The most frustrating part about giving my own characters sexualities and labels is that i always feel like it gives the impression that these characters are aware of this information and would actively use these labels for themselves when that is rarely ever the case
They do not know what aro or ace means, that dude would never describe himself as trans, that other guy is nonbinary but they got a job so they don't care about that right now, she's bisexual but if you ask her she'll just tell you everyone has a beautiful soul and move on, they use multiple pronouns but not out of choice people just keep on guessing and she doesn't mind and honestly kinda enjoys it but he's not telling you that
Ooc They're gay or bi or aroace or bigender or whatever the fuck but in-universe they're looking you in the eyes and telling you that every man on earth secretly wants to kiss other men and that's just a desire you gotta live with and that it's completely normal and they will not for a second question what this implies about themselves
Cadence doesn't remember the last time that she had seen her reflection.
She was sure that she had seen it before. Back in the other place, perhaps, or in a dream. But both of those places lied.
Or perhaps she was just too different here.
The face in the mirror she doesn't recognize. She doesn't remember her skin being purple or her hair being white. She doesn't remember having horns or pointed ears.
She doesn't remember much at all, in fact.
Gently she prods at her temple, right next to the large crack that split her skin. It didn't hurt, not exactly; the ache that it created wasn't a physical thing, but it did ache all the same. Something was missing. Something was lost.
Something had been taken.
And she had no way of knowing if she would ever get it back.
The knowledge burns like a bitter aftertaste on the tongue as she lets her gaze drop lower, her fingers brushing along one arm. Ribbon wound around the arm, so flush against the skin as to be inseparable. That was new too, though she had a few vague recollections of how and why.
She feels her fists ball, and the only reason she does not break the mirror is because of the other person in the room. Anger flares on those unfamiliar features, and yet even that feels alien, like looking at a photo of someone else.
She didn't know who she was anymore.
And how exactly was she supposed to move forward like that?
Her reflection certainly doesn't have any answers for her.
Characters: Daniel, mention of Cat ( @zoetic-tome )
Setting: The Secret World
The copper smell of blood and the harsh fumes of smoke fill the air as lances of blood and bursts of hellfire streak across the room. One, two, three--three rapid shots slam into the target, one right after the other. Three shots, three strikes, three solid hits leaving behind more scorch and strike marks to join the numerous others he had left already today. But not good enough. Not fast enough.
Daniel exhales a heavy breath, sweat beading upon his forehead, then he lifts his hands again; roiling hellfire flares around the left, coiling around his fingers and occasionally flaring outwards, like it is fighting to escape his grip, while the fingers of his right trace dark burgundy runes as blood drips from his palm. The tip of his tongue is caught between his lips as his brow furrows, his concentration split between keeping the flames in an iron grip and keeping the runes he needed precise and stable. Elementalism and blood; two very different forms of magic, with two very different forms of control.
And yet here he was, managing to keep both in check. For now. For long enough that he can lift his hands, and send crackling hellfire and boiling blood hurtling forward to strike as one.
And then he doubles over, his hands resting on his knees as he gasps for breath. This was hard. Harder than training with Cat, where it had felt like he had anima to burn for days. This was using just his own power, and it showed just how far he had to go to even try to rival her.
Well. One of the many ways he knew that.
With each spell that crackled and sizzled and burned through the air, he knew just how far he had to even begin to try and catch up. The point is only made more explicit when his next attempt to cast two spells at once leaves his legs feeling like jelly.
But rather than be discouraged by that knowledge, he takes it as a challenge. He had something to strive for, a standard to set himself against, and that alone would have been enough to light that competitive spark. The fact that he was having to make up for years of training that he felt he had been cheated out of was only extra incentive. Incentive, and spite.
He would be better. He had to be better. Had to show them all what he was capable of. Had to show him what he had missed out on.
Even if that means pushing himself until he's covered in sweat and gasping for breath like he had just run a marathon. Until he is forced to sit down heavily and guzzle down cool water from the bottle that Tempo rolls over to him before scurrying up to perch on his shoulder.
"I'm all right, Tempo," he says as he scritches at the Totally Normal Ferret's ears. "Just tired."
Tempo squeaks at this, his head tilting a little to one side as he eyes his warlock closely, then pat pats at the side of his face.
"Yes, I know I'm pushing myself, but I have to. I have almost a decade to catch up on, and we don't have time for that. I'll just spend some time down at the gate later; it's fine." It was not, in fact, probably fine, but here he was.
He sighs softly as Tempo pats more at his face, then flashes his familiar a small smile. "If I get you some cheese bread, will that reassure you?" he asks, which gets several squeaks and jumps from the Normal Ferret.
"All right, give me a few minutes, and we'll get cheese bread," he says as he continues to scritch reassuringly at Tempo's ears.
Characters: Daniel, mention of Cat ( @zoetic-tome )
Setting: The Secret World
Warnings: Animal Death
He is running.
His heart pounds in his ears, his breath comes in shallow gasps as he flies down endless corridor after endless corridor, their cinder block gray walls only broken by locked metal doors and the hum of the fluorescents above only broken by the sound of his breathing and the slap of his feet against the concrete.
There is something missing. No, not something. Someone. A familiar presence is not where it should be, and that knowledge causes his guts to twist with dread.
And then dread becomes horror as he catches a whiff of aspartame. The cloying sweetness of it sticks in the back of his throat, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. He knows that smell, that taste. He knows it too well.
"Tempo!" Daniel shouts desperately, his voice echoing through the underground corridors. "Where are you?!"
From somewhere up ahead, so far ahead that he cannot make out it's source, he swears that he hears a sharp squeak. The sound spurs him on, even as his lungs burn and muscles ache. Even as that smell becomes stronger.
Even as pitch black tar starts to bubble up between the cracks in the floor and the walls.
If anything, it causes him to run faster.
Even as more of that tar that is not tar seeps and drips and pools on the ground, even as he is forced to start stepping through puddles of the stuff to continue onwards. It sticks to his boots; each step becomes a struggle as he has to fight to free his feet from it's grip.
But he can't stop. He can't. There is another squeak up ahead, higher pitched. Pained.
He keeps going, even as the cold stone gray of the concrete tunnel gives way to nothing but black seeping from the ceiling, the walls, the floor.
Until, finally, he sees something gray. Gray, and small, and covered in fur, and curled into a ball.
"Tempo!" he calls out, rushing towards the curled up ferret. "Tempo, we need to get out of here. We--" he starts, only for the words to die in his throat as Tempo's eyes meet his own.
But that is not Tempo, not anymore. The thing that stares at him has no friendliness, no warmth; just malevolent hunger.
He does not have time to react before what was Tempo lunges forward, before teeth sink deep into his neck--
Daniel awakes gasping for breath. One hand flies up to his neck, the skin unbroken, the other rises to his mouth, to suppress the scream that rises in his throat. Dark eyes look frantically around the dimly lit room, landing first on the spill of pink hair resting upon the pillow nearby; Cat had barely stirred in her chemical slumber. And then they travel to the end of the bed, where a nest had been made from spare blankets and pillows, and where he could just make out a fuzzy gray head and the sound of soft ferret snores.
His shoulders slump as tension drains. Just a dream. Just a stupid, stupid dream.
His bare feet thump lightly on the floor as he slips from the bed and pads his way over to the bathroom. After making sure the door is firmly shut, he goes over to the sink and splashes cool water on his sweat-soaked face.
Tempo was safe. He was not infected. He would not end up like poor Squeaks, with his feral eyes and chittering teeth ready to bite at anything that moved outside of his mouse cage. He would not end up a broken smear of blood and fur.
"I won't let it happen," he declares to himself as he gazes at his own reflection in the mirror, and does his best to ignore the way his hands shake as he reaches for his toothbrush to try and wash the remembered taste of Filth out of his mouth.
Characters: Johann, Annabelle
Setting: Changeling: the Lost
"You're alive." The words are the first thing that tumble out of Johann's mouth as the door shuts and the two find themselves alone for the first in what felt like years, though it had really been mere weeks.
"I didn't... I didn't dare to hope," he admits, his voice cracking as he closes his good eye; the other, the camera lens, remains fixed as ever. "I should have searched for you. I should have--"
"Johann," Annabelle says sharply as she looks over at him from her perch upon the bed; she had gone and immediately sank down onto it, without even bothering to change into the spare clothes that one of the Council agents had managed to find to replace her bloodied and tattered ones. "Come here."
Instantly he goes to her, where she wraps one porcelain arm around him; the other remains at her side, the shards of ceramic where a forearm once was carefully bandaged. And then she winces as he does the same in turn, holding her as if he were afraid she would slip through his fingers.
"Not the back, love," she hisses, and his eye goes wide with realization as he quickly loosens his grip. She lightly pats one of his arms, before lifting her hands to cup his face.
"You aren't allowed to beat yourself up over this," she says firmly. "Do you understand? It wasn't your fault. We know whose fault it is, and we're going to deal with them." There is a dark look in her eyes as she says it, a hint of anger she is keeping in an iron grip.
"I know, I know, mein Herz. I just think of you alone out there and I--"
"Stop," she says firmly as she places a finger over his lips. "I survived, Johann. I survived, and that is what matters." She falls silent for a few moments, then she shakes her head and looks directly into Johann's eyes with her deep golden gaze. "Do you remember what I told you, the first time I went into the Hedge after we starting each other."
He is silent for a few seconds, before he lets out a heavy sigh. "You promised that you would always do your best to return."
She nods slowly at this. "And I did. In slightly less than one piece," she adds, a huff of a rueful laugh leaving her lips. "But I came back. The Wyrd saw to that. As did those newcomers, which I suspect," she continues, even as she gives him a pointed look. "Was partially your doing."
He looks a little sheepish as he looks away, the movement causing the light to catch on the metal plate covering half of his skull. "I might have gotten one of them to make a promise to me," he admits slowly, then sighs as he spots the Look he was getting. "I had to do something when I found out!" he declares impatiently.
"And you did. So stop the self-flagellation and let it go," she says as she leans carefully back against a pile of pillows. "Lay with me. I'm tired, and I've missed you. I was running in there for... I don't even know. Days? And it was you who kept me going. The thought of you. You know that, right?"
He crawls over the bed so he can settle in beside her, one of his arms lightly draping around her as he tugs her close. She doesn't fight it, but instead melts into him, letting her head droop until she was using his chest as a pillow.
"No, I didn't," he admits quietly.
"Well, now you do," she declares. "So. I am going to sleep, and then you're going to help me get cleaned up, and we'll both go see about how far along that new arm is. Okay, love?"
"Of course, mein Herz."
Annabelle smiles lightly at this, even as she shifts to curl closer to Johann. There was comfort here, comfort and safety that she hadn't felt in she didn't know how long.
"I really did miss you," she murmurs into his skin. "They didn't count on me being willing to break my own arm to escape, but it made them furious when I slipped through their fingers. And they wouldn't stop chasing me. I'd manage to shake them enough to let me get a few hours of rest in a tree hollow or bush but they'd always show back up. This almost doesn't feel real." Though she hides it better, there is a shakiness to her own voice, especially as she laughs softly.
Johann's heart aches as he leans down to press a kiss to her cheek adorned with blue flower motifs. "I know," he says quietly. "But we'd know if we're dreaming. And I trust our new allies. It's going to be alright."
Annabelle pauses at this, turns her head so she can properly look up at him.
"You were just optimistic there," she points out, a wry, teasing smile spreading across her lips. "Now I know I'm dreaming."
"Scheiße," he grumbles. "Never let anyone hear you say that; I will deny it."
"Of course, love," she says as she stifles a yawn. "I'd never let anyone know your terrible secret."
"And now you tease me. I don't know what I expected," he says, but there is a smile on his lips as he does so. Not that he thinks that she actually hears him; her eyes had drifted closed, her breathing settling into the rhythmic pattern of sleep.
These days, it is almost as easy as walking through his front door (though he remembers when it wasn't). He slips between realities that exist only in the minds of those asleep, mundane and fantastical alike.
Some he does not touch, merely observes for a moment before going on. Others, he takes a more active hand in. The teenager running from the too-tall monster with eyes like their father and radiating disappointment finds the monster is much smaller than they remember, enough so that they can trap it in a glass jar. The woman dreaming of just one pleasant day with her boyfriend is suddenly confronted with his twisted, raging form as the veneer is stripped away.
He leaves weapons in his wake for those who need them. He leaves comfort for those who do not. And he leaves fear for whose need the motivation.
For he is Sir Lucien of the Autumn Court, and he knows firsthand just what effect dreams can have. And so, in his own way, he can make the world just a little better.
The false sun hangs above, it's light shining down on the lush and verdant pathways of the neverending forest. The faint wind rustles through the trees, which stand tall even despite the choking thorns that curl around their trunks. Changelings nestle down in their hollows built in tree stumps and bush tangles, while hobgoblins bargain and barter at the colorful stalls of one of the traveling markets where you can buy a moment of true happiness for a ha'penny and a childhood secret.
It is a relatively quiet day, at least by Hedge standards.
And then suddenly it is not.
The sound of a bugle cuts through the air, its call heard for miles, even past the point where that should have been physically possible. And in it's wake follows a moment of silence as changeling and hob alike freeze, their eyes going towards the sky.
And then, as if as one, movement breaks out. At the market the various goods are stuffed into bags and satchels and caravans with eyeburning colors, the stalls torn down even more quickly than they had appeared overnight. In the hollows doors are barred and weapons are drawn into the hands of their wielders.
For all knew what that sound meant: the Wild Hunt rode.
And woe be upon whoever was unlucky enough to be it's target.
And in one of the deepest, darkest corners of the Hedge, someone was finding that out the hard way. The figure runs, holding a useless arm as they stumble over roots that try to trip them and vines that seek to ensnare them in their grip. Over the sound of their sharp breaths is the not so distant baying of hounds, the thunder of hooves, and the wicked laughter of the figure driving them onwards, ever onwards.
The bugle rings out again, offering not a warning but a promise: there would be no escape. No matter how far they ran, no matter how hard they fought, there was only to be one outcome here.
The wind howled around him as Daniel held his breath and carefully edged his way along the narrow ledge. Almost there, almost done. The spray can hissed as he added another stroke of paint to the art upon the wall--the art that no one, besides him, had asked for or intended to be there.
But that wasn't his problem. The more bold and daring the work, the more his name would get around. And putting up an image of hellfire and a demon in the area around the courthouse would definitely get attention.
Unfortunately, that required not getting caught.
And that meant that, when he started to see the blue and red lights coming in his direction, it was time to go.
Stuffing his paint back in his backpack, he draws in a deep breath--and jumps. He hits the roof of the nearby building hard, but there is a smug smile on his lips as he darts across the roof, then slips over onto the next, ducking behind ac units and the feeble attempts at a rooftop garden.
He had only gotten caught once. And he wasn't going to let it happen again.
Confidence turns what could have been a terrifying situation into a thrilling one as he darts and weaves his way down to the city streets and their comforting anonymity.
The graffiti wouldn't stay up forever, but while it did, everyone would know what sort of risks he took to put it up there.
"So just how long are we going to sit here in silence, darling?"
It was a valid question, as far as Juno was concerned; the pair of them had been sitting in silence for what had to over five minutes at this point, with only the faint sound of traffic going by outside to break the monotony.
"Cat just said that I had to go see you. She didn't say anything about having to actually talk to you," the young man with dark hair and burning eyes sitting across from them declares, his arms folded stubbornly across his chest.
Juno just laughs softly at this, allowing both the sharp words and harsh glare sent their way to roll of their back like water. "Oh please, darling, we both know you can do better than the most basic of pedantries. But more importantly--" they continue, lifting a finger to cut off the rebuttal. "It's your hour. I'm not going to make you talk; that never actually works."
"And besides," Juno continues, flashing the surly young man a wry smile. "I'm getting paid a salary. So it doesn't really matter to me whether we have a conversation or not; I just thought that you might be getting bored."
Daniel rolls his eyes and scoffs at this as he looks away. Not that there was that much to look at; this space was new and clearly only half unpacked, the chair he was sitting in placed at a terrible angle to catch sight of the park outside. He was, actually, quite bored, but boredom was also currently waging war with his stubbornness.
And just when Juno thought that Daniel's stubbornness would finally be what won out, he finally speaks up.
"...Cat said you looked like a demon," he declares as he looks over towards the changeling. "Not really impressed so far though." Which, honestly, was a rude way of phrasing the matter, but also wasn't really wrong; Juno did look like an ordinary human. Pretty with ambiguous features, but definitely human.
And not currently happy, if the look on their face was any indication. For their nose was scrunched as if Daniel had just waived sour milk under it.
"I had a feeling you would ask about that," they admit, in a tone that suggests that they were disappointed but not surprised. "Would it make it easier, if I didn't look human? Would you feel better talking to me like that?"
Daniel instantly narrows his eyes at this, and Juno starts to suspect that they might have made a tactical error with the way that his hackles have raised.
"If you're going to try to make some salient point about how I feel about humanity, don't fucking bother. It's not about whether it's 'comfortable'." And oh hear the disdain in his voice. "I'm just curious. And it only feels fair, if you want me to open up about myself, for you to do the same," he adds loftily.
Juno presses their lips into a thin line as they weight up the look that Daniel was giving them, then they sigh softly and lift a hand to their face. They tug it in a downwards motion like they were removing a mask, and as they do so their features shift. Their tumble of brown curly locks shifts to a brick red, their skin shifting to a cherry tone. Their ears become pointed, their fingers clawed, their forehead bedecked with horns. And behind them, a pointed tail lashes unhappily.
"Better?" they inquire as they stare over at Daniel with a cool smile, who in turn stares right back for a few seconds before speaking.
"Hunh. You really do look like a Hollywood demon, not a proper one," he says, still keeping his arms folded as he does so.
At this, Juno sighs and does their own eye roll. "Yes, yes, I am aware, darling, you really don't need to rub it in; I didn't get much of a choice in the matter."
That seems to cause Daniel to pause, dark brows rising a fraction as he looks over towards the changeling. "You didn't?"
"No," they say impatiently. "Of course I didn't. My Keeper decided it would be funny if I looked like a succubus. They were very into the whole pop culture hell thing, and since they wanted me to sleep with them--no, not like that!" they add quickly as they see the expression on the warlock's face. "Literally sleep with. In their dreams."
"Oh," Daniel says, his lips drawing down into a deep frown as he looks away. "Well that fucking sucks."
"It does," they agrees. "But I'm free, and they can't touch me anymore. So you don't need to feel sorry for me," they add as they eye the warlock lightly.
Who promptly scoffs and rolls his shoulders. "I wasn't feeling sorry for you, I just know how much that sort of thing fucking sucks." He then pauses, then grimaces as he realizes what he had said, even as Juno raises their eyebrows.
"So who was it that hurt you then, that you know what it feels like?" they ask, choosing their words very carefully and deliberately. They could already tell that the warlock was having second thoughts, and they did not want them to retreat back into stubborn silence. "What did they do that's got you so pissed off?"
Daniel scoffs at this, his eyes flicking away as his posture stiffens. "I've got a fucking list with a lot of names on it."
Daniel narrows his eyes as he sizes up Juno, who was wearing a small, taunting smile. Like he was challenging the warlock. And, well, it was rare that he would turn down a challenge.
"Fine. But it's a lot. So don't say I didn't warn you. So it started with my fucking patron..." he begins, in a rant that would definitely take what was left of the hour.
The student life building stood tucked away in one corner of the Unversity of Cascade campus, a regular hangout and hotspot for generations of students that had passed through it's halls. And tonight was no exception; as the sun set over campus, more and more people started to file into the building, filling the air with conversation, laughter, and the frantic typing of keys as last minute essays were churned out.
In other words, just a regular Spring tuesday.
What was slightly unusual, at least today, was how one of those who had been frantically writing up the answers to homework had now paused, eyes narrowing as they tilt their head a touch to one side. He could have sworn that he had heard a screech of metal. An all too familiar screech of metal.
But no, that didn't make sense. Not here. Not in this place.
Daniel shakes his head a little, doing his best to dismiss the thoughts as he turns back to his history homework. And for a few minutes all is calm and (relatively) quiet, enough that he can just start to believe that he was hearing things when it happens again. The shock of it is enough to cause him to snap the pen he was holding, his head jerking up as he looks frantically around.
"Who the fuck--" he starts, only for his eyes to narrow as they fall upon a nearby cluster of people lounging upon the old, beat up blue couches. One person in particular stood out, for they were the only one with a steam deck. A steam deck, playing at what had to be full volume, and with no headphones in sight.
Daniel rises to his feet and starts to stalk over. He feels himself grit his teeth as his gaze falls onto the screen. For while he hasn't played the games himself, he's been unfortunate enough to see enough videos suggested in his youtube feed. Five Nights at Freddy's.
As he watches an animatronic in the shape of mangled bear appears on the screen, and that horrible noise sounds again. And for a moment he feels as if he can't breathe. He's not sure when he makes the decision to move, he only becomes aware of it as he starts forward and shoves the guy's shoulder. Hard.
"Hey, asshole!" he snarls. "Get a pair of fucking headphones! Some of us are trying to fucking work!"
The guy with the steam deck looks more stunned than anything else. "Dude, the fuck is your problem?!?" he asks as he turns to stare at the five foot ten bundle of anger glaring daggers at him.
"You fucking heard me!" Daniel shouts at him as he flings his own pair of cheap earbuds towards the other student, which bounce off against his chest. "Use them if you're going to play that. Jackass," he adds as he whirls on his heel.
Without waiting for an answer, he whirls on his heel, stuffs his papers roughly into his bag, and storms out into the cool evening air.
But it doesn't help. Being outside doesn't help. He still feels trapped. The eyes of every person passing by burn as they all look at him. He is sure that one of them says something to him as they go for the door he is blocking but the words don't make sense. And it's not like he can hear them over the pounding of his heart. Get away. He has to get away.
He makes it about halfway around the building, firmly out of sight of the main walkways, before he sinks down onto the concrete.
Breathe. He can't breathe. Can't seem to draw air into his lungs. Sweat beads on his skin as he holds his head in shaky hands. Why can't he breathe?
Squeak. Suddenly he feels something furry brushing against one of his arms. He doesn't bother to look down; instead he curls more in on himself, wrapping around the small, fuzzy ferret as he buries his face against him.
Tempo was here. And that meant he wasn't back there. He wasn't back in the cold, endless underground corridors. He wasn't actually hearing the screech of metal as it snapped through bone. He wasn't actually smelling the stink of fresh blood.
It meant that Osiris was dead, not dying. And that the metal monster that had done it was several years and several hundred miles away.
Eventually his senses stop whirling enough that he can notice the gentle pat pat of a paw against his cheek.
"I'm okay Tempo," he says quietly as he opens his eyes and finds himself looking down into his familiar's. Which were currently very skeptical at that statement. "I--well, no, okay, not really." The tears prickling at the corners of his eyes said that much.
"I do think that's enough studying here for one day. Come on, lets head home." Not that he was very likely to get anything done at this point, but it was better than sitting out here as the world grew dark.
At least there he wouldn't have witnesses if those memories decided to surface again.
Characters: Lucien
Setting: Changeling: the Lost
Warnings: Blood
So this was what winning felt like.
He wouldn't call it triumph; he was too tired and too hurt for that. They were all too tired and too hurt for that. His back felt as if it were on fire, and there was sure to be blood staining the car seat when he stood.
But they were all alive. And their Keeper, the bastard who had ruined all of their lives, was dead. Perhaps, one day, another fae would step up and take up his Title, but that would not be for some time, and they wouldn't know of them, of all of those who had escaped his grasp.
They were free. Truly, finally free.
No more huntsmen with their names as their quarries. No more Wild Hunt aimed specifically towards them. They were alive and he was dead and they could live. It wasn't the same life he had left, no, but this new one he had come to treasure.
He sags in his seat, his head coming to rest against the cool car window as dawn crests over the mountains in the distance and illuminates the town laid out below. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes as he bites down on a sob.
Free, free, free, free.
The word echoes in his mind, so simple and yet so full of possibility. He wouldn't have to worry to about Xavier any more, he wouldn't have to live with the guilt of knowing that every second he was with him brought him into even more danger. While the guilt over the burn scars on his legs would never truly go away, it would become less until it was naught more than a bitter Halloween dream.
As the sun rises he starts to hum, then sing along with the music blaring from the radio, and this time there is no fear of blowing out eardrums or windows. Not now. Not today. And not ever again.
Daniel stares down at the screen of his phone, then exhales a deep sigh as he flips it over so he no longer has to see the screen. And then he reaches out to drag a pillow over his face and lets out a long and deep groan.
He had not intended to reveal that much to the "good father". Father Matthew might be repping team blue and was weirdly less insufferable than most of his ilk, but that didn't mean that he had any particular reason to keep the conversation to himself, save for his word.
And yet. And yet.
He had said that he believed him. That he thought he wasn't lying or crazy because of who he said had used and tossed him aside. The thought left feeling lighter, as though a weight had been lifted off his chest. It wasn't just Cat.
He had even offered to help, to try and reach out to Nadja for him.
And that didn't make sense. Because as far as he could tell, Matthew didn't get anything out of it. And he had even less reason to be helpful than Cat did; after all, Cat needed him. Cat needed both him and Michael, because the number of Illuminati agents on the island was low and the number of those chosen by Gaia was even lower. They had skills and local knowledge that those coming in didn't and wouldn't have time to learn.
Cat had motives, even if she went above and beyond what the job required. Matthew did not.
Unless it really was a long ploy to get him to convert. That would make sense, let him rationalize away the incongruences. Because he knew that there was always a catch, a clause, a demand. From his mother to his patron, he had been taught that lesson, and he had learned it well.
So fine. If the priest wanted to save him the trouble of tracking down Nadja in the vague hope he might listen to him ramble about God, that was fine. He wasn't going to change his mind on that, so there wasn't much harm if the Padre wanted to fool himself.
It was easier to believe that than consider the alternatives.
"We're going to figure things out, Tempo," he says as he drops the pillow to one side and reaches out for the Totally Normal Ferret curled up on the bed nearby. "Regardless of if people help or not. We always manage somehow." He might not trust many people, but his faith in his familiar was unshakable.
The light of the full moon shines down upon the city below, adding a gentle silver glow to the riot of light and color that is Cascade City at night. It's honestly a beautiful sight, one that catches the eye of one of the fae that reside in the heights of Dawnrise Tower.
Idristan pauses, his head turning towards the window as he stops to stare for a few moments, a soft sigh lingering upon his lips.
For the moon here was different than the one that circled his home; even if he held dominion over both, or perhaps because he held dominion over both, he could spot the differences, even if they were as subtle as a faint aftertaste on the tongue.
And in some ways he definitely missed home. And he would, eventually, return; he knew where he ultimately belonged, where the majority of the people he cared about were.
But sometimes... sometimes it was easier to not be there. Sometimes it was easier to slip into a different role, like one might slip into an old coat. He had no interest or inclination towards business, so he leaves that to the other fae and takes the chance to go walk amongst mortals, to go do some actual, tangible good in the world.
Neither enemies to lovers nor slow burn but a secret third thing called Schrödinger's intimacy. We are in love and we are not in love do NOT open that lid I swear to God.
There were promises that he had made before he had left home. They weighed heavy upon him, some days. For he knew what could and perhaps would be asked of him. He had been warned. And he had agreed.
So it was a relief to hear that he was on the right track. He was where he needed to be. Fate would guide his steps, as it had guided him to his people. The Lady of Crows taught to take chances and to not hesitate, and it had worked out for him so far.
He had faith. In his god, in his abilities, in whatever fate held in store for him.
It is a familiar ritual by now; shuffle the deck, cut the cards. Ask your question, make a draw. Let the cards speak of what fate might bring.
Simple. Not always easy, but simple. And yet Carter was starting to find that the familiar ritual was anything but simple.
No, if anything he was starting to dread reaching for his deck.
"And what will it be today..." he wonders aloud as clawed fingers turn over the first of the cards. And instantly feels his heart begin to sink.
"The High Priestess, reversed. Secrets. Two of swords, difficult decisions. And... let me guess..." He flips over the last card and exhales a heavy sigh. "The Tower. Disruption."
The ritual was familiar. But so was this particular set of cards, laid out in this particular order. And that was really the troubling thing.
Once was normal. Twice was a coincidence. Three times was a pattern. Four? Now it was just undeniable.
He reaches up to shove his cracked glasses higher up on his nose. Something was happening in the city. And it wasn't good.
Which left him with who and what and where, and no answers in sight. And wasn't that just frustrating for a diviner.
