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utterlyazriel · 9 months

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an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

#it got very long... i'm sorry!#we can't talk about bad miscommunication and then me not set up valid reasons for miscommunication tho #i can't DO IT #azriel a big softie in this one...#i mean he always is :)#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel hurt/comfort #miscommunication #idiots in luv <3 #i need a writing tag.....

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weirdglassthing · 22 days

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GRIMMORNING NATION RISEEE. Criminal lack of grimmorning on this site so I’m making it my personal mission to spread my propaganda

Ignore whatevers going on with torbek, even I don’t know. I just drew some lines for his body and called it a day

#third wheel torbek #once upon a witchlight #legends of avantris #gricko grimgrin #torbek #morning frost #grimmorning #gricko x frost #window kiss #an idea given to me by my friend #Im actually working on the sketch requests now!! wow!!#if you’re on the loa discord you got a preview of a frost and hootsie one yesterday 🫶#anyways this one took me not that long so sorry if it looks a little hurried #artists doing your part I salute you 🫡

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bunnieswithknives · 16 days

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Dev this is serious stop beatboxing.

#fop nature au #fop #fairly oddparents #fop a new wish #fairly oddparents a new wish #dev dimmadome #fop dev #dale dimmadome #emetophobia #art #digital art #fanart #comic #Sorry for taking so long on this I was procrastinating bcs its just kinda a context page that needs to exist for other stuff to happen #I love it when they interact like disgruntled roommates #like on one had he SHOT HIM on the other hand whats Dev supposed to do? Go no contact?? Hes ten #This takes place like 2 days after the deer attack #Dale got whisked away to fairy world to get speed healed and had his memory wiped of the whole thing #Devs relationship with his dad is so messy cause like yes his dad hurt him but also thats his dad and he loves him.#even if his dad doesnt love him back #He wants to Want To Hurt his dad. thats the right way to feel about after what he did. and he does feel that way sometimes.#but on some level its was kind of a relief to hear that he couldnt wish harm on people #because even if he could he isnt sure he could go through with it #and there would be nothing worse than having the power to do something and yet. not #sorry if that sounds insane #complicated relationships with your abuser my beloved #also just the quiet acceptance Dev has for (what he thinks is) Peri straight up lying to his face #Dev likes Peri a lot but he is also deeply aware that Peri hides a lot of things from him #I think he appreciates that Peri tries to shield his feelings. His dad doesnt do that #ofc Peri isnt actually lying here I just think the layers of such a small interaction are hilarious

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bloobydabloob · 2 months

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Holy shit I love your Dirk interpretations, it's so true and I could talk about this shit forever. I feel like another part of his character that people seem to forget (along with Roxy for some reason) is that he's from the future in solitude in an apocalyptic wasteland. I just see that part of his character always removed which is disappointing because I feel like that's a pretty big part, especially regarding his themes around technology, his brother's theme of Time, his own isolation, and how he plays in the vastness of the universe and spacetime.

Art I drew related to the subject because I like to respond to asks with art.

But absolutely. I certainly understand where the lack of discussion over his isolation + upbringing comes from, considering a majority of the fanbase that I have seen builds their ideas based on their own version of postcanon. I’m not entirely sure how that would be fixed, but certainly even in the somewhat recent past I would see a lot more content regarding his upbringing both literally and symbolically. I don’t have much to add regarding the things you’ve mentioned, because they just are what they are. Dirk being confined to a singular room left to him by a father figure he never met, in a future where the only other person left on the planet is someone he cannot pursue a relationship of because of himself, with purely 3 robots to keep him companion, one being an exact replica of his own brain who is *also* trapped inside a pair of glasses, is about as literal as it gets to me.

The contrast to me involving the flooded, organic world in comparison to the little speckle of Dirk’s apartment packed with the dude and his technics is not only a representation of his isolation and entrapment within himself, but also of his lack of control. I think his obsession with & themes of control are a direct product in the case of Dirk specifically *of* this kind of upbringing. His themes of technology are also related to his themes around control. So much of his character is actually revolved around this to me like so much. Dirk is so deeply disconnected from humanity in every way and so much of his character + symbolism is based around that.

It doesn’t even have to be about the symbolism or anything though. It’s just pretty *interesting* in the literal sense that he lives in the middle of the ocean in the future. There’s not only a lot to theorise on to do with his young life there, but on how it might affect him in the way he acts for the rest of his life. The latter part is probably what I see mentioned the most by people talking about Dirk regarding this, I’m surprised I don’t see more discussion on the former too though. I really ought to actually talk more about Homestuck stuff on here. I will do it myself.

Roxy & Dirk’s relationship is largely ignored though because there is a narrative a certain demographic spreads that Dirk resented and blamed Roxy for her interest in him, and thus too many people believe that their relationship was or would continue to be an abusive one. Realistically, I believe it’s important to acknowledge that the way Roxy treated Dirk regarding his homosexuality wasn’t right while still acknowledging the obvious amount of respect and admiration Dirk had for Roxy. I mean we have a huge piece of dialogue from their post trickster mode conversations on the quest beds from Dirk purely stating how he feels about Roxy that people completely ignore somehow. I think this usually happens to characters that are women though. I know everyone says it, but it is true. Jane gets the exact same treatment of boiling her down to solely her negative aspects. The things I see completely mischaracterising both of them are horrific.

I mean how much more explicit can it get that their relationship is obviously very important to Dirk? But I digress. I think the best or I should say “most interesting” interpretations of their relationship usually come from DirkRoxy shippers actually.

I would be interested to hear about Dirk’s relation to his brother’s theme of time though. I don’t have any thoughts on this and I don’t recall ever hearing anyone talk about it before. If you or anyone else would be willing to enlighten me I’d be thrilled.

#homestuck #homestuck fanart #hs fanart #dirk strider #blooby posting #ask #Sorry for taking so long to reply to you on this. I’ve been in more of a drawing than a speaking mood lately #which is very unusual for me. This is definitely not as much of a post as it could be but I’m still not back on my thought and speech game #I know the Roxy mention was in brackets but good lord the treatment Roxy gets from fanbase is insane. Couldn’t help myself #Sorry if anything is worded badly. I’m tired per usual #I think (with no malice in my heart) people just tend to leave out what they don’t like about characters though.#I was very briefly talking with Pomme johnegbertirl #and it got me thinking about how far a lot of people’s interpretations of characters stray from what would be realistic to canon #based on their own biases. Which I guess I probably do too to a certain degree.#I’m not one to judge people for their characterisations at all #I tend to be very forgiving when it comes to reads #but… I admit that is indeed a little disappointing to see how completely ignored some parts of his characters are.#Sorry for tangent that is tenuously related. It is relevant enough to shove haphazardly into tags #I’m glad you like my Dirk ramblings though. Thanks brother #We live on

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dykealloy · 10 months

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#the visual juxtaposition between the dark and the light is really... just....#Luffy's rays of sunshine beaming down on this sceptic so hard it breaks him from his life-long childhood trauma-induced stupor of nihilism.#anyway.#sorry for weeb posting again the classic lotr themes of light and joy in the world that are still worth fighting for really got to me #arc after arc luffy becomes someone's hope and i eat that shit up every time #CJ's op watch-through #im not up to wano arc yet but. much to think about.#one piece spoilers #one piece #op #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #lawlu #gear 5 luffy #sun god nika #monkey d. luffy #have you heard about our lord and saviour luffy etc etc etc #op meta

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ayatai · 2 years

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24 Hours, Part Two

No. 9 THE VERY NOISY NIGHT

Tossing and Turning

------------------------------

Valanice took her husband's hand in hers. "Graham… I know how weary you are. The toll the past few months - the past few years - have put on you. But you've also never been one to give up easily. I need you to fight now. Fight to stay here with us. So you can continue to dance with Rosella on her birthday. To bring me flowers when I least expect them. To get to know your son."

She gave his hand a final squeeze and moved out of the way so Rosella could take it.

"Do you remember when I was a young girl, and Lord Henry's son put a frog in my hair? It jumped off, and you and the guards were running around the whole room, trying to catch it. I was laughing so much I forgot how much it had scared me. And when you finally caught it, and I remember thinking how brave and strong you were. Please… please be strong now."

Silence filled the room after Rosella finished, Valanice and Rosella giving Alexander a chance to speak. He said nothing, and Valanice didn't blame him in the least. Graham was a stranger to him.

"Al-" Valanice started to assure him that it was all right, but Rosella interrupted.

"It was supposed to be me this day, not him. I…" Unable to continue, Rosella stood and rushed out of the room.

Valanice watched her go, her heart heavy with sorrow. She hated to watch her daughter go through this, but she also knew Graham wouldn't have hesitated to be the one in danger.

She would have liked to chase after her, to give her whatever comfort she could, but her gaze fell on Alexander, and her attention turned to him.

Whatever must he think of all this, she wondered. She hadn't heard him speak at all other than that one name when the mirror had flashed.

He looked as uncertain as ever and weary, and she realized she had no idea if he was hurt or hungry or when he had slept last.

"I'm sorry, Alexander. With everything, I haven't even asked how you are. You're not injured at all, are you?" He had, after all, just faced a dragon. "Ren can take a look if need be, or I can have food brought up."

"I'm fine," he replied, his words soft as he spoke more to the floor than to her. "Though I wouldn't say no to a bit of water."

She could certainly do that. More than that. She stuck her head out into the hallway and asked one of the guards on duty to have food brought up, a bath drawn in one of the guest rooms, and for someone to find Matilda. She desperately wanted the company of her lady-in-waiting and oldest friend.

While they waited, Valanice had one more thing to ask, though she hated pressing her son for information so soon.

"I know you're tired and have been through a lot today. I won't ask you to tell your whole story right now if you don't wish to, but I need to know if there is any threat to Daventry. When the mirror flashed, you said a name?"

"The wizard who... took me. I believe he disabled the mirror when he did so, and now that he's a cat, all his spells are failing. There shouldn't be any immediate danger to Daventry, though I don't know what he might do if he ever manages to become human again."

A wizard. That explained how he was able to kidnap the young prince without a trace. But as to why - that she still had no idea. The fact that he was - apparently - incapacitated was undoubtedly a relief.

"Where was this?"

"Llewdor."

Llewdor. They had searched for so long, and in so many places, but had come up empty every time. The wizard had hid him well.

"Llewdor... and you said he's a... a cat?"

He nodded

"That really must be quite the story. I hope you can tell it to us both one day."

A knock sounded, and Valanice was relieved to see Matilda walk in.

"Oh, milady. I'm so sorry. How is he?"

Valanice her head and said, "No worse, but no better. Ren has gone to consult with Aleric. Matilda, would you sit down for me? Please, I've some news, and I can't have you collapsing as well."

The day's events had yet to truly sink in; she'd been acting more out of habit than anything. But as she spoke the words out loud, she felt her composure breaking as she said, "He's back, Matilda. After so long, he's finally back."

Matilda stared blankly at Valanice for a moment. Then her eyes widened as her gaze shifted back and forth between Valanice and Alexander. "You're… Truly?… Last time I saw you, you were taking your first steps…" She made a noise that could have been either laughing, crying, or something in-between.

Valanice mentally recoiled at the memory. That day had been the last time any of them had seen Alexander, and she had spent so long trying to avoid dwelling on the days that had followed.

"I think he's of a height with Lord Venna's son? Would you ask if he would much mind if we borrowed a set of clothes?" She asked.

Matilda looked Alexander over and nodded. "Yes, that's the closes we'll get on such short notice."

"Oh, and Matilda, please don't mention the reason for this request. If you've no objections, Alexander, I think it might be best to hold off on announcing your return until Graham…" Valanice stopped, unable to continue.

"Until the king is well again," finished Matilda firmly.

"Of course," Alexander replied.

As Matilda exited, a guard took the door from her and held it open as she walked by. He knocked on the open door and said, "Your Majesty? Lord Bryant here to see you."

Valanice stood. "I'll be back shortly. I want to go and check on Rosella anyway."

Lord Bryant was waiting for her in the hall, his face drawn with worry. "We received word that the king had collapsed," he stated simply as they moved further down the hallway and out of earshot of the guards.

"Yes, trouble with his heart. He hasn't woken, but he's stable for now," she replied.

He nodded. "And the Princess?"

"Safe and well."

"Thank the Shining Stars for that, at least." He paused and shifted his weight before continuing. "There was also word of a young man who arrived with her. I hope he, too, was unharmed?"

"The young man who slayed the dragon. Daventry owes him much." Valanice pretended not to notice the unspoken request for more details. Rumors of her son's return would almost certainly be circulating already, but she didn't think she could handle the uproar confirming them would cause.

Not right now, with her attention already being pulled in so many directions and her thoughts in complete disarray. Honestly, she felt as if she was barely keeping it together.

"Most assuredly. Here's hoping for a quick recovery for the King. If there's anything I can do, just let me know. I'll do my best to ensure you're left undisturbed."

"Thank you, Lord Bryant. That is much appreciated." She found herself relieved when he nodded and took his leave.

Valanice returned to the guards standing by her door to ask which way the Princess had headed.

She followed Rosella's trail this way to the throne room. But there, it ran cold. She had been seen entering the throne room and heard talking to someone, but no one had seen her since. Valanice swept through the room, looking for any sign of Rosella, but found none.

She stopped in front of the mirror and asked, "Was my daughter talking to you? Did you send her somewhere?"

The mirror had been dark for years, showing nothing, not even a reflection. Now Valanice saw her face staring back at her, but that was all.

"Is there anything that can be done for Graham?"

The mirror's surface remained unchanged, as useless as the day it had been cursed.

She hurried back and tilted her head at Alexander to indicate she wanted to speak to him in the outer room.

"I don't want to worry Graham if he can hear us, but Rosella's gone. A servant heard her talking with someone in the throne room. She's no longer there, but no one saw her leave, either. I think… I think she may have seen something in the mirror. It's helped us before."

They were interrupted by Matilda entering again. "The guest room is ready for you, Prince Alexander."

Alexander looked back to his mother, clearly reluctant to leave.

"I'll stay here with him. If anything changes, I'll let you know right away," Valanice tried to assure him. After the two had left, she returned to her husband's side. His condition remained unchanged.

***

Valanice looked up as Alexander returned to the bedroom. He'd bathed and donned the borrowed clothes. They hung loose on him, but at least they were clean and whole.

Her breath almost caught in her throat, looking at him. With his face washed clear of dirt and ash and his hair pulled entirely back, the resemblance to his father was unmistakable.

"The clothes suit you," she finally managed to say.

He glanced down at the outfit but only asked, "How is he?"

"Ren and Aleric both came by. Aleric tried a spell, but it's too soon to tell if it worked."

There was another knock on the door. "Captain Tamart, Your Majesty."

"The King?" Tamart asked once she stepped back into the outer room to speak with him.

"Stable. For now," Valanice said, her tone sharper than she meant it to be. She hated that she didn't have a better answer for him.

"I led several knights up to Cloudland myself, Your Majesty, to confirm your daughter's statements. The dragon is undoubtedly dead, thank the stars. It seems to have been struck by lightning; witnesses reported seeing a severe storm."

"Thank you, Captain. That, at least, is a relief to hear. Daventry is fortunate to have you in her service," she replied formally, dismissing him. Dealing with the ramifications of the dragon being gone was another issue she just didn't have the attention or energy for right now.

Alexander had fallen asleep in his chair. Valanice considered waking him so he could move to a bed, but he had seemed so exhausted she decided to leave him be.

She found an unused blanket and tucked it in his lap before returning to her seat by Graham. Besides, selfishly, she didn't mind the chance to watch her son sleep. He looked much more peaceful now, not nearly so wary and anxious.

She couldn't help but wonder what kind of life he'd had with this… this wizard. The nervousness and reserved nature she'd noticed in him seemed to go beyond a young man meeting family and royalty for the first time, though she deeply hoped that's all it was. But she had a growing suspicion she had many things to be angry with this Manannan for.

The hours dragged on. She found herself half-dozing periodically but never getting any actual sleep. Ren and Aleric periodically checked in, and Valanice could tell by their expressions that neither was hopeful. Her husband's condition was slowly deteriorating, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her only hope was that Rosella was indeed on a quest to find something or someone that could save him. She clung desperately to that hope.

Alexander continued to sleep. He thrashed in his chair at one point, half mumbling something she couldn't make out. She wondered if she should wake him, but whatever dreams troubled him seemed to pass before she had made up her mind.

An hour later, he awoke on his own. Valanice watched as he blinked sleepily, recalling where he was and glancing over at the King.

"Ren was just here checking on him. He's doing everything he can, but ..." her voice trailed off as she looked at her husband, who was only doing worse than ever. "No word on Rosella yet either."

The guards had searched the entire castle but could find no sign of her. She couldn't bear the thought of her daughter missing just as her son returned home. Rosella would return home as well. She had to.

Changing the subject, she looked back over at her son. "You were asleep for quite some time. It's past dark now." He must have been truly exhausted to sleep so long in such a position.

"I didn't get a chance to sleep much last night."

"I'm glad you got some rest then," she said as she gestured to a small table by the fireplace loaded with covered plates. "I had dinner kept warm for you if you're hungry."

By the look of his gaze, he very much was.

"Thank you," he said, but as he moved over, she saw him freeze as if something had suddenly occurred to him.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

He shook his head. "Not at all. I'm just a little… overwhelmed."

He certainly had reason to be. But she couldn't help but feel that there was more to it. She didn't want to overwhelm him even more, but she did want him to know that he had nothing to fear from them, that they were always available if something was bothering him.

She moved over to the second chair by the fireplace. She wanted to take her son's hand but stopped herself. Would that be too much too soon? She longed to hug him. To hold him and never let him go again.

"Alexander, I don't know what your plans are; if you plan on staying. I hope you are." Desperately so. "I want you to know that you always - always have a home here, and if there's ever anything you need, you just have to ask. I plan on requesting the room next to Rosella's be opened up. It's yours if you want it."

When they'd moved Rosella from the nursery into her own room, Valanice had insisted that the one next to it be set up as well. They had always kept a space ready for him, in both home and heart.

"Or any of the other rooms, if you'd rather have one of them. And I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. Listening - it's one of our duties as parents."

She hoped she was making any sort of sense; between the worry and the exhaustion, forming any words at all was challenging.

He sat, silent, as she talked, eyes staring down at his hands in his lap. Then, when he did speak, her heart soared.

"I would like very much to stay. And… I do have one question," he continued, looking up at her. "If the King… and Rosella…"

"Oh." The same had occurred to her during those long hours while he slept. "Then, by our laws, the throne would pass down to you."

He certainly didn't look enthused by the idea. More panicked. "I would be here to help, don't worry. But Rosella - she's smart, and brave. And so much like her father. Wherever she is, I'm sure she'll do everything in her power to finish her quest and return home.

She - and you - come from a long line of adventurers. Graham was a knight before he was King, and his father before him."

Valanice spoke on, sharing with him the stories of Graham's adventures - and her own. The stories she had repeated to Rosella so many times that the words came easily, even in her current state.

Eventually, he slept again, and Valanice took a short walk around the corridors. To take a break from the oppressiveness of the room and to try and clear her head.

It didn't work. She passed by a windowed alcove, one out of sight of any servants or guards.

A few minutes later, Matilda found the Queen seated on the floor in the alcove, hugging her knees. Saying nothing, the older woman sat beside her and held her friend tight.

The window behind them began to lighten with the approaching dawn. And down in the throne room, the mirror shimmered and started to brighten as well- not with sunlight, but magic.

#ayatai whumptober2022 #king's quest #this one got long sorry #but now we're done with the Gwydion pov switch and ready to move on to newer stuff #ayatai writes

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francy-sketches · 5 months

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sorry I got posessed by the wattpad demon I'm normal now (lying)

+alt version that didnt fit the #aesthetic but it better represents my #vision of them ^_^ hashtag couplegoals

#I am not immune to 'she can fix him'-ism. jk that's not why I like them #got #game of thrones #joffrey baratheon #margaery tyrell #my art #sorry 2 the marg fans I haven't drawn her in so long and this is what I give you. if it makes you feel better I'm also disappointed #ok jokes aside im actually really happy w the like. messy scrapbook vibe it was so fun :3 I need to do it more ^o^#I'm so jealous of people who fill up their canvas like this n I finally did it yipeee #whats their ship name btw is it just a slightly misspelled version of one of their names that would be funny. does anyone even ship them #...I know what this looks like but um ackchually I like them in a ironypilled divorcecel way. it's different -_-#and I also like drawing them being cute but um its because ☝ um. well its fun :3

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demaparbat-hp · 5 months

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Almost

#zutara #atla #zuko #avatar the last airbender #katara #zutara fanart #Wip #First page of three is done!!!#Won't be sharing until I have the whole thing but I'm. So. Close!!!!!!!#It's been ages since I started this project omg #But it's worth it #Hopefully I'll get the chance to finish it tomorrow... Won't be making any promises tho #I've missed you guys and I can't wait to share this with you #Anyways I know it's ZK month (and all the content has been WONDERFUL so far) but I won't be participating. Sorry about that.#Working with prompts is such an amazing creative exercise but I know myself good enough to be certain that I'll never get past the first...#... prompt without coming up with seven different AUs and I can't deal with more of those right now lol #Like I've got this Blue Spirit! Katara and Painted Lady! Zuko AU on the works since last week or so. And more lore for the og BS/PL spirits #And also this S3 canon divergence AU... And another one... And another one...#And I need to work on them at my own rhythm otherwise I'll go nuts #So uh #Yeah #Love u all and I hope I'll get to share this one soon (if only to start on yet another comic. I've got ideas for two of them. Yay)#Dema out #(Sorry for the rambling I'm just anxious)#(Don't know why but I stopped caring a long time ago)

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starry-bi-sky · 6 months

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i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc prompt #man i just really need more dpdc stuff where danny and bruce have a good relationship. like man i NEED it. like i need to see these two #bonding together. and not in a cracky 'oh danny is a distant friend/cousin/etc' stuff but like. active participants in each other's lives #or as active as can be in this case. i neeeeed these two getting along and caring about one another #this idea came to me like last night and hasn't left since nd it was driving me up the wall to think about both positively and negatively b #i neeeded someone to hear about this or i was gonna implode #danny is the first son #tried to just get the general gist of the idea down but i definitely thought of the idea that bruce lowkey suspects vlad for having a hand #Vlad allows Danny to sneak off because he thinks Danny is alone. if he knew Bruce was there he'd be piiisssed and would put a stop to it #Sam and Tucker are alive they just got ghosted for a bit by danny bc he was in Major Grief and didn't wanna socialize. He couldn't go to #them because he didn't wanna put them in danger via Vlad.#oh that thing he handed Bruce? Yeah that's his ghost core. I have a headcanon (that isnt always applied) that ghosts can take their cores #out of their bodies at will and painlessly and without issue. and its common practice actually to do so bc they can be a not insignificant #distance away from said core before problems start to act up. and its common for ghosts to leave their physical cores at their lairs for #safekeeping because as long as the physical core is fine: so is the ghost. they can reform if their body gets destroyed. it also acts as a #fast travel sometimes. where they can reform at their core in an instant. its not inspired in the slightest by SU but i do see the overlap #most cores are pretty small for safety sake: its harder to hit if its small. and they're pr resilient too but its better to be safe than #sorry. so yeah. danny essentially gave bruce the physical embodiment of his soul and indirectly said #'if anything happens to me at least i'll be safe with you'#danny doesn't know he's batman btw #starry rambles.#was gonna go into danny becoming a vigilante beside bruce but im sleeeepy so i'll do that in a reblog. he's gonna go by nightingale if #anyone is interested. stereotypical but to be frank it is a *good* name imo. has a good amount of syllables and consonants to it #and the bird theme. and since its part of an ancestral name it has even more backing for it being bird-y without being meta

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