#archivist oath

[sparrowrye]

Teaser - Archivist’s Oath || Alastor x Reader

“Husker, do you think Alastor will ever give my wings back?”

“Well, kid. He uh…he’s…”

“A paranoid freak?”

He smiled. “That’s a good way to put it.”

[sparrowrye]

The Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 26: a kiss good luck

Summary: Alastor finds an archivist who can translate Old World texts. Equally bound to their duty, reader and Alastor traverse the tricky landscape of love and commitment…but to whom and to what?

Chapter Synopsis: Plot moves steadily forward, and Alastor gets injured yet again. Over 5k words for you :)

Master List

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It didn't take long to figure out why Alastor couldn't hear the morse code messages coming from Vox's radio. A few pages into the manual revealed two types of radio frequencies: AM and FM.

We sat at the dinning room table with a couple of his radios scattered across the surface. I used his screwdriver to remove the back ends of the radios and found that some of them had information engraved on the inside flap. I translated them on a small piece of paper and within half an hour we had concluded that Alastor used FM to make his broadcasts. This meant the morse coder must be using AM.

I sat quietly in the dining room chair as Alastor closed his eyes and played with his magic. Every now and then the radios would sputter, crackle, then fizzle into silence as he tried to switch his frequencies. I watched him closely, now able to observe his features.

His eyebrows were slightly knit together in concentration and his ears frequently flicked or shifted, as if trying to hear the frequencies that were immune to my own ears. His cheeks were smooth but structured, his jaw line defined, and his eyelashes rather long. His hair was straight and perfect today because he wore his red button-up instead of pulling a sweater over his head. It was a little disappointing.

My eyes traced down the lining of his shirt until his arm obstructed my view. He was leaning on the armrest of the chair, fingers hugging the edge of the wood perfectly, while his other hand nestled perfectly in the crook of his elbow.

He had one leg crossed elegantly over the other and, to my dismay, wore his usual black shoes to hide his deer hooves. Though I didn't pay much attention to them as my eyes traced the fabric lines hugging his thighs.

He had always seemed very thin and elegant, even when I had healed him from his chest wound. But there was strength behind those lean muscles, and it only made my mind wonder how strong his legs were, too.

I jumped when a single radio crackled to life in the middle of the table—the only one tuned to AM. It struggled for a moment before a series of beeps began to fill the air.

"There you are," Alastor hummed, eyes still closed. It made the hair on my arms stand up, a reminder of who I was sitting next to.

We listened to the ryhthm. Just as Vox said, it repeated the same ryhthm twice, paused, then changed. It was intelligent. And it was definitely morse code. Did the archive in Lucifer's castle have a book on morse code?

The radio coughed and sputtered. Then fell silent.

I looked over at Alastor as his eyes opened. His smile turned devilish. "This is going to be a wonderful surprise for dear old Voxy."

I leaned back in my chair. "Why?"

He lowered his chin and looked at me through his long eyelashes. "Because the signal is coming from his district."

It should've been off-putting, the way his lips curled in a smile that could only mean trouble, or the way his eyes lit up at the idea of confrontation, or the way his teeth seemed to glow in the dim morning light of the storm.

But it wasn't.

It made my stomach turn, yet not in a bad way, and I couldn't help returning his smile. I watched the small movement in his eyes as he observed me this time.

He unfolded his arms and held out his hand. I placed mine on top and, once again, watched his fingers curl perfectly around my hand, squeezing gently. I loved the way his thumb moved across my skin and left a burning, invisible line in its wake.

He took it one step further and raised my hand to place a gentle kiss where his thumb had just been. His lips felt cool on contact, but it quickly spread heat across the rest of my hand. My lungs tightened. I clenched my jaw, unable to look away from his steady gaze.

"You are a miracle, my darling." He shifted forward in his chair and leaned his lips against my fingers and stayed there, searching my eyes. Goosebumps ran along my arms and I had the sudden urge to kiss him. But I was too nervous.

The radio in the living room revived itself and deep voices called for Alastor's response. He grumbled against my hand and the vibrations reached up my shoulders. With a roll of his eyes, he kissed my hand then carefully let go.

I busied myself with screwing the backs of the radios back on in a desperate attempt to ignore the heat in my cheeks. But then I froze when his hand touched the back of my neck as he passed behind me, light enough that it could've been an accident, but we both knew it wasn't.

I waited until he was seated in his chair in the living room, then reached up to rub the area he had touched. My cheeks burned as much as my hand and neck. I quietly hit my forehead with my fist then furiously screwed the radios back together.

{|}

Alastor was determined to keep you out of Vox's district as much as possible.

The storms let up long enough for Vox to build a windmill to charge that ancient canon of his from the underground fortress-ship. It required the labor of his men, Carmilla's people, and the magic of Alastor's people.

He decided to take you along as well—for good reason. Vox's district was the last one to receive your naturalistic care against the storms, but Alastor had devised a plan to keep you from spending too much time in that district.

While he demonstrated his anger-management skills by supervising his mages in Vox's presence, you and Husker walked around the smaller district and made notes of where the necessary trees and shrubbery were needed. This meant he and his mages needed only to follow your written directions, keeping you out of Vox's claws and giving you some much needed time with Rosie in the Agriculture District.

Husker and I walked the rather empty-looking surface of the Technology District. I carried a pad of paper, a pencil, and the district's roughly drawn map in my arms. I made small sketches and notes as we walked the platforms and narrow streets.

"Hey Husker? Do you think Alastor will ever give me my wings back?"

I had been watching the way Husker's red tipped wings swayed and rustled in the wind every time he turned at a sound or approaching figure. He was on high alert.

"Well kid," he said. "He uh...he's..."

"A paranoid freak?"

Husker smiled. "Yeah, that's a good way to put it." He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled down at me, though it quickly shifted to one of sympathy,

"Eventually," he answered my previous question, though the hesitation in his voice wasn't very comforting. He saw the way my head fell and hands made a pointless mark on the map.

He sighed. "When he first brought me under him, he took my wings away, too."

My eyes widened, though I shouldn't have been surprised. "He did?"

Husker nodded. "After awhile, when we were in a bad spot, he brought them back." We slowed to a stop as he lost himself in the memory. "It really was a risk on his part. I could've flown away right then and there. I could've left him to die on that ship with the rest of his crew. But...the way he said it when he gave my wings back...it made me...it made me want to stay. It made me want to use them to get us out safely..."

I waited patiently, hanging on his every word.

Finally, when he came out of the memory, his yellow eyes found mine and he gave a twisted smile. "Alastor likes his theatrics. He might be ready to give your wings back but he's waiting for the right time to make it count."

Ever the manipulator. I sighed internally, ignoring the itch in my back. "When do you think that'll be?"

He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "My guess? After Storm Season."

It felt like a million miles away, but we were already more than halfway through the season. Could I wait that long? It's not like I had any other choice.

Why wasn't I more upset about my wings? It was annoying, sure, but I didn't feel nearly as upset as I had been over other things when I first arrived in the city.

My feelings, I realized.

My feelings were getting in the way. They were a buffer.

Spend long enough dealing with something and it becomes normal.

His manipulation was becoming normal.

Yet I still couldn't get myself to be upset. I just felt...tired.

I directed my gaze upwards and caught sight of the figures moving about on the surface to build the windmill.

I really needed that talk with Rosie.

A flash of light. Then a clap of thunder—in the ground. My entire body vibrated for a split second as something exploded overhead.

I looked up as fire and smoke bellowed over the ravine's edge. Husker tackled me into the wall, using his wings as a shield. The fire sailed right past us and collided with the ground on the level beneath us. It shook the ground on impact.

Husker peered up through his wings but there was only a fading smoke trail. He looked sharply around, nose twitching and ears swiveling as he furiously scanned the area for danger. He then grabbed my hand and yanked me down the pathway, back towards the center of the city.

"What happened?" I asked, frantically looking over my shoulder. Deep smoke rose into the air, darkening the already gray sky. I could hear people start to scream.

Husker abruptly stopped, swiped me off my feet, and took off. He stayed below the surface of the ravine but just high enough off the ground without crashing. I hung onto his shoulders and stared over his back as the smoke climbed higher in the sky.

Had the White Angels attacked us? Was it a malfunction? A sabotage?

All I could think about was Alastor.

Husker dropped me off at Rosie's then immediately flew off again. I paced the length of Rosie's cave, bitting my nails and ignoring her attempts to calm me.

Trees and bushes crowded the opening to her cave, as was with every cave in her district, but I still couldn't focus on anything other than Alastor. What had happened? What was happening? Was he alive? Was he hurt? Was there a fight going on? How many people had been hurt? Killed? Died?

My footclaws rapped the stone floor as I continued my pacing. Rosie waited by the cave entrance, just as anxious, but more experienced in hiding it. She stared up at the sky, waiting for word about the explosion. She had ordered her people to remain inside their own caves until further notice.

Those thirty minutes felt like hours until Rosie caught sight of Alastor and called out to him. I ran over and accidentally crashed into him as he walked in. He gripped my shoulders hard and pulled me away.

His clothes were singed—barely hanging on him and revealing bright red, blistering skin underneath. My mouth dropped open at the sight.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded. He grabbed my chin and jerked my head up, searching for wounds on my neck and shoulders. I yanked my face away to examine his injuries.

"Are you hurt?" he repeated more forcefully. He patted me down at all the vital points of my body, and that's when I noticed the way my clothes stuck to his hands slightly.

"I'm fine." I snapped and grabbed his wrists to look at his palms. They were just as blistered and bleeding as the rest of his arms, but it was obvious which side had taken the brunt of the impact. "My god, Al—"

"Rosie, send some of your people to the center," he ordered. "Lucifer has already rounded up the healers but they need more help. There's too many injured."

"Right away." She whisked away in a matter of seconds.

Alastor turned back to me, the light in his eyes dimming. His shoulders sagged and he suddenly looked exhausted. The thick smell of smoke that clung to him had clogged my nose and was making my eyes water.

"Sit down," I said, pushing him backwards to the bench. His legs stuttered but he managed to sit, grimacing as he did. My eyes surveyed him from head to toe. I grabbed a knife from Rosie's sewing drawer and began cutting away the remains of his clothes—only the bits that were loose and not sticking to the blisters.

"What happened?" I asked and raced around Rosie's home in search of a damp wash cloth to cool his burns.

"An attack," he said thinly, "from the White Angels."

"What kind of attack?" I moved quickly but carefully, dotting his face, arms, neck and chest with a damp wash cloth. He hissed through the pain and I was grateful his adrenaline rush had not yet slowed because he would've been spitting and fighting me against the pain. But he will soon, though.

"An explosion," he answered. "It's...they've never done this before." He swayed a little. "It must be a new weapon."

"How do you know it was them?" I knelt beside him and started cutting away at his pant legs to expose the ugly blisters, clenching my jaw at the sight.

Alastor's silence made me look up. His eyelids sagged, as did the rest of his body, and his hand fell limply from his lap. I panicked and grabbed his shoulders to wake him, only to be met with the snap of his sharp teeth mere inches from my face. I could see in his eyes the moment he recognized me.

"M-My dear..."

"Stop. I know what you're going to say." I went over to the counter and filled an empty clay mug with water from a nearby pitcher. "Just stop talking and let me handle this." I lifted the mug to his lips and he quietly drank. Though he did attempt to do it himself but the pain in his fingers had finally reached him.

I forced him to drink the entire cup then helped him lay down on the bench. Luckily the front of him took the brunt of the attack, meaning he wouldn't be in pain while lying down. I set aside the cup then tended to his legs in the same manner as the rest of him.

"How bad is it?" he croaked, then coughed. "And don't lie to me."

I debated on listening, then decided to give him the truth. "Bad."

I searched around Rosie's home for bandages or pieces of cloth to use. I came back with a few towels and brought the pitcher to the floor with me. I tore the cloths into smaller strips and soaked them in water.

I started at his legs and glanced nervously at him. He was starting to nod off. "I'm sorry, Al. But you'll hate this part." I laid the damp bandage over a spot and his whole body seized. His hand hovered over the bandage, fighting with himself not to remove it.

I gently touched his arm where no blisters and charred fur were present, and marveled at the way he almost immediately relaxed.

His head dropped back onto the bench. "I'm such a fool."

"What happened up there?" I asked, hoping to distract him from the pain. I propped his leg up and started wrapping the different areas.

"I heard...morse code...they were—" He groaned against the pain. "I heard them talking on the radio. Soon after...soon after they attacked."

"Someone warned them?" I prompted, moving to his hands.

"Yes," he breathed out through his teeth. "They're...in Vox's district."

"So it's not Vaggie then," I said. "She's not the spy."

"We don't know that. She could be...involved somehow."

We continued to talk and theorize as I bandaged him up all the way to his neck. His magic had saved him from the blast, unlike so many others, but the biggest blow had been to his ego. He didn't say anything about it, but I could tell it was chewing at the back of his mind.

I poured the last of the water into his mug and sat on the edge of the bench. I gently raised his head just enough to help him sip from the cup. I had gone nose-blind to the smell of charred fur, clothes, and hair.

His poor hair. It was horrifyingly dry. It fell away at the smallest touch.

I lowered his head but kept my hand where it was, waiting for him to build more strength to finish the last sip of water. He sighed deeply and whispered my name.

"No," I said. "Don't try to say something dramatic. Just focus on me." I offered a small smile. "You'll probably go into shock soon, so try to stay awake."

He surprised me by smiling, as if the situation was a joke. "If I do," he said with a shallow breath, "will you kiss me awake?"

I smothered my own smile and glared down at him. "A slap will do better."

He hummed his amusement but it made him cough instead. "Then...won't you..." His breathing was getting heavier and faster. "Won't you...give me a kiss...for good luck?"

My heart twisted at the genuine way in which he asked. I smiled fully and carefully leaned down, hovering just over his lips. I saw his eyes close in anticipation and felt his breath on my cheeks as he tried to pause his breathing.

I lightly kissed him, enjoying the feeling of his lips moving against mine, but fought the urge to cough from the strong smell of smoke. He sighed through his nose and he visibly relaxed in a matter of seconds.

I leaned away with a smile, then lifted his head so he would drink the rest of the water.

{|}

I knew from past experiences that confining Alastor to one spot was a bad ideato say the least.

He was miserable within the first twenty-four-hours, even though he slept for most of it. His hands had suffered burns, but Lucifer had been kind enough to heal his hands after hours of healing the rest of the injured. I had never seen the short king look so worn and exhausted.

I sat in the hallway just outside his room while he slept, occasionally glancing in to make sure he was still breathing.

But once he woke up later that afternoon, I hurried downstairs avoid him. Now that he was stable, he had plenty of time to think. Which, in this particular situation, wasn't a good thing.

I could feel his tense magic in the air, even in the far corner of the kitchen where I helped Niffty make dinner. He was angry, of course. Disappointed, for sure. And bored. The man could hardly survive fifteen minutes of being bored.

On the second day of his confinement, he had enough.

Niffty and I were working peacefully, quietly, beside each other in front of the low fire. Some storm days were cold and drafty while others were hot and sticky. Today was a weird mix between the two.

Niffty was binding one of my finished translation sheets into a book when she abruptly stopped, stood up, and climbed the stairs, as if in a trance. Alastor's magic crackled faintly in my ears and I waited with bated breath for him to attempt whatever he did on Niffty to me.

Luckily he didn't, as Niffty came scurrying downstairs as right as rain and said Alastor wanted to see me.

I told myself I didn't need to be nervous. He wasn't angry with me. I didn't do anything wrong. He was just frustrated at his predicament. Still, it did little to ease my racing heart as I slowly climbed the stairs.

I peered around the doorway. He was sitting upright, dressed in loose maroon sleeping clothes, and his recently healed hand rubbed at his temples. I could see the new bandages under his sleeves and around his neck.

He looked tired and exhausted, but entirely like Al. It was as though we were back in the bunker...especially with the disheveled look of his hair.

His poor, dry, fried hair.

I cleared my throat. "Al?"

He instantly looked up and the exhaustion faded from his features. He set aside the book he had been attempting to read. "Come in, my dear."

I braced for nothing and took a few steps inside, holding my hands behind my back. "Did you need something?"

He gave me a feigned look of exasperation. "Is it such a crime to want your company?" One of his ears flicked.

My cheeks colored and I traced the lines in the floor with my footclaw.

"Come closer."

Gaze still averted, I approached his bed and stood roughly an arms length from him. But he expertly snaked a hand around my waist and pulled me closer so my knees bumped the wooden frame.

My eyes couldn't decide where to look—at him, the bed, the book, his desk, the boarded doors, the drapes—

He touched a finger to my chin and pushed up, drawing my gaze to him. He smiled and the sight made my heart skip a beat. Why wouldn't my heart slow down?

"Beautiful," he murmured.

I blinked. "What is?"

"Your eyes."

Heat rushed into my face and I shied away, but he grabbed my jaw with a firm hand and hugged my waist tighter, refusing to let go. My one hand grabbed at the arm around me while the other fisted my pant leg until it hurt.

He chuckled softly, amused at my reaction.

My face burned brighter as he tried to meet my eyes. Unsure what to do, and uncomfortably shy at our close proximity, I reached up to touch his hair. He quieted as several strands of hair fell away. It was amazing more hadn't fallen out already, but I suppose his magic was trying to keep him stitched together.

He suddenly leaned into my touch, eyes closed. His cheek, partially covered by more bandages, was warm to the touch—and dry. I rubbed my thumb over his painfully dry and cracked skin and thought of how I might help. I could only imagine the pain and discomfort he was in, further enunciated by his confinement.

His chest expanded as he took a deep breath and pulled me closer. I used both hands to cup his face and gently touch the bandages. The smell of smoke still clung to him, though not as strongly, and the crackle of fire in my little alcove came to mind.

A cool, summer evening breeze swept through the forest and the birds chirped overhead. My knife made loud chops as I diced the vegetables on the cutting board. Al's hand came into view to take the knife from me, giving me full view of his black and red deer tail.

I stared up at the dimming orange sky through the bramble and tree leaves, only for my view to be obstructed by a pair of bright red ears. He leaned down to kiss me, fitting his knee between my legs and lowering his weight on top of me. He was warm. He was gentle. He was kind.

"Darling?" Alastor brushed the back of his fingers across my cheek, bringing me back to reality. I blinked the memory away and withdrew my hands and apologized.

"You should shower," I said, attempting to step away but failing to do so on account for his arm still wrapped around my waist. "Your hair desperately needs it." I gently pushed a strand near his neck and watched it sway stiffly.

"An excuse to see me undress?" he teased.

I firmly, but carefully, plucked his arm off my hip. "I've seen you naked enough times, thank you." For good measure, I added, "Twice is plenty."

He caught my hand and pulled it to his lips. "You wound me, my dear." He placed a kiss on my knuckles, light and feathery. "But I won't shower for some time. These blisters hurt far too much."

"I can't imagine your scalp feels any good." I reached up and threaded my fingers through the chalky strands. He instantly closed his eyes and hummed deeply.

"It does when you do that."

I giggled quietly. "Would you like me to take care of your hair again?" More softly I said, "Like back then?"

He opened one eye. "Perhaps."

I stepped closer and he lifted his head slightly, licking his lips in anticipation. I did the same, hovering mere centimeters over his lips, until I finally kissed him. My heart pulsed through my fingertips as we kissed a second time, and before we could get lost in more, I pulled away.

In the bathroom, I situated a stool close to the tub's edge and sat him down so he could rest his head backwards on it. His injuries were mostly on his front side, meaning he could lean back and move relatively normal. But his grimacing still expressed a high level of pain from the healing skin.

With a towel supporting his neck, I began to cut away the strands that were too far gone, burnt to a crisp and falling apart on contact. It should've been done sooner, preferably the night of the attack, but Alastor had been too lethargic to even sit upright.

I asked Niffty to change Alastor's pillow as I sorted through the collection of oils under the sink. I perched myself on the tub's edge, close to his head, and started combing the oils through his newly cut hair. It wasn't pretty, but it would grow back.

He was doing that thing again. I didn't even need to look to know he was staring up at me, searching my face and trying to catch my gaze.

"So what now?" I asked. "We still need to disable the White Angels' communication system."

He sighed when I massaged a certain area on his scalp. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Vox's canon requires energy we don't have."

"I thought it was destroyed."

"The windmill was," he explained. "The canon is underground."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Where?"

"It's attached to his fortress."

My hands stilled. "Vox...fixed a battleship?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what that means."

I went back to massaging his hair, for no other reason than an excuse to keep touching him. "A type of military ship. There were different kinds but those ones had big canons." I recalled the rooms and hallways I had walked through in Vox's fortress. I knew it had been a ship, but his furnishing made it appear like something non-militaristic.

A thought came to mind. "How did he make it work?"

Alastor peered up at me, but didn't voice his thoughts. "Trial and error, I suppose."

"Why haven't you used it before?"

"From what he told me, it wasn't positioned correctly. He had to carve out more stone in order to move it in the right direction."

"So how does he know it'll even land where he wants it to?"

Alastor tried to shrug but grimaced. "He doesn't. But it was the best thing we could think of."

I mindlessly combed through his hair in silence, enjoying the intimate moment, as was he, until my hands grew tired. I helped him up and led him back to his room. I sat on the edge of his bed and talked with him some more until Niffty brought his dinner up.

He grabbed my wrist when I went to leave. "Won't you stay? It's positively boring up here. All alone~," he dramatized. I gave in.

Niffty joined us for dinner and sat cross legged on his bed while I pulled up his desk chair. We talked further on the White Angel issue, particularly on how to find the traitor in Vox's district and if Vaggie had any ties to it. It seemed impossible for the ex-White Angel to be involved when she was under constant surveillance.

The tone of conversation turned lighter as Niffty detailed her imaginary war of her crocheted bugs. Alastor watched me as I listened to her, fully aware of what he was doing. His gaze left a hot trail wherever he looked, and it wasn't because of his magic.

After we had finished eating, I pulled the chair back to his desk and offered to take his plate from him. He looked at me with surprisingly big, round eyes and soft features. "Will you work some more or do you plan to sleep soon?" he asked.

I thought for a moment. "I'll probably translate a few pages before I go to bed."

"Then do them here." He gestured to the empty side of his bed. "You do know how much I loathe boredom."

I smiled and took his plate. "I knew I was just entertainment for you."

He scrunched his nose at me in response.

While Niffty cleaned up the kitchen, I brought my text and pad of paper to his room. I clumsily sat on his bed and shifted closer, but not too close. My hands were shaking slightly as I opened the text and tried to find the page I had been working on.

I shouldn't have agreed to stay.

My heart was racing again and for no reason. He wasn't upset at me—he was actively searching for my presence. It took twice as long to translate a single sentence knowing that he was sitting less than an arm's length away.

My mind couldn't get around the fact that I was sitting on his bed, on his sheets, in his room. Could he feel my anxiety? Was I making it obvious?

Alastor repeatedly glanced over at you. He could see the way your shoulders hunched tightly, your hands moved statically, and could faintly hear your erratic breathing. He was having difficulty understanding what sprouted these random anxious moments. He originally thought close proximity, but you had been perfectly find when you were taking care of his hair and you had initiated a kiss.

Regardless, he was going to test out another strategy of his. The only problem was that it included waiting.

He metaphorically dragged his feet through his work, half listening to his radio frequencies in the back of his mind as he sifted through orders and journalists' records. The easiest thing to do in his current state was to continue compiling the play of events from the different caves. Rosie's caves, by far, had the least amount of difficulties.

Finally, finally, you started to nod off.

Your head repeatedly dropped as you fought sleep and gravity simultaneously. He waited, desperately hoping he could time it correctly.

With your elbow propped on your leg and your head in your hand, you drifted off longer than usual. He used a touch of magic to pull your textbook and his work off the bed, then slowly but surely shifted further down the bed until he was laying flat on his back. He ignored the stings from his injuries and reached over to pull your paper off your lap.

You startled awake but your eyes were still droopy as you looked over at him. He blew out the lantern on his bedside table and dropped the paper on the floor next to the bed.

"S-Sorry, I'll go now."

His shadow pushed against your knees to bring you close enough that he could wrap an arm around you. Your eyes suddenly widened as you realized what he was trying to do. But instead of running and panicking, you let him pull you against his side and drape his red sheets over your shoulders.

Uncertainly, you rested your head on the edge of his pillow and set your arm on his chest where there were no injuries. You were as stiff as a board but he knew he needed only to wait a few minutes for you to grow tired again.

And right he was.

You shifted closer and brushed your feet against his hooves. You brought your face closer to his neck where he could feel your steady breathing on his fur. Somehow your head, arms, neck, and legs were touching all the areas on him that were safe and free from blisters.

You were perfect.

He knew this bliss might not come again once Storm Season was over, but he savored the way you leaned into him, the way you melted against his side. As much as your fear of him still lingered in ways he couldn't understand, he knew there was a deep desire to seek his presence, his company, his passion.

He turned his head and nuzzled his nose into your hair and took a deep breath.

But maybe, just maybe, he could have something real with you. Forever. 

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Author's Note:

I think we all needed some sappy Alastor and sweet fluff.

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Taglist:@drevisrose @until-thedaysof-spring @torustesseract @sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette @eris-norwega

[sparrowrye]

The Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 23: one in the same

Plot Summary: Alastor finds an archivist who can translate Old World texts. Equally bound to their duty, reader and Alastor traverse the tricky landscape of love and commitment…but to whom and to what?

Synopsis: Have some sweetness. We're getting close to the good stuff ;)

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I didn't have an overtly high opinion of Princess Charlie, Lucifer's one and only daughter, but she got a few points from me when I was brought in to translate for Vaggie, the White Angel.

Charlie had convinced her father to allow the White Angel to have a bath and basic clothes. My palms had clammed at the sight of the plain white shirt and pants that I had worn when I first arrived on Alastor's airship. How long had it been since then? How many months? It felt like a year.

Vaggie's hair was no longer matted and dirty, her skin was free of blood, and she sat a little straighter. She was still as mute as a mole and continuously looked up at the three daunting figures sitting around her.

This meeting—interrogation—was taking place in a small meeting room in Lucifer's castle. Lady Carmilla sat closest to Vaggie, ready to jump at a moment's notice should the White Angel attempt anything. I sat on Vaggie's other side, Alastor beside me, and Lucifer and Charlie across the table from us.

This time I had not been given a set of questions to ask. This meeting was an open table discussion, allowing for anyone to ask a question. I could feel Vaggie's nerves, but there wasn't much I could do for her.

Charlie first began by summarizing our findings from last time, having come in late on the situation. "So we know the White Angels came from across the ocean and are waiting for more of them to come after Storm Season."

Lady Carmilla nodded. "That's correct."

"And we know her people hurt her. So how did you find her?"

"She was hiding in an underground cave in the desert plains. My people found her on patrol."

Charlie nodded and hummed to herself, tapping her rosy red cheek with one finger. I had spoken to her only twice before, once when I first arrived at the city and once after the first storm. She was very chipper and smiley, probably on account for her father's anxious depressive bubble, but she had a serious side to her as well.

"Why did her people hurt her?" she asked. All heads turned to me.

I picked up the pencil and pulled the sheet of paper closer to me. Why are you an outcast?

Vaggie stared at the words for a moment, seemingly debating how to answer. Was she afraid to share her answer or was she trying to overcome the trauma of being betrayed?

Eventually she took the pencil and wrote: I disobeyed an order.

I relayed the answer to the table and wrote back: What order?

To kill all foreigners.

"Foreigners?" Alastor hissed beside me. He was clad in his red suit as usual. "They're the foreigners here."

"She says she let a child get away," I said, reading off her next answer. My shoulders sagged as I read the rest, "But they killed the child anyways. And disciplined her."

The word discipline brought back memories of Vox. I could hear the buzz of his overhead lights and the cold metal stairs I had been dragged down. I could feel his blue claws touching my wrist, trying to trap me and hold me down.

Blood pulsed in my toes.

At the same time, I recalled Alastor burning one of my books. I remembered the way he held me back from the fireplace and forced me to watch the paper curl up in flames. All because I wasn't translating fast enough.

I subconsciously moved closer to Vaggie in my chair, further away from Alastor. I hated being around him after the storms. I hated seeing the Radio Demon when I knew—when I experienced—the side of him that was kind and thoughtful. The side that was Al.

"Why do they want to kill everyone?" Charlie asked. It took me a moment to pull myself out of my memories and write down the question.

Vaggie answered: To cleanse the land.

I furrowed my eyebrows. Cleanse of what?

Hybrids. Humans should not have mutations.

My wings itched where they were magically hidden. I glanced at Alastor and Lady Carmilla, who had the most obvious 'mutations'. Charlie shared my confused concern.

Why are hybrids bad?

It's unnatural.

I frowned. Anything humans made was unnatural. Why did it matter how we looked? But even as I asked these questions, I knew it was likely religious or political propaganda.

How many humans live overseas?

Many. All in different towns.

"Ask what their technology development is like over there," Lady Carmilla instructed.

I let Vaggie finish writing her full answer before I voiced it. "They have working electricity. Enough to power their subways."

"What's a subway?" Charlie asked.

"It's an underground railroad system," I answered. "Every major city used to have them for public transportation."

"Well why do they need to be over here then? It sounds like they're doing just fine over there."

I asked Vaggie and read her answer, "They're at war with nearby nations and they're running out of resources."

Lady Carmilla narrowed her eyes. "Resources like what?"

I asked Vaggie the question, but a burning thought plagued my mind. I made sure to keep my words close together so it looked like I wrote a long question instead of two:

What kind of resources? Do you have access to the Internet

Vaggie responded: Copper. Iron. Oil. Zinc. You name it. What is Internet?

I sighed through my nose, barely containing my relief, and relayed her answer to the others.

"If they're here for mining," Charlie said, "why do they need to go and kill everyone? What does it matter if we have mutations?" Charlie seemed to still be frustrated and saddened about the child's story.

"Religious maybe?" I offered. "Propaganda?"

"They're not here for drilling," Lady Carmilla declared. "We would've seen or heard their mining machines."

"If we don't know much about their technology, then maybe we might not be able to hear it," I ventured carefully. I expected the warrior general to glare at me, but she did not.

I glanced at Alastor and felt my stomach tighten. He was looking at me funny—and not in a good way. Did he suspect I asked a secret question? He shouldn't have been able to tell. I purposefully didn't include a question mark.

Either way, he said nothing.

They asked Vaggie more questions about the scout camp. They asked the kinds of questions one would need to know before striking an attack. I could tell Vaggie knew this, but she answered the questions anyways.

But then she asked me a question:

Why are you here?

"What did she ask?" Lady Carmilla prompted.

"She asked why I'm here," I said honestly.

"What will you tell her?"

I blinked at the taller woman. What was I going to say? That I had been dragged here against my will? That I was translating for a group of people I didn't even like or trust? Vaggie already knew I was an Archivist, so it seemed only natural for her to wonder why I wasn't in hiding anymore.

"I guess...that I'm..." I struggled to find my words. I wasn't sure what the right answer was, let alone how they would want me to answer.

"Maybe you should tell her the truth," Charlie suggested, saving me. "Maybe she'll feel safer about talking to you if she knew how you got here." She glanced at Alastor, waiting for his reaction, as was I.

When I looked over at him, he just shrugged.

He's annoyed, I realized. From what and at what, I wasn't exactly sure. It made my lungs feel heavy knowing I would have to deal with it after this meeting.

Lucifer nodded at me, confirming my reply. So I wrote: I was taken from my home.

You translate for them?

Certain things.

Why?

I didn't answer right away. I could feel Alastor's intense stare on my back.

Some texts may help Humanity rebuild. Just like your people did. Because I'm afraid.

She looked up from the paper and stared at me, long and hard. I had never felt animosity towards the White Angels more than any other intruder in my oasis, so it didn't take much to feel an odd sort of kinship with Vaggie. We were both alone and in a strange, scary city with very scary people asking us for critical information.

I repeated my answer, but made sure to leave out the last bit. Alastor seemed slightly appeased. I noticed he and Lucifer had been rather silent during this whole exchange. If Lucifer hadn't been sitting in front of me, I would've forgotten that he even existed.

"So what now?" Charlie asked in the silence. Lady Carmilla looked at Lucifer, but he was staring at the table, head down.

"Nothing, for now," Lady Carmilla said. She leaned back into her chair thoughtfully. "I will discuss with my generals about a plan of an attack on the encampment near the end of Storm Season."

Charlie glanced nervously to Vaggie, who seemed to understand what was happening around her. She looked at me out the corner of her good eye.

"Is it official that she's not one of them then?" Charlie voiced my thoughts.

Lady Carmilla gestured to me. "Ask her."

Do you wish to return to your people?

Vaggie took a slow breath. She touched the wrapping around her eye as she stared at the words on the page. Eventually, after what felt like several minutes, she reached for the pencil.

No.

Lady Carmilla was about to say something but Charlie jumped in first. "So then we should make her a citizen!"

Pops and crackles emanated from Alastor. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, she was outcasted by her own people and gave us a lot of good info. She deserves something better than a cold cell at least."

"She's dangerous," Lasy Carmilla said firmly, her gesture making Vaggie lean away. "We can't trust that she's not attempting something else."

"But we trust everything that she's said so far?"

"We trust half of what she says," Lady Carmilla explained. "We can't trust that she doesn't have an ulterior motive. She may have answered willingly so we would lower our guard."

"I happen to agree with Lady Carmilla," Alastor said. "She has showed us only one act of good faith."

It made me think of all the 'acts of good faith' I had made towards this city. It made me uncomfortable to think about.

"But she deserves the chance to prove herself. Just like you." Charlie looked directly at me. Now I really felt uncomfortable.

She then looked to her father, seeking his approval. "Please, dad? There's still more to learn about the White Angels. And she's already given us really good information."

Lucifer watched her for a moment. "I don't know, Charlie. I...we...she can't even speak our language."

Charlie turned to me again. "You could teach her, couldn't you? How to talk like us?"

The hair on the back of my neck rose. Teaching Vaggie how to speak Common Tongue would destroy the whole point of the Archivists. If she could speak both languages, the city would no longer need an Archivist to translate old texts.

They wouldn't need me.

I slowly turned my head towards Alastor. Would he keep me around if that happened? Did his interest in me only go as far as obtaining sacred knowledge? Would he send me back? Keep me here? Drop me off at Vox's doorstep again?

Alastor's sharp red eyes stared back at me. I could see my reflection in that stupid monocle. I could see the way I stared up at him, almost unemotionally, but with a hint of panic. Did he understand the implications of such an ask?

Finally, my mind found a loophole. "I don't know how to speak their language," I said, turning back at Charlie. "I only know how to write it."

A guard knocked on the door to inform them that the next storm was fast approaching.

"It's a possibility to consider," Lady Carmilla said, rolling up the parchment with the sketches of the White Angel compound. "For now, I can arrange better conditions for her."

She stood and everyone quickly followed. But Vaggie had a look of panic and grabbed my arm, moving away from Lady Carmilla. Alastor went to snatch her hand but I blocked him with my shoulder.

"Can I have the paper again?" I asked. Vaggie still held my arm, eyes jumping wildly between Alastor and Lady Carmilla as I wrote:

All okay. More talks and better conditions for you.

Vaggie looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but mutely nodded instead. She peeled her hand off my arm and followed Lady Carmilla out of the room.

I needed a way to speak to Vaggie without the pressure of the others. I could tell there was more she wanted to say, not just questions. And I wanted to ask her more in-depth questions without Alastor watching over my shoulder. But how could I do that?

My only hope rested in Charlie Morningstar.

{|}

Alastor and I walked quietly back to the Magic District. Not a word was spoken.

I picked at my nails as my mind ran down a rabbit hole of all the different things that could happen as soon as I walked through that front door. Was he mad at me? Did he know I asked a secret question? Was he going to ask about me teaching Vaggie how to speak our language?

The dark shadows yawned before me as he opened the door for me. I pulled at the collar of my shirt and walked straight for the stairs. My strides lengthened just a hair to get me away from him without being obvious.

"My dear."

I froze with one foot on the third step. I tried to steady my breathing and turned my head to acknowledge that I had heard him. I was too afraid to look at him; too afraid to meet the stare of the Radio Demon.

"Is there something you want to share?" he asked.

"Should there be?" My voice shook and I knew he heard it. My feet were throbbing and my back started to itch again.

He was too quiet for too long. I turned further to find him still standing near the closed door. One hand rested on his cane and those sharp eyes met mine, causing a hitch in my throat. I braced, ready for him to jump at me.

Instead, his shoulders lowered and he turned away. "I suppose not." Then he walked through the living room and out of sight.

Nerves buzzing in my fingers, I hurried up the stairs as quietly as I could. I wish I had a door of some kind to close, to feel more secure, but I didn't. So I moved my towers of books around and curled up in the center, hidden from plain sight.

I rested my head on my knees and tried to breathe through the growing panic. Tears stung my eyes and clogged my throat. I grabbed a fistful of my hair, hoping to use the pain to ground me, but it only pushed me further.

Nothing happened, so why was I spiraling?

Part of me wanted Alastor to find me again, to put a gentle hand on my shoulder and distract me from the panic. The other part made me pale at the thought of seeing him dressed in all red; of seeing the Radio Demon so close to me.

I curled tighter in my little ball of protection, wishing I had been present enough to grab my grandmother's quilt from the bed. I didn't dare move now. I wasn't sure my feet could take it.

{|}

The next storm wasn't so aggressive. Niffty lit fewer candles and did her knitting project in the dining room. Sunlight poked through the boards of the window there, making it better lighting for her work.

Alastor remained in his room for most of the day. I wasn't sure what he was doing but I didn't want to find out. I brought down a few books and spread them on the table next to Niffty.

Trees and shrubs would only last for so long. They needed animals and insects to help sustain them. I had a list of all the greenery we had used in the other districts and searched for the species that thrived off them.

I brought a single technology book down, one that was filled with basic survival aid information—like how to make compass or magnify glass. If Alastor came down, I hoped the textbook might appease him from whatever had upset him yesterday.

Niffty and I snacked on fruit and cheese while we worked quietly beside each other. I was growing rather fond of her company. She was like a little sister, if this is what it felt like to have one. My brother and I were twins, so I wasn't quite sure what having a little sister was like.

My heart sped up at the sound of floorboards creaking from the second floor. The words on my pages became distorted as I focused solely on where Alastor was walking.

My heart beat twice as fast with every step he took. Luckily for me, I had chosen to sit on the other side of the dinning table where I could easily see into the living room. Though I didn't dare look up as he crossed the threshold into the dining room.

"Good morning, ladies," he greeted with a relatively chipper tone.

"Morning Alastor!" Niffty replied heartedly. "Coffee is on the stove."

I kept my tone level and my eyes trained on my paper. "Good morning."

He lingered near the edge of the table. "Pray tell, what are the two of you up to?"

"I'm knitting another cockroach for my collection." Niffty cackled, holding up her half finished project.

"Oh to understand your twisted little mind." Alastor patted her on the head, then turned to you. You had yet to look up from your work. So he waited, letting the prolonged silence force you to lift your head.

He watched the way your eyes looked him over intently, analyzing every bend and curve in his bright red coat. Every day proved that Rosie was right—you were far more at ease when he wasn't clad out in his usual attire.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I'm working on new translations." Your voice was stiff and factual, not at all like the emotional one he was used to hearing.

You had been distant since yesterday. He knew it had to do with the White Angel's second interrogation—you had seemed particularly rattled when Charlie asked if you could teach their prisoner how to speak Common Tongue, which likely conflicted with that damn oath.

He spent all night devising a plan. He just hoped it didn't backfire on him.

First things first: coffee.

He went into the kitchen and poured himself a tall cup of coffee that Niffty had roasted for him. He briefly tucked his ears back as he crossed the threshold into the dining room. Everything had been made according to his height except, for some reason, the area between the dining room and kitchen.

"My dear," he called gently. He waited for you to look up from your work. "I have something to show you." He purposefully didn't wait to see if you followed and walked slowly to the stairs. It wasn't until he reached the post that he glanced over his shoulder.

You padded softly after him, hands held close to your stomach and eyes averted. He rolled his eyes and climbed the stairs as he tried to ignore your little ball of anxiety. Over the past few weeks he had been noticing your spurts of anxious energy, particularly when he was around. It rubbed him the wrong way.

He walked into his bedroom and placed the red coffee mug on his desk, as far away from the cables and his old radio. He moved a few papers around before he realized you were not behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find you standing at the entrance to his room, practically clinging to the doorframe.

He opened his mouth to make a snarky retort but stopped a breath short. He remembered Rosie saying it had taken some convincing to get you onto the balcony after the incident with Vox and Valentino.

He let out a calming sigh before approaching you. "Care to join me?" he said, offering his hand.

Your eyes jumped between him and his hand. "Aren't you mad at me?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Whatever for?"

You didn't answer. You shifted your weight between unwrapped feet and glanced around at nothing in particular. He pushed away a tug of impatience and made a dramatic bow so he was level with your eyes.

"Will you see what I have to show you?" he asked, hand still outstretched. "I guarantee it'll be interesting to your bunker-brain."

He saw your personality poke through as you half-scowled at him. He couldn't help smiling when you finally accepted his hand, his fingers curling gently over your skin and tugging you towards his desk. He used magic to summon one of the dining room chairs.

He pulled the chair close and sat in his desk chair beside you. He enjoyed the way you scanned his desk with careful intensity, your Archivist brain making sense of all the wires and paper.

Another breath of magic closed his bedroom door and he reached for his red cane tucked safely to the side of the desk. His eyes finally left you as he turned the radio dial on. He needed to start immediately before you ran away.

My heart got stuck in my throat as he reached for the radio. A pale orange light lit up the small dial screen at the bottom and a little red stick jerked underneath the numbers. He spoke immediately.

"Good morning wayward hearts of Pentagram City,m. The storm is light, which means we're halfway through Storm Season. Fear not, for I, your gracious host, am here to instill hope in your souls.

As I'm sure some of you have noticed, the Agriculture and Entertainment Districts are looking a bit green. No, they're not sick. In fact, they're even better than before. They've undergone a new experiment—one I believe will change the course of our future...permanently."

I felt unnaturally cold. I wasn't hearing the Radio Demon's voice through a muffled wind up radio. I was right beside him, listening to his every word so hard that I could hear the breaths in between.

I felt far too close for comfort. But I was too afraid to move.

"All those pesky trees and dense shrubbery are actually making themselves quite useful. The trees brace against the wind and rain, the shrubbery prevent flooding, and on a whole, all the roots keep the walls from crumbling. I dare say, we are on a path to sustainability!"

He glanced at me out the corner of his eye. My hands were in my lap, tight and shaky.

"And who do we thank for such a feat? Well, our lovely Archivist of course! She reads ancient texts and forgotten theories, breathing new life and new ideas into them. She's the very reason you have enough food to last you until the end of the season. And she will be the reason you have a home to return to."

My breaths were shallow. I was stuck between joyful pride and terrible dread. Archivists have always longed to be helpful, to share their knowledge, and maybe even be credited for their work. Yet hearing the Radio Demon say it? It felt wrong.

"The Archivist claims she's no hero. That she's broken some ancient rule from a long lost civilization."

Not entirely true, but not entirely false. He was being honest yet evading the truth.

"But what do you call someone who walks into our crumbling wasteland of a city and brings new life with her? Someone who unearths the past and amends it to better our future? You tell me, dear citizens. For I can think of no other."

I flinched when his finger touched my arm. His red tipped claw glided softly down my wrist as light as a feather. My hand turned open on instinct, allowing him to thread his fingers and squeeze my hand.

"Remember, change isn't all for naut. We are taking steps in a new direction. A new future. A better one. So remember, you wayward souls, I'm still here. And so is she."

He leaned his microphone against the desk then turned off the radio. He took his time putting his microphone on the other end of his desk, out of sight from my vantage point, and slowly turned to me.

My lungs felt hot and tight. His fingers were still firmly gripping my hand, his thumb now grazing gently over my skin. His eyes were intense, but not in an invasive way. He was just looking at me as if for the first time. There was a gentleness to it, a quiet curiosity.

I tore my gaze from his and stared at our clasped hands. Were we actually holding hands? Or was it a figment of my stressed mind? Why was he doing it? Why did he say all that?

"I thought you might like to know how I think about your work," he said lightly, breaking the silence. "How I think of you." His grip tightened slightly, as if afraid I might run off.

We were quiet for several minutes. The only sound was the beat of my own heart and the rush of adrenaline in my ears. His red sleeve contrasted the green of my outfit and the brown of the floorboards. It made his hand look bigger, stronger, and not in the least gentle.

But his thumb moved over my hand gingerly, impossibly slow. Heat had formed between our palms and I began to worry if my hand was beginning to sweat.

"You didn't like it," he deduced quietly. His hand loosened, ready to pull away, but my fingers stiffened to prevent him—not quite holding but not letting go either.

"It's not that..." I said faintly. "I was...I'm just...I'm..." I took a deep breath, praying he would give me the extra few seconds to think through my response. "I can't see past the Radio Demon."

It was a surprisingly raw, truthful, and vulnerable statement. It suggested I was trying to see more of him, to see past the facade, and reach for Al. That I wanted to see more.

He didn't speak right away and I was too afraid to look up. I was on the verge of crying from being on an adrenaline rush for too long.

"And what would you prefer?" he asked slowly, his voice low and gravely. "That I unweave the very fabric that makes me who I am? Strip me of everything until I'm so plain and unrecognizable?"

I didn't respond. I swallowed around the growing upsetness in my throat and turned my head, blinking away tears. My fingers relaxed so he could pull his hand away, now deciding I didn't want to touch him anymore. But he didn't let go.

"You fear my presence yet enjoy it. You confide in me but shut me out. You fear me in my red suit but are at ease when I'm dressed in anything else." He breathed in deeply and let out a long sigh. "I don't always know how to approach you, and it's creating friction between us."

"What else can you expect from me?" I said cautiously. "I met Al in the forest and nursed him back to health. Then I met the Radio Demon who twisted my oath and burned my books."

Alastor didn't have an answer. What else did he expect from you? In the greater picture, he had secured an Archivist and the future of Humanity. But in the smaller picture, he had betrayed his savior, dragged her from her home, threatened her livelihood, and forced her to translate texts she was not ready to give.

He lifted his hand from your lap, but let it rest on the arm of your chair, not yet wanting the distance. The clock ticked away on the mantle beside you. He didn't bother counting the minutes, for he was lost in his mind until he heard you sniffle quietly.

His other hand drummed the wood of his armchair once. "I meant what I said," he tried. "Every word was me. Sure it had my Radio Demon charm but the core was me." He stared at the side of your head, desperately wishing you would just look at him. "I am one and the same."

You pretended to lean your arm on the chair but he could tell you were wiping your nose or tears—probably both—on your sleeve. Carefully, as careful as he ever could, he reached up and touched his hand to your shoulder. He moved painfully slow and marveled at the way you didn't flinch this time.

Just as slowly, he moved his hand further up the side of your neck until he could tenderly grip your chin and pull your attention back to him. Your eyes, red and filled with water, stared up at him. He moved his thumb across your chin, steadily holding your gaze.

"You do not have to be afraid of me."

Tears spilled over your cheeks.

"We may have argued," he said. "And yes, I burned one of your books and was harsh on you at first. But..." He studied the coloring on your cheeks, taking a moment to compose himself and calm his beating heart. "I want this to be a partnership."

He let go out of your chin and reached for your hand, feeling the way his heart skipped a beat when you returned the gesture, hands now clasped firmly together.

His smile inched up. "Do you think we could?"

Your lips moved without sound for a few heartbeats, fingers subconsciously shifting around his hand. You blinked away the tears and cleared your throat. "We...we can...try."

Good enough, he thought. Then he leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

I'm sorry if you see a lot of grammar and spelling errors. My brain is fried after finals

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@drevisrose @until-thedaysof-spring @torustesseract @sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette @eris-norwega

[sparrowrye]

UPDATE - Archivist Oath

Next chapter will be out NEXT WEDNESDAY 7/8

But those in my Demi Demon community page have a very very very short snippet of another random AU idea I had. Anyone is welcome to join, but don’t expect a lot from this page.

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21 members, 115 posts about #demi demon #Archivists oath #alastor x reader • Exclusive to my readers. Unused scenes, rewrites, excerpts, & t

[sparrowrye]

I’m just saying it would be super cool if other Hazbin fanfic writers wanted to write their own fanfic in the same world and timeline as my own (OCs or other pairs), and have them cross over into each other in certain chapters…

but hey…I don’t make the rules here

[sparrowrye]

What Say Demi Demons? You’ll want to see this one

If you are NOT following me, please don’t answer this poll. I’m trying to get a feel for who’s following me. Or, you can answer and follow me 😉

Would you be interested in a Tumblr community where I share unused scenes, different versions of intense scenes, and other excerpts?

YES!!!

Meh, I’m just here for the chapters

Voting ended onMay 25, 2025

[sparrowrye]

No chapter this week. My life has been descending into chaos :(

Crossing my fingers for NEXT WEDNESDAY. Until then, you can join my ultra secret community to read unused scenes, snippets, or whatever I feel like posting

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Exclusive to my readers. Unused scenes, rewrites, excerpts, & thoughts from Sparrow

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon Community

Don’t forget! We now have a Demi Demon community. I’ll share old snippets, longer teasers, and some ‘behind the scenes’

Also, whenever there’s NOT a new chapter for the week, I’ll try to post something new or different as compensation 😉

Love,

Sparrow 🪶