken command to lean down and capture your lips in a kiss. Soft sounds spilled from both of you as he walked you back towards the wall and gently pressed you against it, flatting his hands by the sides of your head. 

Azriel got lost in the taste of you. Your hands in his hair. The feeling of your hips flush against his. Every movement was subtle, but eager, in its wanting and Azriel knew that when he finally had you beneath him, he’d be ruined… If he wasn’t ruined already. 

There was another reason he’d wanted to see you first before relinquishing you to the formalities of a mating ceremony. 

He’d been on edge all day, unused to being the unbridled center of attention among his brothers. Cassian was brash and loud, Rhysand flirtatious and passionate. Even Lucien radiated an undeniable charisma that made him popular within crowds. 

But Azriel had always prized quiet and peace above all else. He wanted to feel that peace again. 

The bond rose within him like high tide, spilling color and light into his chest as you pressed your forehead against his and cradled the curve of his neck. 

He breathed deep and he breathed freely, feeling something in his soul mend itself with a roll of anticipation. A tendril of cold wrapped around his ear and whispered in a language only Azriel could understand.

Too long, master. It’s been too long.

Azriel’s eyes flew open. He’d nearly forgotten the shape of their words — the language that he’d been taught to speak after years spent in the dark. Months of soft spoken words he could barely make out became a chorus of congratulations as they sensed the connection that now bound you and Azriel together. 

They’d known about it since the beginning, but now that you were also aware, they were ecstatic.

Black shadows spilled out from his skin, eagerly wrapping you up in a shell of twisting darkness. They embraced you, kissing your cheeks with cool, feathery touches. 

Azriel swallowed your laughter, hands diving down and lifting up your dress so he could squeeze your thighs and wrap your legs around him. 

It was a kiss made of teeth and longing and relief. With his shadows having returned and a mating bond ready to be accepted, Azriel felt invincible. Like he was cradling the world in his arms. 

But it was ended all too soon by a shadow in his ear that warned, They’re almost at the door. 

Gods he missed having them around. 

You gasped, picking up on the sound of Lucien and Helion’s strong footsteps coming towards the door. They were supposed to walk you downstairs before handing you off to your mate, and although Azriel had made leaps and bounds in earning their blessing you didn’t think they’d take kindly to seeing the Shadowsinger flush between your legs just before your mating ceremony. 

“Shit.” You hissed, untangling yourself from Azriel as he fixed your dress and struggled to hide his laughter. 

You pushed him backwards, masking both your scents and shoving him inside the wardrobe. 

“My Y/n, what are you doing?” Azriel asked. He needed to bend just to fit inside the empty wardrobe. His eyes glittered with amusement, shadows pooling around his wings. 

“I-I was going to try and hide you before my father and brother come inside but” — a handful of shadows curled around your wrists and ankles, intent on becoming permanent fixtures for as long as you were separated from your mate —  “I see that’s not necessary anymore.” 

Azriel grinned and pulled you in for one last kiss. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he whispered just as Lucien’s polite knock came at the door.  

“I’ll see you downstairs.” 

His shadows swirled around him and he melted into the darkness. 

Mating ceremonies were fluid, adaptable affairs. They could be as extravagant and public or as humble and private as one desired. It made no difference. You were his, and he was yours. Now and forever. 

You would have accepted the bond with Azriel in your father’s palace or in a desert wasteland. Still, you had to agree that home was best. 

The largest room in the River House — the dining room — had been cleared out for the purpose of your mating ceremony. Candlelight flickered atop the fireplace mantle where you, Azriel, and the priestess stood, and within sconces dripping with wisteria and baby’s breath along the wall. The light of a thousand lanterns, gauzy and warm, lit up the gardens outside the House.

“All kneel,” the priestess said, holding out two crowns of lavender and lilies of the valley. 

Everyone kneeled in a loose half-circle. 

Her dusty blue robes brushed against the floor as she placed the crown atop Azriel’s head and then yours. At her instruction, you shifted on the floor, facing each other with smiles that couldn’t be contained.

Azriel’s eyes burned bright, as if all the gold in the world had been distilled and dropped into them. 

You took the candles the priestess held out, holding them in your left hand and clasping together your right. 

Azriel snuck a quick kiss to your palm before the priestess could wrap your wrists and hands together with ribbons of blue and gold. She drifted her fingers over the candles and lit them with a flourish. 

Before the Mother, the priestess, and your family, you exchanged your vows. 

Secret glances passed between you and the Shadowsinger. Brief smiles tugged at the corners of your lips. Squeezing hands soothed your soul and grounded you in the present as you spoke the words together:

I give to you the hands of a warrior, lover, friend, and mate, till the darkness comes and our endings wake. 

I give to you my name, to hold on your lips and to pass on your years in hope and longing, in joy and tears.

Blood of blood. Bone of bone. I shall be yours, and you shall be mine. 

Until we return to the earth and hear the Mother’s song. Until the end of our days—

“Until death and beyond,” Azriel whispered the final vows. 

“Until death and beyond,” you replied. 

“Who the hell spilled the champagne!” 

The floor was already sticky with it, grabbing onto Rhysand’s shoes as he stepped out of the puddle. A guilty Feyre chugged the last dregs in the bottle, magicking away the spill with a snap of her fingers and a sultry wink towards her mate. She shrieked with laughter when Rhys limped over to her, collapsing around her shoulders and blowing kisses against her neck. 

Nyx sat at Amren’s feet on the floor, struggling to hold his violet eyes open as she scratched his head with her silver-tipped nails. Amren was not one for parties and regarded the room with bored eyes. 

Mor sat in the seat of honor — Emerie’s lap — whispering gossip in the Illyrian’s ear as you and Azriel tried to make yourselves sparse in the corner. 

You were half-hidden behind Azriel’s wings as he leaned his head against your shoulder. Leave it to you two to hide at your own mating ceremony. 

Lucien and Elain drank wine by the kitchen. She left her hand comfortably on his upper arm and smiled when he tucked a strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear. They were a handsome couple — all pale colors and golden gazes, like sunshine spilling over a new day. 

Helion, entertaining as always, dazzled the group that had assembled around him composed of Gwyn, Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, and Nesta. Every so often his bright eyes would land on you and he’d wink before pointing threateningly in Azriel’s direction. 

Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and he dipped his lips to your ears and asked, “Do you think he’ll ever approve of me?”

“He already approves of you, he just doesn’t want you to know.” 

“He’s a smart male for keeping such a secret. My ego may grow too big for you to handle if he compliments me outright.” 

“Didn’t he once invite you to his bed?”

“That’s not very special coming from Helion.” 

You burst out laughing, attracting everyone’s attention as you buried your face in Azriel’s chest to stifle the noise. He laughed aloud as well. Head thrown back, chest and shoulders shaking. It was a full-bodied laugh that harmonized with yours as he wrapped his arms around you and rubbed your back. 

Azriel’s laughter had once been a rare sound, but you drew it out of him so easily, like a musician with their instrument. 

Feyre grinned and clapped her hands together. All at once the dining room rearranged itself. The candle flames grew brighter. A table laden with food and chairs popped into existence. 

For such a special occasion, you and Azriel sat at the head of the table, subtly leaning against one another with your legs tangled beneath the tablecloth as you ate.

There was a cake still waiting to be cut in the kitchen — a cake that you’d baked with Azriel’s name written all over it in invisible ink. 

Nyx twisted around in his chair, eyes utterly fixated on the seemingly endless rows of lanterns glowing in the garden. 

“Mom.” Nyx tugged on Feyre’s wrist as she cleaned his cheek. “When will I get to float the lanterns?” 

Feyre looked to you and Azriel. 

The lanterns were an old Day Court tradition. On the longest night of the year, Day Court citizens dared to step outside into the dark and light up the sky with their own sun-painted lanterns. It was a way to keep the darkness at bay for a little while longer. A time to add your own light to the night sky. 

“Now,” you smiled. “Let’s do it now.” 

You all spilled out into the gardens, cheering Nyx on as he raced ahead of everyone else with short, energetic strides. His wings flared out behind him, catching the name of the wind as it whispered against the velvety membrane. 

“Not yet!” Rhys reminded him. “You need to let your aunt and uncle go first.” 

You and Azriel picked up the largest lantern of them all, delicate rice paper crinkling as you held it up. The starburst-shaped lantern glowed faintly. A burning sun. A fallen star.

Everyone bent over in the flowers and grasses, hunting to find the second-best lantern for themselves. 

“This one’s for Velaria,” Nyx said, holding up a small, round orb. “This one’s for you, Daddy.” A pale lavender lantern was placed carefully in his father’s hand. “And this one’s for Mommy.” 

“Why thank you, honey.” Feyre bent low, kissing her son’s velvety black hair as she held Velaria in her arms. 

“Is everyone ready?” You called out. 

Cheers sounded from all around. Particularly energetic whoops came from Cassian and Mor, who tipped back their heads and howled like wolves, ready to throw their lanterns to the sky. 

Azriel tucked you beneath the curve of his wings and pressed a gentle kiss against your temple before you both let your magic seep into the lantern and sent it skywards. 

There was chatter from all sides. Soft gasps leaving open-mouth stares as a dozen lanterns started drifting upwards like miniature suns. 

“It’s all you, Nyx!” Azriel shouted. 

The boy leapt into action, finding the tallest patch of ground in the garden to make his directorial debut. He fixed the tilt of his bowtie and bent his knees. Slowly and dramatically he curled his fingers, raising his hands upwards like he meant to pull water out of the ground. 

He looked like an orchestra conductor leading his players in a great crescendo as the remaining one-thousand lanterns took off into the night sky. 

You gasped and flung your hands up to your lips. Three hundred and forty-three years you’d been alive, and this was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. 

You turned to Azriel only to find that he was already staring at you — at the light of a thousand suns reflected in your eyes. 

You found yourself proven wrong, and not for the first time. The lanterns were only the second most beautiful sight… and you wanted to see more.

Azriel read the idea forming in your mind and nodded. 

Without hesitation, you took his hand, slinking through the now darkening garden as everyone else’s attention was directed towards the sky. 

Lanterns arced through the darkness, staining the sky warm orange as if a painter had swept her brush over the black canvas. 

Shadows nipped at your heels and covered your tracks, urging you onward as you slipped back into the House and then the kitchen. 

You didn’t even bother cutting the cake. After rummaging around in the kitchen drawers for a spoon, you carved out a spoonful of chocolate cake with strawberries and a healthy dollop of whipped cream frosting — Azriel’s favorite. 

The Shadowsinger froze, eyes darting back and forth between the cake and your flushed face. Your eyes glowed in the dim light, marked by a quiet, otherworldly beauty Azriel had never been able to resist. 

“Don’t tell me you’re second guessing this now?” You breathed, moving the spoon closer to his lips. 

“I just… I just want to make sure I remember everything about tonight,” he whispered. 

He adjusted the crown of lavender and lilies on your head, picking up a loose flower petal that had drifted onto your bare shoulders. His touch was soft. Gentle. Reverent as he trailed his fingers up your neck and brushed his thumb along your jaw. 

His lips closed around the spoon, dragging off every crumb and lick of frosting while never taking his eyes off of you. 

It was probably a delicious cake, but all Azriel would remember was the taste of your lips that followed as he drew you to his body. 

When the bond had first snapped for him, he thought the world had cracked in two. Like the sharp clap of lightning across the sky. 

What followed after the sugar and chocolate melted on his tongue was the thunder — a resounding tremor as the bond glowed hot as iron before cooling into something permanent and unbreakable. 

Azriel let out a breathless noise. Something between a sigh and a shudder. He clutched your back, nails dragging lightly along your exposed skin in a way that had you melting. 

“I want to go. Now.” You rasped. 

You wanted him desperately. More than words could describe. 

Azriel scooped you up into his arms, and together you vanished into the shadows before anyone even realized you were missing.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Y'all, I just love Y/n and Azriel so much...

THEY FUCKING DESERVE A PROPER MATING CEREMONY LIKE DAMNIT THEY BOTH NEARLY DIED LIKE 3X AND YES I'M GOING TO WRITE A SEX SCENE NEXT CHAPTER, I DON'T CARE, THEY DESERVE THIS, Y'ALL DESERVE THIS FOR PUTTING UP WITH ME FOR THE LAST 6 MONTHS AND OVER 100K WORDS LIKE YOU ARE THE TRUE MVPs AND I APPRECIATE YOU IMMENSELY!!! (*but also, if you're not into reading smut scenes, I'll write the next chapter in such a way that you can just skip over it and not miss anything continuity-wise)

THANK YOU FOR READING!

We're almost at the end I've got like two chapters left, one of which is already mostly written, and maybe the epilogue will be it's own thing or part of the last chapter i don't know and just UGH it's almost over... ok i'm going to end this author's note here because I'm getting sad just thinking about this fic ending

^^ my reaction when I realize I've almost finished the longest/most intensive writing project in my life born out of love for the romantasy genre

^^ my reaction when I realize I've almost finished the longest/most intensive writing project in my life born out of love for the romantasy genre

[3amfanfiction]

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“You fuckin’ wot?”

You whip around in fury, pinning him with a steely gaze, “I didn’t fucking stutter, Simon Riley.” You snarl through gritted teeth. “After that shitshow of a dinner, I don’t want to even look at you. You’ll be sleeping out here.”

You hear him inhale as you walk towards the bedroom. If he thinks you’re going to stick around and continue this conversation any further he’s definitely come home with brain damage from his latest deployment.

The bedroom door rattles unsatisfactorily as it’s slammed closed.

[fox-teeth]

Had zine inspiration like a bolt from heaven at MoCCA; here is the proof of concept.

[futurelabs]

leaving this here, it's a good shot