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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 5

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m trying something new here—been reading The Shining by Steven King and I like how the “thoughts” are presented :)

warnings: general angst

word count: 5,414

-Part 4- -Part 6-

Sharp, caramel eyes latch to your own from across the room.

Beneath his fingertips rest the planets of your solar system, whirring softly as they rotate, cogs clicking together. Your orrery.

Shoulders tense—it’s fine machinery, incredibly delicate. You don’t like the idea of him being so close to something so dear to you. He hasn’t proven to be particularly caring, or thoughtful. Anxiety closes around your throat. “Eris,” you greet, moving forward stiffly. “What are you doing here?” Why is he in the House of Wind, in the heart of the Night Court. Why is he in Velaris.

He taps against your world, the mechanical clicking coming to a stop, the system halting to his will. Retracts his hand. “You’re really kept out of the loop, aren’t you?” He asks, eyes gleaming, fingertips grazing the blade at his hip. Your brow narrows, “that’s not an answer.” You eye him warily, how close he is to that precious gift your sister had given you.

Lips lift into that familiar viper’s smile, “I’m here to have a meeting with your High Lord and Lady. I’m surprised they didn’t tell you. Surprised too you’re allowed near me at all after our last encounter—do they not particularly mind your safety?” He inquires, moving around the kitchen table. You shift in response, mirroring his movements, the opening steps to a dance you’re uninterested in.

“I live here,” you counter, “why should I yield my ground to you. It’s my home.” He quirks a neatly groomed brow, taking another step around the table, so you’ve switched positions. “You don’t live with the rest of your lovely family? Your younger sister has a home deeper within this city, but you choose to stay here, in this lonely place?”

“It’s my home,” you repeat, “and I like the quiet. Can you understand that?”

Eris’ brow narrows at the perceived insult, and you move closer to the table, to your orrery. “What sort of nonsense question is that?” He asks sharply.

“You live in a palace, don’t you? Big; spacious? Filled with people and riches?” You ask, narrowing your eyes on the male. His lips quirk, “more riches than you can even comprehend.” Eyes run over you, judgementally, “more beauty, too.”

“Filled with people, I’ll bet,” you say, ignoring the comment with practiced ease. At least Azriel’s helped with desensitising you to such things. “Servants, courtiers, maids. Does your home— Does your father’s palace ever sleep? Do you ever get any peace?”

“If you’re prying to see if there’s a single moment I might be vulnerable to an assassination attempt, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. There isn’t a single person who steps foot in my palace without authorisation.” He replies smoothly, caramel eyes gleaming.

Your lips tilt quietly, “what a lovely cage you live in, Eris.”

He stiffens, then his mouth twists itself into something resembling a smile—too serpentine. “Is this your preferred battleground? Verbal warfare? You’re quite talented at it.” You don’t mistake it for a compliment. “Tell me: which of them taught you to speak like that?”

Your brow dips in confusion. “It’s not warfare—It’s observation. There’s nothing aggressive about it.”

“No? No animosity in your prying? I could have sworn I detected a bite back by the river. Where have your claws gone? Were they clipped just like the hell-cat’s were?” He smiles—unnerving to be faced with it. “Bring them out. We can have ourselves a sparring match.” A hand raises in mocking challenge, beckoning you forward.

Hairs raise at the back of your neck, skin prickling with that itch that lies just below the scratch of your nails. Burning your fingertips. Dangerous. Manipulative. Manipulative.

“And where did you learn?” You fire back. “Who taught you to be so insidious? Or do you know no different?”

Caramel burns into you, charring your insides. “An answer for an answer.”

He’s got you. Knows you won’t rise to his challenge. So you switch methods.

Eyes flick down to the machinery on the table, “it’s very beautiful, isn’t it?”

If he’s caught off guard, he doesn’t show it. Well-accustomed to being on the constant edge. “A waste of time. The tinkerer has simply welded a few cogs and screws together—basic metal work.”

Your gaze rises to his, a hint of amusement within as you take a seat to better peer at the orrery. “You’re trying so hard to make it seem insignificant, yet you were studying our planet, so you’re clearly familiar with its structure.” Fingertips graze across the gilded metal of the sphere, the only one occupying the habitable zone. “I doubt you’ll answer my question, so I can only presume you’re used to hiding your interests.”

“Presume away,” he drawls, “it’s no bother to me.”

“No bother,” you echo, spinning the orrery, cogs ticking, globes rotating smoothly. “You hide like there’s something to be embarrassed about. What’s wrong with being fascinated by the world?” You play with the system, again falling under its spell, admiring the intricate carvings, how the tinkerer has rendered texture into metal—made it appear soft.

“You speak as if you’re knowledgeable of it. How much can you know having only spent two years in our land, feeding off our history?” He counters, stepping toward the table, eyes flicking carelessly over the mechanism. With forced lightness. Your brow furrows as you peer at him, “what’s the meaning of having endless time to discover if you don’t use it? I know about the world because I’ve read about it, and I’ve read about it because I want to know. Two years isn’t long to study something as vast as this, but unlike you, I have time to myself, to do things for myself that I want. And this—” you gesture to the small solar system, “—is what I’m interested in.”

The corners of Eris’ mouth tilt down, stepping finally closer to the table, as if accepting a conversation is inevitable. “And you think it is wise to invest your time in something as academic as this? You think you’ll be allowed to study it? Pursue your interest in it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You counter, absently tracing the rings of one of the planets—how beautiful they are! “I’m immortal now. Why shouldn’t I spend it doing things I like? Not all of us want to be sour and miserable.”

His lips quirk, “you maybe immortal, but you’re also detrimentally female. If you think your sex will not be an obstacle in your study, then you’re much more naive than I thought.”

Your brow dips, “and you’re awfully cynical. The library is filled with books, and is run by females, so no—I don’t think my sex will be an obstacle,” you snap. Take a breath in. He’s good at getting under your skin. You have to remember that’s his game. And you can’t fall for it. Otherwise Azriel will be right.

Eris opens his mouth, and you just know you don’t want to hear whatever rubbish he’s about to spit out. So you divert by returning to your wonderful orrery, “if you had to choose between these two planets to stand on for five minutes—” you point to the globes either side of your own, “—which would you go for? Air shortage aside?”

He rolls his eyes, irritated. “I do not have an interest in your childish device, and I did not come here to be lectured on how great the world is, nor anything beyond it. I have much more pressing things to concern myself with. The fact alone you choose to entertain yourself with knowledge that will never impact anyone is proof of your naiveté.”

You ignore the jab, even if it scratches its nails down your mental walls. “If you set foot on this one—” point to the one further from the centre, “—you would be crushed in seconds. Do you know why?”

The viper’s smile again, “as I have already said, I have no childish infatuation with things beyond my control. You’re wasting your time.”

“This planet,�� you carry on, pointedly ignoring him, “spins nearly five times faster than our own, meaning gravity—the stuff that holds us to the—”

“I know what gravity is,” he snaps, fire lighting in his eyes.

You blink, startled by the outburst. He watches you silently. Doesn’t make a move to interrupt you again.

“Meaning the gravity,” you say slowly, waiting for him to jump again. He doesn’t. “…is stronger.” You blink again, but he makes no comment. “As a result, the days there last mere hours. How can that not fascinate you? How many other quirks are out there? Even limiting it to our own planet?”

His caramel eyes narrow. “Careful,” he warns. “People have been put to death for talking as you are.”

You look at him, confused. “People in your court? Why on earth would anyone be killed for this?”

“Regardless of court,” he drawls, as if it’s obvious. “For suggesting something other than the Mother. On grounds of blasphemy. The study of science is inherently rooted against her.”

Eyes widen as you stare at him.

“Is that what’s stopping you?” You ask, incredulously. “You’re a favoured heir to the throne, aren’t you? What good is that title if you’re unable to benefit from it?”

His brow narrows, “there are infinite ways I benefit from it. If you’re too ignorant to figure them out, then it speaks volumes to your wisdom.”

You ignore that, pushing forward. “But Rhys has one in his study—an orrery. It can’t be that serious?” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re doubting yourself. “Is it?”

“Hasn’t your sister witnessed first-hand how selective the world can be in who it favours? Did you not listen when I told you your sex would present difficulties?” He says sharply. “If you’re set on remaining ignorant, I see no point in continuing this conversation.”

Spine straightens as you stare at him, surprised.

“If I don’t know something, then explain it to me,” you say quietly. “How can I learn if I don’t know where I’m lacking?”

“It is not my responsibility to educate you,” he snaps. “Neither my responsibility to entertain you with conversation. If you prove to be dull, I have no reason to waste my time on you.”

“I agree it’s not your responsibility to educate me,” you say, frowning, “but if you have knowledge of something I don’t, and refuse to share it, how can you stand there and remain irritated with me? When you have the ability to change that?”

Eris’ lips twist again. “Like I said: it’s a waste of time.”

Your brows curve in frustration and disappointment. “You’d rather allow your irritation to fester than do something to prevent it? If you have a problem, and the means to repair it, but choose not to… Well, it speaks volumes to what sort of High Lord you might be.” As soon as the title leaves your tongue, it smacks back into you, the weight registering in your mind. The male before you really might become High Lord—inherit the power and responsibility that comes with it.

He’ll become responsible for his whole Court—yet prefers inactivity when faced with a problem that does not directly impact him.

“Why spend my energy on something so useless? You are only one person—why should I waste my breath? You clearly have no concept of how important and limited time is to someone in my position, in spite of immortality,” he states coldly, caramel darkening to something icy. “I prioritise matters I deem to be important; you waste your time flicking through old books that would better serve a fire.”

“I’m wasting my time on something I love.” You reply sharply, skin itching again, prickling at your fingertips. Sick of having it looked down on. Of being looked down on.

Lips twist in a faint, serpentine smile, eyes gleaming with predatory focus. He descends into the seat opposite you, moving with the grace of a spider, spiralling down into the centre of his web to meet his prey. Suck it dry; liquidate its insides. “Now that piques my interest.”

You don’t need to look down to know the colour your skin has changed to. You do anyway, eyes widening as you take in the faint, radiant green of your fingertips. You stare silently, noting the iridescence.

“I gather my brother’s mate is a seer, while the hell-cat yielded her power,” his smile is one crafted from centuries of cultivated misery, sharp edges created to keep himself safe. Carving his own bones into weaponry. “Could Rhysand have kept you secret because you have no control over it? Even after all this time?”

You bite down on the fear—it’s the second time it’s sparked up in broad daylight. Out in the open. Where anyone can see. “So persistent with the theory of secrecy,” you manage, voice coming out smooth, for the most part. “Maybe you didn’t know, because my power is nothing. It doesn’t heal, doesn’t hurt—nothing besides a dim light in the dark. It’s utterly useless.”

Eris doesn’t look convinced. “The cauldron wouldn’t give you a meaningless power. You haven’t tried hard enough.”

“Why is it so unbelievable?” You counter, in a hurry to end the conversation so you can return to the cover of your room. “Elain is the only one gifted with a real power. Nesta—” Are you allowed to tell him? He already knows she yielded it, so you see no point in hiding it. “Nesta took something. Ripped it away from the cauldron. Why would I be given anything meaningful?” You ask, and see the interest drain from his eyes. “Out of the four of us, Elain’s the only one with a working power.”

“And that’s why you’ve had so much time to yourself,” he drawls, malice again swimming in his whiskey eyes. “No training to do, nothing useful to preoccupy yourself with. Just steadily draining resources, and researching nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” you fire back weakly. “And it’s not heresy either. —nor blasphemy, or whatever name you want to give it to try and convince me it’s wrong.”

His eyes harden, “it denies the power of the Mother. Everything was made when she tipped out the cauldron. Science seeks to disprove that.”

“It shows the beauty of the world!” You insist, vaguely aware of the colour growing more intense as you press your hands into the surface of the table, rising to your feet. “It shows how intricate, and delicately woven it is! The only thing it does is prove there is something out there. How can you look up into the night sky, or gaze across the world, filled with magic, and life, and think any other way?” You argue, pushing the orrery across the table. “There are patterns in our world. Strange, and wonderful patterns, if you know how to spot them. The perfect rotations of our world around the great star, how everything intertwines with one another, like those cogs and screws you were trying to make light of. How can a world be so intricately faceted by chance? There has to be a designer—a creator. The one who set everything in motion to become as it is now.”

Your heart spikes as you think about it—how great she must be. The vastness of her capabilities.

“Science does not deny the existence of the Mother—it allows us to study the depth of her. Or something close to it.”

Eris’ eyes flick down to the solar system that you’ve pushed between his hands—now studying the details. His attention drags back up to you, noting how your pupils have dilated, heart beating quickly, nails digging into the surface of the table, gleaming with iridescence. A slow smile as he makes the connection between your emotions and the glow.

It would be a shame to tell you.

He’ll watch you figure it out for yourself—even if you have to stumble your way to the end.

“You’re skilled with words,” he says at last. “Has anyone told you that?”

You regard him silently, a little taken aback. Almost exhausted from the output of energy. Who knew it could be so tiring sharing an interest. How draining excitement is. “You’re just saying that,” you murmur quietly, fatigue weighing on your tongue from the outburst. You know he’s manipulative. You won’t fall for it.

His smile grows a little wider, into something vaguely normal. “You might even have avoided execution with a speech like that.”

Strangely, it doesn’t feel like he’s lying. It’s not much to go off, not much to rely on. He’s had centuries to perfect this act, would be flawless at it by now. And yet…

And yet. It’s enough for you to believe him. Trust your gut, and it’s telling you he’s being sincere.

Strange indeed.

————

Mor had interrupted almost immediately after, making you spring back from the table, seeing her blonde head appear in the kitchen, eyes hard when they landed on the Autumn Court male.

She’d promptly whisked him away to whichever room they were having their meeting in, and you’d hastily tucked your hands at your back, concealing glowing fingertips from her sharp gaze. You’d hated yourself a little in that moment, for hiding it from her. For not being brave enough to face them head on.

It was nothing compared to the sharp, stabbing laceration in your gut when Eris noted the movement. Offered you a slow, vulpine smile.

It’s been days since then, and every step seems to echo your doom. Every footfall in the hallway, every chirp of voices—you’re convinced they know. Because how much longer is he going to keep it a secret? How long before he asks something from you? Something you can’t give, because you don’t have access to them. To any of them. Not in the way he would like.

A series of knocks is landed to you door, and the book slides from your hands. Yelp when it nearly hits your foot. Feyre really needs to start walking a little louder so things like that don’t happen. You sigh heavily.

“Come in,” you call, hastily collecting up the book, plonking it down atop the precarious stack at your bedside. A small gust of dust motes shoot out from the pages, and you cough, turning to the window. Opening it to invite in the crisp, midday air. Open the curtains a little wider, too.

You turn to face her, here probably to ask you to another dinner. It’s been nearly a fortnight since the last one, when Elain had invited you to the…mortal lands. You really don’t know what to call that part, now.

Hazel cuts into you, air catches in your lungs—maybe it’s the dust.

You stare. Stare, and stare, but he doesn’t morph, or transfigure into your sister. Shadows crawl at his feet, slink over his wings, kept tight to his body. It’s strange to see him so tense.

“What are you…” you trail off, shaking your head slowly. “No.”

Azriel’s mouth purses. Remains in the doorway, not even one step away from the threshold. “We should— I would like to speak with you.” You stare longer; shake your head again.

(you are a proving to be a burden.)

“I don’t… No. I don’t want to,” you manage. “I’m in the middle of something right now.” His eyes flick about the room, and you shift to conceal the books at your bedside. “You don’t look busy,” he says slowly, aware how quickly things can turn sour. “That’s because I’m talking to you,” you reply, equally carefully.

He pauses, eyes once again scanning your room, then, “may I come in?”

Spine goes rigid; his pupils dilate. “I want to clear the air between us,” he supplies. “It would be better to do so in private.” He has a point. Feyre’s added a sound barrier to your room after the mess of last time, but… It’s midday, no one should be here. The only people who occasionally dip in are Elain and Feyre. Nesta doesn’t really…the two of you aren’t as close. “Okay,” you find yourself saying, dipping your head, “but I need to—” you gesture to the clothes on your floor. The general mess.

He nods, throat bobbing before he steps inside, the door clicking behind him as he keeps to the clear spaces on the floor. Few and far between.

You swallow, prying your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “What did you want to… Where do you want to start?” You ask, returning to the far end of your room to push the windows wider—as far as they can go. The breeze plays with strands of your hair, cleaning out the stuffy room, smelling slightly of mildew and parchment. Mostly dust, though.

“Your feelings for me…” he begins quietly, the words blaring throughout the room. “How long have you—”

“You know. Start somewhere else,” you interrupt, nails digging into the wooden frame, nudging the fabric of the curtains with your foot. He pauses, and you remain turned away from him, heart spiking. But he acquiesces.

“Okay…” he breathes heavily, followed by the faint stretch of leather as he folds his arms. Flexes his fingers before doing so. Still, you don’t look at him. “The talk with Eris.” It’s your turn to sigh, shifting on your feet to face him, wind blowing in gently from behind, soothing the heat between your shoulder blades, wrapping your cardigan a little tighter.

You don’t question how he knows about that short chat. Maybe Mor mentioned it—she’s the only one who saw, anyway. And you can’t imagine Azriel would have allowed it to go on that long if his shadows were aware. There’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.

“He just asked why I lived up here, instead of with the rest of you,” you mumble, scanning hastily for something to do. “I just said I liked the quiet, and that’s it.” Fingers grip the hem of a top, carrying it to your bed to fold away. The first of many.

Silence stretches between you, taut and tenuous. Hairs rise at the back of your neck, skin prickling.

“You didn’t mention that last time,” he says slowly, neutrally. Too controlled to be calm.

Your brows draw together. “I didn’t,” you confirm, picking up another top, folding it. It’s slightly out of place, the seams not lining up, and you redo it. Set it above the other. “Why not?” He asks tentatively. “It helps to know exactly things like that.” You stand straighter, looking at him—he does indeed have his arms crossed. Uncrosses them when you face him. Also straightens.

“We haven’t spoken since then,” you say slowly.

Eyes lock briefly when you both connect the dots.

“You’ve spoken with him since?” It’s phrased as a question, but…

Throat rolls, eyes turn away, body following shortly after, grabbing a pile of three garments. Set them on the bed. Hands moving like clockwork.

Head dips in confirmation.

Silence digs deeper. A shovel in a grave mound.

“When we had a meeting?” He asks, voice again taking on that controlled tone. Body coiled tight. Features neutral. “Yeah,” you murmur, “when you had that meeting.” Set the skirt atop the pile.

“And he asked why you live alone?” There’s an implication there. What is it? So many different angles to study it from—not a pleasing thought. “Not directly,” you mumble, “he said it was interesting I chose to live here when Feyre had a house deeper in the city. I think.”

“What you do you mean, you think?” He asks steadily, remaining statue-like in your peripherals.

“It was a few days ago,” you supply. “It didn’t stick with me.” That part didn’t, at least. He nods, reasoning it out in his head. Understandable.

“Was there anything else?” He asks instead. You know he marks the way your shoulders tense, even if you operate otherwise normally. “No,” you mumble, turning away from him, “nothing important.”

“We’ve been over this,” he reminds. “You don’t—…” Sighs. “Just tell me everything, and I’ll decide what’s important.” Why does this keep happening?

“You can’t trust him,” he adds gently, a touch softer than before.

You nod your head quickly, “I know.” Quiet reigns again, and he’s debating something. “Just say it,” you murmur, straightening the stack of books, skittish fingers fumbling with some of the loose papers. You should probably separate them out into a neater pile—they’ll only get more crinkled otherwise.

“I don’t want you to take it the wrong way,” he supplies carefully.

“Okay.” Nod once. “I won’t.”

Picture the way his throat rolls, fingers flex at his sides. “Do you really understand why you can’t trust him?”

You pick up a few books from the stack, depositing them on your desk, moving to sort through which ones can be returned to the library. Mentally cataloguing their numbers and titles that correlate with set aisles. “I do,” you say, seeing how that would have been misinterpreted. He does you the courtesy of not asking you to explain it. “So you understand why you have to be careful about what you say. What you let him know,” he reasons softly.

Something heavy settles in your gut at the reminder, but you keep your lips shut.

“Eris is a snake,” he continues. “I can’t stress enough how wary you should be around him. And certainly never by yourself.” Eyes briefly meet over that last part, then your own dart away, returning to organising the catastrophe on your desk. Shifting through papers and diagrams. Charts and catalogues. Star formations and little doodles. “If you give him something, he will find a way to use it. It’s imperative you never let him know anything important.” You look at him over your shoulder, temporarily removing your focus from the lovely books, “what counts as important?”

Azriel sighs, leans against the tall frame of your bed, one shoulder propped against it calmly. He looks relaxed—it’s intentional. A distortion to make things seem fine; to keep you calm.

He raises one hand, gestures between you and him. “Us,” he says, reluctantly. “Things like this—they’re private. Emotional problems, and squabbles or…complications,” he expands. “You can’t let him know about anything like that. If he thinks there’s weakness, or a rift he can exploit, he will.”

Breath catches in your chest, and you snap you attention off him, forcefully reattaching it to the books you’ve laid out. Which pile means what?

“I don’t…” you begin. Swallow. Unstick your tongue. “I don’t know about any of your relations. Within…within Rhys’…” You fumble, unsure how to describe them all.

(Us.)

“Family?” He supplies. “Within your family?”

“No,” you sigh. “Beyond my sisters. I don’t—…I mean, I don’t know what’s going on with Cassian, or Mor, or Amren, either. I don’t—… There’s nothing he can get from me.”

Azriel watches you silently, skin prickling beneath the weight of his focus. “They’re your family, too,” he says gently. Almost tenderly. “Not just Rhys’, or Feyre’s. You’re her older sister, so you’re a part of it all, too.”

(A single pair of pearl earrings.)

Hazel locks with your own, and you release a soft laugh, beams of amusements finally lighting your eyes, mirth building on your mouth. How long has it been since you’ve laughed because of him?

Azriel narrows his eyes, and the laughter dies on your tongue. “Oh.” The word whispers out on an exhale, subconsciously taking a step backward. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I thought—” You shake your head. “You’re just saying that.” He remains silent, watching you intently.

“They don’t—,” you fumble. Trying to find the words. “I mean, they—… We’re separate. Me, I mean. I’m not—”

“Yes you are.”

You shake your head, not accepting it. “You can’t expect me to believe that,” you mutter. “I’m not that naive.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “Granted, you don’t make it easy. But you’re still part of it all.”

“So you—” You’re not sure if you can say it. “You don’t… You see me as family?”

It’s his turn to falter, coming up short. You shake your head in disbelief. “Azriel…”

His eyes narrow as he stares at you. Opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Let’s just… Let’s stay on track.” Otherwise it’s going to get ugly.

(you are a proving to be a burden.)

Lower lip trembles; you bite it, turning your attention to your desk. He’s quiet for a few moments, and the energy begins to settle.

“Why does family bother you so much?” He asks, quietly.

Breath whooshes from your lungs, and you place both your palms flat on the desk, so tired. “Because,” you sigh, eyelids weighing heavy. Massage the bridge of your nose with both your middle and forth fingers. “The feelings I have for you…those don’t belong to a family member.” Shame heats your cheeks, fingers covering you eyes. How many times do you have to say it?

“Why do you insist on targeting everything I’m uncomfortable talking about?” You ask, softly, hands remaining over your features, muffling you. Because if you don’t divert, he’ll target that, too. “You did the same in the air,” you whisper, “you get hung up on these tiny points and you can’t let them go and it’s…” You don’t know.

“It’s what?” He asks, coldly. Lip trembles at the tone, pushing away the dampness, lowering your hands. “Why do you do it?”

“It’s my job to get the details right,” he replies.

(Is this your preferred battleground? Verbal warfare?)

“I’m not your job, Azriel.”

“You are when you run off and have unmonitored chats with that male.”

“Eris, or Bas?” You ask quietly.

(You’re quite talented at it.)

He falters, then his jaw ticks, the muscle feathering. “We’ll talk about Bas in a minute,” he says. “For now, we’re talking about how you behave around Eris.” You stare at him. Blink. “I don’t know how to make it clearer,” he continues, watching the ceiling, head tipped upward slightly. Eyes flick down, looking as though you’re below him.

Lowers his head.

“Eris prefers verbal warfare,” he begins, repeating the same old things he’s already told you. Fingertips begin to itch.

Hazel pierces into you, muscle in his jaw tensing. “He’s good at it, too. Good enough to make all of us wary. Doesn’t that show enough?”

(You’re skilled with words, has anyone told you that?)

“I got that impression.”

He nods, no more than a gentle dip of his chin. “That’s good,” he sighs. “It’s a good start.” Something twists in your gut at the words.

“Just don’t go near him,” Azriel continues, unaware of the numbness that’s slowly spreading down your back. “Okay.” Hands move automatically, and you watch distantly as they go.

He sighs, “so tell me what happened most recently. All of it. Then I can tell you what’s good and what’s not.”

“I don’t remember all of it,” you mumble.

Why are you so tired? It’s not the same fatigue as after talking with Eris. That was pleasant. Your mind was tired from working. Now… You’re just tired of resisting.

“You said he asked about you living alone,” he prompts. You want to go to bed. Want to close the curtains and crawl deep under the sheets.

You nod distantly. “And you said you liked the quiet.”

Nod again.

“So what happened after that?” He’s gotten quieter, sensing your disengagement.

You shrug weakly. “We just talked.”

“This is what I mean,” he says gently, attempting to soften the words that need to be said. “Eris doesn’t do idle chatter. You have to start understanding that.”

You shake your head, denying, “he didn’t ask anything else.”

“But you were talking?” He asks pointedly, doubt clear.

You go quiet. Shoulders slope.

Azriel sighs, standing upright. There’s no use talking to you like this.

“Let’s try this another time. When you’re more… When you’re feeling better.” He waits a little for a response. Feel the weight of his gaze on your hands. You don’t respond, and he dips his head in acknowledgement. Allowing your peace.

But still, when he leaves, you’re torn between crying, and wanting to run after him.

Nothing’s gotten better.

You still crave his attention, even though it’s begun to hurt.

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its-short-for-jackalope · 3 months

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OKAY, WE GOT A TRAILER AND A TITLE AND I HAVE THOUGHTS

You know what that means: it's brainrot time.

🏝 TITLE REVEAL: WHO IS THE SEARCHER IN THE SHADOWS?

quick note, I love this title. It's rad as hell. 10/10. anyway—

of course when I hear the word "Searcher" I immediately think of the one and only Addison Arvad, missing captain of the Antikythera and beloved wrecker of journals.

look at her. I love her. she's beautiful. also I am lowkey obsessed with how Jackie draws hair. (please teach me your secrets.)

We didn't get to learn much about Capt. Arvad in episode 3, but we do know that she was a Searcher who disappeared without any explanation, along with the rest of her crew. Kal probably had something to do with it, since he was attempting to retrieve the ship's orrery and said some vague stuff about fog and vortices, but even he doesn't seem to know exactly what happened to her and the crew.

Whatever the case, her disappearance is the reason most of the events in TGOA even happened, so it would make sense for her to be a big part of the next episode. And if Addison is the Searcher and the Searcher is in the shadows, then I have two (and a half?) theories.

The first is that she (and her crew, if they survived, who are also presumably all Searchers) are lost somewhere and that whatever "fogging the vertices" entails led to her getting whisked away somewhere else. She could be trapped there, trying to get out, and/or maybe she is in shadows in the same way Margaret was—maybe she has lost her memories and her magic.

The second theory is actually an idea @man-down-in-hatchet-town proposed that promptly blew my mind: what if whatever happened to Addison led to her getting corrupted and going dark and she is the villain of the episode? I honestly love this idea so much and I think it would be fun and also delightfully heartbreaking after hearing that entry from Addison's journal and getting a glimpse of the person she once was.

(also every pulp fan I know is in complete agreement that we want a cool female villain, pretty please Matt— 🥺🙏)

🏝 OH GOD, THE TIME TRAVEL

I've already yelled a bit about Rose being separated from Samuel and the others, so I'm not gonna repeat myself here, but I also have other thoughts about the time travel!

The trailer has confirmed that Rose was indeed sent two weeks into the past like Ahlaam said she would be. I think it's safe to assume that Rose will have to wait those two weeks until she can reunite with the others, and I also believe we're gonna have to wait with her.

Rose’s two weeks are going to be important—she's meeting Dakkar and hopefully getting some Travelore™ about the island and The Blazing World, and probably getting into some sort of trouble that better not require a printing press plate to resolve, since she doesn’t have it right now—so I don’t think they're going to just blip by. Otherwise what’s the point of sending her back in time?

I think it’s a pretty safe bet that we (the listeners) are probably going to be doing some time travel ourselves, hopping between Rose's two weeks with Dakkar and the rest of the brick family in the present as Sia takes them to the island and they get started on all that mysterious work they have to do. I have no idea what they're going to find there except maybe a rocket? but I can imagine Samuel and the others following Rose's trail as they piece together what's happened to her and learn about this place and its inhabitants, and then the storylines will connect by the end of the episode and we'll get the twins back together and they'll never be separated again!

Isn't that right, Mr. Dahan?

/lh

Alternatively, I suppose the Ellen Austin could be met on the shore by a Rose who has already spent two weeks on the island and then we could get relevant flashbacks here and there, but I don't think that's as likely. It might be too impractical for this medium when we have a lot of story (and lore) to cover and only so much time to sing about it! Plus, that"By the time our heroes are reunited" bit really makes me think that they won't see each other until closer to the end of the episode. The reunion is absolutely gonna make me cry. I can't wait.

🏝 TRAVELER ISLAND, BABEY!

The island's inhabitants have magic similar to Margaret's, and are led by a new group of powerful Travelers.

...Well, maybe it's not Traveler island, exactly. I'm guessing that most of these ~inhabitants~ are actually Searchers. Sia might not be the only Traveler, but I don't think there are a lot of them out there. It makes more sense for there to be less Travelers and more Searchers to balance things out if the Travelers are significantly more powerful like they've been implied to be.

I definitely think Ahlaam is one of the "new group of powerful Travelers" and I'm super excited to get to know her more. (I am also hoping that maybe we'll get a Jackie Traveler character? 👀) I still don't know if Dakkar is a Traveler or not, but I'm inclined to believe he might be a Searcher—mostly because his portrait doesn't have glowing eyes and flashy gold jewelry like Sia or Ahlaam. (I also feel like it may not be a coincidence that he's wearing a light blue-ish colored shirt like Addison, even if it's a different style and looks considerably less like a space suit, lol.)

They speak of a lost kingdom, The Blazing World, and how what occurs on Lincoln Island will impact an entire civilization.

The Blazing World!!! Rose hasn't heard this name yet, but we have! (and Margaret and Samuel.) The people on Lincoln Island could be survivors/refugees from the Blazing World, or perhaps they are all here on a war mission and this is simply their base of operations. Either way, I'm sure the civilization being impacted is the Travelers'; even if this island isn't currently sheltering all that remains of their people and this is only an outpost for the war, they still have some valuable people here—like Margaret, who is recovering her memories and I am certain has an incredibly vital role to play in this war—and the aftermath of whatever happens will undoubtedly be felt beyond the shores of Lincoln Island. Either our heroes succeed in whatever they're trying to do here, or it goes wrong and the Blazing World potentially loses valuable warriors & resources, and the war against Itzal takes a turn for the worse.

🏝 THE "D" WORD: DESTINY

By the time our heroes are reunited, they will be closer to understanding their destinies than ever before...

Destiny... oh, I've had many thoughts about this and been part of multiple discussions with various friends about fate and coincidence and puzzle pieces coming together in this story. enough that I'm almost not sure where to start.

...Eh, chronologically, I guess.

1817 — the year the Stratford family paper stand was established and the year Anna Hanover's father lost his place in the world. Both of these events affected the characters' lives, helping to cement the twins' love of stories and giving them an eventual connection to the New York Sun that would allow them to publish the moon hoax, and giving Anna her tragic backstory and a goal that would drive her to construct her own moon out of brick rather than ink.

1829 — the year I believe Margaret Cavendish arrived in New York City. She lost her memories and her magic, and the Travelers set her up here to live in comfort and safety and loneliness. We don't know why this happened yet, but I think it's safe to assume the location isn't a coincidence when we know at least one Traveler with precognitive abilities and it's only a handful of years until...

1835 — the year of the moon hoax and the brick satellite. Samuel and Rose Stratford write a story that takes the city by storm, attracting the attention of both Margaret Cavendish, who has been looking for answers and winds up with more questions and magic she doesn't remember or understand, and Sir John Herschel, who doesn't want fantastical stories written about him, thank you very much—but wait, how did he get here? He was in South Africa, a whole other hemisphere! How did he find out about the hoax so quickly?

Well, someone brought him the newspaper that made him come to New York, meet the Stratfords and Margaret, and invite them all to work on the brick satellite with him. They go to British Guiana, manage to finish the satellite alongside Anna, get it into the sky thanks to Margaret's Radiance, and finally meet the Traveler out in space, who somehow knew they would be there and knew Margaret's magic was returning but is surprised that her memories weren't. The Traveler knows more than she's telling, but rather than explain she sends the quartet back to Earth.

1874 — the year the quartet are teleported to. They happen to meet a friendly bosun who offers them a place on a ship that'll take them to New York, right where they want to go. Perfect, right? But in reality it takes them to a ghost ship that just so happens to contain some stuff that helps Margaret remember some things. There's a crazy awesome magic battle, sailors vanish, the ghost ship vanishes, and by the end of it all they're sailing towards a mysterious island and the Traveler, Sia, is telling them they have a lot of work to do.

...okay, the point I'm attempting to make here is that yeah, it definitely seems like something has been leading them here, to this time and place. I just can't tell if it's ✨️destiny✨️ or if it's just Sia, who can see into the future and had a clear hand in at least some of these occurrences. She sent our heroes to 1874 in a flash of light, right into Morgan's path, into Kal's, into the Antikythera's. And if she did that, who's to say she hasn't been guiding the quartet in more covert ways this whole time? Someone had to get that paper to John. Someone—specifically a Traveler someone—had to get Margaret settled in New York.

You could say that it's all destiny and that Sia's foresight and her actions are simply destiny's way of getting shit done, that it was all going to happen this way no matter what. You could also go round and round questioning how destiny and precognitive abilities work & influence each other until your brain feels like it's melting (why yes, I am speaking from experience) but I think I'm going to skip that and focus on a different question instead:

What does destiny (or Sia) have in store for our heroes?

I don't know, of course. probably a rocket at some point? gotta wait for the episode to find out.

but regardless of who or what has been pulling the strings, it took a lot to get our heroes to this point and the idea that they're meant to be here, that they've always been headed toward something that's more than this the lives they had before is so unbelievably exciting??? even if you don't care for the idea of destiny or fate, you know great things are coming and that the story is gonna get bigger and wilder.

🏝 YEAH I KEEP MENTIONING THE ROCKET, DON'T I?

might as well actually give it its own little section on this ramble-y ass post, lol.

We've had hints that there'd be at least one rocket in the story from the very first M.A.I.A. transmission. (If you haven't seen those, you're missing out!) Now that we're getting new cast photos where everyone has been posing with a little red rocket, it looks like it's time!

Maybe the quartet are going to help the Travelers build a rocket. Maybe they're going to help repair a rocket that already exists. Maybe they're going to go to space again, or another planet—The Blazing World?—or maybe they're only going to see the Travelers off and that'll be it. (Okay, that last one would be a little disappointing, lmao.) Hell, maybe they're only going to Lincoln Island to meet a rocket that hasn't arrived yet! So many possibilities!

...hmm. I think that's it? I think that's all the thoughts I had. I have been putting this post together off and on since last night so if I missed anything or it seems a little disjointed then that's why, lmao.

this is admittedly less of a theory post at times and more of a John impression (it's not my fault I have questions!) but why wait for M.A.I.A. transmissions and more information when I can shout about it all now? the universe simply wouldn't be right if I didn't seize every opportunity to scream about Pulp Musicals.

anyway, if you read all of this then I hope you enjoyed it! you can expect/dread more posts like this in the coming weeks, as soon as we get more info and M.A.I.A. transmissions. can't wait to see my best girl again. 💙

...I really hope Matt and Jackie have gotten that window fixed.

#okay im done im tired of looking at this <3 #jack jabbers #pulp musicals #pulp musicals 4 #pulp 4 #the searcher in the shadows #pulp musicals tsits #tsits #pulp musicals theory #matt dahan #captain addison arvad #capt. addison arvad #rose stratford #samuel stratford #john herschel #margaret cavendish #pulp musicals episode 4

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atamascolily · 9 months

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pmmm oneshots by subject

Just for fun, I put together a guide for my Madoka Magica oneshots on A03, sorted roughly by subject matter/theme. All are 7K or less, most in the 1-3K range. This is not meant to be a comprehensive list and will probably be instantly out of date, but can still serve as a good general reference. Enjoy!

inspired by art

Curation - The Law of Cycles isn't a person. It's an institution.

No Exit (The Nighthawks Remix) - Based on Nighthawks by Edward Hopper.

Balancing Act - Kyouko and Madoka take an unusual route to find Sayaka's witch, unaware Homura is watching from the shadows.

Marked - Junko Kaname invites Homura on a family trip to a local hot springs resort. Intrigued by Homura's refusal, Junko investigates--revealing a secret of her own along the way.

HomuMado Bittersweet Angst

The Night Parade of One Hundred Witches - Once a year on the anniversary of Walpurgisnacht, the streets of Mitakihara are home to a most unusual parade.

Flying Home - Soulmate Goose AU.

Memento - Mami does her best to help when Homura's grief over Madoka manifests in bouts of coughed-up spider lilies, though it isn't enough.

surreal weirdness

Orrery - Homura's apartment is out of this world.

Return to Sender - The epic story of Homura vs. junk mail.

Projections - Homura redecorates her apartment.

Splice - There's someone else out there besides Homura with control over time. The question is, what does she want? Scene 0 AU from before Scene 0 was released.

Witches

Absentia - As Homura investigates the mystery of Walpurgisnacht, one question eludes her: where is the witch's grief seed?

Strange Loop - The Stage-Constructing Witch narrates a familiar story with an unfamiliar twist.

Junk - Mitakihara's new magical girl duo has their work cut out for them when the Hoarding Witch manifests on the Kazamino City border.

Sticky Fingers - Kyouko needs Mami's help to get out of a sticky situation when a routine witch-hunt goes awry.

Trompe-l'oeil - Mami plays a deadly game of hide and seek against an elusive witch inside a reality-bending art gallery.

tea and sympathy - An invitation to visit the Dress-Up Witch means you will never be lonely again.

Fun and Games

Loosely connected series of one shots in a modern AU where the characters are playing an RPG based on the original series.

Fun and Games - It's another eventful session of the Puella Magi: Magica RPG: Mami one-shots a witch with her Tiro Finale attack, a new player joins the party, and Sayaka fails an important roll with devastating consequences.

She Who Fights Monsters - Kyubey convinces the gang to reconvene for a new campaign of the Puella Magi: Magica RPG, but all bets are off when Homura realizes the GM is up to his old tricks.

What Goes Around - Things get weird after Homura ousts Kyubey as GM of the ongoing Puella Magi: Magica RPG. Well, weirder, anyway. Homura and Mami Roommate Shenanigans

Inspired by Mitakihara Anti-materials spinoff manga. Domestic fluff AUs.

Moving Day - Homura moves in with Mami.

Soba ni Iru (Soba Noodles By Your Side) - Homura's first night in Mami's apartment.

Partnership - "I figured we could both use some tea," Tomoe said by way of greeting. "You had difficulty sleeping again, didn't you?"

Dirty Laundry - Homura finds a creative use for the washing machine.

Mami Character Studies

Childish Things - Mami stumbles across a box of childhood memorabilia.

half-life - Mami wished to live, but she didn't give any thought to what that life might look like, and now she's paying the price.

Twenty Facts About Mami Tomoe - Fragments from a tragedy in slow motion.

Fireflies - While searching for witches, Mami has a wondrous experience at an isolated shrine.

Fluff and Crack

Wash Cycle - "I like it," Sayaka said honestly. "It's just not what I expected heaven to be like, that's all."

The Adventure of the Sapphire Soul Gem - "Huh?" Sayaka said, unable to believe what she had just witnessed. "Did that goose just eat my soul gem?" Kyouko was faster on the uptake. "Quick, grab it!"

Final Form - Madoka and her friends get an unexpected glimpse of the Incubator life cycle.

Mermaid in My Tub - Kyouko intervenes in time to save Sayaka from becoming a witch--sort of. Now Sayaka's stuck living in the bathtub in Mami's apartment with a mermaid tail, and Kyouko is determined to make the best of it.

Sayaka Miki and the Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day

out of order - This place is a dead end, but so is she, and it's not like Sayaka has anywhere else to go at the moment, so she might as well make the most of it.

descent - The witch is still out there calling for its next victim, though not for much longer now that Sayaka's here. She's close enough to transform into her true self and leave this crude matter behind.

tainted - Caught up in despair, Sayaka rapidly loses touch with reality.

Miscellaneous Crossovers

No knowledge of the other fandom is needed.

Death Comes for the Incubator (x Sandman). Kyubey confronts his own mortality at last.

Memories of Somebody (x Bleach). A chance meeting between Homura and Ichigo reveals unexpected connections. Post-series (PMMM) and post-Memories of Nobody and Fade to Black (Bleach).

Palimpsest (x Sandman). A garden, a maze, a mysterious hooded figure. A book of pages written and erased again and again. In between timelines, Homura Akemi comes face to face with Destiny.

The Immortal Dragon's Disciple (x The Way of the Househusband). Homura Akemi finds an unlikely mentor in ex-yakuza turned househusband Tatsu Kuroda.

Good Morning, Ms. Saotome (x Sayonara, Zetsubou-sensei). Junko Kaname sets up Ms. Saotome on a date with an eccentric teacher. Madoka has a front-row seat for what comes next.

xxxHolic-inspired Fusion AUs

No prior knowledge of xxxHolic is required.

asynchronous - The Dimension Witch dwells in a shop specializing in the granting of wishes... for a price.

a butterfly dreaming - Mami's perfect life comes to an end....but is the person who wished for this really so bad?

life in fantasy (the butterfly dreaming remix) - Mami Tomoe never, ever listens. Once again, Homura is left to cleans up the mess. Whumptober 2021

Cui Bono? - Mami wakes up in Homura's apartment, surprised and grateful to have survived her disastrous encounter with the Dessert Witch. But her host's contradictory behavior raises an important question: what exactly is Homura getting out of this?

Careful What You Wish For - Trapped in the Box Witch's labyrinth and paralyzed with guilt over Mami's death, Madoka is rescued by the most unexpected person imaginable.

Rude Awakening - Homura's latest fight with Mami might be a dream, but what awaits her upon waking is all too real.

Sticks and Stones - After a fight between Sayaka and an unknown opponent ends with the former grievously injured, Mami reveals an unexpected connection between them. Null Magical Girl Weirdness

Unlikely to make sense if you're unfamiliar with the Null Magical Girl light novel.

Null and Void - Fourteen-year-old Kosane's attempt to contract with Kyubey unexpectedly fails.

null thoughts, head empty - While waiting for the space-time collapse, Kosane and Kyubey discuss Incubator biology and the nature of the human soul.

Schrodinger's Incubator - The only thing more impressive than solving the perfect locked-room murder mystery is preventing it from happening in the first place. Miscellaneous

Tracks - Madoka searches for Sayaka along the train tracks.

Inventory - Homura sorts through the contents of her shield.

Family Business - This time, Madoka and Sayaka are rescued from a witch's labyrinth by the Tomoe twins, a magical sibling duo gifted with a flair for the dramatic, deadly aim with rifles, and fabulous fashion sense. It still ends badly for everyone.

Gingerbread - Nagisa and Mami make gingerbread together.

Parallels - Despite everything they have in common, Mami and Homura never quite connect. Then again, parallel lines never meet, except maybe at infinity.

Power Sources - Madoka and Sayaka discuss the topics they chose for their science essays, unaware of the relevance to their future lives.

Five Things That Probably Never Happened in Any Timeline (And One That Definitely Did) - Visions of a kinder, gentler magical girl show that never was. [based on the opening credits]

#puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #my fanfiction

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