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[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Great Bucky Bake Off | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One shot - 3.5k words

An Avengers retreat takes a turn for the better when Bucky decides to eat your pot brownies… all of the pot brownies.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content. Drinking, casual drug use, Avengers wearing onesies for reasons, very flirty Bucky, p in v & oral sex. Rated R for ridiculous.

A/N: Happy birthday, Bucky Barnes!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Okay, ‘fess up, who ate all my brownies?” You turned to stare down the rest of the team, admittedly a little slow on your feet already.

The scene in the living room could only be described as chaotic. When Tony suggested he fly the team out to his remote cabin for “rest, recuperation and team building”, you had been fully on board. You were even more on board when he had you buy everyone fluffy animal onesies and you’d signed yourself up to a lifetime of being obsessed with your job the day you received an email to source as much weed, alcohol and Asgardian liquor as possible. Being the Avengers PA certainly had its perks. 

“Not me!” Steve admitted, far too quickly. “I didn’t eat them.” He shook his head, sending the dog ears on top of his onesie flopping about. 

You narrowed your eyes, “Well, you sure know something.” He looked the picture of innocence until he pulled Sam into the conversation. 

“Tell 'er Sam, we dunno nothin’ 'bout brownies." 

"Nuthin’” Sam shook his head too, his beer sloshing dramatically in its glass and wetting his hand. “My wings!” He steadied the bottle and brushed the stray liquid from the soft Eagle wings that made up the arms of his outfit.

“Have you spoken to James?” Natasha asked, leaning next to you and swiping crumbs from the plate, the last of the joint you’d shared placed delicately between her fingers. Somehow she managed to make the black onesie look very stylish, the arms rolled up to the silvery spiderwebs embroidered on the elbows and shoulders.

“James? Bucky?" 

Organising and taking part in retreats was your second favourite part of your job. Bucky took the top spot, miles ahead of everything else with his handsome, stubbled face and gruff but gentlemanly manner. Despite being part of the team for a while, he still kept to the background, staying out of the way and keeping quiet. He was always especially polite to you, holding the door and making sure you were included all the time, even if he never really stayed that long at Stark’s parties or Steve’s team building exercises.

Deep down you hoped it was because he saw you the same way you saw him, in your dreams, surrounded by little hearts. 

But life just wasn’t that kind, and you took his friendship gladly if that was all he could give. 

"Why would Bucky eat them, can he even get high?” You slid forwards, leaning on the counter and clutching the empty tray. 

“Bambi!” The four of you whipped around, surprised. Bucky bounced into the room with an enthusiasm that Steve hadn’t seen for decades. He also had chocolate on his cheeks and crumbs all down his front making him instantly guilty. You looked down at your onesie, light brown and speckled like a deer with tiny antlers on the hood. 

“Ha, yeah, like Bambi.” You giggled.

“And I’m Thumper!” He laughed back pulling the hood of his own pyjamas up and letting the long, grey, ears drop in front of his face. 

“Because you punch people?” You were momentarily confused, your brain refusing to work and instead focusing on the too tight fabric around Bucky’s arms. 

Behind you Sam coughed to cover his laughter and Natasha turned away, eyes full of mirth. 

“No! Thumper in Bambi!" 

"The girl rabbit?” Tony dropped down onto the huge sectional couch, surprisingly sober. Although you were sure that had more to do with promising Pepper to keep the cabin safe, rather than any personal choice. 

“Thumper is a boy.” Bucky insisted, eyes never leaving yours, his smile boyish and relaxed.

“How would you know?” Sam scoffed, leaning over the back of the couch, positively gleeful when Steve whispered that Bambi was also a boy and they fell back laughing together.

“Because, Sam, I’ve seen Bambi." 

"What?” Tony’s snort of derision didn’t go unnoticed, but you shot him a glare. This was possibly the most relaxed you’d ever seen Bucky, you wouldn’t be letting anyone, including your boss, spoil it. 

“I saw Bambi, in 1942, when it first came out,” he said proudly. 

“That’s right, I remember!” Steve jumped up, the Asgardian liquor cocktail that Natasha had rustled up earlier starting to take effect. “We went with your sisters, Rebecca cried when Bambi’s mom got shot and he was all alone." 

"Don’t spoil it, Stevie.” Bucky chastised, turning back to you as quickly as possible, “Have you seen it? Do you want to see it? We could see it?”

You nodded but he ignored you, continuing to talk as he got closer and closer, backing you into the kitchen island where the empty brownie tray dropped with a clang. 

"We can go, I’ll take you, Saturday, you can have as much popcorn and soda as you like.” His right hand swayed by his side, nudging closer to yours until your fingers touched. “What d'ya say?" 

Every fibre of your being screamed yes, just as you’d internally jumped for joy whenever he came by your office or handed you a coffee. But those times you were sober, calm, collected. Now you were four drinks and half a joint deep, floating off into the clouds. Professional judgement be damned. 

So you screamed "Yes!” outloud for once. 

He beamed, throwing his arms around you and squeezing just a little too tight until you squeaked. “Good, gonna be my best girl, my Bambi and I’ll be Thumper, buy you lots of popcorn and - oh - you’re really soft.” His hands found the back of your hood, pulling it up to sit on top of your head, letting it fall into your eyes. 

“Yeah it’s nice, right?” 

“S’fluffy.” Bucky’s thumbs brushed over your lips and down your neck, just inside the hood for a moment, before finding your shoulders and arms, rubbing the fuzzy material until you felt static build on your skin. “You’re really cute, y’know,” he whispered. “My own little Bambi.”

“I know.” You giggled back, picking up the joint again so you’d had something to do with your hands other than grip the front of your own outfit. 

“We didn’t smoke weed back in the day,” he said, conversationally, as if he didn’t have his hands in your pockets, pulling out your lighter and a lip balm. 

“No?” You took a drag, blowing the smoke to the side politely. 

“Did a lot of cocaine though, keep us awake on missions.” 

“Jesus. That’s…intense.” 

He nodded, watching your fingers against your lips, the little pout when you exhaled. 

“Can I?” 

“You ate a whole tray of brownies, Bucky, I don’t know if you should have anymore.” You extended your arm away from his grabby hands, hoping Natasha would come and take it away again, but to no avail. Instead, he lifted you onto the counter, pinned your leg down and followed the line of your arm to your outstretched hand. His lips brushed the backs of your fingers when he took the twist of paper into his lips. You waved him over and he held his breath as he returned to you, leaning in close and only exhaling when you pulled your hoods together, his nose against yours. 

Instinctively you inhaled, the rush of smoke and the smell of Bucky was overwhelming. You giggled again, trapping him against you with an arm around his neck and your legs around his waist. 

“Haven’t shotgunned since college.” You smiled, everything was so floaty and soft, fuzzy round the edges and so fucking warm. When did it get so warm? 

“You know with your floppy ears you could be-” your laughter bubbled up, cutting you off, “you could- sorry - oh my god - you could be Bucks Bunny!" 

Bucky did not seem to like that nickname as much as Thumper and told you so, pouting until you let him take another long drag. 

Time seemed to slow down between Bucky’s words, his hands, the way your glass of wine felt in your hand and the texture of his onesie. They were a good idea, so soft, good for petting, and Bucky was petting you too. His right hand was burning hot, even through the thick material, the pads of his fingers were calloused and rough, but the palm was soft. His left hand was so rigid, making a whirring noise. When you put your cheek to the artificial bicep it ticked pleasantly and you smiled, sighing and closing your eyes so you could concentrate on the joined sounds of Bucky’s heart and his prosthesis. In turn, Bucky held you gently, his metal fingers gentle on your back where he kept you snuggled in tight beside him. 

You were faintly aware of the ongoing chatter across the room, but it had faded away into background static. Your soul focus was on the way two of Bucky’s eyebrow hairs stuck out from the others, the little patch of grey forming in his stubble, the dark fleck of colour in his iris, the way his mouth looked saying your name. Oh shit, he’s saying your name, say something back! 

“Uh huh, yeah, uhm - maybe?” 

He tipped his head to the side, bunny ears flopping over too, and came closer again. His hands on your cheeks. “I’ll help you.” He leant forwards to rest his forehead against yours. 

“What’ya doing?” You tried to look at your forehead too but your eyes seemed to stop when they got to your eyelashes. Annoying. 

“Telling you what I’m thinking without saying it.” 

“Oh, is it working?” 

“You have to tell me that, silly!”

“I don’t think it’s working,” you whispered, loudly, and Natasha groaned from the sofa closest to the kitchen. 

“These two are out, done, nothing more for them,” she declared, waving her glass of red wine. 

A chorus of yes and agreed sounded from the remaining Avengers. Clint had already fallen asleep across one of the arm chairs, his beer dribbling onto his shirt from the neck of the bottle. Steve and Sam were deep in debate about the merits of Japanese whiskey over original scotch whisky and Tony was watching you both intently, his own glass of Glengoyne warming in his hand. The way the condensation formed under his fingers was fascinating, and you told Bucky as much, pulling him close to your cheek so you could get the same view. 

 “I concur, what did you do to my PA, Barnes?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a bad influence.” 

“She’s not you PA, she’s our PA. So she’s ours to influence,” he returned, proudly. 

Tony just continued to stare, pointedly, sipping his drink.

“What you gonna influence me to do, Buck?” You kicked your legs against the kitchen counter, a picture of innocence, and Tony laughed into his drink. 

But Bucky looked at you very seriously, bent to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck, his leg between yours, muscular and firm despite the fluffy clothes. 

“I’m gonna influence you to steal all of Stark’s M&Ms.” He tried to keep quiet but ended up choking out the end of his sentence around his own uncontrollable giggles. 

“Oh my god, you know he has me take the red ones out, says they’re smug. I have so many red M&Ms in my flat.” 

“Hey, that’s supposed to be a secret!” 

“Wanna eat all the red ones I brought with me?” 

Bucky helped you down from the counter and then across to the pantry where you’d stashed the huge bags of snacks and sweets when you first arrived. Despite Steve’s shouts of leaving some for everyone, you closed the door and sat down, ready to tuck in, wrappers and chocolate littering the floor while you dug about for your favourites. Bucky sat on the floor, encouraging you to sit between his legs, keeping his hands moving over the downy material of your onesie. 

“Okay, Bambi, what’ve you got for me?” 

Before you could even attempt to feed him anything, Steve wrenched the door open, hands on his hips. “I think you need to sleep this one off, not eat more chocolate,” he insisted, waving at you both to get back up. 

“Nuh-uh, Steve, not leaving.” Bucky tightened his arms around your waist and nuzzled into the back of your neck. “You smell like cake,” he exclaimed, happily, ignoring Steve. 

“Sam! Can you help me shift Bucky?!” 

“What about me?” You pouted, holding Bucky’s hands around your waist. 

“You need to go to bed as well.” Natasha extended her hand to yours in an effort to pull you off the floor, but Bucky’s grip was too strong. 

Eventually, it took everyone to wrestle you away from Bucky and bundle you into your room. In the corridor, Bucky howled his anger, breaking out of his room to easily find you in yours. 

“Bambi! There you are! Those awful hunters took you!” he cooed, squishing your cheeks again and kissing your pouty lips. Deep down your brain registered that this was your first kiss with him, that the man who had been consuming your thoughts for months was actually kissing you, willingly, and had broken a door so he could get close enough to do so. 

“Buh-kee, it was just Nat and Tony,” you drawled, your lips moving gently against his, reluctant to pull away. 

“I know, but I didn’t like it, wanna stay here with you.” 

Natasha, who was still trying to wrestle you into bed, gave up. “If you two stay in here together, and stay out of trouble, I won’t say anything.” She pointed at you both, eyebrows slightly raised. 

“Promise I’ll be good, Natty.” You fluttered your eyelashes at her dramatically, hoping to seem more trustworthy, but she just rolled her eyes. “Fine, stay here.” 

And then you were alone. 

You hesitated for a moment, watching the slow movement of Bucky’s face, fascinated by the way the muscles tightened minutely when he smiled. 

“I’m going to kiss you again now,” he stated, so formal that you broke out into another fit of laughter which made you hiccup and grab for his chest to steady yourself. 

He ignored you, bending his head and catching your lips with his, messy and rushed. 

“You taste real nice, you know?” Bucky licked across your lips again, swallowing your giggles. 

“You taste nice too, ate all my damn brownies.” With a long lick up his chocolate smeared cheek, you kissed him back, tangling your hands in his hair, trying to push the too hot, stuffy, fluffy, onesie off his shoulders. 

Bucky shrugged, and sat back to push the material down to his hips. Your eyes followed the movements of his hands, the way each inch of muscle revealed itself and, suddenly, you were hungry again, lunging forwards to bury your face between his pecs. Starting at his sternum, you kissed further and further down, shoving him backwards so you could climb on top of him, nipping and kissing bruises in a slow trail towards the end of the zipper. With a twist of his wrist, his cock sprang free from its confines and you bent down to lick the pearlescent precum leaking from his tip. 

“Fuck, Bambi.” He dropped his head back, one hand gripping the pillows and the other cupping the back of your head while you licked the head like an ice cream. “I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.” 

You sat back on your heels, letting your fingers dance up and down his cock. “Feels soft,” you observed, thoughtfully, “Hard and soft at the same time, isn’t that funny?” 

Bucky couldn’t reply, he just laid back, watching the woman he’d pined after for months finally touch him the way he’d dreamed. It seemed surreal to be here, in your bed, with your hands all over his body like you owned it. Well, he thought, you did own it, you just didn’t really understand that yet. 

“I wanna touch you, too,” he insisted, “Can I?” His hands hovered over your clothes, so close to the zipper his fingertips brushed it when you breathed. You nodded and he lowered the metal slowly. 

Everything seemed slow now, even his voice, mumbling against your skin when he kissed down your breasts and took your nipple into his mouth. When he bit down a little, you giggled, his fingers tickling your sides, until you were both laughing again, half in and half out of your onesies, brains full of cotton wool and lust and nerves. 

“Hey, hey.” You tugged on his hair until he looked up, resting his cheek on your belly. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Yes, I’m so good with secrets!” He crawled back over your body, lowering his face close to yours. “You can whisper it or you can do it telepathically.” 

“I’m not telepathic, Bucky.” 

“Sure, like this.” He dropped his forehead to yours. “I know all your secrets now.” 

“No, you don’t!” You shoved him, but he didn’t move. 

“I do!”

“Tell me then.” 

His eyes roamed over your face, from your eyes to your lips as if he couldn’t help it. “You like me.” 

“Everyone likes you, Buck, you just think they don’t.” 

“No you like me, you want to step out with me, be my best girl.” He looked overjoyed to have revealed your secret before you could. “Am I right?”

“Don’t be mean to me, Barnes.” 

“I’m not being mean, I read your mind.” 

“You know what? Fuck off.” You shoved a second time, but he still didn’t move. 

“Wanna read my mind? I’ll help.” His forehead met yours again, sweat beading along your hairline from the stress of being so clearly seen by the man you’d been fantasising about for months. Before you could protest that only he could read minds while high, he was kissing you again. Slow and steady, his tongue nudging your lips gently until you opened for him, throwing your arms around his neck and letting the feeling of petal soft kisses take over you. 

He moved away only enough to take off his now too warm onesie, as well as your own, leaving you both naked and tangled together on the bed. He couldn’t get enough of touching you, he felt buoyant, happy in a way that he hadn’t for months, years, and he never wanted it to end. His fingers tingled when they touched you, though it was becoming harder and harder to stay in control. 

“Bucky, I want you,” you managed to squeak out between kisses, fumbling awkwardly between you both, hoping he understood.

"I want you too.” He nodded, bumping your heads together. 

You wriggled beneath him, guiding him between your legs until he was buried inside of you. 

“Damn it, Bambi, you feel soft everywhere.” His wide eyed expression made you smile.

“You’re kinda soft too, Bucky.” This side of him was one you’d been dying to see, unguarded and playful. 

He nuzzled your cheek and began to move, tentative at first and then faster. In your dreamy state, it was hard to know where you started and ended or how long you’d been locked together. 

You moved as one, slow and steady, enjoying the feel of each other’s warm skin and chocolate sweet kisses, breaking every now and again to stare at each other in awe. 

Bucky seemed to sense your approaching release before you did, speeding up when you fluttered around him, the erratic movement of his hips driving you closer and closer to the edge of the bed until you both tumbled out. The pillows and sheets followed soon after, dropping on you in an avalanche of goose down and brushed cotton. 

You both paused in shock, your giggles broken by your fall, but then he was pulling you back down on top of him and holding your hips steady. 

“Bucky, I wanna - I gotta -” Your hand drifted between you again to touch your sensitive clit, just a little more pressure and you could feel your orgasm building. The tightness of your pleasure started between your legs and radiated out to your toes, making them curl against the sheepskin rug beneath you. 

Bucky followed after you, unable to control himself from the onslaught of sensation your clenching heat provided. 

You woke the next day in a tangle of limbs and bedding, your back sore from sleeping on the floor all night and your brain fuzzy. Beside you, still with a smear of chocolate on his cheek, Bucky continued to sleep. 

[tortillamastersblog]

Where Light Bends Wrong - Part 2 | Wednesday Addams

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You’ve kept your secret buried and your power quiet, until Wednesday Addams came to Nevermore and turned your whole world upside down.

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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I do not see Wednesday for the rest of the day, going through my classes as usual before stealing a freshly baked roll and some cheese from the dining hall and heading to my room.

I do not want to risk seeing her again, because our bizarre encounter this morning—if you can even call it that—has left me a little unnerved.

The gossip and buzz around her has not died down either. If anything, it has ramped up now, with rumors spreading like wildfire which has once again left me overstimulated by all the students’ excitement and nervousness.

I hardly believe that Wednesday murdered and ate some of the kids at her old school, like everyone is saying, but she must have done something to get expelled. I would not put it past her that it was something pretty bad, even if it was not exactly murder or cannibalism.

Now I am on the floor in front of my bed, doing push-ups in an attempt to distract myself from the buzz still lingering in the air that makes my chest feel tight.

I have been going at it for ten minutes straight now—perks of my abnormal strength—but no matter how many I do, it is not exactly working the way I hoped.

Sure, it is making me breathe a little heavier, making me feel the way my muscles stretch and burn, but it does nothing to quiet the fact that I keep hearing a familiar heartbeat pounding steadily from the other side of the school.

I have absolutely no clue why my ears keep picking up on it. Ever since I heard it for the first time this morning, it has been there. Quiet, persistent, and impossible to ignore.

I have never had this issue before. I am usually good at keeping my hearing in check, not letting it stray too far, but this time? It is like it has latched onto something. Or rather, someone.

Wednesday Addams.

“Four hundred and twenty… four hundred and twenty-one…” I keep counting under my breath as I push myself off the floor and lower down again, trying to stay grounded.

But it is the impatient knock at my door that finally snaps my ears back to my own room. The sudden change in volume—from a heartbeat across the school to a sharp knock right in front of me—makes me wince and flinch.

I move so I’m sitting cross-legged with my back against the bottom of the bed and run my hands down my face.

“Come in.”

The door swings open almost instantly, and I don’t even have to look to know it’s Enid storming in. Her usual energy fills the room the moment she enters, but this time, it’s different. It’s laced with anger, which is very unlike her, so I drop my hands into my lap and raise an eyebrow.

She’s got her arms crossed, now wearing one of her colorful sweaters and a pair of leggings instead of her uniform, and she’s looking around the room, quietly fuming, clearly searching for the right words.

“What’s wrong?” I prompt after a moment, when she still hasn’t spoken. That makes her look at me.

“Everything!” she exclaims dramatically, before flopping onto the floor in front of me and mirroring my position against the wall.

“Wednesday Addams is a nightmare.”

I get the feeling there’s more to it than that, so I ask “How come?” Even though I already have a pretty good guess.

The two of them must’ve had a fight because they’re on opposite ends of literally every spectrum imaginable. Personality, looks, hobbies? You name it…

“She ruined my window!” she whines. “Peeled off all the colorful foil on her side.”

I get why that would agitate Enid. She lives for her colors, and maybe Wednesday did not go about removing it in the nicest way. But technically, it is her room too, and half of the spiderweb window does belong to her.

“And she literally divided the room with tape on the floor,” she goes on. Again, I know that is not the most socially acceptable way to share a room, but like I said, it is Wednesday’s room too.

“And she insulted my blog! Said she’s read serial killer diaries with better punctuation.”

I can’t help the little snort of amusement that escapes me, and when Enid looks at me with bewildered eyes, I just shake my head with a chuckle and try to ease her offense by saying, “Sorry, but she kind of has a point. And yes, I know you write in your voice, which is what makes your blog special, but you and I both know you can’t put an exclamation point in the middle of a sentence just to emphasize your point.”

Enid huffs and crosses her arms, but I can feel the frustration inside her subsiding, so I know she is not really mad.

I understand where she is coming from though, so I try to coax some more information out of her to maybe let her air out a little more of her anger before she returns to her room and potentially explodes on Wednesday. “Come on, she can’t be that bad, right?”

“Are you kidding?” Enid deadpans, though she already lacks the intensity with which she stormed into my room just a moment ago.

“She turned her side of the room into a colorless goth cave. She’s got an old-timey record player and vinyls of classical music. And she’s got this annoying-ass typewriter she uses to write her novel. Like, hello? We live in the twenty-first century, just use a laptop? But no. Miss girl-with-literal-serial-killer-vibes has to use old-time technology that annoys everyone around her. And she doesn’t even have a phone. Who doesn’t have a phone?!”

“Well…”

Well, what am I supposed to say? Those are all valid arguments on Enid’s part. She could not survive without her phone, and she listens to nothing but K-pop. But again, Wednesday is allowed to like her own things. And if old-timey typewriters and classical music are some of them, then so be it. Even if it is a little weird that she doesn’t even have a phone.

“Exactly.” Enid drops her hands into her lap, taking my silence for agreement. It’s not, but I don’t correct her.

After a moment, I get up and offer her a hand. She accepts it with a questioning look, and I pull her to her feet.

“I know she isn’t exactly who you thought she’d be, but maybe just give her a chance?”

Enid’s lips thin, and I can tell she is about to object, so I raise my eyebrows and add, “It’s only fair.”

She contemplates it for a moment before giving in with a nod and a sigh. “Fine.”

“Good. Now you better get back to your room unless you want Thornhill to give you detention for being out past curfew.”

She grumbles, but agrees, and leaves quietly after mumbling a thank you.

Once she is gone, I strip off my clothes and head into my ensuite bathroom, stepping into the shower while trying—again—to ignore the heartbeat steadily pounding away on the other side of the school which is accompanied by the the soft clicking of what I now know is a typewriter.

It’s Friday afternoon, which means Wednesday has been here for less than a day, and yet she has already shaken up the entire school.

Not just because of her presence, but because she literally challenged Bianca to a fencing match.

I am usually not interested in gossip, but when the news spread during lunch, I actually indulged in it for once, listening to Yoko tell Enid all about it.

Apparently, Wednesday is an impressive fencer. It looked like she had Bianca beat at first, but then she invoked military challenge and lost when Bianca managed to nick her forehead.

Why she would go ahead and challenge Bianca in the first place, I have no idea. But it seems like they both have an ego problem, and fencing was the only way to determine the social hierarchy.

For now…

Much more surprising than Wednesday challenging Bianca, though, is her apparent skill. She is small and unassuming. So if she managed to hold her ground against Bianca, she must really know a thing or two about combat, which makes me wonder…

What else is she hiding under that mask of composure?

The bell signaling the end of my last class is so loud and unexpected, I actually wince and accidentally snap my pencil in half. A couple of students eye me warily.

I don’t feed into their curiosity by being embarrassed or making a big deal out of it, and instead quickly pack my things before leaving the classroom.

The sound of the rain against the windows in the hallway is louder than usual, a clear sign of my heightened senses. Everyone around me is still tense because of Wednesday’s arrival, which in turn is making me extra sensitive.

“Y/N, wait up.”

I stop involuntarily at the sound of a familiar voice and push myself against the wall to stay out of the steady stream of students excited about the upcoming weekend.

“Ajax,” I acknowledge the boy with a gentle smile as he catches up to me. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay after…” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, obviously referring to the pencil incident in class. “You know?”

“Oh… Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for asking, though,” I say quietly.

Ajax and I aren’t exactly friends, but because we both live fairly isolated lives, we understand each other. He, like Enid, has known about my super hearing for quite some time now and always notices when it gets the better of me or when I start getting overwhelmed.

It’s actually really sweet. He’s smart too, and it makes me want to be his friend, but Enid is already a little too close for comfort. I can’t risk him finding out what I truly am, so I usually keep him at arm’s length.

“You sure?” he asks, genuinely concerned, tucking a tiny snake’s head back under his beanie before it can make a full appearance.

I just nod and mumble a soft yeah, followed by a see you around? before walking off. I want nothing more than to get to my room, put on my headphones, and drown the world out with music.

I brush past students and hurry down the stairs toward the empty courtyard, only to hesitate when I realize I didn’t bring an umbrella.

It’s raining cats and dogs, and I’ll be soaking wet by the time I cross to the other side, but I don’t really have a choice. I brace myself to step into the rain—then stop dead in my tracks when I realize the courtyard isn’t as empty as I thought it was.

Standing there, with an umbrella and staring up at the roof, is Wednesday Addams in her custom black and white school uniform.

I’ve only seen glimpses of her since her arrival yesterday, which made me forget how elegant and regal she actually looks with her pale skin, dark hair and calculating eyes. A bandaid covers the spot where Bianca cut her forehead and yet, she still looks composed and untouchable.

For a second, I just watch her, but then I notice she hasn’t stopped looking up so I follow her eyes up to one of the gargoyles perched on the edge of the roof.

It’s shifting, like someone is tugging on it with an invisible rope and then, my heart drops and I move before I can think twice about it.

“Look out!”

I dart forward just as the gargoyle tips over the edge. From the other side of the courtyard, I see Xavier has spotted it too. He’s also trying to reach her, but I’m faster. Even without tapping into my full speed, I’m faster.

I crash into Wednesday and tackle her to the ground. The gargoyle clips my shoulder on the way down but it doesn’t injure me. It shatters into a hundred tiny pieces behind us.

Fuck. That was close.

I pull back from on top of Wednesday to check if she’s okay, but she’s passed out from the force of the impact. I go to wake her with a gentle tap to her cheek but then the pendant on my necklace, which has slipped out from under my uniform, starts glowing gold.

It hasn’t done that since I had a panic attack the night my adoptive parents dropped me off at Nevermore.

“Is she okay?!” Xavier drops to his knees beside me, looking between Wednesday and me. “Are you?!”

Frantic, I shove the pendant back beneath my clothes and scramble off her. “Y-Yeah, I think so.”

Xavier nods, but still taps Wednesday’s cheek. When her eyelids flutter slightly, he frowns and looks at me again. “Let’s get her to the med ward.”

I want to help him, I really do, but the pendant is still warm against my skin—probably still glowing—which makes me shake my head. “I… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

I back away, confused and overwhelmed by what just happened. I know Xavier is strong enough to carry her since we’re around the same height and he’s tough, so without another word, I turn and run.

What just happened?

Why did my pendant glow when I touched Wednesday? And why did that gargoyle fall in the first place?

I saw it moving before it tipped… someone must have tampered with it somehow which means someone is out to kill Wednesday.

The real question is… why?

After seeing her for the first time, I knew things would change around here, but I didn’t think they’d change like this. Not with someone literally trying to kill her.

Isn’t it enough that there’s already some monster roaming the forest, killing normies?

I make it to my room in record time and slam the door shut behind me. Then, I immediately change out of my soaking uniform, towel-dry my hair, and stare down at my pendant, which is still glowing faintly, pulsing ever so slightly in rhythm with my still frantic heartbeat.

What is going on?

First, I can’t stop subconsciously listening to Wednesday’s heartbeat, and now, the moment I touch her, my pendant starts glowing and it feels like the rug has been pulled out from beneath me.

I don’t know Wednesday. And yet… the moment she was in danger, I threw all caution to the wind, risking exposing some of my powers to anyone watching just to make sure she was okay.

And now my pendant won’t stop glowing.

It’s small, no bigger than the pad of a finger, and carved from a smooth, dark metal that almost looks black until the light hits it just right, revealing the faintest sheen of deep gold beneath the surface.

Etched into the center is a delicate symbol: three parallel lines cutting through a single circle, the one in the middle slightly longer than the others.

I don’t know where it came from, but I’ve had it since I was born, and it’s the only thing that connects me to my birth parents, who I’ve never met.

I was raised in foster care until I was eight, before getting adopted. I was finally living a nice, secure life for five years or so, but then my powers showed up and I accidentally ripped a door off its hinges during a game of hide and seek.

It scared my adoptive parents so badly, they immediately took me to Nevermore and left me here, fearing I would someday hurt them or my, what I considered, younger sister Lara, who was their biological child.

Of course I told them I never would, but they weren’t willing to take a chance on me, choosing instead to hand me over to Weems like I was a problem to be dealt with.

Luckily, Weems took me in with open arms.

She made me feel welcome and wanted, despite being literally abandoned for the second time in my life

She even helped me figure out what kind of outcast I actually am.

It took a while, but when we finally did figure it out, she turned pale and told me never to tell anyone else because it would put me in danger.

She got rid of every book in the library that even hinted at what I am because the risk was too high. Well… she got rid of all but one book.

It’s hidden in the Nightshades’ library, just in case I ever have questions, like right now.

I’m too shaken up to make my way all the way there tonight though, so I tuck my necklace back beneath my shirt, climb into bed, and put on my headphones to try and drown out the outside world.

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Tag list: @sunshinez4 @protozoario @automaticpatroltragedy

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 2

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, low Self-Esteem, Cassian is kinda an idiot, mention of murder, mention of stabbing and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

“It’s open!” Eira called out as she heard the knock, her eyes flicking towards the door.

The shadows had just finished playing with her hair, their efforts resulting in an intricately braided updo that she had absolutely no idea how to replicate properly. She wondered who exactly had let the shadows play hairstylist for long enough that they had learned how to pin her hair in increasingly complicated updos, whenever she let them. 

For some reason, Eira had the feeling that it amused them for some unknown reason. And they liked doing it. At night, when she couldn’t sleep, they kept playing with her hair, lulling her to sleep…when she was awake, they braided and rebraided it as often as they possibly could get away with it. And tonight, they had tried two different hairstyles, before finally deciding that this one was the one. Now, they were just finished scattering some blooming Asters through her hair, the purple-blue colour matching a dress that had suddenly been in her closet. 

It was all…very much like a fairytale. 

“Hey,” Feyre said as she entered her room. “Are you ready for dinner?” 

"I am pretty sure the shadows keep stealing your dresses for me," Eira said drily, as she nodded. Feyre blinked twice, taking in the dress that the shadows had trussed Eira into. It was beautiful. A dark bluish purple, with spiderweb-thin lace that covered her arms and heavy silk that fell to the floor.

"That's not mine," Feyre answered with a laugh. "It's gorgeous, but definitely not mine.”

Eira stared at the dress, then to the shadows that quickly flitted through the open door away from her. She just sighed, while Feyre giggled.  "They do seem to be surprisingly delighted at treating you as their lifesize doll," her sister quipped. 

Eira just shrugged. "Well, at least they have good taste," she said with a grin making Feyre laugh aloud.

"Maybe they are just happy that they finally get somebody to dress up. Azriel wears his leathers nearly exclusively after all,” Feyre quipped. 

Eira chuckled at Feyre’s words, thinking of Azriel’s usual attire. It was true, the shadowsinger rarely bothered with anything more formal than his leathers. She turned her attention back to the dress, running her fingers over the lacework of the sleeves. "It’s beautiful," she said quietly, admiring the fabric. "But it’s a bit much, isn't it?"

Feyre rolled her eyes at her words. "It’s not, Eira," she said, her tone slightly exasperated. "Besides, I think a certain shadowsinger may appreciate the effort," she added with a wink.

Eira's cheeks flamed. Maybe...maybe that was the reason why she hadn't protested the shadows and their insistence on dressing her up. Maybe that was why she hadn't protested that dress or the updo...or even the lipstick they had very carefully applied.

Eira had initially assumed that the shadows just enjoyed playing dress up, that they derived some sort of twisted amusement from seeing her in fancy dresses and elaborate hairstyles. But, now that Feyre had brought up a certain Shadowsinger... Perhaps the shadows had a more specific reason for their interest in dolling her up...

"Come on, I want to see if you manage to make Azriel's jaw hit the floor," Feyre quipped.

Eira’s heart skipped a beat at Feyre's words, heat rising to her cheeks. She knew it was silly, knew that she shouldn’t get her hopes up. But the thought of seeing Azriel’s reaction to her wearing that beautiful dress...it made her stomach flutter with something. 

They had agreed to a courtship but she...she knew that for him the mating bond trumped anything. 

That's why he even considered it in the first place, why he was willing to go along with it.

It was...It was something she liked to push out of her mind in a way because she would rather just...enjoy the possibility of having him. Something that she hadn't thought she ever would have. She never thought that she would have a chance.

For just a moment her mind replayed Elain’s vision…They had looked so happy in that vision…had looked so…in love. 

So did it really matter why he wanted to court her? If they could build that? The image that had plagued her since the day of the vision flitted through her mind, the image of a daughter that they could perhaps someday have together.

And yet, something twisted in her gut, a pang of doubt creeping into her heart.

Wasn’t she only asking for heartache? Shouldn’t she not get her hopes up too high, shouldn’t she stop herself from building up too many fantasies in her head?

But she had never been good at telling her heart no. It had always been too hopeful...a bit foolish.

And the thought of Azriel seeing her...of seeing his reaction to her in this gorgeous dress, with her hair pinned up...it sent a thrill of excitement through her veins. 

So she followed along with Feyre towards the dining room, her heart beating fast in her chest. Just a family dinner...just like they had had so many. Granted most of the time she had sat at the edges and had then rambled to Azriel about everything and nothing but...

This dinner would be the same as all the others, she told herself, just like every other one they had shared in the past...the only difference was that this time, she was dolled up in a fancy dress and an elaborate hairdo courtesy of the shadows.

And the fact that she had agreed to let him court her. The human way.

Well, in the way Azriel probably thought was human. She highly doubted that it would pass as courting for any gentleman, but she didn't care about that. She really didn’t care. She would sit through whatever he wanted if he had the chance of…the chance of having him. 

It was so sweet that he was even willing to entertain her like that. He could have just as easily never even thought about it...could have just as easily refused to do anything human because he wasn't human. He was Illyrian...even when she sometimes wondered what Azriel would call himself if she asked. He seemed to have no love for Illyrian customs, much differently than either Rhys or Cassian.

Eira pondered that as they walked. She knew how much Azriel disliked the Illyrian culture, how much disdain he had for some of their archaic traditions, their backward ideologies. 

And yet, he indulged her, willing to do it the human way even though he wasn’t human. It filled her heart with a strange sensation, a kind of warm affection.

It was...endearing, in a way. Sweet, in fact. That he would take the time and effort, simply to let her have a taste of that kind of romance. 

But all of that was nothing against the way her stomach fluttered as she spied him in the dining room, deep in conversation with Cassian and Rhys...Wings carefully tucked behind his shoulders so that she couldn't see the full, massive span of them...couldn't see their majestic beauty. 

And then his hazel eyes looked up and for just a moment it felt like it was just the two of them, everybody else forgotten.

Eira's breath caught in her throat when Azriel looked up and their eyes met.

For a brief moment, everything else around them disappeared, the world slipping away in a rush of colour and sound. It was like the world faded away, leaving just the two of them staring at each other.

She saw the surprise in his eyes, the flicker of shock before his gaze flicked over her figure, taking in her dress, and her hair.

Something flickered in his gaze, something she couldn’t quite place. His stare was intense, and heat rose in her cheeks as his eyes traced over the lace of her sleeves, the shape of her waist, the way the silk hugged her skin. It was...overwhelming, almost, having his attention so completely on her. 

Overwhelming and addictive. 

Eira's heart leapt in her chest, her cheeks flushing under his gaze. She was suddenly very aware of the way the fabric of her dress glided against her skin, how it clung to her figure.

"Damn," Cassian drawled. Cassian's voice jarred Eira out of the moment, breaking the strange spell that had seemed to fall over her and Azriel.

She jerked her head in Cassian's direction, finding him staring at her with an appreciative grin. "Someone's looking very nice tonight," Cassian drawled, his gaze roaming over her dressed figure.

Eira could feel her cheeks flushing even more under his gaze, the heat of them spreading across her chest and neck, embarrassment settling. She knew that dress had been too much, she shouldn’t have…

And then she heard that growl. Eira's eyes widened at the sound of Azriel's growl, the feral sound making her shiver. She watched, slightly stunned, as he shot Cassian a glare that should have set the other male on fire on the spot.

Cassian just smirked at his brother's reaction, his grin widening with smug satisfaction.

"What's wrong, Az," he drawled a hint of amusement in his voice. "Didn't like me looking at your lady?"

Azriel's eyes narrowed further, the muscles in his jaw tensing. He took a step forward, his wings flaring, as if to shield Eira from Cassian's gaze.

"Enough, you two," Rhys said with a sigh. "Cassian, if he kills you, that's on you. You know exactly how that mating bond feels to him right now."

Cassian just chuckled at Rhys' words, his eyes still sparkling with mirth. "Oh, I know," he drawled. Rhys just rolled his eyes at that, his expression exasperated.

Azriel's wings flared a little further, the movement enough to distract Eira's attention back to him. His eyes were still fixed on Cassian, a silent warning in his gaze.

Eira's heart skipped a beat as she took in the expression on his face, the protectiveness that had taken over his features. But she could also see the other, lurking underneath that protective surface. There was a hint of possessiveness, a hint of something much more primal and instinctual. The sight was enough to send another shiver down her spine.

"You do look very pretty, Eira," Cassian said, his voice growing serious and she couldn't help but stare at him. What? She hadn't expected the compliment, especially not after the way he had been riling Azriel only a moment before.

"Thanks," she responded after a moment, her voice quiet.

Nesta just snorted. "Wrong sister," she told her mate drily. "You are supposed to tell me how pretty I am," she pointed out, making Eira laugh.

"You are gorgeous," Eira told her oldest sister, making Nesta snort, her grey eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Did you make the dress?" Nesta asked as they found their seats, Azriel pulling out the chair for her without a word,

Eira smiled as she took her seat, Azriel's hand on the small of her back sending a strange sensation through her body. She watched as he sat down to her right, his wing slightly flared to block Cassian from her line of sight.

She looked back to Nesta, her cheeks still flushed from Azriel's touch.

"No," she answered, a smile on her lips. "The shadows…the shadows picked it out for me."

Nesta raised an eyebrow at her words, her gaze flickering from the dress to Azriel, who was still shooting warning glances in Cassian's direction.

Rhys and Feyre were also exchanging knowing looks, clearly amused by the shadow's involvement.

"They have good taste," Feyre quipped, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

Azriel's wing twitched, his glare deepening. "Don’t give them ideas," he said gruffly.

Feyre just laughed at that, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"Oh, I think they already have plenty of ideas, Az," she said with a smile. Azriel just grumbled under his breath, his eyes flickering to Eira for a moment before looking back to Feyre.

Eira couldn't help the flush that spread over her cheeks as Azriel's gaze flicked over her again. She could feel the heat of it like a brand, making her skin tingle and her heart flutter.

The shadows that had gotten her ready for the night whispered in her ear, their voices too soft for the others to hear. 

He likes it.

Eira barely resisted the urge to shiver at the whisper, Azriel's gaze still on her, his eyes locked on her face. She could see the possessiveness in his gaze, the way he was looking at her as if she were something he wanted to keep all for himself. The shadows' voices purred again.

He thinks you're beautiful.

Eira's heart fluttered at the words, her stomach twisting with a strange sense of...giddiness. She knew it was silly, foolish even, but that possessive gleam in his eyes made her feel...wanted, desired. She couldn't help but smile as the shadows continued to whisper in her ear, their voices soft and sly.

He can't take his eyes off you.

"Would you stop it?" Azriel growled at that moment and she looked up to find the shadows having wrapped themselves around their master, the tendrils of darkness twining around his arms and shoulders.

The sight was both eerie and beautiful, the shadows moving like dark, writhing serpents over his skin. Azriel's eyes flared with irritation as he tried to bat the shadows away, but they seemed to only cling tighter, almost as if they were taunting him.

Rhys and Feyre were watching the scene with amused expressions, clearly enjoying Azriel’s frustration. They really did like to rile him up, it seemed.

Cassian, on the other hand, was grinning like a fool, clearly enjoying the display.

"You just can't keep the shadows in check, can you, shadowsinger?" Cassian drawled, a smirk on his lips. Azriel just growled in response, his eyes narrowing as he shot a glare at the other male across the table. Rhys chuckled at the scene, clearly finding the whole thing amusing.

"It seems like they have a mind of their own," he mused, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Feyre just snorted, her lips curving into a smirk as she watched the shadows continue their dance around Azriel. Eira couldn't help but laugh as well, the sight of the shadows wrapping around Azriel's form while he sat there looking annoyed was truly hilarious.

The shadows were clearly enjoying themselves, their tendrils moving almost playfully over his broad shoulders and strong arms. Eira watched as Azriel seemed to give in to the shadows' antics, his shoulders relaxing and his expression softening. The shadows still coiled around his arms like snakes, the tendrils of darkness wrapping around his wrists and up his forearms.

He seemed resigned now, his eyes flickering to her for a moment before looking back to the shadows.

"You look beautiful, Eira. The colour suits you," he said quietly, his cheeks reddening.

She could have sworn her heart skipped a beat at his words, a rush of warmth spreading through her chest at Azriel's words. She could feel her cheeks flushing even more as he complimented her, her heart fluttering against her ribs.

He liked it? 

Azriel let out a huff of irritation as one of the shadows extended a tendril to poke his cheek, his lips pressing into a frown.

He reached up a hand to brush the shadow away, but it just twined around his fingers instead.

The shadow seemed almost...playful, the way it wove between his fingers, the touch surprisingly gentle. "Stop it," Azriel murmured under his breath, his eyes narrowing at the shadow.

But the shadow just continued to wind itself around his fingers, almost like a cat begging for attention. Eira couldn't help but grin at the sight, the shadow's antics adorable, even if they were clearly bothering Azriel.

"I don't think they are going to stop until I give in," Azriel finally said with a sigh. Eira chuckled as Azriel finally spoke up, the shadows clearly intent on getting his attention. "I was going to wait until after dessert," Azriel said quietly, "But they seem to have a mind on their own...so…” he hesitated for a moment. “I apologise. I learned that I did it wrong."

She stared at him, her heart plummeting. 

That he did what wrong? Why was he apologising to her? What was… "What did you do wrong?" Eira asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Azriel's cheeks flushed again as he looked at her, the shadows still clinging to his fingers. He took a deep breath before speaking, his eyes never leaving hers. He took a deep breath before speaking, his eyes never leaving hers. "I...I should have given you a gift when I made my first courting overture," he said quietly, his voice gruff with embarrassment. “I am sorry. While I did not know, that is not an excuse for my behaviour.” 

Eira's heart skipped a beat at his words, her eyes widening. She hadn’t expected him to give her a gift, let alone bring it up now.

"You don't need to give me a gift," she protested immediately.

Yes, it was true that...that should have been something that happened. But then, if she was still the daughter of a wealthy merchant, she probably would have met her future husband at a ball and there would have been weeks of flowers and pralines before he asked her to court...and a courtship already was fully expected as a prelude to a formal engagement. By the time a man would have asked her to court, he should have already made his mind up if she was the woman he intended to marry.

Eira's mind flickered to the memory of Elain's courtship with Grayson, the wealthy heir sending her gifts for weeks before officially courting her. And the number of gifts and the extravagance increased tenfold when he requested her hand.

She had never expected Azriel to do anything of that sort.

But the fact that Azriel seemed ashamed... that the shadows were so insistent that he followed the proper courting practices...it made something in her chest warm, the feeling almost like a fuzzy, pleasant burn.

She looked up at him, a small smile on her lips. "You didn’t have to get me a gift," she repeated, her voice soft.

Azriel just shook his head, a stubborn frown on his face. “I did,” he said firmly, his eyes locked on hers. “It's part of the tradition, part of your culture.”

Eira felt her heart skip a beat at Azriel's words, his firm tone making something flutter in her stomach. He was taking this seriously, that much was clear. She could see the determination in his eyes, the shadows still coiled around his fingers as if to remind him of his task.

"Alright," she said softly, her gaze locked with his. "You...you really want to follow proper courtship etiquette?" She asked, her voice almost tentative.

"He got like 10 books on it," Cassian said with a snort.

Eira's eyes widened as she heard Cassian's comment, her gaze shifting to him for a moment before returning to Azriel.

"You...you researched this?" She asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

Azriel just grumbled under his breath, his cheeks reddening even more. "The shadows found me books in the Human Lands.," he muttered, his eyes flickering to the tendrils of darkness still wrapped around his fingers.

But it was Nesta's laugh, a high tinkling sound, her older sister winking at her. "Bring out the goods, Az. I want to know what you ended up choosing."

Eira's heart fluttered in her chest as Nesta spoke, her words sending a strange mixture of anticipation and...giddiness through her.

Eira looked to Azriel, whose cheeks continued to redden under the attention, his wings shifting behind him. The shadows around his fingers seemed almost...encouraging, the tendrils coiling and uncoiling like they were urging him to hurry.

“Let me get it.” Eira's heart seemed to skip a beat as Azriel finally spoke, his voice deep and gruff. He extricated his fingers from the shadow's grasp, the tendrils retracting like they had only been waiting for that particular permission.

Azriel stood from the table, pushing his chair back, and Eira found herself holding her breath.

Azriel crossed the dining room in a few quick strides, his wings flared out behind him as if in excitement. Eira's eyes followed him, her heart still fluttering in her chest.

The other occupants of the room remained silent, their eyes following the shadowsinger as he made his way into the next room.

A moment later, he reappeared, carrying...something.

A harp.

Eira's eyes widened as she saw the harp in Azriel's hands, her heart skipping another beat in her chest.

It was...beautiful, the strings gleaming in the light from the candelabras. The wood was polished to a fine shine, each curve and line of detail flawless.

She could just stare at it.

The sight of it brought back memories from her childhood when she had started learning the harp. When she had dreamed of playing for a court, of  learning every single song there was...when she had...She had one then...a gift from her father...a beautiful gilded one, made out of light wood. It had been smaller than that one, with fewer strings than the 47 she expected this one to possess. This was the kind of harp professional used in an orchestra setting...the kind of harp she had always dreamed of.

Her harp had been sold off along the rest of their possession to keep their money troubles at bay back in the day...and somehow it had been...it had been the worst loss. Somehow the house and her clothing and any jewellery...that hadn't mattered to her as much as the harp.

"Nesta said you used to play," Azriel said quietly, his voice unsure, as he placed it in front other, carefully. Eira's eyes snapped up to meet Azriel's, her heart still fluttering in her chest.

She took in the expression on his face, the uncertainty and the shyness that had replaced his usual confidence. She could see the...the hope in his eyes, mixed with a hint of anxiety as he waited for her response. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she looked at him.

"I...I used to," she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her fingers itched to reach out and take the harp from him, to touch the strings. To hold that instrument in her hands and...to run her fingers over the smooth wood, to feel the coolness of the strings as she plucked them.

The memory of how they felt under her touch, the sound they made when she had been younger and could still play...the memories that rushed through her mind made her heart beat faster in her chest.

"I stopped after...after our father lost our wealth," she continued, her voice softer now. "We had to sell most of our possessions, and...well, harps aren't exactly the most practical thing to keep in your house when you're struggling to buy food."

But now...now Azriel was holding this harp out to her. Holding this most wonderful, most beautiful thing...this thing she had lost, this thing she never thought she would hold again.

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at the harp, her mouth going dry. "You-" Eira's words caught in her throat as she met Azriel's gaze again, the tears in her eyes making his face blurry. "You...you got this for me?" She managed to whisper out.

"It's not a human one," he warned her quietly. "You would probably break it without meaning to...it wouldn't withstand your strength. This ones is fae-made. Made out of Ebony. Your magic will interact with the instrument and...the sound should be even more beautiful."

"It's beautiful," she repeated, her voice soft with emotion.

She reached out an unsteady hand to brush the harp, her fingers tracing over the smooth ebony wood. She could feel the hum of magic under her fingertips, the power contained in the instrument, the magic that was just waiting to be released.

She looked up at Azriel, tears still shimmering in her eyes. "You-" her voice broke for a second before she tried again. "You did all this...this is your courting gift?"

Azriel's cheeks reddened even more at her question, the tips of his ears turning pink. He nodded once, his eyes fixed on her face, his expression almost hopeful. "Yes," he said quietly. "It is."

Eira's heart skipped another beat, the tears pooling in her eyes finally spilling over.

She looked back down at the harp, her fingers still tracing over the smooth wood, her lips trembling. This was...this was the most beautiful gift she had ever received, it was...it was more than she had ever expected, more than she had ever hoped for.

And Azriel had gone through all that trouble, researched her culture and the proper courtship rituals, had found this harp...for her.

She took a trembling breath, desperately trying to contain the swell of emotions in her chest, the tears now falling down her cheeks.

She looked back up at Azriel, meeting his gaze once again, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

She opened her mouth to speak, to try and say something, a thank you, a...a declaration, anything. But the words stuck in her throat.

Azriel just stood there, watching as she tried to speak, the expression on his face unreadable. The worry in his eyes was unmistakable, as if he wasn't sure how she would react.

The room was quiet, the other occupants of the room watching the scene with rapt attention. Even the shadows seemed unusually still, their usual playfulness and mischief replaced by a strange kind of tension.

Eira took another shuddering breath, trying to collect herself. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, her heart still hammering in her chest.

She looked at the harp again, taking in every detail of the instrument. The smooth wood, the perfectly tuned strings, the magic contained within. The sheer...beauty of it, the thoughtfulness and care that had gone into choosing it.

It was a beautiful harp. A truly perfect gift.

"It's...it's perfect," she finally managed to whisper, her voice raw with emotion.

Azriel's shoulders relaxed slightly, the worry in his eyes diminishing a little. "You...you like it, then?" He asked quietly, his voice tense with anxiety.

"Like it?" Eira repeated, her voice almost indignant. "Like it? I...Azriel, it's the most beautiful, most perfect gift I've ever received."

She rose, her knees shaky, taking a step forward, the tears still trickling down her cheeks.

"It...it's perfect," she repeated, her voice cracking once again. "And you...you learned about the proper courtship rituals, you...you researched my culture," she continued, her voice soft and shaky. "You did all this...for me."

Eira took another step forward. She took another shuddering breath, her heart beating harder and hard in her chest.

"No one...no one has ever done that before," she whispered, her voice breaking again. "No one has ever put so much thought, so much effort into a gift for me."

Azriel shifted awkwardly, looking as if he were torn between wanting to reach out to her and not knowing if it was the right thing to do.

"You...you're worth it," he finally said, his voice quiet and gruff. "You're...you're worth all the research, the effort...the trouble. You're worth it, Eira."

Eira's heart clenched in her chest at his words, her breath catching in her throat.

No one had ever spoken to her like that, ever made her feel as if they were so certain of her worth. 

She shouldn't be doing this. It wasn't her place to be this forward, wasn't...but still she stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss against his cheek, breathing in cedars and mist and Azriel and then pulled back. "Thank you," she whispered."

Azriel's eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks reddening furiously as she kissed his cheek.

He seemed completely taken aback, his wings fluttering slightly in shock. His entire body tensed, as if he suddenly didn't know what to do with himself.

And then, as a moment later, a small, shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You're welcome," he replied, his voice gravelly and rough.

"So are you gonna play something?" Cassian asked, breaking the silence.

Eira's cheeks flamed bright red as she remembered they weren't alone. She had...she had forgotten the others were there, had allowed herself to get lost in the moment, in the emotions and the...the sheer perfection of Azriel's gift.

She pulled back slightly and looked at Cassian's cheeky smile as he teased.

"Not unless you want to go deaf by my out of practice screeching," she said drily. "I'll need to practice before my playing is anywhere near fit for public consumption."

"Oh, come on," Cassian said with a pout. "It can't possibly be that bad. Let us have a taste of the music you're capable of making."

Nesta smacked his arm with a disapproving glare, but the slight upward curl of her lips made him just grin wider.

"I promise you, it really is that bad," Eira replied, her heart still hammering in her chest. "Trust me, you'll be much happier not having to listen to how horribly rusted my playing has become."

Cassian opened his mouth to response but Nesta's elbow ended in his ribs. "Whenever you are ready," her older sister told her gently.

*****

"You're distracted," Rhys's voice cut through his thoughts, making him snap back to the present. He looked up to see his brother watching him with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.

Azriel huffed a sigh, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his face.

Of course Rhys would immediately notice. The High Lord had always had an annoyingly sharp eye for his inner circle.

He couldn't help himself though as he stared out of the window. Feyre and Nyx were down in the garden...and he had watched how Eira had joined them a few minutes ago, settling herself comfortably under one of the trees, watching her sister and nephew play.

"I'm not distracted, I'm..." he started to protest, but he knew it was useless. He was distracted, his thoughts had been all over the place the past day, revolving almost entirely around a certain Archeron Sister.

Azriel's mind was still filled with images of the previous night, of the memory of Eira's reaction to the gift he had given.

She had been...he had never seen her so emotional before, so overwhelmed, and...he had caused it. He had made her feel that way.

His mind replayed the memories over and over again, the way she had looked at him, with such wonder and gratitude, how she had...how she had kissed his cheek.

Especially after she had...pressed a kiss to his cheek.

After she had seemed so pleased by his courting gift.

A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he thought back to that moment, the way she had looked holding the harp, the expression on her face when she had realised what he had done.

His heart fluttered in his chest as he remembered how she had looked at him, how she had seemed to forget they weren't alone for a moment, had pressed her lips against his cheek, so soft, so warm, and had whispered her thanks against his skin.

"You're staring."

Rhys' voice broke through his thoughts, yanking him back to reality and away from the memory of her lips on his cheek, her warmth, her scent.

Azriel realised his gaze was fixed on the window, on Eira outside with Feyre and Nyx.

"I also always have this dreamy expression on my face when I think about Eris Vanserra and the Autumn Court," Cassian said sarcastically.

"Shut up," Azriel said irritably, though with no small amount of truth in his words.

He knew he probably had that 'dreamy' look right now. That hopelessly in love, pining look that Cassian teased him about.

"You are as subtle as a bat," Rhys teased, a smile on his face. "We can all tell she's got you wrapped around her little finger."

Another irritated huff left Azriel, but he didn’t deny it. He was wrapped around her little finger. There was no denying that.

"Though your shadows are worse," Cassian quipped. 

"My shadows are not worse," he protested, but his shadows curled and coiled around his fingers, as if in silent agreement with Cassian.

"They’ve been pining for her too," Rhys chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Have you noticed how often they’re clinging to her?"

"Or how they pick out dresses for her...and braid her hair?" Cassian said with some amusement. “I didn’t even know they could do that!”

"And how they preen whenever she touches them," Rhys added, his voice still full of laughter. "They’re as whipped as you are, brother. If not more."

Azriel huffed another irritated sigh, but he didn’t protest. It was true. His shadows practically worshipped the ground Eira walked on. They clung to her every chance they got, they preened whenever she so much as looked at them. He had absolutely no control over them when they were around her.

"Were where Amren and Mor yesterday?" he asked suddenly instead, trying to change the topic. 

"Well, Amren still thinks she has done nothing wrong," Rhys finally said with a sigh. "And Mor...that's...another thing entirely."

Azriel groaned.

He could imagine what was going on. Amren was stubbornly refusing to apologise for acting the way she had towards Eira, and Mor...he didn't even want to think about it.

"Amren will come around," Rhys assured him. "It will just take some time, some convincing. She's the most stubborn person I know. And Mor..." his expression darkened. "Mor is being difficult."

Azriel huffed another sigh, running a hand over his face.

Of course Mor was being difficult. When was she ever not difficult? He could guess how the conversation had gone between Rhys and her. She probably saw nothing wrong with how she had acted towards Eira either.

"She's jealous," Rhys said with a sigh. Azriel could just stare at him gobsmacked. Rhys shrugged. "She is jealous, Azriel. She's jealous you've found someone, that you're going to court someone else. And she's decided to take it out on Eira."

"That's a damn shitty reason to be this resentful towards someone," Cassian chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a huff. "Especially when we all know that she was never interested in Azriel in the first place."

"Yeah, well, you aren't available to her anymore either," Rhys said drily. "Mor will need some time to...wrap her head around it."

Cassian just grunted, his expression darkening for a moment. It was true. He no longer was available, no longer an option for her. Not that he had ever truly been an option. It had never been anything more than...passing flings.

"Either way, she'll need to stop behaving like this towards Eira," Azriel growled, the thought making his blood boil. "Just because she is upset with me, doesn't mean she gets to take it out on someone innocent."

"That one," Rhys said, raising an eyebrow and pointing towards Eira through the window. She was still outside, now sitting against a tree. Nyx was curled up against her, asleep. Feyre was sitting next to her, drawing something, a lazy, happy smile on her face. Azriel's chest tightened at the sight. “She is more resilient than you think.”

Azriel swallowed past the lump in his throat as he stared at her through the window.

Rhys was right. She was strong. She was so strong. Stronger than she gave herself credit for, even. And her resilience was something he had…always been in awe off. How whatever happened, Eira just seemed to take it in stride, adjusting. 

"I know she is," he said, his voice thick with emotion."But she shouldn’t need to be. I just..." he continued, his gaze still fixed on her through the window. She was laughing about something Feyre had said, her head thrown back, her face lit up with happiness. “I just want to protect her. I want to wrap her up and shield her from everything bad in this world and just…keep her safe.”

"You know you can't do that, right?" Cassian’s voice was quiet, sincere.

Azriel knew he was right. He knew that. He knew he couldn’t protect her from the world, from everything bad in it. That she wouldn’t even want him protecting her all the time.

He knew all that, but still...still the thought of something bad happening to her, still the idea of being unable to protect her…it made his heart ache.

"Welcome to the mating bond," Rhys quipped weakly.

Azriel huffed another irritated sigh.

He knew exactly what he was dealing with. He knew that this...that feeling the need to protect her, to keep her safe at all costs, to wrap her up and shield her from the world...it all came down to the bond, to the instinct.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it. That didn’t mean he had to be content with his hands being tied, with not being able to have control.

It was driving him nuts.

"It gets easier," Cassian promised him. "Just keep in mind, she can hit anybody with lightning."

Yes. If she could control it. 

Which she couldn’t. 

Neither of them had yet broached the topic of training her power with her. Not even to…hone it into a weapon, but only to make sure that Eira didn’t electrocute any innocent bystanders. The problem was only that if they told her that…she would become deathly afraid of her own powers, which would make training them even more difficult. 

And then there was…another matter. "She cries herself to sleep about 4 males that she killed," Azriel said quietly. "I had killed more often than that before I even reached the Blood Rite."

"That’s not the same," Cassian disagreed quietly. "We both know it’s not. You and I are warriors. It’s what we’re supposed to do. Eira is not a fighter. She’s not a warrior. The deaths she caused weigh differently on her, and you know that."

Azriel sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Cassian was right, of course. The deaths Eira had taken on her conscience…he knew they were different from his or Cassian’s. His own hands were stained a dark red, had been for centuries. They were both warriors, soldiers. They had been conditioned to accept death, to expect and embrace violence. It came with the job. It wasn’t the same for her.

And it worried him. 

"How could the cauldron ever think that I..." 

"The Cauldron has its own reasons," Rhys interrupted, his voice softer now. "We don't always understand its decisions, but it knows what it's doing."

Another sigh left Azriel.

He knew that. He knew the Cauldron was always right, that it knew what it was doing, even if its ways were not always clear. But it didn’t change the fact that he felt unworthy. He felt unworthy of the gift the Cauldron had offered, of a mate at all. Of Eira in particular. 

"I have hundreds of years of blood on my hands," he said, his voice low. "How could the Cauldron pick me for her? How could it think that I am worthy to be her mate?"

“Because you are worthy,” Rhys said softly, his voice almost tender. “More than you give yourself credit for. And because the Cauldron knows things about people that even they themselves don’t know.”

Azriel couldn’t help but scoff softly.

There was no way he was worthy of her. Not in a million years. And it didn’t matter if the Cauldron thought so.

But still, his chest ached as he looked at her, at the smile on her face as she talked with Feyre…Nyx still sleeping in her arms.

Rhys and Cassian were right. He was already wrapped around her little finger.

"You should stay for lunch."

Azriel groaned. He really wanted to, wanted nothing more than to stay for lunch and watch her for just a while longer.

But he couldn’t. The day was already half over, he had work to do.

"I can’t," he told Rhys, the words almost painful to get out of his throat. "I’ve got paperwork to look over, reports to submit, meetings to attend, patrol to"

"Yes yes, we know your schedule," Cassian cut him off with a snort. "And we know that you work yourself to an early grave. You can afford to stay for one more hour or so and have lunch with us. Have lunch with your mate. Aren't you supposed to spend time with her while there are people there to chaperone you?" Cassian wondered. "Isn't that what your books told you?"

Azriel shot him a glare. Cassian only grinned back innocently.

He wasn’t wrong, of course, he was absolutely right.

That was what the courtship was all about, right? He was supposed to show her that he was husband material. That he could provide for her and for any eventual future children.

Azriel shot another look towards the garden, where Eira was still talking with Feyre.

Rhys and Cassian knew they were right, knew that they had him in a corner. He wanted to stay. He wanted nothing more than to spend another hour here, with her.

"Just for that, you and Nesta can accompany us to the symphony this weekend," Azriel said drily. "I got tickets."

Cassian sputtered. Rhys snickered.

"You manipulative bastard," Cassian muttered. "I hate you. You know I hate the symphony."

"Well, as you said, I need to have people around to chaperone me," Azriel pointed out, his voice laced with false sweetness. "I thought maybe you and Nesta would enjoy the occasion." Azriel knew that Nesta would enjoy it. So only because of that Cassian would go along with it. 

"I'll get my revenge, don't you worry," his brother hissed.

"I’m looking forward to it," Azriel deadpanned, a smirk tugging at his lips. It widened when he saw Cassian’s enraged expression.

"You’re the absolute worst," Cassian grumbled.

Azriel couldn’t repress a snort, even as Rhys let out an amused huff.

"You’ll survive," he assured Cassian. "...I think.”

"I’m not so sure," Cassian said darkly. "I think I might just die of boredom."

"Well, Nesta is delighted," Azriel said brightly. "I already asked her this morning."

The betrayed look on Cassian’s face was almost comical.

“You bastard,” he muttered. "You’ve used my mate against me. That’s the lowest blow you’ve ever dealt.”

Azriel only grinned back at him, not sorry in the least. "It’s not my fault you’re whipped, brother,” he turned Cassian’s words back on him. 

“You should winnow right into the box,” Rhys said quietly. Azriel looked up surprised. 

“Eira didn’t do so well with doing outside,” Rhys explained quietly. “It’s getting better…slowly. But it scares her.”

“We would be with her,” Cassian protested. “Nothing would happen.”

“Her brain may understand that, but her heart doesn’t,” Rhys said with a sigh. “It happened outside, so…”

He didn’t end that thought, but he didn’t need to. Azriel understood. 

Lunch was served inside, and Eira seemed to flag slightly. An afternoon nap seemed to be in her future. The knife wound had healed well enough but she didn't seem to be up to her usual levels of ability yet. 

Still, she smiled as soon as she saw him, something that made his heart painfully constrict. Mate, his shadows sang happily. Her smile made his heart ache, made him want to scoop her up in his embrace and just hold her. 

Her face was paler than usual. Clearly, the wound was still affecting her. But the smile on her face, the happiness that lit up her expression as she saw him almost drove his worries away.

Almost.

He took the seat next to her, his shadows curling around her almost immediately, as if as desperate for the contact as he was.

She shot him an amused look, but her hand reached out to greet his shadows, scratching at their invisible heads almost instinctively.

Azriel could hardly keep himself from shuddering at the sight of her fingers running through his shadows. It was almost enough to drive him crazy with the primal, animalistic urges in the back of his head. The urges that urged him to pull her into his lap right there and then, bury his face in the crook of her neck and just hold her. Claim her. Mate.

He shoved them all down as firmly as he could, focusing on his breathing for a moment.

He was painfully aware of how closely Cassian was watching him, a smirk on his face. And based on the way Rhys was watching him, he probably wasn’t doing a very good job hiding his reaction to how she touched his shadows.

Damn it.

Luckily, Eira didn’t seem to realise the effect her actions had on him.

She was still staring at his shadows as if trying to work out how they worked. They clearly loved her. They purred and twirled around her, preening at the attention.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, desperate for something, anything...to just hear her voice.

She looked up from his shadows to stare at him, her eyes a soft, gentle grey.

"I’m fine," she assured him, her voice so soft it sent a shiver down his spine. "I’ve just been so sleepy all day."

"The wound is still affecting you," he said, his voice low, his gaze studying her face carefully, taking in the paleness and the hint of dark circles under her eyes. "You need to rest." Maybe the symphony wasn't the best idea after all.

Of course, he wanted to spend more time with her. He always did.

But the knife was clearly still affecting her, making her tired, making her sleep longer than usual. The last thing he wanted was to have her exhaust herself with an evening out.

"Well, I hope you are up for an evening out later this week because Azriel got tickets for the symphony," Cassian said, between shovelling food into his mouth. Azriel glared at him.

"...the symphony?" Eira echoed, her gaze switching to him.

"The symphony," Azriel confirmed in a low mutter, shooting Cassian another glare.

He hadn't been intending to spring that on her. He had hoped to ask her a little more subtly She was staring at him, her eyes wide, a little confused, as if she couldn’t quite work out why he had gotten them tickets.

"Nesta and Cassian would accompany us," Azriel said quietly. "If you are up to it. If you aren't..." he trailed off.

Eira seemed to relax slightly at the mention of Nesta and Cassian accompanying them as if the prospect of it not being just her and him but a group event made her feel better. It made some of the tension in his chest ease, knowing that the prospect of going to the evening out didn’t make her anxious.

She smiled faintly, her eyes still a little confused.

"I would love to.".

The tension in Azriel’s chest eased further.

For a moment, he had almost feared she would turn down the offer. He had half expected a protest from her, a reason as to why she really wasn’t feeling well enough to go out. But she hadn’t. She had agreed. She wanted this.

His shadows chittered happily at the thought, twisting around her fingers.

His eyes followed their movements as if drawn to the sight of Eira’s hand touching his shadows.

They were practically writhing around her, as if drinking up the attention, practically begging for more.

Part of him wanted to pull her into his lap right there and then, just to hold her as she continued to pet his shadows.

He suppressed the urge though, forcing himself to look away as Rhys shot him a knowing smirk. He just knew Cassian was silently snickering at him on the other side of the table. Damnit.

He could feel Cassian’s curious gaze on him and knew that his brother had to be noticing how his shadows were acting. They were never so openly affectionate with anyone, except now with Eira.

Azriel couldn’t decide whether he hated his shadows for it or was grateful for them. Hated them for making it so obvious that he himself desired nothing more than to wrap her up in his embrace and hold her close. Or whether he was grateful for them, for getting the little bouts of contact he so desperately craved.

Part of him was tempted to command them to stop, to get them to cool it down so that Cassian and Rhys didn’t notice just how affectionate his shadows were being.

But he also knew how much they loved this, how much they loved her. He could see it in the way they twisted around her hands, in the way they seemed to curl into her touch, as if desperate for more contact.

The rational part of him was screaming that Cassian and Rhys were noticing, that they would have to be blind not to notice it.

The less rational part of him was silently preening, utterly satisfied that not only his shadows but everyone knew that she was his.

But then his brain finally kicked in and he muttered a soft command for them to behave.

To his relief, they obeyed, though not before coiling around her hand one more time. Azriel was half surprised that they didn’t attempt to actually lick her.

He could see Rhys’s lips twitching into a smirk, clearly having heard the command, and based on the grin on Cassian’s face he had also noticed the interaction.

His two brothers were clearly having a field day, noticing every little reaction he had to Eira.

Azriel didn’t care though. Right now, all he cared about was the pleased little smile on Eira’s face.

She seemed blissfully unaware of his shadows acting as they had, completely oblivious to the fact that they were practically worshipping her every move.

It was a thought that both delighted and concerned him.

Delighted, because she still clearly didn’t even know how much his shadows adored her. She had no idea the degree of their devotion to her.

But it also concerned him. It worried him, that she was completely unaware of his shadows worshipping at her feet. Worried him because she had no idea what lengths they would go for her…what lengths he would go for her. 

But the only person he could give the fault for that…it was himself. 

[kevinvoncrastenburg]

The Urbz: Sims In The City - Central Station - Lookbook 💀

Genghis Lincoln Shaved Dreads - Top (Trey Top) - Pants* - Boots (Movie Stuff / Base Game Compatible) - Grunge Pattern (Boots) - Studded Knee Pads* - Earrings - Double Bracelets - Nails (Supernatural Claws) - Gloves* - Frankenstitched "Tattoo"*

Scary Mary Hair - Dress* (Comes w Gloves + Choker. Credit goes to Indio!) - Boots (Madlen Dorothy Boots) - Bracelet (Triple Bracelets Right Hand) - Nails* - Torn Tights (The Trillyke Laces & Spikes Folder) - Anarchist Tattoo

Kidd Chaos Hair* - Jacket - Skinny Jeans - Denim Pattern - Boots (BG) - Grunge Pattern (Boots) - Choker - Spiderweb Tattoo - Nose Piercings - Piercings 2 - Ear Piercings - Body Tattoos

Frag Grrl Hair (Strong Female) - Top - Shorts (Diesel) - Shorts Pattern (Day 22) - Boots (adfly warning! Please use the mirror link underneath instead) - Face Piercings (21-22) - Ear Piercings - Choker - Dragon Tattoo (Arm) - Stomach Tattoo - Bracelets (Working Link*) - Spiked Bracelets - Knee Wounds - Socks (MEGA)

Beelzebob Jones

Hair - Jacket - Undershirt Accessory - Shirt Pattern (Hell Smiles Back) - Jeans - Pattern On Jeans (Vintage Striped Fabric) - Boots (BG) - Choker - Ear Piercings - Nails* (Preview) * MediaFire Direct Link * SFS Direct Link * TSR A big shoutout to all our talented cc creators and cc-finds blog operators! You guys radiate magic. ✨ As always thanks for your support. I appreciate it so much!

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[cursedmoon-doll13]

La Petite Mort

(Lucius Malfoy x Reader)

Cw: Smut, Noncon, PwP, Afab Reader, Death Eater Lucius, Unprotected Sex/Creampie, Fingering, Choking, Forced Orgasm, Degradation (‘slut,’ ‘whore,’ ‘mudblood’), Nasty Graveyard Sex™️

HEED WARNINGS

Word Count: 1.2k

Ao3 || Masterlist || Dividers by @/saradika

Late that evening, you find yourself wandering, loitering, roaming aimlessly in the quiet of your local graveyard. Humid fog cloaks the night as street lamps flicker on and hum, flashing with yellowy light. Death is out of reach, distant and unreal.

But then, it finds you first, grasping you powerfully. You yelp as your head bumps sorely against the mossy tombstone, caged in by a spectre… 

“Who— Who are you?!” 

The hooded figure does not answer. In the dark, your blood freezes to ice inside your veins as you watch him reach into his clothes and draw out some long, sharp object— A switchblade, he’s going to—

“Muffliato,” he hisses.

The flash of car headlights blinds you— But your desperate pleads for help all go unanswered. He tsks as his gloved hand seizes your jaw and pulls you forcefully towards him. Blown softly from the slits in his mask, his cool breath fans over your skin. 

“To think this utter filth could have such an effect on me…” The figure mutters quietly, as if to only himself: “You dare to be so alluring…” 

“I— I don’t know what you’re…”  

You shriek as he brandishes the pointed object again, uttering incantations, and your clothes melt away like fragile, torn spiderwebs. It dies in your throat as he squeezes your windpipe, the frigid night wind air biting at your naked flesh— If only you could wriggle out of his grasp— but some unnatural force has paralysed you, left you completely at his mercy. 

“Hold your tongue, Mudblood,” he spits contemptuously, as the other leathery hand slithers down your belly, prying your thighs apart— Now, you finally understand— His true motive— 

A long, smooth finger curls into your pussy, and you screech at the unwelcome intrusion. But then, he pulls briefly out, his strange knife prods at your leg, and lustful heat pours into you— No, this can’t be happening, but oh God, it is— The heady slick of your arousal is coating his glove, eliciting slimy, lewd noises as he pumps mercilessly into your wet cunt— Fuck, he’s tightening his grip on your throat, cutting off your whimpers as you choke, squirming feebly.

“Look at you, muggle slut,” he’s mocking you, his deep voice dipping silkily into a croon. “You are lapping it up, aren’t you? Desperate whore.” 

His thumb rubs harshly over your clit, and you shudder, flinching away from the jolt of nerves that stings you; rejecting it. You let out a strangled sort of cry as the offending fingers pinch, hard, and another slides into your soaked pussy, assaulting you utterly.

“All this time, you’ve been waiting for me…” The man sneers haughtily. “None of your weak, worthless kind could ever satisfy you, no, not like I could.” 

Fear-stricken, all you can do is stare dumbly into those metal slats. You’re still petrified against the stony grave, as if bound by invisible manacles— Worse still, the satisfaction you feel is real; a fiery spark of pleasure, rising up against your will… 

And then you shriek loudly again as you are thrown onto your back on the filthy ground. You see him clearly now, looming tyrannically against the backdrop of a coldly gleaming sky— The outline of a dark, shrouded robe, long strands of silvery hair escaping through the confines of his hood, and the unforgiving visage of his embellished mask…  

But your moment of freedom is abruptly cut off as you’re rolled around onto your stomach, gasping and clutching for purchase on the foetid soil. The dark fabric of his shroud billows and wafts over you, strangely pleasant… Almost.

“Yes… This is all you’ve ever wished for,” he murmurs softly into your ear, caressing you, gentle as a lover. “… And so much more. Isn’t that right?” 

Your joints lock up, horrified, as the unmistakable outline of his cock twitches over your ass. The hooded figure sighs contentedly, and, flexing his gloved hands, lifts you up by the hips, positioning himself readily over your dripping cunt. You swallow, only capable of whining futilely in protest; whatever restraint binds you, it holds you fast.

“Be still, now,” he commands. 

You have no other choice. With a pleasant hum, your assailant fills you to the brim with his cock, sinking into you like hot, insidious venom. Damp cemetery dirt sticks onto your bare flesh, crusting your knees as you press your forehead to the ground… No, no, If you could wish for anything but your escape right now, it would be to smother that sickly sweet aching in your abdomen, the drag against your insides as he rolls his hips into you… Pulling out, slowly, and thrusting back in with a wet slap. He moans deeply. 

“This is good, very good…” The masked man purrs. “See how you can pleasure me, serve me… Even as a mudblood. You are gifted, indeed.” 

You let out a croaky noise - somehow too exhausted to fight back any longer - as he kneads your thighs, forcing you to take every sordid inch of him into your throbbing cunt. The soil spills through your fingers, whining pitifully as unwanted thrills spiral through you with his every deliberate movement. 

“So tight… So wet. You can’t deny it, can you?” 

Chuckling, the man adjusts you carefully and fucks you harder still, vibrating your ravished body with a low groan, a decadant thing. 

“Ah, you take me so well…” 

There’s nothing that can stop the needy whine that spills from your lips, as he just hits that perfectly mind-numbing spot— Are you under some strange fog, a dream, or spell…? He slides you over his cock so perfectly, it feels as if you were meant to be his, in his grip, being used like a beloved plaything… You could almost let him have you… Just let him… 

“That’s it,” he’s saying. “Surrender yourself to me.” 

As he holds you flush against him, his cool breath brushes over your nape, the silvery strands of his hair tickling your skin. His pace quickens as he rocks steadily into you, lapping over your consciousness like euphoric waves, rising higher and higher… 

“Please…” 

You don’t know why you’re begging; or what for, but the heat radiating from your core is burning so hot, like boiling poison threatening to spill over. Trembling now, you choke out a strangled moan as his gloved fingers swiftly find your clit again and rub urgently— his breath hastens and hitches above you— his thrusts strike true, burying himself deep inside your pussy— Your walls spasm and clench around him— Your own climax jolts you, giving sorely little warning before releasing its knot and assaulting your body, so intense it’s almost painful— The masked man rolls his hips hard— He cums inside you, and it feels like the sting of fangs, a deposit of venom. 

For a moment, there is stillness. You hear the distant squeal of tires again, but louder is your own heartbeat, skittish as a captured prey animal.

“You’re mine, now…”

Your assailant’s darkly rich voice has dipped into a hypnotic hiss - almost calming - and you go limp in his arms, fucked into submission. He hums and softly strokes your hair, almost affectionately, and the darkness, thick and bleak, consumes you.

[deepinthegroves]

. ݁₊ ✶ MY MHA DR . ݁ ˖ˎˊ˗

Kayama Hiromi, niece of Midnight, aspiring hero-in-training. She has known Bakugou Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku since they were young, and constantly intervenes whenever Katsuki decides to bully Izuku, much to the former's irritation. Despite that fact, he is still friends with her, and they train together religiously, both striving for the #1 hero spot.

Throughout the years, Hiromi has honed her quirk, Zoomorphosis, and can use it efficiently. She passed the entrance exam easily, and was admitted into Class 1A. There she meets her old friends – including Izuku, much to her surprise – and made some new ones, growing especially close with Sero Hanta. The two of them bonded over their shared love of Spiderman, becoming fast friends.

quirk summary:

Zoomorphosis allows its user to morph their body into an animal's, taking upon desired traits and abilities. It is a transformation type quirk, and requires its user to have the comprehensive knowledge of the animal beforehand in order for the body to shift to that form (e.g. how claws are formed, how canines would elongate). Not only that, if it is the first time the user tries to shift, intense visualisation and focus is required, for an incomplete shift may occur.

Extra practice is required for the user to transform partially, but all transformations are stored via muscle memory, and can be activated at a moment's notice when done right.

When Zoomorphosis is used over a long period of time, there may be a buildup of animal hormones in the body, causing the user to be stuck in a semi-transformed form till the hormones have been metabolised. some instances include: wings not retracting, the lower half of the face stuck as a snout, patches of skin stuck as animal hide.

most notable usages of Zoomorphosis are:

Hiromi using crocodile skin to withstand Katsuki's explosions while sparring;

Hiromi using scorpion book lungs to avoid breathing in Midnight's sleeping gas

Hiromi adapting the glands of her wrist to shoot out spiderwebs

(some) changes i've made to canon:

note: i have ditched canon almost completely and just kept what i like. i have only watched mha till season 6, and could only sit all the way till around season 4-5 when i rewatched it – i couldn't put myself through watching everything after. honestly, i'd rather watch a whole season of filler episodes when it comes to mha. i AM kinda aware of what happens in the epilogue though.

revised some deaths... (e.g. toga, tenko, touya/ dabi, MIDNIGHT, maybe twice, etc.)

changed hero rankings... (mr. bakugou katsuki is the #1 hero, followed be me, shoto, etc.)

make it a LOT less depressing... (basically whole arcs are taken away, and that includes a lot of the violent and (in my words) 'depressing' plotlines.)

changed villains' backstories and endings... (e.g. dabi isn't dead/ in a coma and though the physical damage done to endeavour is still the same, he has also lost the respect and admiration from the public and his team, etc. and he is now forced to rely on whatever money he had from before to support himself – like paying for a caretaker – because i am NOT sentencing rei to that)

and a lot more. (canon is so mangled at this point, just consider this an au (which it technically is LMAO))

notes: this is like a brief intro – i doubt i'll expand on this one a lot here but my script's been ready since 2022-2023 so here! i scripted out mineta and took his place in class 1A. though i know some people keep him around for comic relief, just watching him in the show makes me super uncomfortable. while yes, i can script that away too, it feels weird keeping someone who is basically an author self-insert (on mineta's page, horikoshi self-proclaims himself a "pervert" and basically said as such [my interpretation]) made to creep on his female characters.

divider credits: @/strangergraphics

[a-snake-makes-moodboards]

Paulkins (Paul Matthews x Emma Perkins) from the Hatchetfield universe moodboard with zombie apocalypse inspo

requested by: anon!! ty for the rq, I had a lot of fun with this one :D

x x x x x x x x x

[divider creds: @sweetmelodygraphics]

(all images were found on Google images, including glitch overlay)

song to go with it: 'Spiderweb' by Patient Zero (this song SLAPS and is very zombie-e)

Reblogs are appreciated, requests are open!!

[loveanddeephistory]

Requiem for Revenge

Trowels and Scales Ch 3

Ao3

Ch 2

About: As much as you love your job, finding consistency is difficult to say the least. In between jobs and conferences you spend more time with your enigmatic boyfriend and partner in crime. While you love him, you can tell something still divides you. You need his trust to make this work. How to get it is a different question entirely.

Contains spoilers for: Just about all of Raf's lore. Afternoon arclight, when light falls, oceanic nightfall four stars.

TW/CW: Mentions of hanging from afternoon arclight! Maggot mention (based on a real thing that happened to a classmate), some angst from Oceanic Nightfall.

Word Count: 24k

A/N: At the rate and length I'm writing, anticipate once a month updates, give or take. Graduating from college and moving back home kept me busy! I can't promise consistency, but this merman has burrowed too deep into my brain for me to not continue this. Chapters are long so I hope that makes up for it!

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

The glow of your computer screen illuminated your face and the area around your desk. The low but bright light painted a hue over everything in the room, making everything look ever so slightly off. Two tabs were open on your computer, for wildly different reasons. One, a set of interviews from an art magazine featuring your lovely boyfriend. The other, a job hunting website specifically for archaeologists like you.

One of the many downsides to your beloved job was that if you were not working for a bigger company, you were not likely to find consistent employment. Hence why you were thrilled with your good luck in having the grant extended at the museum. Between that and a few excavations under your belt, you had solid work for a while. But as summer continued to drag on, those opportunities slowly began to dry up. Thankfully you still had one more month's worth of work at that museum. Plenty of time to keep looking. 

In between your job hunt and current job, you found yourself in the throws of research anyway. Ever. The events of the past several months still hung over your head, what was once a dark cloud grew larger and larger. An entire storm hung over your shoulders. Threatening to sweep you up and away with its gales. Even now as you sit at your desk, eyes trained on the corkboard before you, the doom and gloom settled on your shoulders. Your back. You could feel it in every move you made. The spider web had only grown in size. With the new additions of the events in Verona and Rafayel's involvement at the museum. While you knew he did the right thing, it still weighed on you. He didn't wait. He didn't tell you.

He just broke in to your place of work, and got you in a heap of trouble.

Clearly not his intent, he even said as much. But as you gently thumb the pearl hanging between your collarbones you can't help but feel a twinge of frustration. If he wanted you to work with him, that meant he needed to be upfront with you, too. He needed to be honest with you. He can't just shut you out- and even if he does, it's not right for you to catch flak for it. While you had an alibi and a confirmed location this time, reputation was a good half of this discipline. And you couldn't risk having it marred like that. 

Your eyes lift to the figure in the center of it all. The epicenter of this ever growing spiderweb.

Rafayel himself.

You know so much and yet so little. 

The vulnerability of revealing his inhuman nature was not something to cast aside, certainly. But he still hid so much. He got in and out of the museum far too easily. The camera footage wiped, not a single piece of dna evidence, not so much as a footprint or a single other artifact askew. He has to be experienced. You tried to do a deep dive on his past, whatever he'd be willing to share with whatever magazine was interviewing him, but found nothing. Everything about his life up to when he came to Linkon was a complete and utter mystery. Admittedly, that made sense. He's up to something, and he's needed to cover his tracks. So why would he be such a public figure now?

You close your eyes and rub them. When you open them again, Rafayel's name greets you at the center of your cork board. It all began when you met him. He still maintained that he wasn't the one involved with the other archaeologists, and given how closely Ever has been following you? You were inclined to believe him. But you couldn't shake the foul taste in your mouth. He still went behind your back and stole from your place of work. He didn't think to clue you in or ask for alternatives. And with how smoothly he did it? It looked to you like he's done it before.

You sigh. Lips pressed together in a thin line. He's at the center of all of this, one way or another. 

You switch back to the tab for job hunting. There were a few jobs posted, though none of them were particularly appealing. None of them were in your field, not even your mentor's field either. While you were qualified in theory, in practice they'd be more likely to pick a specialist over you. Someone trained in that kind of research. Arctic expeditions were getting pretty big at the moment but you were not trained for that at all. And while land excavations were something you knew how to do, the specifics of various regions would require some level of additional training on your end.

You groan and smack your face against the keyboard. 

A soft bzzt brought you out of your job hunt misery. You tug your phone out of your pocket, finding an email notification. It wasn't from anyone you recognized. The subject line caught your eye. Potential Partnership. You hesitate, but open the email. If it's spam you can just delete it. You know better than to click any links so you'd be fine.

Hello there,

You don't know me, but I know your mentor, Hannah. We're not friends, but we've worked together before. I momentarily saw you in Verona but didn't wish to interrupt your work. My name is Louis. I'm a detective in Verona who worked on the Sea Monster murders, freelance. The final kill was a couple years back. Some of the details still don't line up, and I have a feeling someone with a biological anthropology background might be able to put some of these issues to bed. I also know about the disappearances regarding the Lemurian expedition, and I think a partnership would be mutually beneficial to bring them home. You help me, I help you.

Of course, I'll pay you for your time. If you need anything from me to verify my identity and credentials just let me know. Hannah can vouch for me, too. 

Hope to hear from you soon,

Louis

You cock your head. Louis... that didn't sound like a name Dr. C had ever mentioned to you. You screenshot the email and the email address, turning around and texting it to your mentor to get her take on the situation.

You: Dr. C, I just got this email. Louis says he knows you. Thoughts?

You: Images attached

Dr. C: Absolutely not

Dr. C: Ew

You snort at her immediate response. She was typically good about remaining polite and professional. For her to say 'ew' about anyone was a big deal. So whoever this Louis guy was, she did not like him in the slightest. You immediately move the email to spam, not interested at all if Dr. C didn't approve.

Dr. C: He's not worth your time. The one time I helped with an excavation in Verona he wouldn't stop snooping around, he fell into the trench, and messed with the artifacts.

Dr. C: Whatever he's willing to pay you isn't enough. I don't care what it is. You're an adult, do what you want, but I wouldn't trust him.

You: Yikes

You: Yeah, ew, thanks for the head's up

Dr. C: Anytime kiddo. 

Dr. C: Hey, how's Raf doing? He's been MIA on campus for a few weeks. All classes postponed, not responding to emails

You tilt your head. Now that you thought about it, in your job hunt you hadn't heard from him in a moment, either. No big deal, sometimes you both just got busy and forgot to touch base. But it had been a couple days too long since at least getting a cheeky artsy birb emoji or Reddie update.

You: I don't know! Sometimes he'll just vanish when inspiration strikes him, or when it's missing for too long. 

You: I'll swing by his studio. I've been meaning to talk to him about something anyway

Dr. C: Sweet, tell him I said hi. I still owe him a guest lecture for his help on the island

Now that she mentioned it, you still felt like you owed him one for the assist on the island as well. Helping you evade Ever and stay safe without having to worry about money was a big favor on his end. Sure, he was wealthy enough he didn't have to worry about it too much. But you had your pride, it was only fair you return the favor somehow. You turn off your computer, grab your shoes and keys, and head towards the bus stop. Once you sit down on the bench, opening your text message chat with Rafayel. The last exchange had been a few days ago. Just talking about a stupid social media trend that had taken the internet by storm. As you browse through your past messages, the multiple animated gifs of the little artsy birb made you smile. 

You hit the familiar contact photo, the one where he was making a silly face at Reddie, only for it to go straight to voicemail.

"Sorry, the number you dialed is not in the mood for phone calls. Please try again later."

You can't help btu snort at his usual dramatics, even in his voicemail notice. Instead you shoot him a quick text, giving him a heads up.

You: Hey Rafy! Mind if I pop by? I haven't heard from you in a while, I need to check on my favorite boys

You: That being you and Reddie, of course

You turn off your phone and pocket it. Luckily the bus was already pulling up. Great timing on your end, all things considered. As the bus slowed to a stop in front of you, you grab your bag and hop on. You figure you might as well swing by a local convenience store and pick up some snacks for the both of you. Worst case scenario, if something came up, you'd have some extra snacks on hand while you head back to your place. The image of your corkboard and computer was burned into your eyes, to the point you'd see them even with your eyes shut. You shut them tight and dig the heels of your palms into your eyes as if you were trying to erase them manually.

Rafayel. It all goes back to Rafayel. Why does it all go back to Rafayel? He's more involved in whatever this was than he was letting on. Why was he hiding it? You'd feel bad for doubting him. If he hadn't broken into your place of work.

You lean back in your seat, turning your eyes up to the ceiling of the bus. You couldn't find it in you to be too angry at him. The bone needed to be returned to the ocean. Who knows how he was feeling after the funeral, seeing the skeleton of a Lemurian in Raymond's home. The image you constructed in your mind made your lips go dry. The skeleton, posed in some way. Not merely an art piece.

A corpse. A being displayed like a damn trophy.

A shudder ripped through you. Rafayel did the right thing- the entirely wrong way. He joked about repatriation, but instead of waiting and discussing options, he broke in and took it.

You shake your head side to side in contemplation. Well... honestly, you get it. The bone likely wasn't given to the museum intentionally. Even if K, the donor, was Lemurian himself that would call other things into question. Was the end goal always to return it to the ocean? Was it an accident? Was it left at the museum to protect it? If it wasn't meant for the museum it wasn't necessarily morally wrong for Raf to take it back and put it where it belongs. Hell, how many times had you fantasized doing the same to the British Museum? 

That wasn't the issue, though. The real issue was that he did it behind your back. You slip further down in your seat, grumbling absentmindedly. Your mind a mess of convoluted, complicated thoughts. You agreed with Raf, after all. The bone needed to be repatriated, and it isn't safe for him to reveal that he's a Lemurian. But why didn't he tell you? Did he think you'd stop him? Try to dissuade him? Your fingers brush the pearl, and your thoughts still.

You lift the pearl charm to your face, admiring it in the lighting. Rafayel was crafty, creative. Looking at the charm, it looked like he made it himself. Winding the wire with painstaking care, turning a straight line into a beautiful fishtail. You tilt your head slowly, taking in every detail. The pearl was beautiful. The prettiest one you'd ever laid eyes on. You gingerly bring it to your lips and press a kiss to it. You'd talk with Rafayel. He needs to remember you're on his side, and he needs to communicate these kinds of things to you.  But you can't force it. You didn't mention it when all of this went down. Yeah sure, go ahead and scold your mourning boyfriend while he's basically doing a funeral by himself. Great idea! What a wonderful partner you'd be! 

You gently thumb the chain of your necklace. This would be the first hard conversation in your relationship, but it was necessary. No need to put it off, just make sure he's okay and not in the middle of something, sit him down, and talk! Just a 'hey babe, maybe don't steal things from my workplace? We need to work together, we could have figured something out!' 

The bus rolled up to your stop. You stand up, toss your bag over your shoulder, and hop off. The nearest convenience store is just down the road. You make a pit stop there, going through the store on auto pilot. Too busy thinking about how to handle this conversation. 'Hey babe I know your people are being slaughtered for some reason but you almost got me in trouble' is not the way to do it. 'I want to help you but I need you to let me' is an option, but you weren't sure how he'd handle it.

You aimlessly drift past a shelf when a familiar package caught your eye. You pause, turning back around. No way. No way! You scurry back, lifting the package. This was one of your favorite snacks growing up! How did they have this on hand?! You grab a package, before finding more familiar packages lying around. You weave in and out of the aisles, finding a multitude of your old favorites. You grab a handful, before making your way to checkout. You'll have to share these with Raf! He might not be a fan with his refined palate, but at least it would be something to bond over. 

With a bag full of nostalgic goodies, you turn and walk through Whitesand Bay.

The crisp ocean breeze, the smell of salt. Distant laughter, seagull cries. You slowly breathe. Take it all in. While not the same by any means, you couldn't help but compare it to Verona. By the ocean, salt in the air, the cries of gulls. People running and laughing down the more modern paths. Maybe when Rafayel moved here, it was for that exact reason. While he claimed he wasn't native to Verona- and how knows if he was being honest about that- maybe he settled here because it reminded him of it.

But you knew the real, primary reason. The ocean. Right outside his door, visible from almost all windows in his home. A private section of the beach that is his and his alone. Hell, if you were in his shows you'd want to settle by the ocean too. Even in your own circumstances you wanted to live closer to the ocean. It had been your first love, your own muse. The tides seemed to call to you, sing to you.

It was that lullaby that brought you to the old myths of Lemuria. The entire reason you started this journey all those years ago. 

You move the gate and hop up the steps, the familiar surroundings giving way to Rafayel's home and studio. A simple glance around the property didn't show any signs of a struggle. Rafayel could handle himself, but since Ever was after him you couldn't help but worry from time to time. Didn't help he left the gate and door unlocked. You knock on the door a few times, waiting and hoping he'd answer. Or at least shoot you a text. Acknowledgment of any kind would be beneficial. Thankfully, you hear rustling on the other side of the door. A bang, a curse mixed into a wince, and the general chaos you'd grown oh so familiar with. As the door opened Rafayel stood before you. Shirt disheveled, hair a mess, deep bags under his eyes. He squinted and raised a hand to protect them from the sunlight, groaning.

"Who...? Oh, it's too early." You fish your phone out of your pocket to look at the time.

"Too early? The sun is up! Were you asleep, did I wake you?"

"I don't remember when I last slept. My sleep cycle has been messed up lately. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" His tone, while groggy, became mildly petulant. You open your text chain with him and turn it, showing it to him as proof.

"I tried, called and texted you, you know. I haven't heard from you in a while. I was starting to wonder if you'd been kidnapped!" You tuck your phone away once more as he slowly nods, before scoffing.

"Me? Kidnapped? Puh-lease, the kidnappers would probably beg me to leave them alone." Rafayel moved out of the way, a silent invitation for you to join him in his home. You enter and remove your dirty shoes, though with how messy his home was at the minute you weren't sure if it made a big difference. Boxes filled the room, and canvases and paint ingredients were strewn across the place. "I don't remember where I put my cellphone. It's probably dead now. Help me look for it, will you?" You shift your bag of snacks and set it to the side. The rustle of the bag made him perk up.

"What's that in your hand?"

"Oh, these?" You hold up the bag again. "On my way over I found a convenience store that had all of my favorite nostalgic snacks. Figured I'd grab a few before I came here." He huffed again, although it appeared more playful than actually frustrated.

"Looks like you weren't that concerned about me after all. You just had to grab food for yourself before coming to my rescue." You put the bag back down, laughing at his melodrama.

"What did you expect me to do? Throw away the snacks and come running in tears?" You prop a hand on your hip to match his sass, trying to fight back a grin

"Haven't you seen those movies where the female lead finds out the male lead is in trouble, drops the delicious food she's holding, and leaves the house crying to look for him?" Rafayel bats his eyes and put the back of his hand against his forehead, imitating a swoon. You snort.

"Hah, in your dreams. I spent money on these!" You turn back to the rest of the room again. His living room slash studio was truly a mess. You at least could see Reddie's tank from here, but you couldn't see much else. "Hey, are you moving? Why are there cardboard boxes and drawings all over the place?" You'd like to think he would've told you by now if he was, but given recent events? He didn't seem all that inclined to being honest with you about big things. The thought momentarily made you frown. He didn't give you long to dwell on the thought.

"The boxes are stuff I bought online. As for those drawings, well, I no longer need them." He shrugged, nudging one of the drawings to the side with his foot. You kneel down to take a better look at it, admiring his use of color and lighting. He truly was a master of his craft. Each brushstroke or swoop of graphite held some kind of emotion or passion. It was remarkable to behold. How could he simply plan to get rid of these?

"They look pretty good. I can help you recycle them free of charge." Your eyes dart up to look at him, offering him a cheeky smile. But his eyes were focused on the boxes surrounding the both of you. "What did you buy?" 

"I don't remember. I was just sketching and waiting for inspiration to come. Every time l trashed a sketch I'm not happy with, I made another purchase." Rafayel began to wade through the maze he had created in his studio, nudging away boxes and old artwork alike. You try to follow him, but between wading, shimmying, and hopping over messes you found yourself slowing down.

"l didn't think great artists would also use online shopping to procrastinate...uh, relieve stress." You correct yourself as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. 

"You look like you're playing hopscotch with your jumping around."

"l don't want to step on your drawings or mess up your clutter. Better safe than sorry when it comes to artists..." You drift off as his eyes narrow.

"What clutter? I'd say you're the one who's messing me up. I'll clear a path for you so that you don't bump into anything." He continued to nudge things away with his foot, before getting impatient and finally picking things up. He moved smaller boxes and illustrations aside, stacking them on top of the bigger boxes to create a small path. At least you could properly see Reddie now as well. You weren't a fan of the tone he took, but given he had admitted to not sleeping recently you let it slide.

"What's wrong? Not feeling well?" You cock your head, approaching him as he paused to take a break.

"It's nothing, just a little dizzy." He pressed his fingers against his forehead, sliding into a proper seated position on the floor. You swiftly join him as he continued. "I waited for inspiration to hit over the past couple of days before you came. Then a sudden idea struck me just now. As a result, both my body and mind struggle to keep up. I feel shaken. It's probably because l'd been waiting for an idea for so long." He sighed wistfully. "I guess it's the price to pay for an epiphany..."

"Leave the pretty descriptions for the reporters." You kneel beside him, looking him over. He did look tired, with deep eyebags. He was a little paler than usual. "When was the last time you ate?"

He hummed in contemplation. "I vaguely remember eating at sunset the day before yesterday."

"What?!" You yelp, jumping up to retrieve your bag of snacks. It wasn't much, but in a food emergency it was better than nothing. "I'm surprised you haven't fainted! You're dizzy because you're starving!" You rummage through the bag, trying to find the perfect thing, but nothing in there was truly nutritious. He just needed something quick.

"I can't feel hunger now. I'm numb." Rafayel continued to act nonchalant, but you finally just shove the bag towards him so he could choose. Something, anything. You didn't need him passing out on you like he did on ebb day. At least you knew you could pick him up if need be. "Take whatever snacks you want from here. My treat." Rafayel peered into the bag, glancing over everything for only a moment before turning his nose up at the whole bag.

"Nothing strikes my fancy."

"I'll get some food delivered then." Fine. At least you can get him something more nutritious this way. You grab your phone but again he looked away, refusing.

"No, I don't want to open the door to strangers." He again turned his nose up at the idea. What has gotten into him today? He was clearly in a mood. No sleep, no food, and probably no water, knowing him. At least that confirms you shouldn't bring up the metacarpal now. You shelf the conversation, sitting down beside him. You tuck your phone away and pull out one of your bags, opening it.

"Ugh... Fine, then watch me eat." You toss one of the little snacks into your mouth. It was a little burst of nostalgia as soon as it hit your tongue, sending you back to your childhood for a brief moment. You could see your old home, getting back after school. Pulling one of these down off the counter for a snack before homework.

"What are you eating? It smells fishy." Rafayel's inquisitive voice brought you back to the present. You snap back to his studio, not your childhood home. 

"Dried shredded cod. Feeling hungry now, huh? Want some?" You offer the bag to him. 

"Not really, I only eat fresh seafood." And again, he turned his nose up. You huff.

"Why are you so picky? Don't knock it till you've tried it! You just need to eat something." He eyed it as if the cod in question had made a horrible insult about his mother. But he reached out. Cautiously, he brought it to his face. He eyed it. Sniffed it. Grimaced. Then ate it.

"Mmph-"

You cock your head, unable to interpret the sound he made or the expression on his face. "Is it good?"

Rafayel grimaced again. "Not at all, it's tasteless and hard. Reminds me of when I used to chew on paper." He stuck out his tongue in disgust. More for you, at least it was something.

"You could've eaten some real food instead of chewing on paper, you know. Hell, you could've called me, we could've grabbed dinner together. Gosh, you do some really strange things when left alone for long periods of time." Rafayel made a strangled sound of surprise at your sudden call out, but he didn't protest as you continued speaking. "l've always liked dried shredded cod. When I was young, a bag of that and a good comic book would keep me occupied for a whole afternoon. Although I later branched out to other tastier snacks, l'd always go back to them whenever I felt nostalgic." You put down the bag, again thinking of your childhood. You remember reading one of the Indiana Jones graphic novels while eating these. You had a love hate relationship with the fictional archaeologist, but he was rather nostalgic. You hear crunching and snap out of it again, finding Rafayel with the stolen snacks.

"Wait, I thought you didn't like them? Why are you eating mine?"

Rafayel shrugged, caught red handed. One hand in the bag and the other supporting it. "I don't know what you were like as a child but I can experience your silliness vicariously through these." He lifted the bag before shoving a handful in his mouth. If he truly hadn't eaten in so long you couldn't be surprised he was eating so much so fast.

"Slow down, no one's going to take them away from you." Rafayel grumbled some wordless complaint, clearly in need of a sip of water. You open your water bottle and hand it to him. "Here, have some water to wash it down." Rafayel grabbed the bottle with one hand and your arm with the other. Clinging to you like you alone can save him from choking to death on the dry fishy snacks. "You're grabbing me so tightly I can't move my hand. Here, hold it yourself." You offer it to him fully, and he releases your hand to hold it with both of his.l

"So thirsty!" He panted as he paused to catch his breath. Sounding like one of those kids drinking water after being outside too long. "Why did my senses come back all of a sudden?"

"Wow, you're really something, huh? You're the one who kept on painting without food or water or sleep... Someone ought to keep a closer eye on you." You lean your head against your knee, watching him as he continued to chug the rest of your water. You'll just wash it and refill it before you leave. "Install an automatic feeder by your side the next time you paint. That way, all you have to do is turn your head, and you won't faint from hunger." You add in a joking tone. You watched him, and for a moment he looked like he was struck with an idea. Lightbulb over his head and all.

"Good idea, or maybe I should just hang a large pastry from my neck, the type that rotates. That way, I won't even need to move my head." He looked like he was joking, but he began to look around the room. "Where's my phone? I'll order one. Although come to think of it, does anyone sell that?" You sit up a bit more as he began to rummage around. No. Is he serious? He can't be.

"You're really gonna buy one?!" You stand up alongside him, glancing around in search of his phone. You move a package to the side, only for him to point at it.

"Now that you mention it, I just remembered there's something inside that package for you." You look up at him in surprise, but he nodded for you to open it. You pull your pocket knife out, flipping it open and cutting the tape. You pull out the bubble wrap and find an odd contraption.

"An octopus with a wooden handle...?" You lift it up and out of the box, turning it over. "It's made of rubber? No wonder it's so light." You hold it up, showing off your new prize in the light. "I'll display this work of art at home and admire it." Rafayel stopped looking around and shook his head.

"No... it's for you to take with you when you go out." You cock your head at him, so he came over. He knelt down beside you, pointing at it. "Look at the strap on the handle. It's wide enough to pull down below your chin. Use it by putting it on your head..." He pulled on the strap to show you what he meant. "Stick the suction cup of the octopus onto the roof of the bus. With this amazing device, you can sleep anywhere standing up." You cock your head further. Unsure how to respond.

"But you'll have to be careful." Rafayel continued. "Don't hang yourself. Pull it down over your chin, not your neck." 

You are silent for a moment. Trying to process what he just said. A shocked laugh escapes you, and you quickly clasp your hand over your mouth. Rafayel turns beet red as he realized what he just said out loud. He quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck as he backpedaled hard.

"I was thinking you would be exhausted after coming back from digs. It would be nice if you could catch up on sleep anywhere. I know the museum isn't that bad but that job is ending soon so-" He caught you looking at him, so he cleared his throat, falling quiet. You pull your hand away, surprisingly endeared by the intention behind the odd gift.

"You want me to sleep? How about buying yourself one to remind you to sleep..." He perked up, interpreting what you said as an affirmation.

"What do you think? Isn't it handy?" 

"Maybe." You put the little octopus in your bag, safely tucking him away to bring home with you. "You're a genius, thinking of things we mere humans can't even imagine." You continue to tease him. "Thank you."

"It's definitely practical, but its aesthetics leave much to be desired." Rafayel picked up the box it came in, looking at the image on the box with another look of distaste. The obnoxiously bright colors clashed. "Hold on, I'll put some color on the tentacles so that it looks more presentable when you take it with you." He extended his hand, so you pulled the octopus right back out before handing it to him. "Of course, if you feel embarrassed, you can wait till the coast is clear before using it."

"Do you mean on the ride back? In that case, this is completely useless. It'll be busy no matter when I head back."

"Okay, then unbox something else. This one's definitely useful." Rafayel waded his way through uncleared boxes, placing the octopus near his paints so he could correct its color palette. While he moved he tapped on one of the boxes. You grab it, looking at it and then him.

"Also for me?" He hummed a yup, his back to you. You again open the box with your knife. "You didn't even have time to eat while painting and yet you remembered to buy stuff for me..." You pull the box open as he responded.

"When I'm hungry or cold, I think of you and I don't feel it anymore." Your head was hidden by the flaps of the box, allowing you to blush in private. You clear your throat, surprisingly flattered.

You laugh, trying to dismiss the compliment with a wave of your hand. "Nonsense. But I'm touched." You rummage through the box, finding an umbrella. You sit up again, pulling it out of the bubble wrap. "This see-through umbrella looks normal enough on one side, but the other side is so long it almost touches the ground. It's not a factory defect, is it?"

"Of course not. I bought it just the way it is." Raf huffed.

You roll your eyes, but look back at him for an explanation. "l don't have the genius necessary to understand this. Please explain how it works."

"I don't use an umbrella when it rains, but you can use it. It extends all the way down to the ground to keep your shoes from getting wet."

"But given the length of it, if I use this, I'll trip over the umbrella... Besides, all my work shoes are waterproof."

Rafayel shrugged, a hint of a smirk crossing his face. "If I can hold it for you, it won't be a problem. This is our umbrella." You could pick up a hint of flirtation in there, so you decide to just be gracious. Besides, you're wondering just how loopy he might be from lack of sleep. Best to just indulge him for the moment.

"Oh, how thoughtful of you. Thanks... Rafayel, I think you can pretty much, uh…" You try to find a more specific compliment, but you're coming up short at the moment.

Rafayel put a hand on his hip. "What, become an umbrella salesman? This isn't even the best item I bought this time. The coolest stuff is still in the box." He crossed the room, patting a larger box. "Come on!" You stand up and join him, knife at the ready. But he already had it open. You peer inside. You close the knife and put it away, surprised to find nothing inside.

"But the boxes are already empty..." Your eyes cut up to him. "I know, the coolest item is you! Rafayel, you wouldn't think of packing yourself in a box, right..." 

"Now, that's a suggestion." He stuck his hand out and ruffled your hair, making you whine as you swat at his hand. "Would you sign for the package if I packed myself in a box and mailed it to you?" You could just picture it. Opening the box only for him to pop out of the box, bubble wrap clinging to his shirt, paper sticking out of his hair, surprising you with that dumb boyish grin or smug smirk. He left the playful question hanging in the air as he pulled out the bubble wrap. His smile widened as he began to lay it out on the precious few spots of clear flooring. It took you a second, but you caught on.

"So you wanted to play with the... bubble wrap?" You watch as he lays it out carefully on the ground, arranging it just right for maximum satisfaction.

"I want to step on it, to be more precise." He clarified. "I specially requested more bubble wrap from the vendor." Since he was already barefoot, he began to walk all over the bubble wrap. The satisfying little pops reminded you of doing the same as a child. "It's fun! You try it!" He took a step back, offering it to you.

"It's okay, I'll watch..." He seemed like he needed this more than you, so you shake your head and remain where you were standing. But that was the wrong answer. Rafayel put his hands on his hips, pouting at your refusal.

"That won't do!" He came over, grabbing your arm and gently guiding you to the bubble wrap.

"Hey, hold on..." You try to protest, but he had already gotten you on the bubble wrap. You look at him, but his pout had shifted to a softer, pleading look. "Fine, fine, I'll give it a go..." You take one step. 

Pop, pop, pop.

He joins you on a separate piece.

Pop, pop, pop.

You take one step, he takes another. You step one way, he steps the other. In an odd way it felt like a dance. You stepped onto his piece, so he stepped onto yours. The popping became your orchestra, and Rafayel your dance partner. The bubble wrap was your dance floor, his crowded studio your ballroom. The stress of the job hunt began to melt away, as you danced and hopped back and forth. The more you relaxed, the happier Rafayel seemed. 

You take another step in your silly dance before pausing to yawn. The urge hit you out of nowhere, so you have only a second to turn and cover it. Rafayel cocked his head.

"For someone who was just scolding me on not sleeping or eating, you don't seem like you've been taking care of yourself, either." He reached out, his thumb caressing the edge of an eye bag with butterfly like tenderness. Just a fleeting sweep. "What's going on?"

You lift your own hand to rub your eyes, feeling a sudden wave of drowsiness. "Just... the job hunt's been hard." You mutter. "Nothing in my field right now, I'm not liking my chances... I've got some savings in case I don't find anything but I just... I'm tired." Rafayel frowned at your confession. His lips turned down, and his eyebrows furrowed. 

"Why didn't you tell me? Silly cutie... Y'know, I could help." He came over to your piece again, wrapping an arm around you. He guided you out of the chaotic part of the studio over to the couch. He sat down, pulling you with him. "You could always work for me."

"Aren't I already?" You lift the charm of your necklace up. The pearl caught in the light, drawing his eyes to it. His features soften further for a moment. He looks back up at your face as you continue, laughing dryly. "I know, just... I'm sure Dr. C mentioned it back on the island. Archaeologists, we have our pride. A lot of us, anyway. Myself included. I'm not opposed to help. I just..." You sigh. "I love my job. And I want to stay in the field. But consistency can be hard if you're not with a specific company. And I just haven't had any luck with being hired by one. And while I do want to honor our agreement..." The metacarpal. The conversation was on the tip of your tongue. But another yawn interrupted you. You shouldn't do this while tired, neither of you would be in the right headspace.

"I'm not offering to just make direct deposits into your account, or pay your rent." Rafayel caught your chin with his finger, gently guiding you to look at him. He cracked a boyish smile. "Though I'd be happy to. You mentioned earlier that someone ought to keep an eye on me... I've been thinking of hiring a bodyguard recently." He used his hand to bring your head down to rest on his shoulder. He adjusted, allowing you to curl up. While he had been the one skipping sleep, you were the one who found yourself growing drowsier by the minute. "I've seen your skills with a knife and a trowel. And when I passed out on ebb day, I woke up on the couch, so I assume you were the one who moved me."

You hum to confirm, yawning for a third time as you settled on him. "Yeah... I haul sandbags all the time... you're longer than one, but not heavy..." He chuckled, leaning in to speak against your ear. 

"Are you saying I'm like a sandbag you can throw around?" He clicked his tongue, but you just smile.

"No... you're nicer to hold." He chuckled again against your ear. You catch a tinge of pink on his face out of the corner of your eye.

"Hm? I am? Well. Maybe I should hire you to be my bodyguard. That way, if someone comes after me, you can carry me all you want. Throw me over your shoulder and carry me to safety." His voice seemed to grow further and further away. And yet, his presence remained constant. You hum something to acknowledge, but everything else just floated away. A soft, comfortable haze settled over you. Safety and comfort enveloped you like a blanket, lulling you to sleep.

The warm rays of a setting sun danced across your face, waking you from your sleep. The angle and position of Rafayel's windows gave him the perfect view of the sun setting into the ocean, but that meant waking up with the sun in your eyes. You roll over, trying to hide from the sun, only to feel something soft covering you. You crack your eyes open, finding that familiar fuzzy blue blanket draped over you. You slowly sit up, the memories of the past few hours trickling back into the forefront of your mind. As you rub the sleep from your eyes you scan the floor. Most of the boxes had been opened and broken down, now stacked neatly in a corner to be reused or recycled. 

You hear the soft scratching of paint bristle on canvas, and turn to face Rafayel. He was laser focused. Entirely in the zone. You shift, adjusting how you were sitting so you could just admire him for a moment. The pure concentration on his face as he painted something. Eyebrows furrowed, mouth held just right, each stroke decisive and controlled. A master at work. His face illuminated by the setting sun, making him glow gold. He looked downright heavenly, divine. Like an angel sent to watch over you.

But he was in the middle of working. You slowly, quietly, take the blanket off. Trying to leave quietly. But it didn't matter how quiet you were. It was as if he could feel the shift in the air when you tried to leave. He looked away from his canvas, giving you his full attention. "Where are you going?" He made no mention of your bed head. No teasing. Just a question. You sigh, caught, and instead fold the blanket.

"It's getting late. The sun is setting. I do need to finish up an application." You drape the blanket on the back of the couch, but Rafayel didn't appear eager to let you go.

"What's the hurry?" His eyes returned to the painting. He gathered a touch more color on his brush, removing the amount necessary before painting with the rest. "I'm almost done painting. Don't you want to see it?" You perk up, padding over to him to look over his shoulder. He adjusts his seating, raising his shoulder to block your line of sight. You see a flash of color but nothing more.

"Already? Of course I do!" You stand on your tiptoes, trying to look. But he moves again.

"I just finished a rough sketch. I haven't really begun yet, so it's not the prettiest." His ears turn pink. You shrug.

"It's okay, even if it were the finished product, I probably wouldn't be able to understand it completely." You admit casually. Your training was in archaeology, not art history or art appreciation. "In any case, it's mainly about the feeling, right? I just gotta trust my gut."

Rafayel turned to properly face you, his eyebrows lifting and lips curling up. "Wow, you could very well be my soulmate." He chuckled, finally turning the canvas around to face you. He was practically glowing with joy that you still remembered what he said in his art appreciation class. As he turned the image towards you, you could make out the sketch of a humanoid figure laying down on a couch. Their head seemingly propped on a pillow, a blue blanket dangling off of their waist and onto the floor. At least that was how you were interpreting the slew of messy lines near the figure. Your eyes dart to the couch you just got up from.

"Are my eyes playing tricks on me? This looks like a person, but it's horizontal..." You start slow, wondering if your assumption was right.

"You're right. It's a person sleeping." Rafayel confirmed. "See, even though this person is hidden under a mess of lines, you were able to clearly tell that they are the focus of the painting." He gestures to the central figure again. More scrawled lines matched the way your hair was sticking up. And the loose lines around the waist seemed to match the way your shirt was riding up when you woke up. You look back at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What's with your use of "this person" and "that person"? That's clearly me in your painting…" You lean in. You could even see the necklace around your neck. It was absolutely a painting of you. "Didn't you say you've never painted people? Why did you secretly paint me?" Your tone lacked any accusation, only interest and surprise. Rafayel shrugged, but the tips of his ears tinged an even deeper pink.

"It just felt right, so why not give it a shot?" A soft laugh fell from your lips at his half hearted excuse. You turn back, catching even more little details in the sketch. "Besides, when I see an image I want to capture on canvas, the inspiration naturally flows. You're just a piece of the whole. Don't feel that this is all about you." He looked away, the blush spreading from the tips of his ears to his cheeks. His denial only egged you on. You lean closer to him, cracking a smirk as he stuck his bottom lip out.

"But you didn't even tell me you were going to do this. I look horrible when I sleep! Look at how messy my hair is, I'm a wreck." His eyes snapped back to you, and the pout vanished.

"Don't judge yourself too harshly." He corrected you, gesturing to you. "There's no such thing as beauty and ugliness in art. But if you're not happy with this, I'll burn it." With anyone else you'd think it was a joke. But he seemed dead serious. Like the thought of painting you in a truly unflattering way offended him personally. "I'll just wait a couple of days and when inspiration strikes, I'll paint something else." You quickly drop the act.

"No way, that's me in the painting! If you're going to burn it, you might as well give it to me..."

"I thought you didn't like it." He cocked his head.

"Well... I'll have another look when you're done painting! Don't you dare destroy it!" You continue to backpedal. This was the first time he had ever drawn you. Painted you. Even though it was still in the sketch stages, it was still so beautiful and intimate. How could you dare ask him to destroy it? Rafayel looked back at his work, tilting his head to look at it from different angles.

"You might have to wait for a few more days. I have high professional standards and will never show off a half-finished art piece."

"l'm not impatient." You confirm. You lean in, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before leaning back. He placed the painting down on his easel, lifting one of his paint clad hands to his cheek, like he was holding the kiss onto his skin a little longer. You fetch your bag and slip on your shoes, flashing him a wide smile over your shoulder. "Go on then, I'm leaving!" You call, hoping to get him to resume his work.

"Bye now! You know the way out!" He called back, giving his painting all his attention. You open the door, and just before you leave you hear him mutter one last thing. "Sheesh, you can't even sleep without tossing and turning. Painting you is hard work…" With an amused and endeared smile, you slip out into the cool evening air, shutting the door behind you.

You had started to see job applications in your dreams. Instead of showing up to school naked, you dreamt of showing up to an interview naked, or of a reference letter speaking poorly of you.

This job hunt was probably one of the worst you had done yet. 

Your eyes were glued to the screen, awaiting the email that would declare your fate. Would you get into the next round, or would you be rejected again? The museum director was baffled, and Dr. C was scratching her head. It wasn't like you weren't qualified. It wasn't like you weren't respected in the field. Just who was your competition? You had two weeks left of the grant at the museum. Time was running out, and fast. You finally manage to pull your eyes from the screen, instead glancing down at your phone. As you've sat, staring at your computer screen on this Saturday afternoon, you were staring at your other screen in your lap. You and Rafayel had been texting back and forth while you waited.

Rafy <3: u can do it, cutie!!!!!

Rafy <3: Any place would be lucky to have u

You: Idk, I'm starting to sweat here

You: Why isn't anyone respondingggggg

You had attached an animated emoji of the little artsy birb crying and kicking his legs. Rafayel followed with the same bird holding a big heart.

Rafy <3: don't cry!!!! it's gunna be ok

Rafy <3: i was serious btw

Rafy <3: u should just work for me

Rafy <3: my cutie as my bodyguard, saving me from the baddies with a trusty trowel

You: That's not how this would work, Rafayel

You: Besides, I want to work in my field

Rafy <3: i know, i know

Rafy <3: don't write me off, lemme help

Rafy <3: come with me to my next gallery!!! it'll be a test run.

That was his last message to you, early this morning. You couldn't help yourself, you were grinning from ear to ear. His offer was likely genuine, and you knew that. He wanted to help. He was plenty rich enough to support you, but you didn't want to give up the life of adventure. Even if said adventure had its downsides, like maggot eggs in an improperly stored toothbrush, tick checks, pressure headaches underwater, and equipment throwing tantrums. 

At least the tick thing wasn't as much of an issue when diving. 

Ding!

You finally got the email. Another underwater excavation, this time in another country. It was a shot in the dark, but you were qualified. Your heart pounded as you opened the email, crossing your fingers. Only to find those words you despise.

We regret to inform you.

"FUCK!" You groan, throwing your head back. You'd read the rest of the email in a second, you just needed to pout and grumble for a minute. Maybe Rafayel was rubbing off on you in that way. You rub your face, groaning angrily as your phone began to vibrate in your lap. That familiar soothing song accompanied it. 

"If every man says all he can If every man is true Do I believe the sky above Is Caribbean blue?"

If every man is true. Yeah, right. You still needed to talk to Rafayel about the whole metacarpal thing. Finding the right time was harder than you thought it would be. You didn't want to talk to him about something this big while he was in a bad mood, and you didn't want to talk to him while you were so anxious, either. You knew it would be better to get it over with. You knew it. But tact was the name of the game. The rejection was putting you in a sour mood, but you figured talking to him about it tomorrow would be best. You immediately accept the call, still fighting a scowl as the comforting voice of your boyfriend filtered through.

"Hey, cutie. Whatcha doing?" He was casual, just asking you what you were up to. You could hear cars in the background, and foot traffic. He was out and about. Good for him.

"Fighting off a headache after this latest rejection. I swear, if I see one more 'we regret to inform you' I'm actually going to make them regret it." You grumble, rubbing your face with your free hand. Rafayel clicked his tongue on the other side of the line.

"Sorry to hear that. They don't know what they're missing out on. You're one of the best out there."

"You're only saying that cause I'm one of the two archaeologists you know."

"Plus you're my cutie, but the point still stands." He teasingly agreed with you. "But hey, that means you really should consider my offer. Come with me to my next exhibition as my bodyguard. I'll pay you for your work. Just wear a suit, roll up your sleeves, and scowl. That should scare enough people off alone."

"Ha ha." You shake your head, already picturing yourself beside him looking like that. "I might take you up on that, though. I'm running out of time."

"Oh, speaking of time." Rafayel changed the subject. "You got a minute? I know you don't have to rush off to work."

"Yeah, I do have time. What's up?"

"I'm at the hospital."

You sit up straight, nearly throwing your phone with how fast you moved. "What?! Why didn't you open with that?! Akso? Why, what happened?" You grab your shoes and shove them on, not even bothering to grab anything other than your keys. 

"Woah, slow down, I'm okay." Rafayel chuckled. He must be thoroughly amused by your distress. "I'm fine, seriously. My eyes were acting weird recently, and then I ended up losing my vision. I'm at Akso, yeah, saw a doctor. Just waiting in the garden for someone to pick me up."

"Okay, give me a few minutes, okay?" You flew down the stairs, skipping steps so you could get there faster. "Stay on the line with me until I get there?"

"Nahh." You could practically hear his smirk. "I'd like to enjoy some quiet before you keep fussing over me. I'll see you in a few." Before you could even respond he hung up. If he wasn't so pretty he'd be pretty annoying. Lucky for you the hospital was within walking distance. 

It was a beautiful day. Sunny and warm, but a crisp breeze cooled the streets down. Children laughing, people talking. The kind of day for ice cream and games. The kind of day to take a leisurely walk. Not an emergency run to the hospital. While not outright sprinting, you were beginning to lean into more of a jog. Blind. Rafayel is blind. Is this a new thing? He was surprisingly calm about it. Has this happened before? A hundred questions flooded your mind, drowning any worry about jobs.

You slowed as you approached the hospital. You transition to a fast walk, scanning the entryways of the hospital, before finding the side garden where Rafayel was waiting. He was sitting on a bench under a shady tree, staring off into the distance with a contented smile on his face. At least he didn't appear to be uncomfortable. As your footsteps reverberated on the cobblestone path, he turned to face your direction. You lean down, gently waving a hand over his eyes. His hand shot out, catching your wrist while he cracked a cheeky smile.

"I'm just temporarily blind, you know? I'm not deaf and my other senses are working." He teased you. But you had a one track mind at the moment.

"What did the doctor say?" You lean down, trying to get a good look at his eyes. While unfocused, nothing seemed obvious to you. No clear wound or gash to explain the sudden blindness. Rafayel shrugged.

"Said it's not too bad. Two days of rest should do it."

"Really?" You cock your head, leaning back. He released your wrist. He couldn't see it, but you crossed your arms over your chest. Scrutinizing him. "You aren't hiding anything from me, are you?"

"What do I have to hide?" He cocked his head. "That I'm terminally ill and plan to die alone, and my last wish is to see you one more time?" You shuddered at the morbid thought.

"Ugh, don't jinx it."

Rafayel stands up and extends his arm, showing me a bag swinging from his finger. You reach out and take it, before peering inside.

"My doctor wrote down how and when to take these medications on my prescription. Told me to have my family member read it for me." You peek back up, raising an eyebrow. You remember he can't see your nonverbal confusion and clear your throat. 

"Family member? Nevermind. I'll read it once we get back." You decide against asking him to explain his reasoning, and instead slide the bag onto your arm. Rafayel holds out his hand expectantly, looking in your general direction. "Huh?"

"I can't see. Aren't you going to hold my hand and guide me?" He smiled again, holding his hand out a bit more insistently. You can't stop a sigh. But you can't stop your hand from finding his, either. He linked his fingers with yours. His calloused hands a match with yours. Callouses from trowels and shovels, callouses from paintbrushes and the handle of a dagger. You give his hand a squeeze.

"How did you get here? Call a cab?" You begin to guide him out of the garden area, but it appeared he didn't really need your help. As you walked he fell in stride beside you, perfectly capable on his own. His footfalls were experienced. 

Rafayel shrugged a single shoulder, pressing his lips into a thin line for a split second. "I just called a cab and told the driver to drive me here. After getting out of the cab, I caught hold of a kind passerby, told him I couldn't see, and had him take me to the ophthalmology department."

"Why didn't you call me for help?"

Rafayel tilts his head slightly, a slightly baffled look on his face. He seemed genuinely confused as to why he would ask for your help. "Maybe... I just didn't want you to freak out and annoy the doctors with your screaming." While it was clearly said in jest, it was just as clear he was dodging the question.

"Rafayelllll..." You drawl his name in a warning tone, trying to nudge him to tell you the truth. It only made him chuckle. Not this time. He threw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side while you walked. 

"Take me home. I'm tired." You roll your eyes at his demand, but oblige.

"Oh but of course, your highness." You could give as good as you get. He sassed you, you sassed right back. It prompted another chuckle from the man by your side.

"Your highness. Kinda like that. But maybe something more regal would be fitting, like your quintessence, or something." You scoff a laugh right back.

"In your dreams, fish boy. Maybe I should just start calling you princess. You act like one." Rafayel gasped in fake indignation, putting his free hand to his chest. 

"You wound me! My beloved, cruelly insulting me while I am blind!"

"Bet you're glad it's your eyes and not your tongue, huh?"

"Nah. I could complain in sign language if I needed to."

There's a break in your teasing. You sneak a glance at him, and find him biting his lower lip. Suppressing a giggle. Just seeing him like that made you crack first. But he wasn't far behind. The rest of the walk to his home was full of giggles and teasing. A welcome reprieve from the tenseness you'd been dealing with for this entire job search. It was a much longer walk to Rafayel's home and studio than a bus ride, but on such a pleasant day it was doable. Especially with good company and laughter.

As you arrive at Rafayel's home, he let you both in. In the safety and privacy of his studio you finally manage to ask the real question on your mind. You both take your shoes off, Rafayel returning to his preferred barefoot nature. He walked further into his home, dodging and moving around various tables and items scattered on the floor with ease. He was so used to his own organized chaos he could navigate it blind. "Hey," you follow him, calling for his attention. "How did you suddenly become blind? Has this happened before?" Rafayel shrugged, making his way to Reddie's tank. You follow, bending over to admire the red flammula. 

"Pulled one too many late-nighters. It's pretty normal." He spoke dismissively, sprinkling some food into the water. Reddie darted up, immediately gathering the food, flicking between flakes.

"Normal? How long did you stay up?"

"Two days."

You drop your jaw. While it was normal for him, you couldn't believe he was still doing this after what happened last time. You sigh, closing your mouth. "And what did you work so hard on?" You rub your temples, only to pause as Rafayel grabbed a cup off a nearby table. He paused, sniffed it, then picked up the other cup.

"Over there." Rafayel raises his cup in the direction of a canvas on the other side of the bar table. You glance at the cup he put down and noticed it was full of paint water. Glad he sniffed it first... But you follow where he originally pointed. Finding a canvas with chaotic colors. It was a confused painting, the colors and swoops instilling a sense of fear and chaos in you. It was beautiful. 

"I know you want to work while the inspiration is hot, but you really shouldn't ignore sleep." You turn back to face him. He was sipping on his water, but paused when you addressed him. He shrugged, making a face that implied disagreement. You glance down at the table and find a stack of medical papers. Raf must've been looking at his own eye health records when his eyes started acting up. You flip a page as he began to speak. 

"Nah, quite the opposite. I haven't found any inspiration for this piece. It's been two days and I've made no real progress." He frowned. "No wonder why I haven't been able to get the color I want. My eyes weren't working right." Rafayel touches his eyes, his fingers ghosting over his eyelashes, then the skin of his eyelids. You move closer to him, reaching a hand out. He paused, his eyes widening as he felt your presence, but then he relaxed again. He took your hand, gently guiding it to his eyes. He allowed you to do the same, tracing the ridges along his face, his eyelids, his eyebrows. "My eye doctor said it's likely going to happen again, and worst-case scenario I could lose my sight forever." With your free hand you snatch your phone out of your pocket, hurriedly typing this information into a search bar. There were multiple typos as you typed with one hand, but you were more worried about looking at the likelihood of him going blind permanently.

"Are you searching my symptoms online?" You nearly drop your phone as Rafayel calls you out. You look up, finding him tilting his head in that characteristic way. "I heard you flipping through my medical records." He added. You turn a deep red, suddenly realizing you may have crossed a boundary. You open your mouth to apologize, but instead he pulls you closer, putting his chin on your shoulder. "Well, what does it say?" You look back down at the results. But everything is sensationalized. Instead of the summary and abstract of medical papers, you were finding worst case scenarios. You shake your head.

"You should get plenty of rest, take your medication on time, and follow the doctor's orders. Then everything should be fine in two weeks, give or take." Rafayel raises an eyebrow, dissatisfied with your ambiguity. He lets go of you, turning to walk away. He extends his hand to you passively while walking in the direction of the kitchen. You try to follow but he trips on the rug, staggering before regaining his balance. You scamper after him, but he seem overall unbothered. He uses his hand to feel around before finally reaching the refrigerator.

"I'll treat you to steak. How about it?" He flashed a smile, reaching in and feeling around for the container. You watch as he pulls it out. You felt a little relieved he had an appetite.

"Wow, someone is being generous. Let me guess. You want me to cook it for you." You cross your arms, leaning on the wall as you watch him. He set the steak out, his smile widening into a cheeky look.

"Well, isn't that part of your responsibility as my bodyguard?"

"Raf, we haven't confirmed that yet." You sigh.

"Well. What you're doing now kinda counts as bodyguard work. You picked me up and escorted me home, and now you're overseeing my meal." He shrugged, his smile firmly in place.

"Rafayel, seriously." You approach him again. You kept a firm tone, showing you weren't in the mood for jokes. "I really appreciate the offer, and I do want to do a test run, but I want to work in my field." Rafayel put down the food, turning to face you. His eyes didn't lock on your face, but you watched them anyway. His eyebrows furrowed, and a shadow was cast over his eyes.

"I know. I know, you want to work in your field, I know you have your pride. But for whatever reason, things aren't going your way right now. I was serious about my offer, you know. I don't want you to lose your apartment or anything." He clarified his offer. "Listen. It'll just be part time, when you're in town. If you don't want me to just give you money for these things then let me hire you instead. Plus, you can put it on your resume. Only two people know of our relationship. My aunt and Dr. C. It's not like any future employers are gonna grill you on working for your boyfriend." 

You opened your mouth, wanting to deny him again, but he had a point. You shake your head. No, you shouldn't. But you were really having some bad luck right now... It'll be something to hold you over between jobs.

"We'll keep things flexible, and it won't impact our relationship. Right?"

"Right." He smiled again, his eyebrows shooting up and the shadow vanishing. "Good. Good! This'll be our celebration dinner, then. I have a nice red wine here. Let's celebrate. To a new job."

You had ended up doing a majority of the cooking due to his condition, but he prepped seasonings, got down plates, and prepared the wine. He wanted to help clean up but you dismissed him to go ahead and get ready for bed. He ought to go straight to sleep after staying up for two days straight. As you finish washing the last of the dishes, you start to contemplate whether I should stay the night to make sure he's all right. It wouldn't be the first time, you'd done the same back on ebb day. You set down the wine glass you just dried before padding off to his bedroom. You poke your head in, opening your mouth to ask if he'd like that, as you notice how he is lying down.

Rafayel is lying on his bed haphazardly, already fast asleep. An open tube of eye ointment is left on the nightstand. He's lying on his side, in the fetal position. The tips of his wavy hair cover his eyelashes. In his hands is an open picture book, his fingers still on the page. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he seems to be slightly uncomfortable.

Your eyebrows furrow in a silent, sympathetic grimace. You tiptoe to his side, silently and carefully pulling up the blanket to tuck him in. "Oh, Rafayel..." You murmur, tenderly pushing some hair off of his forehead. The momentary touch soothes him. His face relaxes, his lips parting just slightly as he falls into a deeper, more peaceful sleep. Just being by his side seemed to put him at ease.  You'll stay until he wakes up, then discuss what this will mean moving forward. It wouldn't be the first time. You go and sit on the lounge chair by the window. There was a book left on the floor, so you pick it up and skim it. The ocean was a soothing presence, pushing and pulling against the shore as you read the book. It wasn't anything of interest, really. You put it in your lap, lips pressed together. You weren't exactly tired yet. Your eyes slowly scanned over the room, taking in the various things in the chaos. Art supplies, clothes thrown on the floor, books all over the place. 

Interestingly, you found the box of the necklace he had given you on his bedside table. You had forgotten about it. The paper that fell out of the box when you opened it suddenly came back to your mind. In all the chaos you had never seen what it said. You stand up, creeping over. The piece of paper was tucked inside, so you pulled it out. As you open it you find his neat handwriting scrawling out two phrases. One in the Lemurian alphabet, and one in your alphabet. 

"Bul-bulshee..." You murmur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to read it. 

Wait. It hit you. Your eyebrows shoot up. It was what he said to you in Lemurian in Verona! Now that you had a proper spelling, you scurried back to your seat. You pull out your phone and find the digitized version of the Lemurian language book. You knew it wasn't the most accurate thing in the world. But it was better than nothing. You flip and scan through the pages. Before landing on the term. The author of the book went on to explain. 

"It is a phrase used so common it became its own word. Reminiscent of the Spanish "Soy tuyo," it meant something similar. Instead of saying I am yours, the Lemurian phrase meant "You are mine." While this may seem possessive or a proclamation of ownership, it is more likely a phrase of belonging and devotion. You are mine, meaning you are a part of me, I love you, you belong by my side."

The meaning made you smile. You'd need to confirm with Rafayel, but it made your heart flutter. A sign of great affection. Belonging, devotion. You lift your free hand, thumb caressing the charm of the necklace as you continue to analyze the phrase. You take a screenshot and save it on your phone. 

Just after you do so, a text appears on your screen. Jason from the Verona excavation. You tap on it, switching to your messages to look at what he had to say. You scan over his message silently before freezing. A job.

You sit up straighter, rereading the message from top to bottom to make sure you weren't misunderstanding. Jason had been invited by the company than sponsored the excavation to a conference to present the research. And the company was paying for everything, including his time. He had originally invited one of the others to the conference, but she had to drop out due to a familial emergency. The company was willing to pay one of his other colleagues to come and take her place, to help run the panel.

It wouldn't be much pay, but it would cover transportation, lodging, food, and your time. Plus, it would be a great opportunity to network and see if you could get a job from the conference. Other attendees may be looking for workers. Or maybe you could write another article for someone. The possibilities were endless. You reread the dates and add it to your phone, grinning as you text him back to accept. It wouldn't be until a couple months out, but it was better than nothing! You could do a trial run with Rafayel in the meantime.

You lean back in your seat again. Relief flooding you. It wasn't permanent, but it was something lined up. Progress was progress, no matter how small. You turn off your phone and take a deep breath. The waves just outside seemed to grow louder, and as you rested your head on the back of the chair the excitement from the text drained into pure relief. The tension you had been holding for so long began to ease, and combined with the ocean and Rafayel's steady breathing, you found yourself slowly drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

As you wake, the sun in your eyes alerts you to the time. It must be early morning. The bright light illuminates Rafayel's room, bathing everything in an ethereal glow. If it weren't so messy it would be especially pretty. You blink, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you take it all in. Your eyes fall on the empty bed. You slowly stand up, stretching out your sore muscles. This is the third time you've slept at his place, all three times accidental. You really need to start making these sleepovers official. You pad out to his studio, trying to be quiet. His back was to you, sitting at his easel as he worked on the painting he had pointed at the day before. He paused his brushstroke as he heard you enter, before turning to face your direction.

"Oh, did I accidentally wake you up? I can't help it. Inspiration usually hits me at night." He shrugs sheepishly, offering a half apologetic smile. you look outside at the shining sun. He must think it's still night time. You were grateful he got a long overdue night of sleep. You approach, watching him. Even without his sight he seemed to be working along just fine. He's adapted to this. It makes you wonder how often this may have happened to him. You follow his fingers as he trails them along the canvas, using them to gauge where to put the paint. Once he was satisfied of where he was he but down his brush, applying those practiced strokes with ease. 

"Painting at this hour is a very "you" thing to do." You lean against the wall to watch him. It was always a treat to watch him work, honestly. The focus. The passion. The drive. In your time of knowing him you had gotten pretty good at identifying when he was passionate about a painting. A painting made for a deadline and a painting made out of passion were leagues apart. The untrained eye would call them both masterpieces, but you knew better. Rafayel gestures to the palette he put on the floor, bringing your attention back to the present. 

"Since you're awake, come lend me a hand." You stand upright and approach him, kneeling down to pick up the palette. "I can't see, so I need someone to mix the colors for me. First, I'm looking for a dark cobalt blue, the kind that resembles the color of my marble floor. Blend cerulean blue into black, and if it looks too dark, add a bit of zinc white." You look around, finding the tubes of paint. While some were store bought, others were stored in containers he had labeled. They must be the ones he makes himself.

"I'll try." You shrug, gathering the colors he specified. You sit on the floor beside him, measuring out the globs of paint before mixing them together. You glanced at the floor as a reference, trying to get as close as possible. It took some back and forth. A little too much white the first time, then too much black. But you balanced it and got it as close as you could. You added it to his palette, and he gave you the next one.

"Next, I'm looking for deep emerald green.Think of a lake shimmering under sunlight. Mix a generous amount of ultramarine, some sap green, and a dab of Indian yellow..."

"Wait a minute." You instruct, standing up to hunt the containers of the paint down. "What do you mean by "a generous amount"? How much paint am I supposed to add? Can't you be more precise? Give me measurements." 

"I can't. There's no such thing as precision in art." He shrugged. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself you're helping him.

"So what if I mess up and ruin your painting?" Archaeology required precision. Calculations. There was some room for error, sure, but you cannot go back if something goes wrong. A nonrenewable resource needed to be treated with case and precision. He interrupts your thoughts, reaching out for you. Feeling around in the air before tapping your forehead, cheeks, and lips.

"Just like you, colors have emotions too." His eyes glistened as he explained. "When you're happy, your eyes have a warm glow. When you're being stubborn, you clench your fists so hard they turn red. l can't see those colors now, but I can feel them with my heart..." His hand trailed up, tapping the ridge of your brow. Then down your arm, tapping your hand. He stands up in the warm sunlight, a gentle smile on his face. His finger carefully traces the shape of my eyes in the air. "For example, I think now you must have..." He touched his palette, before moving fast. "Your face covered in paint!"

You gasp, ducking away. "Rafayel!" You protest, but fight back. You gather some of the blue you had just mixed, trying to smear it on his face. but he had anticipated your return assault.

"I won't give you the chance." With his long arms he blocked your attack to dab even more paint on you. You don't hold back, gathering multiple colors to smear on his face, neck, and hands. He managed to get you in return, streaking paint into your hair, on your face, and shoulders. You couldn't help but laugh at the onslaught, trying to swat his hands away, but he only manages to outmaneuver you with surprising speed and agility. If this was an actual fight he would've gotten you in seconds. 

But it was a paint fight, not a real fight.

You manage to catch his hands in yours, grinning up at him between fits of laughter. "Do you yield?" Rafayel laughs back, breaking free and dabbing more paint on your nose before catching your own wrist. 

"Do YOU yield?" He fired back, grinning cheekily as he tried to smear more paint on your face. You can only get out muffled protests as he keeps getting more and more on your face. He finally stops, looking in the direction of the window before turning back to you. He frowns. "Guess it's not really midnight now, is it? You wouldn't be talking this loudly if it were." You smile sheepishly, shrugging. He couldn't see your reaction, but he seemed to know what it was. He exhaled, letting go of you. In spite of the mess on both of you he trailed his hands down your back. Finding your lower back, he gently pulled you closer. "If I lose my sight one day, I'll be counting on you to see the world for me.  So it doesn't matter if you can't get the exact color. I choose to trust your eyes." 

The sudden proclamation made your eyes widen. You look over his shoulder in surprise, hands hovering over him. Not hugging him back just yet. He's choosing to trust you. 

Yeah, right.

Memories of the metacarpal flood your mind. You open your mouth, ready to start the conversation. He claims to trust you, but he certainly didn't then. But you falter. He's blind, and he was just incredibly vulnerable with you. Now is not the time. The early morning sun covers him like a veil, draping him in both beauty and mystery. There was still so much you didn't know, didn't understand. You finally hug him back, holding him tight. He hugs you just as tight. As you feel the necklace pressing between you two, a brief moment of peace washes over you. Tomorrow. The next time you see him, once he's healed. Or at least on his way. 

Rafayel finally pulls back, gently holding your arms. He cocks his head and cracks a smile. "Hey, there's still work to be done. Let's get going." Rafayel lets go of you, returning to his canvas. He picks up his paintbrush and points to a shade of purple he had pre mixed. "Next, a rich shade of purple. The color of wild pansies."

"I better receive payment for this, or be credited as an assistant." You joke, gathering the colors required to mix the specific, rich shade of purple he required. He chuckled.

"Oh, so it's official? You're gonna let me pay you?"

"Might as well. Good news, though, I got invited to host a panel at a conference in Verona. I have some time before then, so we can trial run, and see how we like the arrangement." He turns towards the sound of your voice, his smile widening.

"Yeah, that is good news! See, I told you, cutie, everything is gonna work out. Now come on, chop chop, I'll pay you for all your help once this painting is done." He picked up his palette, extending it to you. "So chop, chop. Let's finish this."

A few weeks later, this painting is put on display. The art gallery is crowded, and Thomas is on loud nine as he flits about. You adjust the sleeves on your nice dress shirt, rolling them up as you stand in front of the painting. The colors are vibrant and beautiful, but evoke that same sense of loss and chaos. Your eyes trail to the name.

"Abyss? It's a colorful painting. Why did you name it that?" You look at him from the corners of your eyes. Rafayel keeps his gaze on the painting. His lips curl up, but there's no humor in his eyes. His eyesight has returned, but the doctors warned him to keep an eye on his sleeping habits. Who knew when his next lack of eyesight might become permanent?

"Perhaps it's because darkness was all that I could see while painting it. Perhaps once you see the darkness, you can never unsee it." The tone in his voice harbored a deep pain. You turn your head. In all of the chaos of the room, your attention zeroes in on Rafayel. Everyone and everything else fades away. 

He wasn't talking about the painting. 

He wasn't talking about the blindness.

There was something deeper here.

"l don't believe that." You murmur. You lift your hand, gently hovering it over his cheek. He looks down at your fingers. He leans into them immediately, so you gently stroke his cheek as he does so. "Once you've seen color, it will forever be etched in your memory." Rafayel lifts his hand and slowly moves his finger from one side of your face to the other, keeping it inches away from your eyes. There's a moment when his finger blocks your sight, and when our eyes meet once again, he smiles at you.

"Well, let's head out there and see the world together." He slipped his fingers into yours, interlocking your hands. With his free hand he lifted the pearl charm from your collarbone to his lips. 

"Thomas is gonna kill us." You whisper, already heading towards the doors. He smiles a little wider.

"I only have you for a few more weeks before you're out of town again. Let's enjoy our time and see the colors of the world. Together."

Your formal shoes clack along the cobblestone paths, a piece of the symphony conducted around you. The salty breeze, the scent of baked goods and espresso hung in the air. Jason kept talking as you two walked together, muttering details to himself as he prepared. You two were lucky to be put up in a hotel near the conference venue. It was in the old quarters, the older, quieter part of the sprawling city. Contrary to the bright lights and whirring automation of Linkon, old Verona had a charm of its own. Rich with history. 

And filled with people one person off from you.

You could feel it in the air. Lingering stares. People watching you from the corners of their eyes. Not Ever agents, no. Likely people who knew Rafayel. The stares were heavy. But not hostile. Wary, more like it. You shake the feeling off, instead focusing back in. Jason was still droning on. You could do this panel in your sleep by this point. 

"Jason, we're gonna be fine. The panel is first thing in the morning, we've been practicing every day since we got here." You chide him, nudging his rib with your elbow. He snaps out of it. But he doesn't really focus on what you have to say.

"I know, I know." He dismisses you with a raspberry. "I just want to make this work, y'know? It's hard to find companies that'll sponsor excavations like these right now. The better this goes, the more likely they are to reinvest."

"I get it, I do. I was in the middle of a job hunt when you texted me." You shrug. "I've got something on the side, but I want to stay in the field."

"Hey, something is better than nothing. And you know I'd always be down to be a reference." Jason nudged you back. "We look out for our own."

A shop owner briefly made eye contact with you. She held your gaze, for only a second, before vanishing into her store. Her eyes were a rich, vibrant pink.

"Yeah." You murmur, your eyes trailing after her. "We look out for our own." Jason looks at you from the sides of his eyes. He caught your tone, but didn't press. Your phone began to vibrate in your pocket so you reach for it, holding up a finger. "Oh, hold on." It was on silent for the conference. So it was the profile picture of Rafayel making a face at Reddie that revealed the caller. You immediately smile, answering the call and holding the phone to your ear. "Hey, baby."

"Hey to you too, cutie. How's my little professional doing?" His tone was light and playful, clearly revealing his good mood.

"Doing okay. Jason and I are heading back to the hotel now."

"Sweet. So, when are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Huh?" You furrowed your eyebrows, confusion in your tone and on your face. "No, the panel is tomorrow. I texted you about it, there was a slip up so they made us switch our panel times with someone else. I won't be leaving until the day after."

"Wait." His voice sharpened. "When did that happen?"

"At the start of the conference. I texted you, remember?" You raise an eyebrow. There was shuffling on his end, the sound of him touching his phone as he navigated to your text chain. Rafayel immediately huffed. He must've just found it.

"Damn it." He grumbled. "So... you won't be my plus one to the event?" Your heart sinks as you suddenly remember what he meant by that. You were supposed to leave early in the morning to make it home in time for an event. You sigh.

"Yeah, I'm sorry." You apologize. "Neither of us knew this would happen. Tell Thomas I'm sorry, too."

"Yeah, yeah." And just like that, Rafayel's good mood was in shambles. You could hear it. Practically feel it over the phone.

"Hey, let me make it up to you?" You offer with a sheepish smile. "Let me take you out when I get home. Picnic date? My treat."

"I dunno. Need to look at my schedule." You grimace. Oh he is NOT happy. "I'll get back to you on that. Hope the panel goes well, text me when you're on your way home."

"I will." You confirm. The words, those three words, hover over the tip of your tongue. But those words felt empty right now. He wouldn't accept them, anyway. "Take care of yourself." You opt for four words with a similar meaning, instead. Rafayel hums in response before hanging up. You look at his profile picture again in your phone. A heavy, deep frown etched on your face. 

"Hey," Jason nudged you again, shocking you out of it. His eyes wide with concern. "That didn't sound good. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just... I was supposed to do something with my partner tomorrow but because of the panel I'll have to miss it." You tuck your phone away. "He's really unhappy about it."

"It's not your fault, the organizers kinda just shoved that change on us." Jason shrugged. "He knows that, right?"

"Yeah, he does, he's just frustrated. So am I."

"I get it, relationships are tricky. He's allowed to be frustrated and disappointed, but he shouldn't make you feel like it's your fault." Jason held up his hand, showing off a wedding band. "My wife and I have had our fair share of fights about that exact thing. Five years into our marriage and we're still figuring things out."

You bite your lip. The topic of fights brought the topic of the metacarpal back to mind. You looked between his wedding band and your own necklace. The one you still wore proudly over your business formal top. You lick your lips. "Hey, Jason? Could... could you give me some relationship advice?"

"Sure. Hit me." He kept walking alongside you, taking a leisurely pace along the road. You take a deep breath. Trying to decide what to include and what to leave out.

"So." You start slow. "There's this... thing, my boyfriend did a while back. It wasn't a bad thing. But it was something that could've gotten me in a lot of trouble. He had good intentions, and it worked out in the end, but it was a really big deal. He did it behind my back, too, and I had to catch him doing it." You explain slowly, remaining vague. Mentioning thievery would require a police report, and you don't know Jason well enough to trust him to keep his mouth shut otherwise. "I'm frustrated. And the worst thing is he did the right thing the wrong way, at least to me. It's complicated." You run your fingers through your hair, looking off in the distance towards the ocean. 

"I need to talk to him about it, and I know I should sooner rather than later, but every time I make time to approach him something happens to him. For example, he was at a funeral the first time. And I mean, yeah, sure, I'd be such a great partner by confronting him during a FUNERAL. So I decided to wait. Then, he hadn't slept for two or three days and we hadn't touched base in a while anyway. And the next time he was just getting out of the hospital. He's okay, but those aren't the best times to have a heavy conversation." You rub your hands down your face. Jason beside you is slowly nodding his head.

"Okay, I'm lacking details, but I see your issue." He agreed. "I think we're on the same page. Yes, this needs to be a sooner rather than later conversation, but tact is the name of the game. You aren't responsible for his reaction, but time and place are important, sure. Funeral? Yeah, good call. Exhaustion? Hospital visit? Definitely agreed." He hummed, looking away to think for a moment. "I know everyone hates the 'we need to talk' thing. It just makes everyone more anxious in the long run. But I think this is a situation that calls for it. How long has this been going on?"

"The inciting incident was the day we got back from the excavation."

Jason blinked. "Wow. Damn, yeah, this is overdue. And he's been dealing with all of that? Phew, yeah, I see your issue." He hummed again, rubbing his chin. "I think you need to tell him that you're not angry with him, and that you need to talk about it. Assure him it took you this long to mention it because of everything going on. If he's decently smart he'll see your logic, even if he doesn't agree. Talk to him asap. Like, the day after you get home from the panel."

"Ughhhh." You groan, rubbing your face. "He's busy, sometimes he's hard to pin down."

"Again, I think this might call for a 'we need to talk' moment. Make him build time for this conversation. In his defense, he can't build time for it if he doesn't realize it's a necessary conversation to begin with." Jason said. "Listen, it's not easy, but it definitely sounds like you really care for the guy." You lift your hand, your thumb caressing the charm. Jason's eyes followed the movement. "He gave that to you, didn't he?"

"Yeah." You smile. "Made it himself, too."

"He's quite crafty then, isn't he?" Jason smiled. "What a labor of love. Listen. If he really likes you, while he might be frustrated of defensive, he'll hear you out. Just be upfront, and stop waiting for the perfect time. Let him know something is up so you two can make time." You slowly nod your head. He was right, it was a very fair point. It's time to stop waiting for the perfect time.

Your hotel was just up ahead. But as you look a little further, towards the cliff off the beach, you suddenly recall the gloriosa lilies Rafayel got for you that same night. It was a sweet gesture. Men don't get flowers enough. It wouldn't be enough to make up for missing the event, but you figured a heartfelt gift to show you were thinking of him would be a lovely gesture in return. "You go on ahead, I'm gonna swing by the beach for a minute." 

"Hey, before you do," Jason stopped you before you could head off. He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, before pulling a ticket out. "My wife actually decided to come up here and join me after the conference. We got a different hotel room for a little vacation. She surprised me yesterday. So I have a ticket home, first thing after our panel." He extended it to you. "I figured it would probably be too tight a turnaround. But maybe you could make it work. Think this might be enough to get you home in time for that event?" You accept the ticket with wide eyes. You look at the departure and arrival times, but it just wasn't enough. But, it would get you home shortly before the event ended. Enough time to go straight to his place. 

You look up, mouth hanging open. "Jason, are you sure?"

"We look after our own." He ruffled your hair, a teasing grin on his face. "We're few and far between. Go and settle this with your boyfriend, it'll take a load off your shoulders. I'll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early! Don't stay up too late." He went off towards the hotel, saluting you with two fingers in farewell. You look down at the ticket once more, eyes glistening. You'll need to pack ASAP, so you can go straight from the conference to the port. Security will be a bitch. But it'll be worth it. Your phone was burning a hole in your pocket. Jason really had a point, you ought to alert Rafayel asap that you two needed to talk. But those were the dreaded words. You decide to leave your return a surprise, hoping to pleasantly surprise him after the event. He might be exhausted so you can just offer to come over for breakfast, then have a heart to heart over good food. Plus, you can present him with some flowers he likely hasn't seen in a while. 

With a determined smile, you head off towards the cliffs. It's time to put this to bed. The cobblestone path gave way to sand, amd the wind whipped your hair and clothes as you approached the flowers on the sandy beach. They were unique, unlike anything you had ever seen. They were beautiful. And with how they popped up in the sparse patches of grass, it was clear they would occasionally be underwater. Kissed by the ocean. 

This would be your first gift for Rafayel since getting into a relationship with him. The anxiety and nerves of the impending conversation mixed with the excitement of this surprise. Admittedly, you couldn't surprise him with anything fancy. But a bouquet of flowers would be nice either way. You begin to gather the flowers, careful as you pick which ones. You didn't want to take too many, or impact the biodiversity in any way. Leave no trace means just that, leave no trace. But these flowers were plentiful, and unlike other things in town, there was no signage telling you you couldn't do this.

You gather a few, just enough to tie together with some twine. Maybe pick up some other flowers to make a proper bouquet with when you get back. You admire the handful you've gathered as footsteps approach behind you. You turn, unsurprised since it's a public beach, before looking surprised. A man stood before you. Maybe in his mid thirties. Tall, clean shaven, put together. His appearance was unlike that of townsfolk from the old quarter. No, he was from the more modern area in Verona. He cleared his throat, offering you his hand.

"I'm sorry, I hope I didn't scare you. I'm Louis, I reached out to you by email a while back, I don't know if you ever received it. You're one of Dr. Capek's students, aren't you?"

"An old student of hers, yes." You warily accept his hand, politely shaking it before dropping it. "No, you didn't scare me. But you really shouldn't sneak up on people."

"I'm a private investigator, being sneaky is in the job description." He gestured to the sand beside you. "Mind if I sit down?" You hesitantly nod. He slowly sat down, the leather of his shoes creaking underneath him. "I'm assuming you didn't receive my email. I'll give you the high points. I saw you last time you were here, but didn't want to interrupt you. I've been reaching out to members of the archaeological community about the missing archaeologists. I know Verona and Linkon are a ways apart, but we've felt the shockwaves of the news, too. I worked on the sea monster murders a few years back. Something is off about this whole thing. I have a hunch whoever ran off those archaeologists, or killed them, is the same person who killed those scientists."

"A hunch isn't good enough." You prop up your knee on the sand, dismissive. "Listen. I'm a scientist, you're an investigator. We are two people who should know best that a hunch is not evidence. It can be an idea. It can be potential. But it is not evidence." You shake your head. "Besides, what would make you think that, anyway? The sea monster murders were very public. The archaeologists aren't confirmed dead, they're missing persons."

"For now." Louis leaned in. "Listen. Let's look at the facts. Scientists involved with Lemuria were hunted down. Half killed in broad daylight. Half vanished. All of them were academics who were well respected in their fields. Half worked for EVER, the other half for a college. Besides. Raymond, that other man murdered recently, my sources show he also used to work for EVER. And he was murdered, broad daylight, and had scales carved into his skin."

You cross your arms over your chest. "And? Shouldn't you be taking your hunches to the police? Why me?"

"You're not the first person I've spoken to." Louis sighed. "I know, it's a long shot. But the sea monster murderer was never caught. I had a hunch for a while he skipped town after his last kill. At the operahouse. I know it sounds crazy, but I truly believe he was killed by a siren's song."

Your blood ran cold. You remain impassive, pretending you're in front of some committee you'd rather punch than listen to. Keeping a cool head and a flat look. "That's impossible."

"Okay, okay." He held his hands up with a sigh. "Listen, just... be careful. I read one of your articles, I know you have an interest in Lemuria. But every time someone like you gets too close, they're killed, or vanish." He finally stands up, brushing sand off of his pants. "I'd hate for it to happen to you or someone you love. Be careful." He grabbed a card out of his pocket, offering it to you as he stood. You eye it, but reluctantly accept. "Here's my contact info. Let me know if you change your mind, or find something you think might help both of us. I think Mo had a hand in both of our situations." He nodded to you. "Of course, he has a new identity now, but I doubt you'd have a brush in with him. Best of luck, archaeologist."

"Why does everyone call me that? I've got a name..." You hum, but he was already walking off. Mo. Wasn't that Lemurian for homeland? And a siren's song killing a scientist too involved with Lemuria... You tuck his card into your pocket. You stand back up, flowers in hand. You'd need a proper talk with Rafayel. This necklace you wear is the symbol of Rafayel's affection, and your mutual agreement. You both had your own reasons to love Lemuria, and because of that you both are invested in protecting it. You inhale slowly, looking back at the flowers. They would make a lovely gift. You'd be able to tie them together and present them to him as a gift for a job well done at the gallery. 

Something wasn't sitting right with you. It settled on your upper back, like a physical weight. You inhale slowly, then exhale even slower.

All the more reason to talk to Rafayel as soon as possible.

The panel ran long. So did security. Your transportation was late- twice. They nearly lost your luggage. Thing after thing after thing. You were too close to crashing the fuck out. You could feel the quirk in your eyebrow, the twitch in your eye. The flowers, that you had lovingly set in some water last night, were on their last legs.

"Oh well." You mutter, looking them over. "I guess they could be used for pigments. The petals are still vibrant..." You pull your half broken suitcase behind you, approaching Rafayel's home. Since this was supposed to be a surprise you didn't alert him to your arrival. You push open the gate, mentally wishing you had more time to swing by your place to freshen up. You were a mess from the trip home, dirty and slightly sweaty. Ah well. You'd say hi, peck his cheek, and offer to have breakfast together. As you swing open the gate, you overhear talking and laughter coming from behind Rafayel's home. You pause for a moment. Surprised.

You slowly continue, knocking on the door as you let yourself in. You take off your muddy shoes to not track dirt into the house, leaving your suitcase outside, with the flowers resting on top. His living room turned studio was empty, but the doors to the back of his estate were open. String lights lit up the back area, illuminating multiple well dressed socialites talking and laughing. You could make out a mountain of presents, wine glasses. Thomas stood facing the doorway, so he caught your eye first. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but a smile bloomed on his face. He came inside, calling your name in a friendly way.

"I didn't know you'd be back tonight! Rafayel said you weren't going to make it because your conference panel got moved around."

"My colleague had a ticket home, it was a tight squeeze, but it was late so I made it." You explain, your voice growing softer with each word. A few other socialites turned to look at you as you spoke. You swallow, feeling incredibly underdressed and messy in your travel clothes. Covered in sweat and soot. You look around, finally spotting Rafayel in the middle of a conversation with someone. He was smiling and nodding, seemingly enjoying himself. You look back at the mountain of presents, wrapped in wrapping paper that was already out of your tax bracket. You swallow. Thomas seems to notice, his expression shifting to mild concern. 

"You know, he has an event early tomorrow morning." He set down his own glass, approaching you. "These people have already overstayed their welcome, and he's had a few drinks too many. Wanna help me get rid of them?" He looked between Rafayel and you. You look around, trying to decide how to handle this. You were a mess, and obviously stuck out like a sore thumb. Rafayel already was a little frustrated with you, so he might not want to listen... You look over at all of the lights.

Light bulb.

"Stay here." You instruct, walking over to the side of his house. Jack of all trades, master of none. But better, still, than a master of one. Your field meant you ended up picking up skills in a lot of different things. You'd stayed in some lodging with shitty electrical wiring before, so you knew a thing or two about manipulating it. You find his fusebox and look up at the sky. Trying to figure out the best fib to cover it up. You'd come clean to Rafayel as soon as everyone else left. 

3... 2... 1... off.

You flip a switch, and his whole house powers down. You can hear the power shut down, from the lights to the a/c. You wait for a moment, quiet, before hearing drunken groans of frustration from the back. You can just hear Thomas over the groans and shouts of frustration, herding the people out. You sneak around to move your suitcase and the flowers out of the way, ensuring they aren't further trampled. As the drunk patrons slowly filter out you return to the back. Thomas had turned from the drunk guests to Rafayel, scolding him. You can't make everything out until you get closer.

"I told you to just casually attend, but no! You just had to invite some strangers to an after party." You don't wish to intrude on the scolding, but you needed to let Rafayel know you were here. This was nowhere close to what this was supposed to be like. You were envisioning a romantic meet up, a hug, offering him flowers before kissing his cheek and sending him off to bed. Not interrupting a party between wealthy elites and then seeing your boyfriend get scolded. "Not only did you make a mess, you don't even seem to be happy." Thomas's tone softened just a bit. You look up. He was right. The back garden was a mess. It would take a while to clean everything up. And Rafayel didn't seem to be in the place to do so, anyway. He looked miserable. Angry. Frustrated. And tipsy. Rafayel gave Thomas a single look, and it shut him up. Thomas sighed heavily. "All right, all right. I'll have someone come clean up the garden. Keep the gate unlocked for them." He instructed, before patting his shoulder. A silent 'I'm worried about you', no doubt.

"Cool. Don't let the door hit you on the way out." Rafayel snarked back. Your eyebrows shot up. While this was in line with the attitude he had when you two first met, it was still a far cry from the charismatic, goofy Rafayel you called your boyfriend. This was the angry Rafayel.

The last guest finally left, uttering something about meeting Rafayel in Paris next time he had a party. Rafayel leaned against the wall, and with the way the lighting fell on him, highlighting his solitude, he looked rather lonely. You look on in surprise. This was not at all the way this was supposed to go. He finally looks over, meeting your eye. You stand still.

"So. Now that the bad guy left, it's up to his accomplice to clean up the crime scene." Rafayel gave you a once over. You knew you looked a mess, but you felt even more scrutinized under his gaze. Was this really the same man who had held your hand while walking back from the hospital? The one who offered to put money into your account, the one who would kiss the sign of your covenant that lay between your collarbones? You swallow, looking away.

"You noticed." You respond. "So why are you letting them off the hook?"

"It was getting late. I was tired and had no idea how to politely kick them out." He shrugged, pushing himself off the wall. "Then you and Thomas showed up. And within ten minutes, you solved everything. I should thank you." There was no bite to his words. No underlying anger. He was actually grateful. And for some reason, that saddened you more than anger would have. You turn, taking one of the glasses off of the table. He seemed coherent. Maybe a bit buzzed, but more present than you originally thought. You reach for some alcohol, about to pour yourself a drink, when he took the glass from you. 

"Hey, you should get your own-" You're cut off as the glass falls out of his hand and onto the ground. You flinch, covering your face as glass shatters everywhere. You pull your arm away, checking yourself and him for any glass shards on your skin or clothes. Luckily, since you were both fully clothed, nothing seemed to nick you at the leg or foot. The alcohol, however, spurted up and towards both of you. Rafayel got the worst of it, the golden liquid splattering all over his chest. You look on in stupefied shock for a moment. Did it slip, or did Rafayel drop it?

"Why?" You look up at him. Once you were certain neither of you were injured you let the word tumble from your lips. "Why are you doing this? Why are you still doing things you don't like?" You lift a hand, gesturing to the mess all around the both of you. Rafayel could pass himself off as a socialite when he wanted to, but he was far from it. Aloof. Preferred his own company, or select few people. Not getting drunk around a bunch of obnoxious aficionados. It was one of the first things you learned about him, and yet here he is. He looked away, chuckling, low and deep in his throat. 

“Who knows? Maybe I was bored. When people are bored they tend to do dumb things." You look at him, just watching his face. You had moved your suitcase, so now he could see it. He averted his gaze to it, smirking. "Just got back, huh?"

"Yeah." You agreed. "Colleague had a ticket he didn't need. I wasn't going to make it to the event, so I figured I'd... surprise you." You lift your hands meekly. "Surprise?"

"Okay. But where's my gift, unexpected guest?" He cocked his head. He must not have noticed the flowers yet. You don't try to hide them, for fear of drawing attention to them anyway. Seeing the mound of gifts with wrapping paper worth more than your gift, you didn't feel very confident.

"Didn't have time." You lie instead. Besides, after the journey, the flowers you had so tenderly cared for were ruined. Broken stems, wilting, and just ragged looking. Your stomach churned at the thought. Your first gift for him, ruined. You swallow the lump, and he shrugs.

"Okay. If you say so." He walked inside, opening a drawer. He pulled out a toolbox and returned. He nods to the fusebox. You were the one who started it, so it was only right you fix it. You accept the toolbox as he fakes a shiver. "Brrr, I'm so cold because of this wine. I'm gonna go change. Make yourself at home." You nod as he goes inside.

Toolbox in hand, you return to the scene of the crime. You open the fusebox again and flip the switch.

Nothing.

You narrow your eyes, grabbing your phone as a flashlight. You start to fiddle around, but the more you dig the more your heart sinks. You try everything you know, albeit it isn't a lot. You waste thirty minutes digging around before finding a note. In the event of an outage, the company needed to be called to get everything back up and running. You groan, smacking your head on the fusebox. "Ow..." You flinch, realizing that was a bad idea. You shut it up and pack up the toolbox. It would have to wait until morning, it's far too late tonight. You take a deep breath, preparing to tell him. Shit, you wouldn't have used that ploy if you knew this would happen.

You're frustrated. Self conscious. A little angry. And just bone deep tired.

All you want is a shower and to go to bed, but you owe Rafayel an apology. You go inside. As your feet fall on the tile, you try to decide how to navigate this. The metacarpal. It's still heavy on your mind. This isn't the time or place, but it's been too long. You should have said something the very next day. But you didn't. It's hurting the both of you. The conversation has to start. You pad down the hall to his room, calling out.

"Hey, Raf? I found a note that you have to call your company. It's not coming back on anyway. Listen, I'm sorry, I wouldn't have done that if I had realized that would be the result." You peer around and find some vegetation.

"Oh, I forgot about that, too." His voice came from behind the vegetation. You approach, putting the toolbox down.

"Say, you got any candles? I can pull them out and light them for you." 

"Yup. See the sculpture? Right below Brutus to the left of Voltaire." You follow his instruction, thankful you paid attention in both Roman and Enlightenment history. You pull them out before locating his voice again. "I didn't see matches in there, do you keep them-?" You pull back the vegetation, expecting to find him crouched in front of his easel, but instead you find him butt ass naked in a bathtub. You turn scarlet from your chest up to your ears, quickly focusing your eyes on his face. He holds a paintbrush to his lips, squinting. Something was on his mind. It's no wonder he's a Lemurian. The being sirens and merfolk alike are based upon. His slightly damp hair clung to his forehead, beads of water rolled down his shoulders and upper arms. He was strong. The build of a swimmer. Or maybe something else. He didn't train, to your knowledge, but some of his muscles didn't quite fit the swimmer's build. Like they were honed for another reason altogether.

Rafayel felt your gaze on him. His eyes cut over to you. He extended a hand, tilting his head to one side, as if beckoning you to join him. "Come a little closer. If you wanna get a better look." You were caught.

Your mouth and throat went dry. Yet everything in you screamed to agree. Join him. Join him in the water.

You physically shake your head, as if it would chase away your loud thoughts. Louis' words rang loud and clear in your mind. If Rafayel truly could kill someone with a song, just as Rafayel himself had claimed on ebb day, could he also lure you into the water with him the same way? The horrific thought was again shaken away. Rafayel watches your newfound dismay with an impassive look, hand still outstretched. Waiting. Tempting. Luring.

"No, Rafayel, I-" You cut yourself off. "No. We can't. I can't."

"No one's forcing you, cutie." His tone softened for a second, though his eyes remained narrowed into slits. Watching you closely. 

You swallow. The red from one of his paintings, floating in the water, bled into it. Blood. Blood in the water. Blood in the water. Male siren luring you. Drowning. Skeleton. Bone. Metacarpal. He lied. You hadn't thought of that nightmare in a while. You take a deep breath. No, not a nightmare. Reality. 

"The bone." The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. You take a step closer, eyes still focused on his face and nowhere else. "The metacarpal. We need to talk."

"Oh?" He cocked his head, pulling his hand back. You don't wait for another response.

"Listen. I agree, you did the right thing. You put that person to rest, to peace, but please don't do that again. I feel like you're hiding so much from me, like- like I can't trust you. I mean." You just start rambling. Words pouring out like water from a faucet. 

"Cutie."

"I asked you about repatriation, and I get it, you don't want people to know. But we could've figured something out- or you could have talked to me. And I know you were following me. You showed up too often. I don't want to accuse you of stalking but things were too close together. And I don't like that it took me this long to talk to you but I didn't want to talk to you during the equivalent of a funeral, and I didn't want it to happen while we were tired, or-"

"Hey." Rafayel's voice took a more stern tone. You snap out of it, the words dying on your lips. His eyes were narrowed, his hand clenched. He had moved back in the tub. As if he was leaning away from you. "No. Not now." He added, his tone terse. Angry. "Yeah. We can talk. But not while I'm naked in the bathtub." In spite of your exhaustion and frustration, your common sense comes back to you. You flush again. Not from bashfulness. True embarrassment. Yeah, great job, you just cornered him while he was vulnerable. Trying to start a hard conversation while he was unable to leave. He kept his gaze locked on yours. He seemed wound taught, like he was ready to jump. Likely away from you. "Yeah. We can talk. But it needs to wait. I don't think we can like this."

You look away from him, rubbing the back of your neck in a mix of embarrassment and horror. "I'm sorry, yeah, I'll go." You clumsily step back, almost knocking a plant over. You hear him sigh again, a mix of frustration and something you couldn't identify. 

"No, stay right there. Wait for me." There was sloshing in the tub. You keep your gaze averted but you could hear him leave the water. You squeeze your eyes shut for good measure. Something soft and silk drags on the floor. You can only imagine the opulent robe now, something ripped straight from the wardrobe of Howl Pendragon, or some designer brand. If you didn't feel so rotten you'd find the moment intimate. "You can't see anything, yeah? Be careful." His fingers graze your knuckles. You turn your hand, offering it to him, and his fingers interlock with yours. He guides you away from his oddly placed bathtub and across the studio. You crack an eye open, thankful to find him in more than a robe. The tips of his hair was still wet, and it dripped on the floor, leaving a trail of diamonds illuminated by moonlight. You fully open your eyes as he retrieves two golden candlesticks. With a snap of his fingers, the two light with pink flames. The warm flicker contrasts with the cool light of the moon. 

You cock your head. "Aren't you planning on going to bed?" He shrugged.

"How am I supposed to sleep with you around?" There was no accusation in his words. But it felt like there was. You swallow, glancing away from him. You overstepped, you knew it. Had you really done so much damage for him to revert to how he was before you were together. He sets the candles on a cabinet, padding over to his workspace. He gathers his supplies and sits down at his easel. He gathered his paint on his brush, before beginning to work. He was silhouetted by the pale moonlight and the glowing candlelight. The warmth faced away from you, while the cool light of the moon faced you. Splitting him in half. As if he, too, was divided within himself on how to proceed. "Cadmium yellow." He pulls you from your thoughts with two words. You look at the floor. There was a tube of yellow paint at your feet. You kneel and turn it over. The label matched. You stand back up, offering the tube to him while he worked. 

"Lake blue." He extended his hand again. You grab the appropriately labeled blue and hand it to him.

"You're having fun bossing me around, aren't you?" You try to keep a lighthearted tone. But it doesn't work. He finally turns, shifting to face you. Staring you down in silence. 

"So. You decided to surprise me by coming home early, though you were already supposed to be here to begin with but had to ditch." He spoke plainly. "And you didn't just run over here because you thought my wacky day-night schedule would benefit you?" You remain silent. Was there an accusation in his tone. Of what, you weren't sure. You open your mouth, but close it. Feeling like a fish out of water. "Am I right?" He pushed again.

"No! No, I'm not, it's not that." You insist.

"Oh, so it's not because I'm in a bad mood." He scoffs, turning away from you and back to his painting. You frustration towards yourself turned outward. You watch him, mouth agape, as he went along as if you were never even there. You swallow and find your voice again.

"That's not fair." You call. He doesn't stop. You press your lips together and march over, putting your hands on your hips. "Rafayel." You call his name, but he again ignores you. You watch him from where you stood. "Is today something that just... happens in your life?" That caught his attention. He glanced at you, over his shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"Navigating through a sea of colorful characters, dancing with gorgeous people, attending art forums, leaving only when it's midnight." You lift your hand, gesturing towards the back garden where a mess remained. The evidence of the night he had. "A world of glamour where fame, fortune, and pleasure reign supreme. Intoxication blurs the lines of morality... It's a dizzying, baffling thing." You card your fingers through your hair. Only then do you notice the smear of paint from one of the bottles. In the dim light you couldn't tell which color it was. Rafayel scoffed.

"You aren't using every cliche you know right now, are you?" He cocked his head, wearing that boyish grin you find so endearing. He's doing it again. Whatever patience you had left evaporated, gone with a huff.

"You say you hate stuff like this. That was one of the first things I felt like I learned about you, at your gallery. But now you seem to be enjoying yourself. You're a-" 

"Hypocrite?" Rafayel stands faster than you realized. The speed and force sent his stool tumbling, while he took your wrist, the one just shy of hovering over his shoulder. The sudden movement, while not threatening, left you gasping and stumbling back against the nearby wall. He's quick to follow, lifting his other hand in a blurred movement to protect your head from hitting the wall. His eyes widen, fingers spread, ensuring your head was safe. Only then did his hand relax. Your eyes are wide, staring him down in shock. But he moves closer. Your shadows, half illuminated in gold and half illuminated in silver, intertwined against the wall. 

“With each passing day, I’m becoming more human. I hang out with people I don’t like, wear the mask they want to see, say the things they want to hear”. He leaned closer still, slowly pressing his nose against yours. Like a sad puppy begging for the forgiveness of its owner. The gesture allowed your heart to slowly stop pounding in your chest. You lick your dry lips, waiting, hearing him out. But your position didn't escape you. His actions didn't escape you. “Hypocrite. Fake. Am I no different than those people who only seek fame and fortune? You know, I’ve been thinking about who I actually am and who I should be.” His voice was soft.

"Rafayel, you-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"You know, I've been thinking about who I actually am and who I should be." His eyes trail down your face, finding your lips. His voice so soft and tender it was dizzying. But there's no shame. No remorse. Whatever sympathy you felt evaporated in the fires of anger. You pull a hand back and shove against his chest. Just enough force to create a gap.

"Fuck no. Stop that." You speak firmly, biting back a snarl. His eyes widened. The shadow over his eyes vanished. "You just, rightfully, called me out for cornering me. And now you get to pin me to the wall? No. You didn't say that on purpose so I would pity you, did you?" You pull your hand back and step away from the wall, allowing his hand to slide away from your hair. He steps back as well, creating a gap between your bodies. Allowing you some space. "What do you want me to say? 'No, the Rafayel I know isn't like that at all'? Rafayel. You have been hiding things from me. You've been following me. You stole from my place of work, and continue to shut me out. You didn't want me to know about your lack of sleep, you didn't tell me about the hospital until you were done, and you didn't talk to me about the metacarpal." You put your hands on your hips. "You were right. I don't get to corner you. That was fucked up. You don't get to do it, either." He blinks, his eyes wide. You sigh, looking away while pinching the bridge of your nose. "I don't think either of us are in the place for this conversation. We're exhausted. Raf, I... I feel like I don't know you, when you hide things from me. I can't say 'the Rafayel I know isn't like that' when I can't feel like I know you."

There was a beat of silence. Only the distant ocean waves and the crackles of two small flames could be heard. 

"What if I had been this kind of person before I met you?" Rafayel finally spoke, offering the question. You don't respond. Would you be with him if he was some glutton for punishment, whirling with pleasure and ecstasy, drunk off praise and adoration? It didn't matter, admittedly.

Because you knew that, for certain, Rafayel was nothing like that. 

Your silence makes him chuckle. You look up, finding him running his fingers through his hair. He takes another step back. Fully giving you your personal space back. "It's kinda late, you're right. If you're not going home, the blankets are over there, the blue one is being washed. You can sleep on the couch, like usual." He turns to leave, without so much as a goodnight. You swallow. Not wanting to go to bed angry, you grab his sleeve as gently as you can. 

"'Before you met me'?" You tilt your head. "Are you saying you've changed since you met me?" You release the sleeve of his nice pajama shirt. "Rafayel... you're starting to become annoying." The word slips out, your lips loosened by exhaustion and frustration. But instead of anger, Rafayel cracked a smile.

“Everyone wants to be my friend, but you’re the first person to say I’m annoying.” He looked down at his shirt, lifting his arm up. “Also, I don’t have any more clothes for you to mess up." You find a blue stain. You look at your own hand. That blue paint he had asked for now obvious on your hand. You look up, recalling how much fun you both had in your paint fight. You crack a smile in return, taking a step closer to him.

“What if I want to mess it up?” His tired smile turned wary, holding both hands up. But there was a hint of playfulness in his eyes. You go low, and he blocks the attack, you go high, same. But it allowed you the opening to knock him onto an armchair. You position yourself just so, making sure he had an opening.

Not cornering him. Not trapping him. He could leave anytime he wanted. But he didn't.

He doesn't complain. In fact, he swipes some of the blue you accidentally got in your hair and taps it on your nose. You do the same. Unlike the crazy paint fight prior, you keep it a little calmer. Focusing on his face, where he could wipe it off with ease. He finally laughed, doing the same right back. He finally acquiesces with an exaggerated sigh, hands held high. Surrender. You sit up with a grin of victory. But it falters. It was a necessary break in the tension, but it didn't negate some kind of resolution, even if temporary, before bed.

“You’re trying to say we’re from different worlds." You observe. You reach over, finding a clean towel by his easel. You dip it in some clean water, beginning to wipe the paint from his face. He sits and allows it, even leaning into the touch like a cat nuzzling into pets. "I’m just someone who stumbled in by accident. So what? Those people may run to you, but they can’t walk inside your home or keep you by their side. You already met me. You can’t draw the line after already crossing it." You watch him carefully as you clean him up. His expression cannot be read, but his eyes remain locked with yours. "If you’re trying to resist this weird change, consider it all part of your destiny." With the last smear of paint gone, you try to get up. He catches you by holding your waist. Again, not tight. Not restricting. A request. Stay.

“Then what’s your reason?" He looked up, searching your face. He takes the damp rag from you, dipping it in the water, before cleaning you in turn. "How is it any different from theirs?”

You huff. "I’m nothing like them, obviously. Let me count the ways." You lean into his touch, eyes slowly shutting. "I'm not rich or famous. I don't really gain anything from being buddy buddy with you, you had to persuade me to let you hire me. I dig in the dirt. I'm just a messy scientist. Fame means little to me. I didn't force my way into your life. I didn't elbow people out of the way to get to you. We met in the library." You grab the necklace, pulling it out from under your shirt. As your eyes open, you find his locking onto it. "We have an agreement. We have the same goal. We care about each other and we have the same goal." You lock eyes with him. "We love Lemuria. I love Lemuria. And I-" The word catches in your throat. Love you. 

“Good.” He doesn't wait for you to finish the thought, or correct it. His arms closed in around you, pulling you to his chest. Your eyes open in surprise. “As I said, it’s perfect." You wait. Is there a caveat? A comeback, something sassy or snarky? No. It was only a hug. You shut your eyes, finally relaxing into him. As he feels you relax, his presses his lips to your hairline, where you had a patch of blue paint. 

“Do... you believe me?" You murmur. He sighs, letting go. It allows you to sit up. He allows you to sit in his lap, still leaning over him as he's awkwardly sat in the arm chair.

"Mm hm." He confirms. "I’ve just been thinking about... what exactly changed." He sat up a little, but moved a hand to the small of your back to keep you balanced as he did so. "What was I like before I met you? I wonder…Is there a difference between then and now? Do I really…? Feel like I’m no longer used to this kind of loneliness.” Silence fell again. Off in the distance you noticed another statuette of Plato. You shake your head, before looking back at him. He's looking down at the floor. “You really didn’t bring me anything, huh?”

You shrug, looking down to see what was so interesting on the tile. “I did, but you must’ve gotten a lot of gifts anyway, right?” Raf's head popped back up. He carefully guided you off of him, and you stand. He stands up as well, extending both of his hands expectantly.

“Their gifts are their gifts, and yours is yours. Where is it?” He cocks his head. Again, looking so endearingly boyish. Your frustration had simmered down, if only for the moment, so you reluctantly look over to where you had dragged your suitcase. You pad over reluctantly, picking up the wilted flowers. You come back over, not looking at him as you place the wilted bouquet into his hands. "The trip back was awful. It ruined the flowers. I remembered you said you hadn't seen these in a while, they weren't blooming when you were last there. So... I wanted to make a nicer bouquet. As a thanks for the one you got me." As you sheepishly explain, a petal falls from one of the flowers. You groan, burying your face in your hands. But just before your eyes shut Rafayel catches the petal. 

You look up at his face in surprise. His eyes glowed warmly in the warm candlelight. He turned the petal over, treating it like the most precious jewel. He looks up at you. He crosses the short distance between you, tilting your chin up with one finger. He shuts his eyes, pressing another kiss to the crown of your head.

“Out of all the presents today, this one is the best. It’s the best because you brought me flowers from a distant place." He whispered. "They'll perk up in some water." He pulled back. That silly smile had softened. "Come on, cutie. We're both exhausted. Let's make things right in the morning."  

"Cutie... chu, cutieeeeeee..." 

Rafayel's soft voice in your ear woke you before the sunlight did. Your eyes blearily blink open as he presses another kiss to your forehead. You blink again, smiling up at him. 

"Hey, cutie." He smiled back down at you. He stroked some hair out of your face. Your head was propped on his thigh. You slowly sit up, only to find him far too comfortable to do so. You plop your head right back down, shutting your eyes. "Silly cutie..." He chuckled warmly. He was already dressed for the day, in that white top with the embroidered grain on the collar. Black dress pants. Still shoeless since he was home. He stroked your hair. "Come on, I owe you an explanation, an apology, and breakfast." You crack your eyes open again, looking up at him. "Plus, you need a shower. Go freshen up, I'll order us breakfast?" 

"I don't have clothes here..." You yawn. And all the clothes in your suitcase would need to be washed. He ruffled your hair again.

"You can borrow a shirt of mine." He grabbed your hands, standing up. Your head slid off his lap and onto the couch as he playfully tugged on you. "Come onnnnn, up you get, let's go, come on." He teased. You yawn again, but stumble to your feet. With your hand in his, he guided you to his bathroom. He already had a shirt of his folded up. As well as a clean towel and some body products. "I don't know your usual shampoo and conditioner, so you can use mine. Breakfast will be here by the time you get out." 

You take your time in the shower, waking up and freshening up. Even though it was a really nice couch, it was still a couch, and it wasn't the nicest the sleep on. As you wake up and recall the events of the previous night you just shake your head. Rafayel seemed to be in a good mood. And he was the one who said he owed you an explanation. Good. You step out, drying off and dressing yourself in his clean shirt. It smelled good. 

It smelled like him.

You poke your head out, thankful to find him getting the food delivery right as you were done. You pad out to his kitchen where he was pulling out the food. He looks up, his expression brightening as he sees you in his shirt. He playfully whistled.

"Looking cute, bodyguard." He winked. You scoff, but the smile on your face gave away that you were flattered. He chuckled in kind, coming over. "So. Wanna do the big talk before we eat, or after?"

"Before. Let's get this out of the way." He wrapped an arm around your waist as you spoke, turning you around to go back to his studio. "And let me start. I'm sorry for cornering you last night, that was really fucked up, and while it wasn't my intent it was still what happened. I never want to scare you or make you feel cornered." Just the image of him pressing against the back of his tub, teeth bared, wound so tight he was ready to jump... it sent a shiver down your spine. He frowned.

"Hey, I'm sorry, too. You're right, I was a hypocrite. I don't get to tell you off and then do the exact same thing." He sighed. "Okay. That's out of the way. Now. The bone." He stopped you right in front of the massive painting he had been working on on and off for the entire time you'd known him. "Let me preface this; I don't regret what I did. I'm not apologizing for stealing. But," He rubbed the back of his neck. "I AM sorry for doing it behind my back. I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you. I could've really hurt you, and I'm glad I didn't. But I can't do stuff like that and expect you to be okay with it." You listen closely, nodding along to his apology. You could see where he was coming from, after all. 

"You did the right thing, the wrong way." You agreed. "You laid kin to rest, but I do wish you just talked to me. I know repatriation wasn't an option, but if you had just talked to me..."

"So you wouldn't have turned me in or moved the bone?" He cocked his head. He looked down. Finding the necklace once more. He touched it, lifting the pearl to his lips. "I... I know, we have an agreement. A covenant, you said." He refused to look at you. Eyes locked on the pearl he gave you. "But I don't know how far you'll go to make things right. How far you'll go to protect Lemuria." You let him speak, slowly nodding your head. Okay, that's fair.

And it's a question you need to ask yourself, too. How far are you willing to go? What would you do for Lemuria? What would you do for Rafayel?

"Well, if EVER is involved, I'm guessing I'm gonna have to go pretty far." You agree. You lift your hand, resting it on his. "How... how far has this gone, Rafayel?" Louis's words rang loud in your mind. Raymond's death. The archaeologists. The sea monster murders. Just how far have things gone? His eyes cut up to you. He was waiting. Judging. Trying to decide something. But with a slow, weary inhale he made his decision. He let go of the charm and turned. On the counter there were a few red coral stones. He picked it up, and it emitted a faint glow. A shudder ripped through your body.

"Oh my gods." You murmur. "Is... is that...?"

"Metaflux." He agreed. He takes your hand, putting the stone in it. In a flash of pink light he summoned his blade. He pricked his pointer finger, before squeezing a single drop of blood onto the stone. In a flash of light the stone burned your skin and a little blue fish appeared in the air. It swam around even as you gasped and winced. Before you could throw the stone Rafayel caught your wrist, holding it still. "Shh- shh, shh. It's just an illusion." He murmured. As soon as the illusion appeared, it vanished again. You touch the stone and your skin with your free hand. Not hot to the touch at all. Merely an illusion. He removed the stone from your hand, putting it away again. 

"That painting I sold Raymond. It was for him." He had his back turned to you. Leaning over the desk. "Do you remember the art piece I mentioned in his house...?" You sigh, walking to him. You wrap your arms around him and press your forehead against his back.

"I figured that one out all on my own." You smile wryly. "I'm so sorry, Rafayel... I'm so sorry." He slumped over the desk.

"I had to do it. I had to avenge her. I couldn't- I couldn't-"

"Shhhh." You murmur. "No. No, you don't owe me an explanation for that one."

"I do." He disagreed. "The stones... I used them to make that painting. It made him go insane. It was slow and painful."

"I know he worked for EVER." You murmur again. That made him tense. "I know... I know more than I should. I know EVER is up to something, more than just obstructing archaeology. And if they're after you and have been hurting your people, I can see why you'd be so protective. So... vengeful." He chuckled dryly.

"Bet you're gonna tell me that this is making me just as bad as them."

"Oh hell no." You quickly correct. He stiffens again, but this time in surprise. He turns back around, facing you with wide eyes.

"What?"

"No. Hell no. 'Revenge makes you just as bad as the perpetrator', fuck that." You scoff. "No. Do you know how many forefathers of archaeology I want to beat the absolute shit out of? How many founders of anthropology I'd love to curbstomp? Nope. While going insane might be a little much for some situations, from the little I know, it sounds like it was a long time coming." You cross your arms over your chest, watching him. His eyes remained wide.

"I... I didn't tell you because I didn't know how far you'd be willing to go." He murmured. But his eyes glistened. As if he was seeing you in a new light for the first time. "How far will you go? For Lemuria? For... for me?"

You hum. It was a good question. How far would you be willing to go? You weren't quite sure yet. So you shrug. "I don't know." You answer honestly. "I've got my morals, and there are some lines I won't cross. But... repatriating a metacarpal is in my moral code. Stealing it? Well. Let's look at the British Museum. Stealing back stolen artifacts is a perfect example of two wrongs making a right." 

"Then why were you so mad about it?"

"Cause you did it behind my back. I can excuse stealing, but being shady and gaslighty to your partner is off limits." He finally just laughed. A laugh of shock, surprise, and a little relief. He finally turned fully, kissing the top of your head again.

"Okay, okay, point taken. I'm sorry. I'll be more honest and upfront with you from now on." You lean up, embracing the affection. "Alright. I think that's all the serious stuff out of the way." He ruffled your hair, his arm wrapped around your back to hold you close. "You ready to eat something?"

"Yeah, I'm starving!" He began to guide you back towards the kitchen, tutting at you.

"What, did you not eat dinner?"

"Didn't eat lunch, either, lines were too long."

He gasped. "You could've had something to eat when you got to my place! You should've said something."

"Says Mr. 'forgets to eat and sleep until he goes blind'!" 

"Oh well it's different when it's you!"

As the two of you jokingly squabble, heading towards breakfast, a vase full of blue flowers began to perk up. And a little red flammula flit about lazily, content once more now that its parents had returned to each other.

[kodaswrld]

goth divider set p.3

divider creator - requests open - like & reblog if you use!!

જ⁀➴ credit me & follow for more!!

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎTender is the Night (Part Two)⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: mentions of death/dying, angst pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: fem reader x ghost billy the kid author’s note: (modern au) based partially on @goosita ghost billy au (which I've been dying for an excuse to write for) which is based on lisa frankenstein (love) Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The threads separating life and death are gossamer, as fine as spiderwebs and nearly as breakable. It is a ragged veil that hangs over mortality, fluttering in an invisible wind and offering those encased a glimpse of the other side.

He was nearly a shadow, clinging to the edges of the graveyard, haunting without really haunting. It was as if he’d been swallowed except for the final drop left in his shape, retaining the same pain as someone breathing.

All this time he'd thought the world cruel for keeping him here with no purpose- just aimlessly wandering with nothing but his own thoughts to accompany him. He was well aware that punishment was reasonable- he hadn't exactly been a good man.

Maybe not so bad a man as he'd thought. Not if you'd come his way.

You spent your free time with him, lying side by side with him on the grassy expanse of his grave. Sometimes you brought homework or a book with you, sometimes you played music. And sometimes you abandoned all of it in favor of listening to him.

Slowly, he began to tell you about his few years on earth. Of his passage to America. Of the deaths of his family. How he was thrust into the life of an outlaw without so much as a say. You listened fascinatedly, like nobody else had. Even while he'd had a beating heart and air in his lungs he hadn't been such a point of fascination to anybody. No, he'd been simply existing, no better than his current ghostly form.

Billy felt more alive with you than he ever had when he was breathing.

“How do you think we’d have met in your time?” you murmured one day, lying on your side with your hair tumbling down over your shoulders like a waterfall.

Billy hummed, his hand half wound through a strand. "Maybe at the bar one night. I'd buy you a drink 'n we'd get to talkin'."

You giggled, leaning your cheek on your hand. "I'd have liked that."

"Me too," was his response, murmured as he watched you watch him. Suddenly the great divide between life and death didn't seem as prominent. It was such a delicate thing, yet unbreakable.

Two souls, existing in the wrong space of time. Maybe that was the reason he was made to haunt the earth so long after his supposed permanent disappearance. Maybe all these years of being lonely and feeling neglected were paid for the gift of you.

"I wasn't a good man," he confessed, tracing stars onto your arm and imagining them taking shape, leaving patterns that marked the fact that he was real to you. It was still unclear why exactly he was able to touch you now. Or why you were able to see him. But you were the common denominator. It couldn't be a coincidence that the best thing to happen to him in a century and the revelation of his existence had overlapped. "Dunno if that's been absolved...with death 'n all. But it stays with me. 's if it was yesterday."

You hummed, fingers twiddling with a blade of grass before your wrist. He knew nearly every quirk about you at this point, could read you like a map, chart the nature of what you were about to say. But he'd never deem to guess exactly what that would be. You had a way of surprising him in the best of ways. "You know...I don't believe in the idea of people being good or bad."

"Hm?" Billy blinked at you, the pads of his fingers pausing their motions on your skin.

Turning your head to face the sky, blue in all its glory with fluffy white clouds adorning the expanse of it, you let your eyelashes touch your cheek once before continuing. "People are full of a million intentions and thoughts and feelings. Not all of them can be defined. Not all of them are ever revealed. I don't think it's all measured up against us."

Billy let the quiet talk for a moment as he thought about it, the idea taking space, filling the gap more wholly than guilt ever could. His features lightened, and you smiled at the sight, moving forward and reaching for his hand. He expected your fingers to pass through his form, occupy the space inside the outline. But instead your warm palm sat atop his knuckles, making you both look up.

“Did…?” your question trailed off, as if you weren’t exactly sure what you should be asking.

“Yes.” Billy turned his palm over, letting yours touch it. He was in utter disbelief. First he could touch you and now you could touch him. Something was brightening from the inside, warming him and lighting everything up. It intensified when he looked at you, watching the way your lips parted, the wonder fill your eyes. It was like you were seeing him for the first time.

After that, it was like you couldn't keep your hands off each other. Whenever you came over you were touching him in some way; holding his hand, rubbing his arm, or his personal favorite- lying with your head on his chest. It almost made him feel like a person again, lying among the flowers with a pretty girl in his arms.

With every day, he could feel the weight of emotions he hadn't felt in decades holding him to earth, as if heaven or hell wouldn't let him in due to his love.

Due to his love.

He realized it one day as you were lazily resting with your hair spread across him, and he was thumbing your cheek. In your hands was a copy of Romeo and Juliet, one of your favorites, you'd told him. Every now and then you'd stop and read a passage to him, and he'd smile, enchanted by your love for it.

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night,” you recited, and he could hear your smile in your voice.

My heart didn't love until now, he thought casually. And then it hit him, a rod of lightning from the sky.

You were his sun, his moon. You were the light after centuries of darkness. You cared for him, astounded him with your sweetness, with your view of the world. This had to be the reason he could now touch you. because you were his reason for everything now.

You made him feel alive again.

Once he realized it, he felt frozen. He was a ghost in love with a living girl. Billy had never heard anything more hopeless. He felt as though he were yelling into a void. Before he had thanked the higher powers for gifting you to him, but now he was sure this was some kind of torment. Bringing the sweetest, kindest girl he'd ever known into his afterlife and making it so he couldn't have her. Was there ever a crueler thing?

You looked up at him with the most darling of smiles then, shifting on his chest and reaching up for his hand while keeping hold of the book. Billy couldn't help his smile, and he tangled his fingers with yours. An abundance of that old familiar glowing feeling warmed him again, and he disregarded all previous thoughts.

You were worth every bit of it.

tagging @kellielovesmovies because <3 also HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUEEN!!!!!

[purple-eyesgreydragon]

Long ago before Narinder's imprisonment. Each of the Bishops of the Old Faith had a bitter rivalry with a god in the lands beyond. These other gods were admittedly stronger then their Bishop rivals. It was the Bishops' unity that kept these other gods at bay. Salvanis's rival was Shamura.

Their rivalry began before the two were even gods. Salvanis was the one who found the purple crown first. But in his hastened excited flight, he neglected to watch where he went and got caught in Shamura's web. The spider closed in, Salvanis quickly struggled free and escaped, leaving the purple crown behind in the web, to which Shamura claimed. Salvanis would later spitefully search for another crown to claim, the grey crown.

Salvanis constantly feeds on the dreams of mortals, not just getting sustenance and power, but their knowledge and secrets. Including those from the Bishops of the Old Faith's followers. Shamura didn't like Salvanis could penetrate the minds of their disciples. Salvanis couldn't stand light even when not physically being somewhere. Nightlights were sources some used to ward off Salvanis' reach, but only slightly. But hindered their ability to sleep, as darkness inspires sleep. Shamura created a better more effective alternative. They weaved their webs to make dreamcatchers, with the power to protect dreamers from Salvanis completely. With not the need for light, and having full assurance Salvanis could not feed on the minds, imagination, and knowledge of mortals. Salvanis of course didn't like it, the dreamcatchers themselves reminded him of how his rivalry with Shamura began. These two also never saw each other again after Narinder's imprisonment. Salvanis would relish knowing Shamura's knowledge and clarity slipped with their mind.

It's no coincidence each bovine bishop gets their colored copy of the red crown. The red crown couldn't originally divide itself into four copies. They are shadowed reflections of the Bishops of the Old Faith's absorbed power. Goat gets a shadowed copy of Shamura's power. An improved empowered version, making the Goat stronger with their raising faith in the Lamb. Because the crown copy carries Shamura's power, it is the perfect counter to Salvanis. The dream vampire was very displeased at the sight of Goat wearing a crown of Shamura's color.

Another reason Salvanis distastes the Goat. In relation to vampires and their reflectionless nature to mirrors. Since the Goat is a living reflection of the Lamb, Salvanis doesn't like that. Him a master of darkness, the Goat a shadow made flesh, not his to control.

The relic of Salvanis is his Ruby of Requiem. He wears on his collar. The First Dreamcatcher of Shamura can also be collected.

The reason Shamura doesn't have their bandages, is because the shadow shows them back before getting wounded. During the prime of the spider and the bat's hated rivalry.

Fun Fact: Bats have been known to get caught in spiderwebs.

[lucianhuntress]

Day 10. Sunday x Reader: 26. “How did you find me?”

This one escalated and is slightly longer than the others so far. 🙇‍♀️

The big Halloween festival everyone has been waiting for has finally arrived in Penacony. The streets are decorated with bats, pumpkins, spiderwebs and silly looking ghosts. People wear a wide range of costumes: IPC armor, Robin, the Astral Express crew and different characters from Clockie seem to be popular among the masses.

It is a good excuse for you to wear a cute version of the Hamster Ball Knight; ears and clothes that match his colors —not forgetting a cute little acorn plushie and an acorn bag.

Robin was the one who invited you out as she wanted to introduce you to someone; someone you feel slightly nervous of as you have heard he is quite in high position on Penacony— and he is your best friend's brother on top of it all.

Festivals like these are perfect excuse for Robin to wear an outfit that makes her unrecognizable; her being the most famous songstress on Penacony and all.

“What does he look like?” You ask from Robin, who is dressed up as an origami bird.

“Oh, I think we're slightly similar. Last time I saw him he had silvery hair like me— oh and he is Halovian too.” Robin seems to be enjoying herself, admiring other people's costumes while eating a candied apple she picked up from a stall earlier. “But he didn't tell me what kind of outfit he would wear.” 

“Should you text him? It's like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

Robin whips out her phone and starts typing a message. Just then, someone taps her shoulder gently. You both turn to face the tall man behind the two of you, wearing a Hanu outfit; large, black sunglasses, a dark-gray hat and a navy blue coat.

His visible silvery hair, and wings at the back of his neck are the revealing aspects of his true identity.

“Sunday!” Robin exclaims, pulling her brother into a hug and his shades nearly fall off in the process. Your eyes meet his golden ones briefly and you feel a tiny flutter in your chest as he smiles at you weakly while tapping Robin’s low-poly shoulder.

“Robin was just about to text you,” you explain happily. At least you'd be able to continue the festival exploration without a worry.

“Oh, right! This one here is my brother Sunday and this cute hamster is—” 

“I've heard about you,” Sunday speaks with a cautious undertone in his voice as he eyes you up and down. His golden gaze lingers on you even when speaks to his sister: “shall we?”

You and Robin change knowing looks and you grab her arm as you continue walking down the street full of people, stalls and music while chatting casually and you and Sunday catching each other from eyeing the other one a few times. You're not sure if you're feeling extra warm because of the crowds or because of Sunday’s appreciative glances.

As you get deeper into the festival area, the amount of people increases and suddenly it's hard to move around without elbowing someone. Somewhere in the masses you end up losing Robin and Sunday. That's what you get for checking out a creepily decorated stall.

All alone in the crowd you wonder if you should just stay at one place or go somewhere obvious and text Robin. You look around and notice a Halloween decorated gigantic Clockie in the middle of the street, dividing the crowd like a rock in a stream of water. That would be a good spot to wait for the others at.

You pick up your phone and are surprised to find out you have no battery left. So much for texting Robin. So you do the next best thing and push your way through the crowd and make it to the statue. You sit down at its feet and hold on to your acron bag and plushie for comfort.

A few moments later, what feels like an eternity but is equal to just a couple of minutes. You notice someone sitting down next to you and you turn to him— Sunday. He is looking at you behind his shades, not knowing how his eyes wander and take in all of your details from much closer range.

“How did you find me?” you ask, not sure if you want to jump and hug him or cry after being so alone and helpless to call anyone.

He chuckles, knowing something you clearly don't, but you're happy to see a familiar face. “I knew I had to come here,” he answers ominously, lowering his sunglasses, “worry not, I know where Robin is and we can leave if you want to…” his voice trails off as he ponders on his own words.

“Or we can sit here a bit longer?” Your question is sudden, like you weren't even supposed to ask that, yet somehow you want to stay there slightly longer with Sunday.

“Well,” he begins and moves closer to you. You swallow, heat pooling down your stomach and you can't take your eyes off of him. “This statue is oddly comfortable.”

[sharp-silver4795]

do you have any designs for jeff, liu, jack, jessie and ben? im just curious theyre really interesting

Jeff, BEN, EJ, Liu, & Jessie Design ideas/claims(?)

Ok, so! I can’t draw worth SHIT! So, I will have a mix of characters from other media, fanart (that isn’t mine), and descriptions <3

check the photos for artists unknown/not on tumblr. If you DO know them, give me their name(s)/blog tag(s) in the comments and I will add it to this list 💜

The fan art collages are at the end :P

Eyeless Jack [Eashar]

His anatomy post is a great way to start because I’m not sure if any amount of fanart can explain this-

Jessie

He’s basically Aizawa… that’s how I envision him ngl- he has a scar ON his left eye… that’s it, really.

Liu Woods

Really, only the pics can fucking explain him- (except he’s Chinese. all the pics I found show him as Caucasian 🤷)

Piercings

Bridge

Tongue

Industrial (L)

Lobe (2)

Tragus (R)

Tattoos

Medusa across their back

Semi colon on his right forearm

Spiderweb on her left elbow (three layers)

Rope around their upper right arm

Sword on the back of her neck

Chain tied around upper left arm

Desperately wants to get a fucking meme on him somewhere but he can’t think of a good one.

Scars

The smile, ofc

Stitches across his face (like the left side pics)

Stitched ❌ across his chest

Nasty burn scar on his left side

(The rest are sensitive topics and we ain’t getting into that lol)

BEN

Just look at the pics. It’s basically just the cosplayer with the colours of the top 2 and the vibe of the bottom right!

Jeff

Other than the outfit- the pics are pretty good. The top left just needs a faux leather jacket and the hoodie around his waist and BAM my idea of Jeff. The right one is like- the personality/personal vibes, while the bottom left is the general body language, yk?

Piercings

Snake Bite

Eyebrows split + piercings

His ears are too damaged to pierce 😭

Tattoos

Sunflower sleeve on his left arm (remembrance for Liu)

Chain wrapping around his upper right arm (matching with Liu)

Butterfly jar (suicide awareness)

Semi colon

Arson Elmo on his thigh (I have this one too)

Other Body Mods

Split/bifurcated tongue

Divider Creds: sisterlucifergraphics

Art: mangoshibi, luxwave-art, masked-hatchet, duskooky

[unsuperingyournatural]

steady chaos

Marcus Moreno x Heroic!Reader x Soldier Boy

dividers @saradika-graphics

The city was screaming.

Alarms blared from every direction. Smoke billowed between buildings. A tremor split the street beneath Marcus’s feet as he bolted into the chaos, sword in hand, heart pounding.

The creature ahead wasn’t just dangerous—it was wrong. Towering and skeletal, with flickering bioluminescent veins pulsing across its frame like exposed circuitry. It moved fast, even for something its size. And it was heading straight for a crowd of civilians.

Marcus didn’t hesitate.

He sprinted across cracked concrete, grabbed the arm of a panicked woman, and shoved her toward a busted alleyway. “Go!” he barked, turning just as the creature’s tail arced toward him like a whip.

He ducked. Rolled. Came up swinging.

The blade sliced deep into the thing’s flank, sparks flying, but it barely flinched.

From the rooftop above, your stomach twisted. Marcus was holding his own—for now—but you could see it already. This thing wasn’t just some random mutation. It was studying him. Adapting.

And he was alone.

You leapt off the edge.

The wind roared in your ears as you fell—arms charged with energy, impact bracing through your legs as you landed hard between Marcus and the creature. You fired a blast straight into its chest, enough to stagger it for a moment.

Marcus glanced at you, eyes wide. “You didn’t wait for backup.”

You shot him a look. “You’re welcome.”

But before you could regroup—

BOOM.

A shockwave cracked the pavement nearby, shaking glass from a half-collapsed storefront.

You turned—and groaned internally.

Here he came.

Soldier Boy strode out of the dust cloud, suit torn at the collar, boots crunching over rubble like it was a runway. His shield was already in hand, spinning once before slamming against the asphalt with a heavy thud that sent a spiderweb of cracks through the concrete.

“Miss me, doll?” he called out.

Your jaw clenched. “Not even a little.”

He winked. “That’s cute. Playing hard to get in the middle of a monster attack. I like it.”

Marcus stepped between you and the creature again, voice flat. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Relax, Captain Cub Scout,” Soldier Boy said, rolling his shoulders. “Let the big boys handle it.”

Without waiting, he charged.

He hit the creature dead-on—shield first—knocking it back several feet. It let out a distorted screech and retaliated with a swipe that would have torn a lesser man in half. Soldier Boy didn’t even flinch. His shield caught the blow, sending concrete flying, and he grinned like he was enjoying it.

God help you… part of you kind of was too.

That was the problem.

He was arrogant, loud, a walking PR disaster—and yet when he fought like that, all instinct and brutal power, it was hard not to feel your pulse spike.

And of course, he knew it.

He glanced back mid-swing. “See that, doll? You impressed yet?”

You fired another energy blast past his head, clipping the creature’s shoulder. “I’d be more impressed if you could shut up and finish the job.”

Behind you, Marcus muttered, “Glad someone said it.”

You caught his eye and held it for half a second longer than necessary.

With Marcus, things were different. Steady. Grounded. He didn’t grandstand or flex for attention. He fought to protect, not to prove. And when he looked at you like that—quiet, unwavering—you felt like maybe someone actually saw you.

Not the Supe. Not the show. You.

But just as the three of you began to push the creature back, it shifted—twisting unnaturally, limbs doubling in size, its body pulsing like it had absorbed your last hit.

And then it lunged.

Too fast. Too hard.

Even Soldier Boy staggered, forced back several steps as the thing bore down.

You didn’t think. You charged.

The light surged through your body—hot, wild, perfect—and you let it burn. You threw yourself between the creature and the two men, releasing the energy in a blinding arc.

The creature screamed. Twitched. Then collapsed into a smoking heap, its bones cracking beneath the weight of its own death.

Silence fell like a curtain.

Marcus stood first, brushing soot from his shoulder, sword still in hand. “You okay?”

You nodded, breath shallow. “You?”

“I am now.”

Then—

“I had it.”

You turned.

Soldier Boy was upright, brushing off his suit like he hadn’t just been seconds from eating pavement. “Just givin’ it a shot to boost morale.”

You stared at him. “It nearly ripped your arm off.”

He smirked. “I’ve had worse. But hey—nice assist, doll.”

“Wasn’t for you.”

He stepped closer anyway, that damn cocky gleam in his eye. “You sure about that?”

You opened your mouth—but said nothing.

And that was the moment he knew. The spark of interest you’d buried deep down—he saw it. Grinned like he’d just won a bet with himself. Not enough to act on. Just enough to keep him hanging around.

Marcus didn’t say anything, but the shift in his posture was subtle—shoulders squared, stance just a little more protective than before.

The three of you stood there in the silence, looking down at the monster’s still-glowing remains.

Then Marcus said, voice low: “We need to let the others know. This wasn’t random.”

“No,” you murmured. “It was just the beginning.”

And behind you, Soldier Boy chuckled, stretching like he’d just wrapped up a workout. “Well, hell. Looks like I’m stickin’ around.”

You found him on the edge of the building, looking out over the fractured skyline.

The city was quieter now—sirens muted in the distance, the fires contained, the smoke starting to clear. Soldier Boy leaned on his shield like it was a bar counter, the red glow from a nearby streetlamp catching on the dust still streaking his suit.

“You don’t usually brood,” you said, approaching carefully.

He didn’t look at you, just smirked. “Don’t usually almost get my ass handed to me, either.”

You folded your arms, stopping a few feet away. “You said you had it.”

“Did I?” he said with a huff, finally glancing your way. “Must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.”

You let out a soft snort. “Marcus handled worse in the first five minutes.”

“Ah, Marcus,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Golden boy. Mister Steady Hands. Sword always polished.”

“Jealous?”

“Nah,” he said, leaning back. “Just bored of the act. He’s not perfect, no matter how much he plays it.”

You didn’t respond.

He tilted his head, watching you. “You got a thing for him?”

Your pulse skipped. “I—what?”

“C’mon, doll. I’m not blind. You look at him like he hangs the moon.”

You stared at him. “Why do you care?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just studied you. Something sharp flickered behind all that bravado.

“You like him,” he said slowly, voice lower now, more serious. “But part of you’s still curious. That’s why you’re standing here, isn’t it?”

You didn’t move.

Soldier Boy stepped closer, closing the distance between you with quiet confidence. “You don’t want to. But you wonder. You want to know what it’d be like to choose the mess instead of the mission.”

Your breath caught.

Then, quietly, you said, “You’re not as unpredictable as you think.”

He smiled. Not cocky. Not smug. Just… tired. “Yeah. But I’m a hell of a lot harder to forget.”

And with that, he stepped back, gave a two-finger salute, and walked off into the night like he hadn’t just opened a door you weren’t ready to walk through.

Later, you found Marcus in the shelter’s back corridor—alone, seated on an overturned supply crate, his sword resting across his lap. His head was down, hands clasped like he was praying or thinking or both.

He didn’t react when you stepped into the dim light with him.

“I figured you’d be coordinating the response teams,” you said gently.

He looked up. His eyes were tired, warm. “They’ve got it handled. Just needed a minute.”

You nodded and slid down to sit beside him, close but not touching. The silence between you wasn’t heavy—it was comfortable. Familiar.

“You okay?” you asked.

Marcus hesitated. “I don’t know what this thing was. But it moved like it had a purpose. Like it knew exactly where to go, and who to target.”

“Then we make sure it never gets the chance again.”

He smiled faintly. “You make that sound so easy.”

“Because I’ve got you,” you said without thinking.

The words just… slipped out.

He turned to you, brows lifted slightly. His voice was soft when he asked, “Do you?”

You looked down at your hands. “You’re the one thing that doesn’t shift under me. Not when everything else is chaos.”

A pause.

Then, softly, “I feel the same.”

You finally looked at him—and it was there. That quiet intensity that had always simmered between you. Not demanding. Not loud. Just present.

If Soldier Boy was a wildfire, Marcus was the hearth. The heat you wanted to stay near. The one you trusted not to burn you just to feel alive.

But before you could speak, your comm crackled with static—HQ calling. The moment broke.

Marcus stood first, offering you his hand.

You took it.

His fingers curled around yours just a second longer than necessary.

Neither of you said what you were thinking.

But you both felt it.

The crater looked worse in daylight.

You stood at the edge with Marcus on your right, Soldier Boy pacing a few yards behind you, shield slung lazily over his shoulder like a fashion accessory instead of a weapon capable of shattering steel.

The three of you had been called back for a scan sweep—HQ wanted readings taken at precise intervals, seismic shifts, energy echoes. The tech was finicky. The tension? Palpable.

“Still pulsing,” you muttered, squinting at the meter in your hand. “Same rhythm as yesterday.”

Marcus nodded beside you. “Whatever’s down there, it’s still moving.”

Behind you, Soldier Boy groaned. “Or it’s a faulty sensor and you’re both wasting time when we could be getting real answers the old-fashioned way.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “You mean punching it?”

“Damn right,” he said with a grin. “You ever notice how your little gadgets never work as fast as my fists?”

“I’d argue your fists cause most of the problems we’re trying to solve.”

“Oh?” he said, strolling closer. “Thought you liked a guy who throws a good punch.”

He stopped beside you—closer than necessary, that familiar scent of leather and smoke curling around you. His voice dipped. “You certainly didn’t mind watching me yesterday.”

You stiffened slightly, but didn’t step away. Didn’t deny it either.

Marcus noticed. His gaze flicked between you and Soldier Boy, jaw tightening just a little.

“Back off,” he said calmly, but the edge was there. “We’re working.”

Soldier Boy didn’t even glance at him. “You jealous, Boy Scout?”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “I don’t waste time on distractions.”

Soldier Boy chuckled low in his throat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You cleared your throat, stepping forward to break the tension—but Soldier Boy moved with you, keeping pace.

“Y’know,” he said quietly, low enough that only you heard, “for someone who says I annoy you, you sure don’t push me away.”

You stopped walking.

Turned to him, measured. “That’s because if I shoved you, you’d fall in this crater. And as much as I want that some days, I’m not in the mood to carry your shield back to base.”

He grinned, eyes scanning your face like he was reading something under the words.

But before he could reply, Marcus called out, “Over here. I’ve got a deeper energy spike.”

You moved instantly—distance breaking whatever moment had been simmering.

When you reached Marcus, he handed you the scanner without a word. His fingers brushed yours in the exchange—brief, but enough to send a subtle charge through your chest.

He didn’t look at you right away. Just said quietly, “You don’t have to play nice with him.”

“I’m not,” you said, almost too fast.

Now he looked at you. “He gets in your head.”

You held his gaze. “So do you.”

That made him pause. His jaw shifted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

Behind you, Soldier Boy scoffed. “If you two are done eyefucking, some of us are still trying to keep the world from ending.”

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to. Your silence said plenty.

But when Marcus looked at you again, this time it was different.

It wasn’t restrained.

It wasn’t patient.

It was... wondering.

Wondering if maybe, this time, he didn’t want to wait.

Before either of you could say another word, Soldier Boy stepped right up between you, clapping a heavy hand on Marcus’s shoulder like he owned the space. “Adorable,” he said with a smirk. “Really. But if you two are done getting your rocks off over radiation spikes, we’ve got work to do.”

He looked at you next, and there was something knowing in his gaze—almost smug, almost serious. “Let me know when you’re ready for a real distraction, doll.”

Then he turned and walked off, swinging his shield casually as if he hadn’t just tossed a grenade into something delicate.

You stared after him, heat rising in your face—not just from what he said, but from the fact that part of you didn’t want to write him off completely.

You hated that.

Beside you, Marcus watched him go, quiet.

Then he said, “You okay?”

You glanced at him, at the steady weight of his presence, the warmth in his voice.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

But even as the word left your mouth, you knew it wasn’t simple.

Because as much as you wished it was Marcus—and only Marcus—you couldn’t shake the flicker of chaos still tugging at your chest.

And Soldier Boy knew it.

[stimboardsforstarkid]

Peter Spankoffski Stimboard ✹

With Spiderweb with dewdrops and fern stims

Requested by anon ❅

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