#eclipse is leaning on michael

[pempempemto]

eclipse with clothes. just because . :]

[lumiambrose]

✰ reflections of desire

kinktober 24 - day fifteen

featuring: michael kaiser x f!bartender!reader

summary: the infamous bunny night attracts many new customers to the eclipse, including the famed bastard münchen. serving the team seemed to fall on your hands for the night, attracting the attention of michael kaiser.

tags: smut, mirror sex, bunny suits, praise, p in v, breeding, kaiser is a slutty man, petnames (bunny), @/o-sachi cameo <3, kaiser is referred to as 'mihya'

wc: 2.6k

it’s the infamous bunny night at the eclipse royale. entertainers and staff alike are clad in bunny accessories and outfits, the estate is revamped to match.

“darling, can you serve table 20?” your colleague, chimi, calls out to you from across the bar, her tray piled high with empty glasses.

“give me a sec,” you answer, adjusting your headpiece and glancing over your shoulder at booth 20. it’s the busiest table of the night—bastard münchen’s under-20 team. the vibe around them is intoxicating—a mix of arrogance, power, and adrenaline. definitely celebrating a win.

you make your way over, weaving through drunken patrons as you approach the table with a smile. to be honest, you’re not even sure how to catch their attention over the noise, but luckily for you, a smooth voice cuts through the banter. a blonde man, lounging casually among his teammates, clears his throat. instantly, the chatter quiets down.

his presence is magnetic. he hasn’t even opened his mouth yet, but his gaze is tugging at your confidence. amusement dances in his expression as his eyes do a one-over on you, eyes sharp and calculating as he takes in your appearance.

“you’re here to take our order?” he asks, his voice dripping with arrogance that has his teammates chuckling.

“yeah,” you respond, trying your best to hold your own. “what’ll it be?”

instead of answering straight away, his eyes linger on your name tag as he leans forward, as if he couldn’t make it more obvious, a smirk playing on his lips. you attempt to divert your attention to his teammates, who are currently ordering. you scribble down their drinks, doing your best to ignore the heat that’s creeping up your cheeks. while the young athletes are all rowdy and loud, it’s the blonde who commands the space, every word laced with something more that you can’t quite put your finger on. although you’re sure that his focus never seems to leave you, even as you return to the bar.

but that’s not the last you’ll see of him tonight.

hours go by, and the night, which once started busy, has now thinned out. most guests either leaving the building or crashing for the night in their respective hotel rooms. you’re wiping down the bar when you hear chimi again, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. “room service is calling. a bottle of champagne, and they’re specifically requesting you to bring it.” she slides the bottle across the bar surface towards you. “room 702, wonder who the lucky man is.” she gives you a wink, and you roll your eyes in retaliation.

“get your mind out of the gutter, chimi.” you laugh, grabbing the bottle and preparing it in an ice bucket to take up. despite it being a common service for your job, you can’t help but feel a little excitement knowing somebody specifically asked you to serve them.

curiosity gets the better of you, and before you know it, you’re in front of room 702, bucket in hand, taking one more deep breath as you knock on the door. your pulse is anything but calm. before you could even process the sound of your knock, the door swings open, revealing the infamous blonde man from earlier.

he’s ditched the blazer and slacks he was once wearing, now replaced by the hotel's bathrobe that somehow manages to look expensive on him. his hair is slightly messy, but it only adds to his charm. his eyes flicker over you, from the bunny ears resting on your head to the bucket in your hands, his smirk returning in full force.

“room service,” you say. trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

“come in,” he says, stepping aside to let you pass. there’s something in his voice that makes you feel like his invitation is for more than just delivering a bottle of champagne.

you enter the room, taking in its luxury. it’s donned with velvety curtains, a lavish sofa, and mirrors adorning the walls and ceiling. despite working at the eclipse for a while now, your work has never expanded to inside the hotel. as much as you would like to enjoy the lavish suite and gorgeous view, you set the bucket down on the sleek coffee table, eager to finish up, and head back downstairs.

“champagne for one,” you quip, trying to ease the atmosphere. “strange, most people don’t drink alone after a win.”

“who said i’m drinking?” the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable as you suck in a breath.

you blink, confused. “you’re not drinking?”

he shakes his head, that devilish grin still playing at the edges of his mouth. “i ordered it for you.” his words hang in the air.

you laugh nervously, shaking your head. “oh no, I can’t, i’m still working. can’t exactly be drinking on the job.” you try to sound professional, but the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to keep your composure.

he steps closer, now just a few feet from you. the space between you feeling charged, the air thick with something you just can’t quite put your finger on. “i don’t care,” he says, his tone playful yet firm. “i just wanted to see my favourite bunny again.”

your breath catches in your throat. again? your suspicions now confirmed. he’s been watching you all night.

“come on, bunny,” he continues, grabbing the champagne from the bucket, his fingers brushing against yours as he leans over. “we have to celebrate, no? one drink. for me.”

you open your mouth to protest, but the words fall short when he pops the cork open with ease, pouring the sparkling liquid into a glass before handing it to you. his eyes never leaving yours, not at the casino, not at the door, and certainly not now.

you take a small sip, though to your misfortune, the cool champagne does nothing to calm the heat in your cheeks. he watches you profusely, his eyes darkening slightly as you lower the glass.

“good girl,” he murmurs, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

your heart races as you set the glass down, trying to regain yourself, but he’s already closing the distance between you. before you can react, his hand is at your waist, fingers curling around your hip, and he’s guiding you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed.

“i— i don’t even know your name,” you stammer, your voice shaky. you should be gone by now, out the door and back to the bar, but the way he’s looking at you, the heat in his eyes, keeps you in place.

“mihya, bunny,” he whispers. “call me mihya,” his other hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

to your surprise, his touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the hunger is his eyes. “you’ve been working hard all night, haven’t you? let me take care of you tonight.”

your trembling, no doubt about it. but whether it’s from nerves or something else entirely is a mystery to you. mihya leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin, and before you know it, he’s pressing you down onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

“you’re quite cute like this,” he teases. “so nervous, and i’ve barely even touched you,” his lips inches from yours.

“i’m not—” you begin, but the words catch in your throat as his mouth unexpectedly meets yours, forcing it open to deepen the kiss while his hand slips under your waist, grazing the fabric of your bunny suit.

“don’t worry, bunny,” he pulls back, his voice sending a thrill through you. “i’ll be gentle.”

he leans back in, capturing your mouth once again. his free hand tangling gently in your hair while your hands dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks in place of your fingers. the champagne you sipped earlier now seemingly coursing through your veins, giving you the confidence you need to carry on. you let out a soft moan, body arching into his as you continue to sloppily make out. your newfound boldness makes you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer.

mihya broke the kiss, his voice hitching in between a low chuckle. “feisty bunny,” he coos, lips trailing down your neck, leaving wet kisses and sloppy hickeys that make you quiver. “how cute.”

the room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the air quickly thickens with lust. the hand which was once laced with your hair, made its way to the bottom of your suit, brushing against your crotch before hooking his fingers through, teasing the area underneath.

“no panties? my my, what a naughty little bunny, walking around with nothing underneath, i bet you planned this from the start.” he teases, his breath inches away from your chest.

“don’t be afraid, bunny,” he whispered, sensing your hesitation. “i’ll take such good care of you. tonight, you’re mine.” with that, you felt something sharp graze your chest. his teeth biting into the hem of your suit, pulling it down to reveal your bear chest to him.

he starts to suck and bite on the exposed skin like a starved man, playing with your nipples and eliciting angelic moans from you while the hand that was once grazing your core lightly is now playing with your folds.

you can only hold out for so long before the pleasure gets to you, moans getting louder as you grind yourself on his fingers. your hands trailing down his back, only to dig scratch the bare skin when he hits that one spot that feels like pure bliss.

that made something click in him, immediately tearing the thin fabric of your bunny suit before untying his robe, leaving you both naked before one another. he picks you up and sits you down on the massive bed, facing one of the many floor-length mirrors decorated throughout the suite.

"don't look away," he commands, gripping your chin and forcing you to face your reflection. mihya sits behind you, his body enveloping yours, granting him full access. "i want you to see how beautiful you look with my fingers deep inside you."

his eyes roam over your body, entranced by the way you look, caged in front of him. he pulls you closer, feeling his erection press against your back as he traces his fingers down your neck. they ultimately land on your breasts, giving your nipples a gentle pinch. his eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

he continues to play with your breasts with one hand while the other slides down to tease your entrance, his fingers once again slick with arousal. “you’re so wet for me, bunny,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

he slides first one finger, then two inside you, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit. you gasp, eyes rolling back as pleasure courses through your body. his fingers moving in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

he leans in, whispering, “look at yourself, bunny. watch as I pleasure you.” you hesitate, unsure at first, but the way his voice rolls off his tongue is enough to turn your head.

watching yourself in the mirror feels almost surreal. eyes half closed, mouth slightly parted, and your chest heaving with each breath while the cocky man pleasures you. his fingers continue their work, and you eventually feel your body tightening—the rush of an orgasm building.

he senses it too, as his fingers speed up, his thumb increasing the pressure on your clit while his fingers piston in and out of you rapidly. the room full of your moans and the slapping of skin on skin as he works your body.

“yes, bunny,” he encourages, “come for me.”

that was all it took to send you over the edge. you grind back into him as your orgasm crashes over you. you cry out in pleasure as your vision blurs, the pleasure hitting your entire body. mihya doesn’t stop though. he continues to work you, his relentless fingers milking every last drop of your release.

once you come down from your high, mihya helps you up and almost forcefully pushes you against the mirror, holding your body still with your arms locked behind your back. you yelp at his sudden movements, the cold glass hitting your bare chest like ice, making you shiver.

his free hand holds onto your hips, giving you a firm squeeze before guiding his cock to your entrance.

“look at me, bunny,” he commands. you can barely see him from the angle you’re locked in, but you can sense the intensity in his gaze.

you meet his gaze and he pushes into you harshly, stretching you out completely with his girth. he sighs as he finally bottoms out inside of you, pausing for a short moment, giving you time to adjust to his size.

“do you feel me, bunny?” he asks, “i’m so deep inside of you,” his tone low and seductive.

“ah~ i do,” you manage to get out along with a whiny moan, your voice breathy and shaky.

he begins to move, thrusting deep inside of you at a slow pace, getting used to your cunt sucking him dry. you feel every inch of him inside of you, as you do your best to accommodate his size. he slowly speeds up, still gripping your hips and keeping you locked under his body. his eyes never leaving yours through the reflection of the mirror.

the mirror reflects your entwined forms, your bodies slick with sweat as he fills you. every movement is powerful. each thrust driving you further into the glassy wall. your moans grow louder, your body arching to meet his every thrust.

“fuck bunny, you’re so tight. you going to let me breed this pretty cunt of yours?” he growls between thrusts, his hot breath lingering over your ears.

you nod, your breath catching in your throat as you struggle to respond. every thrust hits you deeper and deeper. he’s taking you to new heights, your body responding in kind.

“you close, bunny? can feel you milking me dry, gonna fill you up so well.” his grip on you tightens, and you cry out in agreement, on the verge of your orgasm. mihya’s thrusts grow more urgent and powerful, pounding into you with a hunger matching yours. the sight of your bodies reflected in the mirror only egging you on. the mirror in front of you shaking with each forceful thrust.

“fuck—yes, bunny” mihya groans. “cum for me.”

your orgasm hits you fast and hard. your body convulses as waves of pleasure wash over you, blurring your vision as you cry out mihya’s name. mihya continues to abuse your cunt through your orgasm, his own nearing as he gets more desperate, one of his hands snaking up to your neck, gripping the delicate skin.

“going to breed you so well, bunny. this tight cunt is mine, mine only.” he growls, rutting into you roughly before reaching his own climax, releasing his seed deep inside you.

waves of hot cum fill you up, marking and claiming you as his. as he slows down, the room is much quieter, only the sounds of your heavy breathing filling the room.

mihya pulls out and lifts you towards the bed, letting you recover from the intense orgasm. as you lie down, you look up, spotting another large mirror covering the ceiling above you. reflected in the mirror is your fucked-out state, hair dishevelled, and eyes watery.

you’re so distracted by your state that you don’t notice the blonde man creeping up towards the end of the bed, stopping at your now-spread legs.

“you see this, bunny?” he begins, teasing his already hard cock against your entrance. “i’m going to breed you again and again like a bitch in heat, and you’re going to watch every second of it from that mirror, understood?”

before you can reply, he enters you once again. filling you up for the second time of many to come tonight.

taglist: @ryescapades @iamjellyfish @143-ilyuu @maruflix @pixelcafe-network @strawchocoberry

©lumis kinktober 24' ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[sabrinajenre96]

“When the Storm Brought Her”

Pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Doctor!Wife!Reader

Setting: Pittsburgh, Nighttime, Home during a Storm

Genre: Fluff, Drama, Family, Hurt/Comfort, age gap

Warning: some mention of pregnancy, labour birth and strong language. Read on your discretion.

Tagging: @ilovechickenwings

Rain lashed against the windows, a steady rhythm that should’ve been soothing, if not for the occasional boom of thunder rattling the walls of their Pittsburgh home. Y/N shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hand resting on her heavily pregnant belly.

"She’s definitely practicing gymnastics in there," Y/N murmured, looking over at Michael, who was lighting another artificial candle in the living room. The power had gone out ten minutes ago, and the storm showed no signs of letting up.

Michael turned, his face glowing in the soft, flickering light. “Well, she’s our kid. Of course she’s dramatic.”

Y/N snorted. “If she inherits your sense of timing, she’ll probably arrive during a lunar eclipse or something ridiculous.”

“I mean… a baby born during a blackout in a thunderstorm? That’s peak main character energy.”

They both laughed, letting the moment of quiet connection settle in. The house was dark, save for the glow of the candles, the hum of rain and wind outside. They sat together, knees touching, talking softly about their baby girl—who she might look like, what her personality would be like, how they were going to survive parenthood.

“I kind of hope she has your eyes,” Y/N said after a moment.

Michael grinned. “And I hope she gets your brains. Otherwise, we’re in trouble.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly and got up slowly. “Okay, bathroom trip number eight million. Be right back.”

She shuffled down the hallway, but as she turned on the dim battery-powered nightlight in the bathroom, she paused.

“…What the—?”

Warm liquid had soaked her pajama pants.

“Oh no.”

---

Ten minutes later, the first contraction hit hard, making her double over near the hallway wall. Panic licked at her chest. "Michael!" she yelled, loud enough to carry over the storm.

He sprinted out of the living room barefoot, eyes wild until they landed on her face. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I—I think I’m in labor.”

Doctor mode: activated.

He instantly steadied her, walking her back into the living room. “Okay, okay. Deep breaths. How far apart are the contractions?”

“They just started, but they’re strong,” she breathed, gripping his arm. “Michael, we can’t get to the hospital—”

“I know,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ll do it here. I’ve got you.”

---

Within minutes, the coffee table had been cleared, blankets and towels layered, water boiled and cooling, emergency supplies brought out from the closet stash “just in case.” Michael moved with calm precision, but Y/N’s hands trembled.

“I know we’re both doctors,” she said, wincing as another contraction rolled through her, “but I’m scared, Michael.”

His eyes softened. He knelt beside her, brushing sweat-soaked hair off her forehead. “You’re doing amazing. I’m right here.”

She groaned, clutching a pillow. “This is your fault.”

“Yep. Totally my fault,” he chuckled. “Let’s just remember this next time we feel like skipping protection.”

“Oh god, you’re going to look down there, aren’t you? This is going to scar you forever.”

“Scar me? Babe, I once reattached a man’s foot. Trust me, I’m good.”

“But this is my vagina we’re talking about!”

He smirked. “And it’s my favorite one.”

She glared at him. “Don’t you dare flirt with me while I’m crowning.”

Another contraction hit, and this time, it knocked the air from her lungs. She gasped, panting. “Michael—I can’t—I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, hands steady on her knees. “You’re the strongest person I know. One more push. You’ve got this.”

Tears blurred her vision. “What if I’m not ready? What if I mess up? What if—?”

He leaned in close. “You already love her. That’s what matters. And I love you. We’re doing this together.”

She nodded, lips trembling, and bore down with everything she had.

Moments later, a cry pierced the candle-lit silence.

Their daughter had arrived.

---

Michael gently caught the baby, eyes wide and shining. “She’s perfect. She’s—wow. She’s here.”

Y/N sobbed, equal parts pain, exhaustion, and joy. He laid the baby on her chest, and the little girl immediately quieted, blinking up with a scrunched-up face.

“She’s… beautiful,” Y/N whispered.

They spent long, quiet moments just staring at her. The storm raged on outside, but inside the room, time stood still.

“What should we name her?” Michael asked, rubbing a gentle thumb over their daughter’s tiny hand.

Y/N smiled through tears. “Let’s name her after your grandmother. She’d be proud.”

Michael kissed her hand. “Welcome to the world, Clara Rose Robinavitch.”

---

Later, Michael helped Y/N to the bathroom, whispering reassurances as he steadied her every step. While she freshened up, he cleaned and swaddled Clara, who had already claimed his chest as her favorite sleeping spot.

Once Y/N returned, Michael helped her into bed, placing the baby in her arms again. They lay together, wrapped around each other and their newborn daughter, waiting for the storm to pass, their hearts full.

“You delivered our baby,” Y/N whispered.

“You did all the work,” he murmured back. “I just had the best view in the house.”

She smacked him lightly on the chest and smiled.

Clara let out a tiny sigh in her sleep.

Outside, the thunder finally began to fade.

By the time the storm broke the next morning, the roads were still slick but finally passable. Michael had already bundled up Clara in the softest onesie they owned, tucked her carefully in a makeshift car seat cocoon lined with blankets, and made sure Y/N was resting enough before even mentioning leaving the house.

“You sure you’re up for the ride?” he asked gently as he helped her into the backseat, Clara nestled safely in her arms.

Y/N leaned her head back, exhausted but glowing. “I delivered a whole baby in our living room. I can survive a 15-minute drive.”

Michael slid into the driver’s seat, constantly glancing at them in the mirror as he pulled onto the road. “I still can’t believe we did it.”

“We?” she teased, eyes half-lidded. “You mean I did it while you cracked jokes about my anatomy.”

“Hey,” he defended, grinning. “I made sure everything stayed sterile, didn’t pass out, and caught our daughter like a champ.”

“Caught?” she laughed. “She wasn’t a fly ball, Michael.”

---

By the time they pulled up to the hospital, the early morning staff was already trickling in. A nurse near the entrance looked out the window, did a double take, then gasped. “Dr. Robinavitch?”

Michael waved, already jogging around the car to help his wife out.

The ER team hurried to meet them with a wheelchair, but Y/N shook her head.

“I’m fine. I’m just here for post-delivery checks.”

“You gave birth at home?” a wide-eyed intern asked.

“In the middle of a blackout,” Michael confirmed proudly. “Meet Clara Rose.”

The nurses melted on sight, cooing at the tiny, swaddled baby in Y/N’s arms. Clara, oblivious to the attention, yawned and wriggled sleepily against her mother’s chest.

Within minutes, Y/N was in a private recovery room, the attending OB doing a full checkup while Michael paced nearby like he wasn’t already a double-boarded doctor.

“Vitals look good. You did a phenomenal job, Dr. Robinavitch,” the OB said warmly. “And so did you, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Michael smiled and squeezed Y/N’s hand.

---

Once cleared and settled, with Clara nursing peacefully and both mom and baby healthy, Michael finally sat down beside the hospital bed.

“You know,” he murmured, “I’ve delivered dozens of babies, and nothing—not one—comes close to that.”

Y/N glanced at him, eyes softer than he’d ever seen. “You didn’t flinch once. Not even when I was cursing you out.”

“I blacked that part out for my own emotional protection,” he joked, leaning over to kiss her temple.

“I was scared,” she admitted, stroking Clara’s cheek. “Not of the pain. Just… of being someone’s mother. Of failing her.”

He took her hand. “You didn’t fail. You brought her into this world with so much strength, and she’ll always know that.”

Y/N smiled through tired tears. “You’re going to be the best dad.”

“And you’re already the best mom.”

They sat in peaceful silence, broken only by the tiny sighs of their newborn daughter. Rain still drizzled softly against the windows—but this time, it was gentle, healing.

Outside, Pittsburgh was waking up.

Inside, a new family had already been born.

[kxsagi]

Hi!! Can I request some headcanons for the Bllk boys (mostly for Rin, Sae, Kaiser, Yukimiya, & Reo, but you can add whoever else hehe) about like their first kiss or first date with reader? (If you haven’t written about it already lol, I’m fairly new to your blog🥹) Like are they giddy about it? Did the date it go well? Were they awkward about kissing reader? Are they dying to see reader again? Yk what I mean???🤭 You can tweak this however you like!

Ty!🤍

"𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠"

a/n: i wrote this and was blushing myself help 😭

also i love the song sure thing and miguel he's such a good artist

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, yukimiya kenyu, mikage reo, isagi yoichi

itoshi rin

rin is so serious about this first date it’s almost embarrassing. like he’s literally planning his outfit a week in advance and checking the restaurant reviews like he’s prepping for war. 

when you show up looking breathtaking, rin internally glitches. he forgot humans could be that pretty. the most you get out of him at first is a stiff, "you look fine." (it was supposed to be a compliment.) 

the date itself is awkward for like, the first 20 minutes because rin is trying SO hard to be normal. you make a dumb joke, and he stares at you like he’s loading. but then, you laugh at yourself and he kinda… softens. 

by the middle of the dinner he’s leaned forward, muttering dry, sarcastic comments under his breath, and he looks at you like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. 

first kiss? rin walks you home and just STANDS there at your door, rigid. he wants to kiss you, but he’s overthinking it so hard he looks physically pained. 

you end up being the one to kiss him, and this boy literally freezes for a second like his brain blue-screened. then he kisses you back so earnestly it’s insane. his hand cradles the back of your head so gently you almost cry. 

after you go inside, he literally stands outside your door like an NPC, staring at the ground, replaying the kiss in his mind like a broken record. rin.exe has stopped working. 

dying to see you again but would rather perish than text first (he caves after 2 hours). 

itoshi sae

first of all, you’re lucky sae even agreed to a “date.” he’s allergic to the word. the second you called it that he gave you a look like you just asked him to help move a dead body. 

“it’s not a date. it’s just… hanging out.” (bro was sweating.) 

he shows up exactly on time, not a second early, not a second late, dressed way too casually for how hard he clearly thought about it. 

you’re a little nervous at first, but sae? sae is the human embodiment of 🧍‍♂️. he’s just standing there. hands in his pockets. blinking at you. 

you think maybe he’s bored, but every time you say something even a little funny, you catch him almost smiling before he kills it. he’s not fooling anybody. 

throughout dinner he’s casually devastating. when you tell him you were worried about picking a lame restaurant, he just tilts his head and says, “it’s fine. i’m not here for the food anyway.” 

he acts so casual, but he notices everything: your favorite dessert, the way you tap your fingers when you’re excited, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. 

first kiss? sae is horrible at pretending he’s not thinking about it. when he walks you home, there’s this tension in the air. he keeps glancing at you sideways and looking away like you’re an eclipse he’s not supposed to stare at. 

at your door, there’s this long pause. you open your mouth to say goodbye and he just… leans in. 

it’s abrupt, almost clumsy, but his hand finds your jaw so gently you almost melt. 

the kiss itself is surprisingly soft, slow, like he’s tasting the feeling before letting himself have it. 

when you pull away, a little dazed, sae just gives you this tiny, smug smirk and says, “finally.” like it was your fault for making him wait. 

he doesn't text you that night. he shows up the next morning at your door with coffee like, “you’re free, right?” (he missed you immediately but he'd rather die than admit it.) 

kaiser michael

kaiser treats the first date like it’s the olympics. he's showing up with a bouquet so big you can't see his face, wearing designer clothes, and winking at you like he’s already won. 

the whole night, he’s borderline unbearable, complimenting you every five seconds, making everything into a flirty joke, acting like the entire restaurant should be jealous he has you. 

but every time you laugh for real, he visibly short-circuits and has to glance away for a second like he’s trying to get his heart rate back under control. 

first kiss? you’re teasing him at the end of the night, like, “wow, and here i thought the famous michael kaiser would be a better date” and he fake gasps, clutches his heart, and dramatically says he needs a kiss to recover. 

you roll your eyes and kiss him just to shut him up and this man literally freezes mid-banter. 

his hand finds your waist automatically and when he kisses back it's so much softer than you expect, almost like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. 

after the date he literally spins around in the street like a disney princess when no one’s looking (zesty ahh). 

yukimiya kenyu

yukimiya is SO composed on the surface, like he’s all suave and gentlemanly and giving you that dazzling movie-star smile, but internally he’s PANICKING. 

he spent two hours googling “how to impress your crush without looking desperate” before the date. 

during dinner, he’s super attentive – asking questions about your day, your hobbies, your favorite color – but the second you compliment him back, he short-circuits like a middle schooler. 

first kiss? he’s walking you home, holding your hand, and trying to play it cool, but he keeps sneaking glances at your lips. 

finally, right at your doorstep, he blurts, "i really want to kiss you right now," and immediately turns red like he didn't mean to say that out loud. 

you kiss him and poor yukimiya is so overwhelmed he literally stumbles back a step. ("sorry, i'm just– you’re really beautiful.") 

texts you that night: “i had a really amazing time. would love to see you again. if you’re free. no pressure. sorry. okay goodnight.” (he proofread that text five times.) 

mikage reo

reo shows up to the date like he’s starring in a rom-com. we’re talking reservations at the coolest new place in town, wearing the perfect outfit, absolutely beaming when he sees you. 

he treats you like royalty the entire night. hand on your lower back, pulling out your chair, feeding you bites off his plate, the works. 

he is also very obviously smitten. like, he laughs way too hard at your jokes and says “you’re seriously the cutest person alive” like three times without even realizing it. 

first kiss? reo gets nervous toward the end of the night because he wants it to be perfect. he’s actually sweating a little, double checking that his breath doesn’t smell like garlic. 

he walks you home, holding your hand and swinging it between you like the golden retriever bf he is, and right as you’re about to say goodbye, he just blurts out, “can i kiss you?” 

you say yes, and reo kisses you so sweetly and so enthusiastically you both start laughing halfway through because he’s literally smiling against your lips. 

immediately texts you after: “when can i see you again 😭😭😭💜” and plans like five more dates in his head before you even reply. 

isagi yoichi

isagi is both excited and absolutely terrified about the first date. this man is doing push-ups in his room beforehand to "get rid of the nerves" (it doesn't help.) 

he tries SO hard to seem casual but ends up being adorably dorky. like he almost pulls your chair out too far and you almost fall over (he apologizes for the next ten minutes). 

but he’s also SO easy to talk to. by the middle of the date, you’re laughing non-stop and realizing that being with isagi just feels right. 

first kiss? he walks you home and he’s so obviously trying to build up the courage to kiss you that it’s painful. like he keeps fidgeting, glancing at your lips, then looking away like he’s committed a crime. 

you finally have to gently nudge him, and he stammers out, "can i– is it okay if–" before you just kiss him first. 

isagi literally freezes with his hands half-raised, then kisses you back so shyly and sweetly you feel like you’re floating. 

after you go inside, he literally punches the air in victory and almost wakes up the whole neighborhood. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[naffeclipse]

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 5

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

Ah, here we are! The last chapter in the Hocus Pocus AU by @jackofallrabbits and me! Once more, I'm honored and thrilled to have @deliasmilkshake's cover art for the finale! I can't say how grateful I am for everyone's support and lovely comments on this little series! There's a wedding to attend, so let's get to it <3

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, and heavy touching.

———

The coolness of the woody air, cut away from the hot and claustrophobic space of the crowded gymnasium overflowing with celebration, brushes over your skin. Half-bare in your ruined sweater, you shiver. Eclipse eases you with a soft sound. His fingertips slip under your sweater and trace over your back to soothe the goosebumps prickling your flesh. Leaning deeper into him, you clutch him tightly in your arms.

You’ve never held someone so close before.

If you don’t open your eyes now, you’ll never believe this is real. The witches. The curses. The ceremony. All of it will be a dream on one cold October night while you lie in bed alone.

So you do. Little by little, you lift your cheek from his chest and tilt your head back, and behold the unnatural man, come back from the dead, who awaits your vows. His eyes glimmer gently in rich golden hues. The sharp cuts of his sun rays remind you of the encroaching sunrise, and you realize the sky is losing its stars as the black dillutes into a dawn of dark gray.

“We will have the ceremony here.” Eclipse inclines his head around you. “It may be simple, but it is only for the time being. When there is no urgency, we will celebrate properly with food and wine and the most beautiful altar. It will be to your heart’s desire, little comet.”

You look around to find what he describes as simple, and balk softly. You are not in the high school gym set in town but a clearing filled with half-dead vines twisting around the bare ground set amid shadowy trees with whispering boughs and the last of autumn’s leaves. The starlight barely reaches you. Dozens of round, orange pumpkins litter the ground around your feet. In the center of the pumpkin patch is a beautiful black wood tree with thick, bark-cracked limbs reaching high with a canopy of bright red and yellow leaves to serve as your altar. 

Behind you, smoke not unlike from the party Eclipse just whisked you away from swirls and recedes further back into the cold night, unveiling Sun and Moon. They stand tall and expectant, their hands filled with silvery threads like spider gossamer and the veil of a bride. Sun’s yellow sun rays catch your eyes like a peacock fanning its tail. Moon’s hood lays quietly over his head and casts a calm shadow over the scarlet of his eyes. The weight of their gazes fall over you.

They are here for you too. The twitch in your limbs answers to the anticipation overflowing from your core.

You breathe in deeply. There are two people missing. Turning back to Eclipse, your lips poised to ask about your friends and how the brothers might intend to shuck their curses from them, when the smoke behind Sun and Moon continues to dissolve before it reveals just the ones heavy on your mind. 

Michael and Vanessa. 

Confusion crosses Michael’s undead face. Purple flesh upon his brow shoots up in alarm before his gaze finds you in the arms of the eldest witch. At his feet, the white rabbit raises her ears high. Vanessa’s green eyes pierce you with alarm and fright most unspeakable. 

Your heart aches at the sight of them so drenched in dark magic. Reaching out a hand in a placating motion, you start to call out to them.

“Don’t!” Michael shouts overrules yours, as fierce and protective as he has been all through the night. He charges forward. “Get away from—”

Magic spills from Sun’s and Moon’s lips in a twining harmony. Their gazes are steel while their voices lift and multiply, filling the air with gales of hot and cold air before the old leaves on the pumpkin vines shudder. Creaking and crawling across the dirt, the dark green tendrils come to life and snatch Michael’s ankles, stopping him short as he struggles to remain balanced. 

Vanessa bounds towards you. Her small body leaps over pumpkins and scurries around snares of pumpkin tendrils. She dodges a snaring vine before a second, hidden one snatches her, twisting her small little form into its clutches and holding her a few inches above the ground. Her feet kick out. Her entire body struggles as she tries violently to free herself but to no avail.

“Don’t hurt them.” You clutch Eclipse’s cloak until your knuckles turn white. Pleading with your entire being, you find his gaze. “Please. They’re my friends.”

A dryness infiltrates your mouth. Will they be better than what the villagers and witch hunters feared them to be? Can you ask them to be good for you? Your core burns with yearning, the hope of a brighter day filled with peace and joy, not more darkness. Not more pain and fear.

You don’t want to lose them.

Eclipse gently covers your fists and soothes them out until your palms relax against his chest.

“They won’t be harmed,” Eclipse nods towards his brothers. His sonorous voice lowers. “Sun and Moon understand your conditions. We have brought your friends here to give you our gifts, and to ensure there are no more interruptions.”

You nod shakily. A feeble tremble lingers throughout you, raking through your fingers and along your jawline. Your witch suitors have proven again and again their capabilities for wickedness and they continue to chase it through the midnight hours, but not here. They stand still, at your service. How they terrify you. How they enchant you.

Every single night you dreamt of someone to love, someone who would keep you warm and chase away the loneliness. 

Have you found them or are you a love-sick fool still reaching for something that is not yours? 

“Run, get away from here!” Michael struggles against the vines rooting him in place. Leaves twine tighter around his corpse-like body, forcing him to his knees and leaving him bound from his ankles all the way to his shoulders, wrapped up like a cruel gift.

One glower from Sun sends one last pumpkin vine around Michael’s flesh-rotten mouth and gags him.

Vanessa twists and writhes. Her small rabbit body struggles in the grasp of the vine snare and she sinks her teeth into it, attempting to chew through the restraint while her wide, desperate eyes flash to you.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Stop struggling. It’s going to be okay. Please, trust me.”

Michael stops fighting. A fear and anger so raw fills his gaze as Sun and Moon step after you. His fists clench as his jawbone wiggles, but his muffle words die behind the vine covering his teeth.

A strong sound jumps from Vanessa, caught between an animalistic cry and a human sob. She looks at you. Her wide eyes shine with dread.

Eclipse takes you by the shoulders, his eyes burning low as he turns you away from the fear of your friends. You keep your eyes on both of them.

“It’s okay,” you whisper again.

“Come, come, little comet.” Eclipse recaptures your attention with a finger hooking under your chin. “The hour is nigh. Sunrise is too near for us to wait any longer.”

“I know.” Your pulse swells in your ears, beating within you like a drum to a dance that’s too fast-paced for your feet to keep up with.

Your eyes stray from his somber expression to the black tree. Between the red and yellow leaves are dozens of spiderwebs, glimmering softly like silk streamers just for the ceremony. Gently, Eclipse releases you to stand back as Sun and Moon slip around you from both sides. 

“My poppet,” Sun’s voice is sensual and warm. “Allow me to dress you in spider gossamer for this fine occasion.”

You slowly dip your head, all too confused but too uncertain to stop him as he draws out threads of silvery silk. He gently lays them upon your shoulders. His pale eyes swim with passion. A gentle murmur of magic flows from his lips, and you become enveloped in a light and cool cascade of fabric softer than rain and lighter than feathers. You look down at yourself. 

Catching the fading shimmer of magic, you are now draped in an elegant but simple silver gown. A high neck collars you with big, flowing sleeves which cinch at your wrists with thick embroidery. The skirt falls in an A-shape and flows softly in the gentle wind of the night around your feet, almost brushing the dirt.

Your wedding attire. You touch the skirt with a delicate hand as if it may fall apart like a cobweb brushed away, but instead, you watch in silent marvel at the rippling, silk-like glimmer of the cloth.

Strangely, Sun possesses your clothes in his arms now. Your mind spins with questions but you are learning all too well that the answer is magic. With a smirk, he tosses aside the holey sweater and your dirt-stained jeans. The clothes land on the shell of a large, orange pumpkin.

“Beautiful,” Sun lowers his head in pleasure, his hand at his chest and his other arm held out in a formal bow to you. “Never was there a more lovely bride for three brothers.”

You blush fiercely. 

“It is beautiful,” you admit, clutching a fistful of the skirt. You lift it and wave it back and forth once to watch it glimmer again.

“I’m not speaking of the dress, sunshine.” Sun straightens with a grin so devious, you must wonder again if you’re giving up your soul in such a ceremony.

A cool touch falls upon your hand. Claws curl carefully over your wrist. Dropping the skirt, you twist upon your feet to face Moon.

“A veil for you.” He holds it in his other hand. The delicate and sheer gossamer flows like silver water. “Lower your head. I will crown you in it.”

You bow slightly. Moon sweeps your hair back with his cool, careful fingertips and pins the veil upon your skull like a tiara. The soft, celestial fabric falls down around you. Blinking, you stare in awe at yourself, shrouded in majestic silver. 

Moon gazes at you softly. His eyes fall from your hair and he reclaims your palm for a moment to behold you entirely.

“Exquisite.” He bows his head over your hand. “I dreamt of you since Eclipse first told us what he found in his bone scrying. I have waited for you all this time, my snowflower.”

A tremble falls over your bottom lip—not of fear, though there is still an anxious sparking within your nerves. You are washed away in his sincerity. The true intentions of a lover.

You have no words, and instead, gently squeeze his hand.

“May I add one last touch,” Eclipse says. He steps forward.

You lift your head to him as his gaze glows gently in the darkness like twin stars which circle you as his brothers step back. Eclipse sets his hand on your shoulder. Your breath slows as his touch traces your collarbone and falls down your side. You almost sway under his hand holding your hip before he sinks onto one knee to trail his palm along your thigh and all the way to your calf, touching your gown all the way down.

He speaks a gentle spell. You dare not move an inch as a gentle pulse, milky and starlight-like, falls over the cloth. You burn in the darkness like a candle. The gown stands out against the darkness like a comet streaking through the night sky.

“Oh,” is all you can say as you look down at yourself. There are no words which can contain the magnitude of what you feel towards the beauty and thought of their wedding attire for you. Though Sun, Moon, and Eclipse spark and snap like flames with their wide eyes and tall statures, you twinkle bright.

Emotion cakes your throat. Thickly, you swallow it back. 

“A little starlight.” Eclipse smiles, his eyes burning sweetly. “For you are our equal, our partner, our bride.”

You don’t feel powerful. You don’t feel important enough to be involved in magic and ceremonies and love, yet here you stand, swathed in their adoration and gifts. You take hold of your skirt once more.

“Let us begin the ceremony,” Eclipse says softly. He takes your elbow and arm in arm, he walks you through a footpath worn through the pumpkin patch to the black tree, gnarled but beautiful. A most befitting altar. 

Taking your other arm is Sun, sliding close to you with a simmering smile so close to you, you wonder if the slight heat brushing against your cheek is from his presence or the blood rush in your face. Behind you, like a pale shadow, Moon tenderly takes your skirt and follows close behind, keeping the beautiful fabric from gathering dust and pumpkin fronds.

And so you go to your wedding altar.

In times before, marriage served to form alliances between families. Parents arranged such contracts for children to benefit both parties. Most couples didn’t and couldn’t marry for love, rather they were bound for purely economic liaisons.

How beautiful is it that you could arrange yourself into a marriage most lovely?

Your grooms stop at the black tree. Eclipse slips away from your hand, and you look to him in confusion, fearing where he might wander away to. The elder witch grins as he simply looks at his brother. Sun’s hand lingers on your arm, trailing down to your wrist before he steps back, still beaming, still eager, but patient.

You turn slowly under the dusting of moonlight to face Moon. A swell rises in your heart, crashing through you until you’re sticky with emotion. His expression is soft and sweet like milk and honey. He gathers your hands between his own. Looking down, Moon draws the pads of his thumbs softly over your knuckles as if wishing to memorize the bone structure of your much smaller hands.

There is no time at all, but you keep the quiet with him, studying his mild countenance. His breaths are deep and even. A gentle scent of something late and herbal laces him, and you’re taken back to the mausoleum where he tasted you.

His eyes lift. The scarlet gleam holds you tender.

“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is gentle in its rasp. His eyes never leave you, drinking you in like wine. “My love is yours, for time and all eternity. I will honor you dearly, little mouse.”

A soft sound catches in your throat, somewhere between a chuckle and a weeping sound. You thought joy would be without tears, but you stand, clutching his claws tightly in your fists to steady yourself.

“I do.” The moonlight brightens as the words leave your lips. You watch in silent awe as the silver glow of the night dances over you both, and you taste midnight upon your tongue as Moon smiles.

He carefully takes your veil and lifts it over your head, allowing the silver threads to fall down your back. He leans in gently. In the way the tide is tugged by the lunar celestial body, you meet him in the small space between your bodies. The witch’s kiss presses to your mouth in a gentle yearning, pushing and pulling so long as you follow in time. You fall into him. Deepening the kiss, Moon cradles your lips against the white curve of his fangs. You sigh contently as you lose your breath in his presence, starstruck.

He releases you, though only your mouth. His hands clasp yours tightly and he softly caresses the back of your hands. Tied along his wrists are deep blue ribbons. Bells jangle softly underneath.

“I will keep you unto me forevermore.” Moon traces your digits with his claw. The soft glow of his gaze fills you with his sincerity.

You sink into his words like a pool of silver. You nod deeply.

“I will cherish you,” you promise in a trembling, choked voice. The power of the engagement drapes over you, pressing upon you the great importance of this entanglement.

“Breathe, little mouse.” He smiles. “I will keep you safe.”

You laugh quietly, too overwhelmed for words but your happiness seeps through all the same.

He kisses you once more before he lifts his head high. Following his gaze, you find Vanessa has stopped fighting. Her little rabbit nose twitches fast, afraid.

Moon offers a spell, deep and cool but releasing. His voice overlaps. A scent of sharp, pungent herbs swirls on the night breeze before he nods his head once more. Your old clothes fly off of the pumpkin they were resting on, and fall onto Vanessa still tangled in the pumpkin vines. 

A moment later, in a shrouded flash of light, vines snap and clothes stretch, and there is a woman where there was once a rabbit.

Vanessa, thankfully, wears your sweater and jeans. Her green eyes fit much better in her human face as she kneels upon the ground and lifts her hands. Long blonde hair falls down around her shoulders. Slowly, she turns over her palm and clenches her fingers. No longer trapped, she gazes up at you.

Shock shines in her eyes, but her lips form soft awe.

“Vanessa,” you smile breathlessly. Whirling back, you kiss Moon once to his slight shock. “Thank you.”

“I will answer to your every desire,” he murmurs, then releases you. 

Moon slips back from you. Before you can think of reaching for him, Sun takes you into his arms. You gasp softly at the warmth of his embrace surrounding you like you were basking near an open fire.

“Sunshine, I was beginning to fear you’ve forgotten about me.” He takes you carefully, slipping your feet onto his as he begins to spin you slowly, like a star tailspinning through the atmosphere. “You could never, could you? Not when I still vye for your kiss—and now, your vows returned.”

You hold onto his shoulders. Carefully underneath the gnarled limbs of the black tree, Sun waltzes you to an unsung song. He hums slowly with a gentle rumble in his chest. His eyes upon you are hungry in the way a candle flame clings to a wick, desperate to devour but unable to spread like a wildfire. 

“No, I couldn’t forget you, Sun,” you whisper. He has left you dizzy and stunned, racing with you upon his broom and then pinning you underneath him upon a bed. There is too much you marvel about him to forget.

He twirls you gently, the moonlight blurring around you between earth and sky before he recaptures you. The threat of dawn seems so close and yet so far away from this wild pumpkin patch.

“That is all I can ask, though you must know, I want more of you.” His grin is wide but honest. How could you expect anything less from the one who has coveted you so zealously? 

His hand rests on the small of your back. Pulling you flush against him, he holds you for one breathless moment, caught like two figurines in the apex of a lovers’ dance. 

“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is steady, without flirtations or sultry suggestions. An honest question from a witch. “You have simply enchanted me, dove. I am at your mercy. I am at your service. And if you will, your bedside, your mornings, and your sunsets.”

Your eyelids flutter. A gentle push of tears make their way past your eyes, and you hold his wide, pale gaze. He searches your face with held breath. He clutches your hand and presses it to his chest, bared open to you. The bells tied to the dark red ribbons on his wrists jingle softly. 

“I do.” You speak with the gentleness of certainty. The leaves overhead ruffle with a breeze that is far more fitting for summer than an incoming winter. Pressed so close, you fear he must know how your heart trembles in the wonder of knowing that he loves you, and you love him. 

His expression erupts in sheer, unadulterated joy. He spins you once more, dancing as if he were walking on air before he dips you low. You intake a deep breath as he holds you above the pumpkin patch. His grin fills your entire vision as his fingers press softly into your dress. He wastes not a moment to crush your mouth in a kiss. 

His hunger and eagerness leaves you breathless as he takes and takes before he gives just as much in return. You are captured within his affection. He is smooth and practiced, and you almost feel self conscious, but gently, he leads you. He guides your lips and teases you with his teeth. Even his tongue brushes the inside of your mouth before he softens it to a trickle after the flood of his expression. You taste a sweetness that slips down your throat like honey.

Gently, he brings you back up on your feet, though he does not release you. He kisses you again, greedily taking more. You are putty in his hands, molded by his mouth as if you were a honeycomb caught between teeth. 

“Sunny,” Eclipse murmurs once in gentle warning.

Sun draws back reluctantly as if being torn from water after days in the desert. You gasp softly, your shoulders rising and falling after the rush of his love. 

“I have devoted myself to you, my poppet,” he whispers into your ear as you rest against his chest. “My love is yours and yours alone.”

“Oh, Sun,” you clutch his shoulders tighter. “I will adore you for the rest of my days.”

“I know, sunshine.” He grins but softly kisses your cheek once in a strangely rare but precious, chaste gesture. “But I must share you or else I will keep you all night.”

He straightens, his arms still encircling you. Pale eyes sweep back and you eagerly look at Michael. He’s stopped fighting as well, no longer thrashing but watching with a strange, conflicted crinkle of his brow. Vanessa kneels close by, unmoving, still staring at her legs and arms and touching her hair. 

Your entire body aches for Michael. The curse stains his flesh and twists him into a silver-screen monster. 

Sun breathes a spell. His voice fills the air in unearthly chants that sweep over the ground and whirl the leaves on the pumpkin vines. They slowly crawl back, releasing Michael just as the same bright flash of energy and power takes hold of your dear friend.

The purple corpse recedes back and unveils the man underneath. Michael’s hair returns to its warmer shade of brown. His eyes blink and his corenas return white while his irises take hold with light and life. Rotten flesh returns to a rich tan color. His torn clothes refill with his healthy size and strength. 

He clenches and unclenches his fists. Slowly, he stumbles forward. Vanessa helps catch him before he folds entirely after being freed from the witches’ curse. 

You startle—is his leg still broken? Vanessa, however, stabilizes Michael, coaxing him to sit beside her. He folds his legs with natural ease—healed and whole.

“Michael, you’re alright,” you breathe, clutching Sun together.

He gives you a nod though in a slight daze. He opens his mouth but then decides against whatever he was going to say.

“Thank you.” You turn to Sun. “Thank you for sparing him.”

“Anything for our bride,” he simpers. With a great sigh, however, he lets go of you, his fingertips trailing over your sides before falling back beside Moon.

Under the black tree, Eclipse stands, patient but enduring.

You face him. He lifts his head but remains humble and composed before gently approaching. The light of a new day is beginning to change from deep gray to a burning orange leaking rosy pink at the edges. The sunrise is as terrifying as it is promising.

Eclipse opens his arms to you. Without hesitation, you enter his embrace as his hand finds your cheek. Tied tight around his wrist is a black ribbon with golden bells. His claws rest delicately on your hip over the silky soft fabric of your gown. Lightly, his thumb caresses your cheek. The gold of his gaze falls over you, gentle as the night. 

“Little comet,” he says, steady despite the impending light threatening to take away all. Yet, he takes his time, tasting his words before giving them to you. “Do you take me to be your husband? I have waited—”

In a heart rush, you utter, “I do.”

Eclipse stares, eyes wide. His red sun rays catch the first glance of daylight, brightening his vision as if a spotlight fell upon him. He looks towards the horizon as you do. You squint slightly against the brightness.

Lifting his hand from your face, he watches the black ribbon and bells dissolve into dark smoke, then nothing. Sun and Moon turn their wrists as the respectful dark red and deep blue ribbons fall away from them as if burned and leave not a wisp behind. 

You take Eclipse’s hand and draw it closer to you, gently kissing his knuckles before smiling.

“You’re free. You’re all free.” You flush deeply as you look to Sun and Moon and their gazes of content awe. “My husbands.”

A soft, strange sound leaves Eclipse. A breath caught between wonder and something deeper, something roiling with adoration. His gaze falls back to you, and again, he touches your cheek. 

“I did not finish my vows to you.” He cradles your face close in his palms, leaning closer as your eyes lock. “I swear to you happiness, protection, and my unending love. From this day on, you will always be warm. You will always have my hand to hold. You will never fear the darkness for I will be with you.”

He pauses, his grin spreading wide. He looks at you as if you were a dream. A living, breathing vision. 

“We are eternally bound to you, our spouse.” Eclipse leans in close. “Say my name, once more.”

Your eyelids slip close for one precious moment, warmed by the brilliant light, and the touch of Eclipse’s hands cradling you as if you were delicate. 

“Eclipse,” you whisper.

His grin is beautiful and lovely. You start as you feel a second pair of arms surround you. Sweeping you off your feet, Eclipse lifts you into his embrace. This close, he smells of gentle spice and musk. 

He strokes your cheek once before closing the distance between your lips. You feel his hunger in the echo of your own—the want to devour but gently, he tastes you. A soft whine catches in the back of your throat. Melting under his warmth, he invades you gently and his tongue brushes against your own. His kiss takes you under, and you drop breathlessly into his grasp.

He pulls and takes in soft, sweet motions. Rhythmic and powerful, he tastes you until you fear you might fall once more. But he will catch you. This much you are certain.

He pulls back gently, kissing you one last time as if in need of the strength it gives him, before his honeyed gaze settles on you.

“Your freckles are beautiful, like the stars upon the night sky,” he says. He kisses the right side of your face, then glides to the left and lingers there a moment. “You are truly staying with us, my little comet.”

You blush, and cling to him. Your hands, however, are gently tugged. You look away from Eclipse to find Moon curling his claws under your digits and lifting your hand sweetly to his mouth. Eclipse shifts you gently in his arms to rest you against his back while keeping you cradled like a bride on her wedding night—you suppose you are such a bride, Sun’s hand traces from your shoulder down your arm until he captures your hand. There, he kisses your knuckles slowly. You close your eyes, bubbling in the blissful sunlight as your husbands adore you.

A kiss like the brush of a moth wing touches your head. Eclipse hums gently against you. You make a soft, sweet sound at their tender affection.

“My husbands,” you say, then laugh a little, beaming at their gentle looks. “I’m going to have to get used to saying that.”

“You will,” Sun purrs, “And there’s so much time for us to grow used to our lovely spouse.”

“So much time,” Moon rasps gently, “You must be exhausted.” He kisses your fingertips until you shiver and blush.

“Perhaps we should take our bride home,” Eclipse suggests gently. “You can sleep in our bed and rest, and when you wake, we’ll celebrate more.”

You stir at the thought. You won’t drive back to your tiny apartment. No, instead you will stay here with your husbands, and the bed you will sleep in will be warm and filled with their bodies. 

You won’t wake up alone.

“I’d like that.” You squeeze Sun’s and Moon’s hands and turn your head back to gaze at Eclipse with a fond smile.

A quiet voice says your name. You turn your head, stunned to find Michael and Vanessa stepping towards you. Vanessa supports Michael’s arm around her shoulders as his strength seems to wane. Their eyes are mirrors of witch hunters from long ago as they behold the brothers holding their virgin bride.

Claws tighten around you. Moon flashes his sharp teeth as Sun lifts his chin high, looking down at the pair with disdain. The arms holding you off the ground squeeze in the slightest until you wriggle. Eclipse nearly keeps you away, but gingerly, he sets you back on your feet.

Michael holds your gaze, his brow crinkled in concern but restored to his natural health. 

“Are you really staying with them?” he asks quietly, his gaze darting sharply to the witches.

You smile at the slight shifting around you. The drape of Moon’s cloak almost falls over your shoulder as he takes your hand close and caresses your arm. A murmur of wishing to return them both to rabbits falls from Sun’s lips, but he merely interlocks his digits between your own. Behind you, Eclipse draws a tender hand down your back, feeling the ridges of your spine through the delicate fabric of your gown. 

“I love them.” You look at your husbands. Their faces brighten, their touches softening upon you. “I’m staying.”

“What do we do now?” Vanessa asks. Her face looks lost, and you imagined after a few centuries of only guarding the starry candle, she must be. 

You muse for a moment, and survey your husbands with a careful air. “Is your home now my home?”

“Of course,” Eclipse answers without hesitation. “Everything that is ours is yours.”

“Then I may invite my friends inside?”

Sun and Moon exchange a glance, Sun more annoyed than Moon’s mild surprise, but they both incline their heads.

“If that is your wish,” Moon gives gently.

“It is.” You squeeze their palms. “We can start a proper home, and we can learn how to forgive.”

“Forgive?” Vanessa balks. 

“Yes.” You look at her as the bright light of day touches her face. Her eyes are truly green and sharp like cut emeralds. “Let’s get out of this pumpkin patch and go home and rest. Then we can make peace.”

Michael looks down at Vanessa. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, unlike my ancestor.” His brow is set firm. To your awe, Michael does not tremble with rage or the need to fight again. Perhaps the witches are beginning to prove themselves, and Michael will give them a chance. Just one chance.

“Very well then, my poppet.” Sun turns to you and kisses you in a sudden burst of heat and passion before he releases you. Stunned, you almost sway but Eclipse wraps an arm around your waist. Sun gestures with his free arm in an open invitation. “Enter our humble abode. You are our spouse’s guests, which means you are ours.”

Vanessa glares at him. Her foot falls down on a withered vine and it cracks. 

“Charming as ever, Vanessa.” Sun flashes his teeth in a grin.

“Sun,” you chastise. 

He rubs your wrist, half apologetic. 

“I will make soup.” Moon muses. “My cauldron pot is where I left it, I hope.”

The heaviness in the air reminds you that the night has been long, and you are dreadfully exhausted. Vanessa and Michael barely hold themselves upright, but they lean on each other.

“Excellent.” Eclipse waves his hand. Smoke seeps up from the ground, swirling around your feet before you close your eyes, and lean into the pillars of your husbands for support. 

The air changes. A slight breeze, warm for October, encircles you. You inhale a gentle scent of rich earth and dust. When you open your eyes again, the brothers’ home is standing before you, same as it ever was, but entirely changed. 

Perhaps it’s only you who has changed, now hanging on to the witches. 

Michael and Vanessa are just behind you and the witches, standing on the gravel outside of the home, disgruntled about the change of scenery or perhaps the use of magic, but you hope they’ll see the possibility of goodness within the brothers as you have.

Eclipse’s hand slips under your chin to lift your head back. His expression warms with the bright new day. Sun kisses your fingertips until you shiver in delight. Moon turns your palm over to reach the delicate lines of veins along your wrist, and presses his lips to your pulse.

“We are home,” Eclipse says. He kisses the top of your head.

You are home with your husbands.

[2222bad]

RHAPSODY IN BLACK

[a passionate nightcap at la toya’s] | 1.2k words

WARNINGS: sexual themes , mostly kissing (classic) , shy!michael , inexperienced michael <3 , also fluff?

[1979]

“are you sure she’s okay with it?” you watch the back of michael’s sweater as he clicks his key in the door lock and slips it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“yeah,” michael smiles, dripping with his charm and youth as he slides against the open door and you move inside. “why not?”

you shrug, blushing back at him. what’s the saying? presumption killed the cat?

“she told me i could stay whenever i needed a place in new york; she’s back in encino.”

the apartment door shuts and locks behind you, all light from the hallway quickly eclipsing. the transition was stark. you gaze around at the darkened corners, the angles from tables, shelves, the frames of photos on the wall, a balcony with a view of skyline.

“you can—uh—make yourself comfortable,” michael says timidly, unlacing and toeing out of his shoes.

quietly you find the expanse of the plush couch with ease and sit, sinking into its cushions like a child too small for her winter coat. mike shuffles in the hall, opening doors and twisting knobs as if he’s never quite finding what he was looking for. when his shadow emerges in the living room again, he’s got a vinyl sleeve in his hands.

“it’s nice to have a big sister like that,” you say to the darkness, your smile honey-sweet. “you must be awfully close.”

“yeah… i suppose so,” he replies with a breathy laugh, somehow fastening the record on its turntable on the other end of the room.

it crackles quietly, the sound revs, and he meanders toward you, arching around the coffee table in front of him on his twiggy legs. the record spins, but the song is one you can’t quite pinpoint. it’s something low, sultry. if there were words you couldn’t quite catch them.

“michael…” you wander. his name leaving you like a question. “won’t you turn the lights on?”

as he sits beside you, your legs brush each other, but neither of you mind. you’d wanted to be this close the whole evening.

“i like it better this way…” he murmurs, leaning forward and brushing your shoulder with his. the anticipation built in you at every turn that evening. the butterflies chased each other round and around like a record until they were dizzy with longing. you drag your foot against the back of your calf to quell the pot of yearning sizzling inside you. “when you’re in the dark you don’t really have to worry about anything—you…sort of…give way to feeling.”

your words barely pass your lips, they're so quiet, inching toward him. “what kind of feeling?”

he touches his fingers to his lips, thinking for a moment.

“…passion.”

for the first time you’d noticed how warm the apartment was. your sweater surely didn’t help. or maybe it was michael. being so close. you let out a flustered chuckle, full of the pent up want you’d been hoping to release, pulling your hair back at the same moment the couch dipped and his lips kiss your cheek.

“you sure she won’t mind?” you whisper to him as your noses bump gently together, leaning into the new feeling of him so near to you like an intoxicating promise. “i just don’t want to get you into trouble, that’s all…”

his upper lip glides over yours. so smooth. your eyes flutter closed like you’d been possessed, widening your mouth and sealing your lips together hungrily. no trouble, he seemed to say without needing to say anything at all.

he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, sliding his mouth against yours with a savory hum. you feel for his hand with yours, touching the tips of his dangling fingers. the first song warbles to a quiet end and your kisses, softly lapping in your ears, multiply eagerly.

coming up for air, you lean your head against his arm, a finger tangling in the fabric on the hem of his sweater. he doesn’t say anything, but you lean in again anyway, painting the corner of his mouth with a kiss, trailing over, passing his jaw and cheek until your kiss finds his ear. tongue swirling around the rim, dipping softly into its ridges, the feeling ticklish and blissfully wet. he bars his teeth behind his full lips and hisses in a breath. in one ear, the record whirls a rhapsody through his body, into his chest, penetrating his veins. in the other, your tongue slithers, your lips softly pop. without thinking, he quivers and moans.

eyes blink open as you pull away and his arm drops from your shoulders, cool air rushing to his skin. his lips part in awe and you wish you could see his face, watch his eyes. he was near shaking. almost bled out with desire.

“can i try?” he asks softly, the lilt that lived in his throat plumbing low.

“yes,” you plead, slipping your hands in his lap.

his face nudges into your cheek at first, traveling blindly toward the side of your head. to his relief, you giggle and he keeps going. he fastens his mouth to your ear, kissing around the skin, touching you with his tongue and sucking against the edge. like with everything, he’s masterful without needing to try.

“michael…you feel so good, baby,” you moan, breathless, and he keeps kissing you, addictedly. his eyes closed, he drinks your sounds, the both of you exhilarated. he keeps you still, cradling the back of your head in his hand, your mouth soft, chest heaving.

overcome with lust, you take his hand and lick his fingers into your mouth. his thighs purse together, a faint yet growing twitch thumping in his jeans. his lips press into your cheek, his fingers moving along your tongue, sucked by your perfect lips, and he moans again, a broken and twitching sound that causes your eyes to roll backward. not a moment later your spit drags along your own chin as he grabs your face and kisses you hard, his tongue flicking a new stripe in your mouth. the two of you gasp rabidly into each other, your hands swimming on every curve. you grope his hip, wanting whatever you could reach, and he freezes, mid-moan, against your open mouth. michael’s lips arch, his breath squeezing out of him as his whole body shivers like he’d just caught a chill.

his head drops away from you, cupping himself between the legs.

at the loss of contact, you try to pierce through the dark to see him, though you couldn’t.

michael’s voice breaks. “‘m sorry…i…”

“are you alright?” you pry, gently. your hand hovers over the space you assume he’s taking up, unsure if somehow you hurt him.

“yes,” he answers quickly, huffing. “i just…um…”

“what?”

he doesn’t answer, but the quickness of his breath settles in your ears behind the music on the record. your eyes widen.

“oh.”

“i’m sorry,” he whispers.

you rush to coo at him, your hands finding his shoulders, hunched and sad. “there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, michael. really.”

“i’ve never really done anything like that before…” he confesses quietly after a moment.

you smirk, resting your head on top of your arm. “well, you could’ve fooled me.”

the record stops, the needle grinds back to the edge.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom…” he says after a deep breath.

you let him up as he presses his palms to his knees and stands.

with your hands in your lap, you rub the back of your calf again, licking over your lips. “when you come back, maybe we can…try again?”

his gaze falls to the floor, his sheepish smile glowing in his words. “yeah. sure.”

[sea-changed]

i. Reading Looking For The Good War has, among many other things, I think really helped me to clarify and articulate what I find so disquieting about "Points" as an episode. (Which is not all of it! There are certainly plenty of scenes that I find fascinating and/or enjoyable to watch.) But:

"It is much easier to tell a sentimental war story with a happy ending, in which valor eclipses causes and reconciliation triumphs over everything--a comedy, in other words--than it is to tell another, unsentimental kind of story." (page 89)

This is what it is, exactly--"in which valor eclipses causes and reconciliation triumphs over everything" could more or less be the logline of "Points." This is most egregiously evident to me in the scene of Nazi general's surrender, but the scene where Winters tells the Nazi officer to keep his sidearm is also I think highly indicative of this drive towards reconciliation, however rotten, above all else. And Samet articulates that wonderfully, and articulates as well the cost of this type of narrative:

"Yet sentimentality does more than shape the way we commemorate wars. It informs all those cultural and sociological attitudes in the shadow of which wartime and postwar policies are crafted, and it prevents a more productive and enduring sympathy that, in cooperation with reason, might guide our actions and help us become more careful readers of war's many ambiguities and false seductions." (page 83)

ii. The layers of dislike I have for the Nazi general scene are manifold; the mirroring of Winters and the Nazi general and thereby Easy Company with the Nazi soldiers feels incredibly sinister, perhaps most aggressively so in its weird push to rehabilitate the Nazis as soldiers, and thus to both foreshadow (within the world of the show) and echo (in the world of the audience) the archetypal defense that Nazi higher-ups would put forward at Nuremberg and beyond, that they were just following orders.

iii. The mirroring of Winters and Easy Company with the Nazis is clearly intentional, and somewhat bizarrely explicit ("You've found in one another a bond that exists only in combat among brothers") and maudlin (the panning shots over the Nazi soldiers' faces and wounds), and by the end the urge to parallel the two leaders and the two armies--indeed, to collapse one into the other, in order to make them functionally the same--seems to cause a sort of scriptwriting amnesia about who these words are actually being said by and to. Once again the greater historic context makes this especially chilling, Operation Paperclip being perhaps the most salient point to evoke. (I am also haunted, forever, by a statistic that Michael C. C. Adams cites in The Best War Ever, that a September 1945 survey of American GIs found that 22% believed the Nazi treatment of Jewish people to be justified. Granted, this survey would not have been taken using modern sampling methods, and who knows what the sample size was to begin with or what soldiers in particular were being surveyed. But still.)

iv. The scene leans heavily into the idea of a unique soldierly bond that unites not only each individual army within itself but bonds the two armies together. ("You've found in one another a bond that exists only in combat, among brothers who've shared foxholes, held each other in dire moments, who've seen death and suffered together.") Besides being disquieting for reasons I state above, I think it's notable that the Nazi general's speech emphasizing the brotherhood of soldiers happens directly after the short scene between Winters and Sobel, wherein Winters chides Sobel on a point of military ritual ("We salute the rank, not the man"). Sobel is outside the brotherhood; he doesn't understand how to be a soldier; whereas the Nazis are within the brotherhood, so much so that they are allowed to articulate its terms. (This is egregious no matter what, but becomes all the more so when it is framed as a Jewish man being excluded from the "club" of military brotherhood while WASP Americans and literal Nazis are allowed in.) (Meanwhile, Liebgott occupies a sort of bizarre placement in this scene, there to ventriloquize--indeed, perhaps neutralize, or even legitimize--the Nazi general's words, but not speak for himself.)

v. This gets to another point that Samet makes that stuck out to me, about the inherent tautology of military culture. She quotes William Styron, who in a 1964 review of General Douglas MacArthur's memoir said:

"Anyone who has lived as a stranger for any length of time among professional military men, especially officers, is made gradually aware of something that runs counter to everything one has been taught to believe—and that is that most of these men, far from corresponding to the liberal cliché of the super-patriot, are in fact totally lacking in patriotism. They are not unpatriotic, they simply do not understand or care what patriotism is. [...] A true military man is a mercenary [...] and it is within the world of soldiering that he finds his only home." (Samet quotes Styron on page 233; I'm quoting here from the full review)

The point of being a soldier is to be a soldier; the point of the military is to have a military. She also has this to say--especially saliently, I think, for obvious reasons--about Ambrose, and his perspective specifically in Citizen Soldiers:

"By means of emphasis and convenient omission, Ambrose preserves his focus on unity, not division; right, not wrong; liberation, not subjugation. Paradoxically, given that he makes so much of American idealism, he often subordinates a consideration of causes altogether to a veneration for the magnificence of the army itself. The creation of that army, rather than the victory it made possible, becomes 'the great achievement of the American people and system,' just as the nation's 'greatest nineteenth-century achievement' had been, according to Ambrose, 'the creation of the Army of the Potomac' rather than the end it eventually secured--the abolition of chattel slavery." (page 46)

Here we are back to the first Samet quote from above: valor eclipses causes and reconciliation triumphs over everything. To be a military man--to be part of the club, the brotherhood, the "bond that exists only in combat"--is to "subordinate a consideration of causes altogether to a veneration for the magnificence of the army itself." The country and the cause that the Nazi general and his soldiers fought "bravely, proudly" for become sublimated, while that bravery and pride, stripped of more specific meaning, is extolled. What matters, by the time this scene happens--and it's the last scene in the core section of the episode, followed only by the close of the frame structure with Winters and Nixon and then the baseball scene-cum-epilogue--is not the American cause that Easy Company was fighting for, and certainly not the Nazi atrocities they were fighting against, but rather a reconciliation that views the experience of war as preeminently important. Sobel, who did not experience combat, is dismissed; the Nazi general, who did, is legitimated.

vi. And that, I think, is the core of the message that Band of Brothers promotes. Fandom often refers to the show in passing as propaganda, but I'm not sure that really gets to the heart of what it is, in the end, saying. I would suggest that it's not merely propaganda; it's a recruitment poster. It's not selling truth, justice, and the American way (or if it is, it's doing so only incidentally); it's selling the experience of being in the military as a transformative and ultimately positive one, that unites (a certain subset of) men through the unique crucible of battle, beyond any concerns about what, exactly, one is fighting for. So long as you know when and how to salute, you too can be a part of the brotherhood.

vii. All of which gets back to the scene earlier in "Points," when the Nazi colonel surrenders to Winters. The colonel first makes the explicit parallel between the Nazis and the Americans, and between himself and Winters in particular: "I wonder what will happen to us, to people like you and me, when there are finally no more wars to occupy us." He serves to explicate here more or less exactly what I was saying above: he sees himself and Winters united as military men, above and beyond their particular countries and causes.

Winters doesn't look thrilled about the comparison--but then almost immediately tells the Nazi colonel to retain his surrendered sidearm. I suppose this is supposed to read as magnanimous and fair-minded on Winters's part, but it also serves to reinforce the Nazi colonel's own words, validating the colonel's prioritization of their shared military positions above and beyond their allegiance to the countries and ideologies they were (at least nominally!) fighting for. As the scene itself shows, giving up a sidearm is an expected part of the surrender process, both practically and symbolically; by refusing it Winters is stepping outside military precedent--indeed, bending over backwards--to help the Nazi colonel retain dignity as well as firepower. On its own it is, I think, a frustrating and uncomfortable scene; in the broader context of the episode it sets up and reinforces the Nazi general's speech later on and the ways that Winters and the show itself find meaning in paralleling and reconciling the Americans and the Nazis with one other. (The Nazi colonel knows how to salute; and when he does so, Winters salutes him back.)

viii. Of course it's historically true that American soldiers tended to identify with German soldiers and civilians much more than they identified with people from Allied countries, as Samet herself and even the veteran interviews at the beginning of "Why We Fight" document. (And I don't believe that paralleling the Americans and the Nazis is necessarily something to be dismissed out of hand.) But because the end of "Points" is so overtly sentimental, paralleling the Americans and Nazis serves not as an indictment of American soldiers' amorality but rather as a rehabilitation of the Nazi soldiers and officers as soldiers and a paean to military culture divorced from meaning or cause. As Samet says--"valor eclipses causes and reconciliation triumphs over everything." The military, as an institution, whether it be American or Nazi, becomes the greater good of the war; while the causes those militaries were fighting for become not only secondary, but recede entirely.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dan Rather at Steady:

The morning after the election, I was talking with a friend who said something that made me pause: “The American people aren’t buying what the Dems are selling.” At the time I acknowledged the notion but filed it away for closer inspection, once the shock wore off.  Vice President Kamala Harris and the Democratic Party were selling hope and freedom, upholding the rule of law, saving democracy. What’s not to buy? With the benefit of lots of discussion, reading, watching, and thinking over the past 17 days, it became apparent that that analysis is incomplete.  It isn’t that the American people didn’t buy what Harris was selling; they didn’t know what she was selling. The increasingly powerful right-wing media championed her opponent’s message while distorting hers. And millions of Americans bought it. 

As The New Republic editor Michael Tomasky wrote, “It wasn’t the economy. It wasn’t inflation, or anything else. It was how people perceive those things, which points to one overpowering answer.” The right-wing media now controls the agenda.   For those of us who grew up on a steady diet of truth-telling, it’s gut-wrenching to see this mega misinformation machine grow into a multi-headed monster.   Perhaps it shouldn’t come as a shock. Gallup says trust in the media is at an all-time low. The most trusted news source according to YouGov is … The Weather Channel. Couple that with exit polls showing people who consume a lot of news from traditional sources voted overwhelmingly for Harris. 

If you only read The New York Times or watch CNN or so-called legacy networks such as CBS News, you might be surprised to learn there is a vast right-wing media ecosystem that goes well beyond Fox News. Founded in 1996, Fox is the granddaddy of the far-right media but has since been joined by Newsmax and One America News Network. This media universe also includes Sinclair Broadcasting, which owns hundreds of radio and TV stations — reaching 40% of the viewing public — and newspapers, including the recently purchased Baltimore Sun; iHeartMedia, which dominates right-wing talk radio and podcasting; Trinity and Bott Radio, two massive Christian broadcasting networks; social media platforms like Trump’s own Truth Social and X, owned by Trump bestie Elon Musk; and a multitude of hugely popular far-right podcasts.  Collectively, these various and varied media outlets have been feeding growing audiences a constant diet of disinformation for years. They have been fighting and winning an information war Democrats didn’t seem to know existed. The 2024 election may have been the inflection point when the right-wing media’s influence finally eclipsed the mainstream media. That is a major reason a convicted felon won with just under 50% of the popular vote.

The landscape is changing at light speed. Today, traditional media is not where most people get their news. Not so long ago you had to pick up a morning newspaper or turn on a television at a specific time to get news. Now “news” is available 24-7, from hundreds of sources, in tiny bite-sized portions, often without the benefit of context or even fact-checking. Right-wing outlets peddling half truths have learned how to navigate and thus dominate this new landscape. It is important to note that this battle is being waged between right-leaning media and mainstream media. The combatants are not two ideologues. One group is pushing a hard-right agenda, and the other is striving to report and expose the truth. The social media landscape mirrors this reality. On the right, you have Truth Social and X. On the left, not much. In reaction to the misinformation rampant on its sites during the 2020 election, Meta-owned platforms like Facebook and Instagram removed most political content.

An excellent read from longtime CBS News journalist Dan Rather on how right-wing media propaganda being fed to millions of Americans without any real fact-checking of lies is what led to Donald Trump become a Presidential candidate in the first place, let alone win twice.

[the-lunacy-system]

> Alter Intros (Main System)

>> [name & pronouns]

[species (& kins)]

[orientation]

[age]

[role (if applicable)]

[image(s)]

[emoji signature]

>> Mel/Zoorwahlviing (she/rek)

Cat, dragon, and gen-3 synth, C'venash Vishneri fictkin

Bisexual (lesbian-leaning)

16 years old

Host

(Subsys: 1 Persephone instance)

--🐈‍⬛--

>> Meyeki (she/her)

Human

Lesbian

17 years old

Dysphoria holder

--🪻--

>> Ada (she/her)

Human

Pansexual

24 years old

None

(Subsys: 1 Persephone instance)

--🌌--

>> Akhera (she/her)

Vetkaran Multiform

Pansexual

Unknown

None

(current primary form)

--🪐--

>> Cornelius (he/him)

Human

Unknown

~500 years old

Physical protector

-- 🗡️ --

>> Eclipse (they/she)

Shadow Demon

Mirror (to the alter they are bonded to)

Unknown

Spiritual Protector

No Image

-- 🌑 --

>> Ember (she/her)

Fox

None

5 years old

Little

-- 🦊--

>> Fast (she/her)

Simulation NPC

Lesbian

Unknown

None

-- 🦴--

>> Inertia (they/them)

Personified Curse

None

None

Protector (?)

(only uses Crusner Colven as a faceclaim)

-- 🌌 --

>> Irde (they/them)

Human

None

7 years old

Little

-- 🔫 --

>> Isonade (they/them)

Sea Emperor Leviathan

None

10,000+ years (incubation) / < 1 year (hatching)

-- ��� --

>> Ithquentremar (she/her)

Dragonborn

Aroace

27 years old

None

-- 🐲 --

>> Janet (she/her)

Janet

Omnisexual

All of time

Order keeper

-- 👍 --

>> Kira (they/it)

Dragon

None

5 years old

Little

-- 🐉--

>> Korrin (they/them)

Human Demigod (child of Tentic, god of Darkness)

Aroace

~15 years old

None

-- 🖤 --

>> Mari (she/her)

Human spirit

Bisexual

16 years old

None

-- 🎹 --

>> Michael (he/him)

Human

Pansexual

23 years old

Mental protector

-- 👑 --

>> Niccolo (he/him)

Cat

None

5 years old

Little

-- 🐱 --

>> Nico di Angelo (he/him)

Human demigod (son of Hades, god of the Dead)

Gay

18 years old

None

-- 💀 --

>> Ood Sigma (he/him)

Ood

None

Unknown

None

-- 🦑 --

>> Summer (she/her)

Human

None

8 years old

Little / trauma holder

-- ☀ --

>> Sunny (he/him)

Human

Unknown

16 years old

Subsystem host

-- 🎻 --

>> The Doctor (he/him)

Time Lord

Omnisexual

~909 years old

None

-- 🕐 --

>> The General (she/her)

Time Lord

Lesbian

896 years old

None

-- 🫡 --

>> Eimhir (she/her)

Human

Aroace

31 years old

None

-- 🧙‍♀️ --

>> Wraith/Basil (it/he)

Human

Omnisexual

16 years old

None

-- 🌻 --

>> ᚹᛟᚱᚲᛖᚱ ᚾᚾᚺᚹ (it/its)

Clockwork Labor Drone

None

Unknown

Worker

-- ⚙ --

[justforbooks]

Towards the end of his life, the actor Adrian Schiller, who has died unexpectedly aged 60, found success and sudden fame in two blockbuster TV shows: The Last Kingdom (2018-22), on Netflix, in which he played the richest man in medieval Wessex, Aethelhelm; and ITV’s drama Victoria (2016-19), as Cornelius Penge, a footman in the royal household.

In both, a fleeting glance would suggest that here was a naturally authoritative actor, blessed with gravitas and style. This camouflaged the demonic comic spirit within, which had informed so many of his memorable stage performances since he first appeared in the German Expressionist Carl Sternheim’s 1911 play The Knickers at the Lyric, Hammersmith, in 1991. In a delicious comic performance, he played a weak-chested Wagner-loving barber thunderstruck by a flash of discarded lingerie as the Kaiser drove by, suggesting, said the Times critic, “a tousle-headed combination of Charlie Chaplin, Egon Schiele and Gollum, whose idea of romance is reading extracts from the Flying Dutchman”.

Schiller proceeded to leading roles with the Royal Shakespeare Company in the 1990s – his Porter in a disappointing 1996 Macbeth was the funniest I had ever seen, while his entertaining Touchstone in an awful 2000 designer knitwear production of As You Like It rescued another dud evening.

He was less prominent in some strange productions at the National – Peter Handke’s wordless The Hour We Knew Nothing of Each Other in 2008, as one of 27 actors playing 450 characters in a town square, coming and going with no interaction, and as a revolutionary tailor in a poor 2013 retread of Carl Zuckmayer’s 1931 Captain of Kopenick, in which Antony Sher did not eclipse memories of Paul Scofield in the NT’s 1971 production.

On the other hand, he was outstanding in Chekhov’s Three Sisters, superbly directed, and modernised, by Benedict Andrews at the Young Vic in 2012, playing Kulygin, a leather-jacketed schoolteacher tragically infatuated with his own disloyal wife; and he was a compelling, original, quietly spoken and sympathetic Shylock in The Merchant of Venice at the Wanamaker, the candle-lit indoor venue at Shakespeare’s Globe, in 2022. The Merchant rekindled the current noise around the play – is it antisemitic or about antisemitism?

In an interview with the Jewish Chronicle, Schiller tilted towards the second view. He averred that he was “a Jew, but not Jewish”.

Schiller was born in Oxford, the second of four children of Judith (nee Bennett), a teacher, and Klaus Schiller, a gastroenterologist whose family had emigrated from Austria to Britain in 1938. When Klaus was appointed a consultant at St Peter’s hospital, Chertsey, the Schillers moved to Surrey.

Adrian was educated at Kingston grammar school and Charterhouse, in Godalming, Surrey, where he pursued a busy life in stage productions. Instead of drama school, he took a good degree in philosophy (after switching from architecture) at University College London, although he always self-deprecatingly said that he majored in “plays and partying”.

His early television career encompassed series such as Prime Suspect, A Touch of Frost, Judge John Deed and much else, through to the first series of Endeavour in 2013. He also popped up in the Channel 4 series The Devil’s Whore (2008) set in the English civil war, and the Doctor Who story strand The Doctor’s Wife in 2011.

One of his most effective cameos on screen was as the barman in a striking government-sponsored advert in the anti-drink-driving campaign in 2007. He leaned deep into the camera with a series of non-equivocal questions to a bemused, unimpressed young glass-holding customer who may or may not have grasped the seriousness of the interrogation.

But he always returned to the theatre, seeking out the most demanding roles with companies who would accommodate him. He gave an almost ideal Cassius, wirily intellectual while bubbling passionately underneath, said Michael Billington, for David Farr’s 2005 RSC touring version of Julius Caesar. In the title role of Tartuffe at the Watermill, Newbury, in 2006, he was cool and venomous, as well as understated, and clearly the star of the show.

And for Stephen Unwin’s English Touring Theatre in 2007, he rebooted the remorseless villain, De Flores, in Middleton and Rowley’s Jacobean shocker, The Changeling. He was more than notable, too, opposite Sher’s Sigmund Freud, as a vividly hilarious Salvador Dalí, in their great encounter scene in Terry Johnson’s Hysteria at the Hampstead theatre, revived there in 2013, 20 years after its Royal Court premiere.

His feature film credits were not extensive, but in 2014 he was well cast as the sardonic high priest Caiaphas in Son of God, Christopher Spencer’s biblical epic. In Sarah Gavron’s Suffragette (2015), scripted by Abi Morgan, he was an imposing Lloyd George, coming round to the persuasion of the militant vote-seeking women led by Meryl Streep as Emmeline Pankhurst and Carey Mulligan as a fictional worker fuelled by the excitement of change and protest.

His last movie, yet to be released, is Red Sonja, in which he plays the king of Turan in a remake of the 1985 sword-and-sorcery Marvel Comics fantasy.

Back on stage in 2023, he returned to questions of Jewish identity and survival in three short new plays at the Soho theatre and a more substantial Holocaust drama, The White Factory by Dmitry Glukhovsky, at the sparky new Marylebone theatre (formerly the Steiner Hall), in which he was a powerful, wise presence in the story of a survivor of the Łódź ghetto in Poland, played by Mark Quartley, adapting to American life in the Brooklyn of the 60s.

At the time of his death, Schiller – who was also a skilled sculptor and guitarist – had just returned from Sydney and the triumphant international tour of The Lehman Trilogy, directed by Sam Mendes, and had been looking forward to the next leg of the tour in San Francisco.

He is survived by his partner, Milena Wlodkowska, a laboratory support technician, and their son, Gabriel, and by his sister, Ginny, and brothers, Nick and Ben.

🔔 Adrian Townsend Schiller, actor, born 21 February 1964; died 3 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[checkoutmybookshelf]

You Have My Attention: New Jedi Order First Lines

Ok, so Vector Prime wasn't my first Star Wars EU book; that would have been at least semi logical and honestly logic and hinged-ness is not how I would characterize either my experience with the Star Wars fandom, the EU, or just Star Wars in general. We have Anakin Skywalker, hinged is not the vibe. That said, Vector Prime was my fourth Star Wars book, and despite some flaws and peaks and valleys in quality, the New Jedi Order holds a very nostalgic place in my heart. Let's see how the authors of the New Jedi Order books catch readers.

It was too peaceful out here, surrounded by the vacuum of space and with only the continual hum of the twin ion drives breaking the silence.

-- R. A. Salvatore, Vector Prime

Standing there, on the bridge of his Nebulon-B frigate, the pirate Urias Xhaxin clasped his cybernetic left hand to the small of his back with his right hand. He stared straight ahead at the tunnel of light into which his ship, the Free Lance, flew.

-- Michael A. Stackpole, Dark Tide I: Onslaught

Shedao Shai stood in his chamber, deep within the living ship Legacy of Torment. Tall and lean, long-limbed with hooks and barbs at wrist, elbow, knee, and heel, the Yuuzhan Vong warrior had pulled himself up to his full height and held his open hands out away from his sides.

-- Michael A. Stackpole, Dark Tide II: Ruin

If the system's primary was distressed by the events that had transpired on and about the fourth closest of its brood, it betrayed noting to the naked eye. Saturating the local space with golden radiance, the star was as unperturbed now as it was before the battle had begun.

-- James Luceno, Agents of Chaos I: Hero's Trial

It was morning in Gyndine's capital city, though that fact was scarcely evident to anyone on the surface. The rising sun, when glimpsed at all, was a blanched disk behind roiling smoke belched from flaming forests and buildings.

-- James Luceno, Agents of Chaos II: Jedi Eclipse

Lieutenant Jaina Solo rolled her x-wing fighter up on its port S-foil and shoved her throttle forward. A seed-shaped Yuuzhan Vong coralskipper had been harrying her wingmate.

-- Kathy Tyers, Balance Point

Outside the medcenter viewport, a ragged crescent of white twinkles known as the Drall's Hat drooped across the violet sky, its lower tip slashing through the Ronto to touch a red star named the Eye of the Pirate. The constellations above Corellia had not changed since Han Solo was a child, when he had spent his nights contemplating the galactic depths and dreaming of life as a starship captain.

-- Troy Denning, "Recovery"

Dorsk 82 ducked behind the stone steps of the quay, just in time to dodge a blaster bolt from across the water. "Hurry on board my ship," he told his charges. "They've found us again."

-- Greg Keyes, Edge of Victory I: Conquest

Blood, drifting in starlight. That was the first thing Jacen Solo saw when he opened his eyes. It had beaded into what looked, in the dim, like polished black pearls reflecting the ancient starlight filtering through the transparisteel a meter or so away.

-- Greg Keyes, Edge of Victory II: Rebirth

The dark sliver of a distant starliner crept into view, a blue needle of ion efflux pushing it across the immense sweep of a brilliant orange sun. Like a million such suns in the Core region alone, this one lacked any world with a civilization or even a sapient species, and it was too inconsequential for any name except an obsolete Imperial survey number. With so much emptiness, so many planets untouched, it seemed to Jaina Solo that there should have been no need for fighting, that there should have been room for all.

-- Troy Denning, Star by Star

A sunrise corona limned one edge of the planet Myrkr, setting its vast northern forests alight with a verdant glow. Viewed from space, the planet appeared as lush and green as Yuuzhan'tat, the long-lost homeworld of Yuuzhan Vong legend.

-- Elaine Cunningham, Dark Journey

"A god cannot die," Charat Kraal said. "Therefore it can have no fear of death. So who is braver, a god or a mortal?"

--Aaron Allston, Enemy Lines I: Rebel Dream

Jaina Solo banked her X-wing starfighter into as tight a turn as she could endure. The g-forces of her maneuver crushed her into her seat, but she called upon the force to protect her, to keep her centimeters away from the edge of blackout.

-- Aaron Allston, Enemy Lines II: Rebel Stand

Outside the universe, there is nothing. This nothing is called hyperspace. A tiny bubble of existence hangs in the nothing. This bubble is called a ship.

-- Matthew Stover, Traitor

As she sat in the chair that was hers by right of death, she raised her eyes to the cold faraway stars. Checklists buzzed distantly in her mind and her hands moved over the controls, but her thoughts flew elsewhere, amid the chill infinitude. Searching...

-- Walter Jon Williams, Destiny's Way

Saba Sebatyne knew the moment she emerged from hyperspace that Barab I was burning. Where the planet normally displayed a cloudy, gray face lit the glow of its primary, a sullen red dwarf, her infrared sensitive eyes now saw a fiery inferno.

-- Sean Williams and Shane Dix, Force Heretic I: Remnant

The man who was no longer a man stood before an alien who was not what it seemed. "Everything is in place," the man said.

--Sean Williams and Shane Dix, Force Heretic II: Refugee

Neither moved; neither spoke. They stared unflinchingly into each other's eyes. Surrounding her, hidden by shadows, Tahiri could sense an alien landscape.

-- Sean Williams and Shane Dix, Force Heretic III: Reunion

Three kilometers beneath the surface of Yuuzhan'tar--the world once known as Courscant--the sound of chanting drifted up a shaft nearly as wide as it was deep, the melancholy strains yearning toward the few distant starts that could be seen from the bottom. In the pale blue light of lumen reeds, the faces of the chanters appeared ravaged, their bodies misshapen.

-- Greg Keyes, The Final Prophecy

Selvaris, faintly green against a sweep of white-hot stars, and with only one tiny moon for companionship, looked like the loneliest of planets. Almost five years into a war that had seen the annihilation of peaceful worlds, the disruption of major hyperlanes, the fall and occupation of Coruscant itself, that fact that such a backwater place could rise to sudden significance was perhaps the clearest measure of the frightful shadow the Yuuzhan Vong had cast across the galaxy.

-- James Luceno, The Unifying Force

[quietwingsinthesky]

Happy Sammy Sunday!

This was supposed to be a drabble, but it quickly got out of hand. So! Enjoy this Sam & Lucifer ficlet: AU edition (now with dragons!)

Lucifer won’t allow anyone to ride him. The last five who tried were all gravely injured.

Sam is foolish number six, a rider without a dragon, a failure for a failure, and the last chance either of them have before they are cast down. Dragons are intelligent. Sam can’t help but wonder if Lucifer knows that he’s destroying himself.

(Just like he will never know if they gave Lucifer to him to tame because of Dean’s success with the oldest of his clutch, Michael, or because they would rather Sam die by a dragon than…)

Lucifer is the second largest of his clutch, and his wings eclipse the sun when he raises them at Sam’s approach. In the darkness, he’s an terrifying wraith of scarred white scales. Every breath he exhales is enough to threaten Sam’s balance, and his pale hide does little to hide the fire’s heat inside his throat.

If Sam had frozen in fear, he’s sure Lucifer would have burnt him up, his own fate be damned.

Sam forsakes caution. He drags his leather glove off his right hand. Lucifer watches him, neck curved towards Sam and head tilted. His tongue flickers out to taste Sam’s scent, revealing fangs larger than Sam’s arms. Lucifer’s massive foreleg extends, crushing the ground beside Sam as his claws flex into the rock below. Sam doesn’t stop.

He can almost hear Dean yelling at him to put his glove back on. It’s a stupid move, but Sam has a feeling Lucifer will take nothing but a true bond, the old way, to take all of Sam’s mind and give all of his own in return.

It’s going to hurt.

Lucifer’s heartscales are pale pink. This close, Sam can hear his heartbeat. It thumps like the stalking footsteps of a predator, and though each pulse sends tremors course through Sam’s body, he doesn’t run. He turns his palm over, observes the calluses and the wrinkles of his palm and the long-healed cuts that mar his fingers. He doesn’t allow himself to stall another moment, no countdowns in his head or deep breaths. He turns his hand over again and slams his palm into Lucifer’s chest.

Sam screams. He won’t let go.

Lucifer’s mind hits his like a comet, bearing down to see if Sam will break under the weight of him. He is not merciful, but Sam has tried to form bonds with other dragons and never felt anything like him before. For a moment, Sam’s body isn’t his own. Lucifer is behind his senses, taking them in, even the pain his own scorching hide rips through Sam. Lucifer is the one who presses Sam’s hand harder into his heartscales, but Sam- Sam is a towering beast with limbs he’s never felt before, with hungry fire burning through his entire being. Sam feels the rough crags of stone beneath Lucifer, the wind brushing over the thin membranes of his wings, even the leftover taste of blood from his last meal. Sam leans forward towards the small human body that is both Lucifer’s and his own, as Lucifer curls fingers around the heartscales that are both Sam’s and his.

Sam, Lucifer purrs, and the thought isn’t only Sam’s name, but his entire life, every thought he’s ever had, all of his anger and hurt and love laid bare and perused by this creature. Sam, in turn, is given Lucifer’s loss, his betrayal, his insurmountable pride.

Winchester, Lucifer continues with amused familiarity a moment later, when their minds have gone from two to one to two again, and Sam is left gasping and clutching his burnt hand. It’ll scar.

Lucifer bows to Sam as Sam puts his glove back on. The smooth leather still drags painfully over his injury. He takes a deep breath, grips Lucifer’s scales as firmly as he can, and hauls himself into the cradle between Lucifer’s spines. It’s only right if they’re doing this the old way that Sam’s first flight with Lucifer should be bareback. He can feel Lucifer’s muscles flex beneath his scales, every breath and heartbeat powerful enough to rock Sam on his seat. Lucifer stands tall again, head turned to the sky. He whips his tail with delight, and Sam feels it spread through his own mind, bright and overwhelming. He tempers it with focus, digging his heels into Lucifer’s sides, where his shoulders meet his wings. One wrong move and Lucifer could fling him off, but even thinking that leads to a possessive reassurance from his dragon that it won’t happen. Sam is Lucifer’s now, and Lucifer won’t allow anything to take Sam from him.

He spreads his wings. Sam braces for the running start most dragons need to take flight, but Lucifer sweeps them into the air with only a few thunderous flaps. The ground spirals below them dizzyingly as they take to the sky.

[quietwings-fics]

This Time For Sure

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Lucifer & Sam) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragon Riders, Dragon Rider Sam Winchester, Dragon Lucifer (Supernatural), Mind Meld, Burns Wordcount: 811 Summary:

Lucifer won’t allow anyone to ride him.

Lucifer won’t allow anyone to ride him. The last five who tried were all gravely injured.

Sam is foolish number six, a rider without a dragon, a failure for a failure, and the last chance either of them have before they are cast down. Dragons are intelligent. Sam can’t help but wonder if Lucifer knows that he’s destroying himself.

(Just like he will never know if they gave Lucifer to him to tame because of Dean’s success with the oldest of his clutch, Michael, or because they would rather Sam die by a dragon than…)

Lucifer is the second largest of his clutch, and his wings eclipse the sun when he raises them at Sam’s approach. In the darkness, he’s an terrifying wraith of scarred white scales. Every breath he exhales is enough to threaten Sam’s balance, and his pale hide does little to hide the fire’s heat inside his throat.

If Sam had frozen in fear, he’s sure Lucifer would have burnt him up, his own fate be damned.

Sam forsakes caution. He drags his leather glove off his right hand. Lucifer watches him, neck curved towards Sam and head tilted. His tongue flickers out to taste Sam’s scent, revealing fangs larger than Sam’s arms. Lucifer’s massive foreleg extends, crushing the ground beside Sam as his claws flex into the rock below. Sam doesn’t stop.

He can almost hear Dean yelling at him to put his glove back on. It’s a stupid move, but Sam has a feeling Lucifer will take nothing but a true bond, the old way, to take all of Sam’s mind and give all of his own in return.

It’s going to hurt.

Lucifer’s heartscales are pale pink. This close, Sam can hear his heartbeat. It thumps like the stalking footsteps of a predator, and though each pulse sends tremors course through Sam’s body, he doesn’t run. He turns his palm over, observes the calluses and the wrinkles of his palm and the long-healed cuts that mar his fingers. He doesn’t allow himself to stall another moment, no countdowns in his head or deep breaths. He turns his hand over again and slams his palm into Lucifer’s chest.

Sam screams. He won’t let go.

Lucifer’s mind hits his like a comet, bearing down to see if Sam will break under the weight of him. He is not merciful, but Sam has tried to form bonds with other dragons and never felt anything like him before. For a moment, Sam’s body isn’t his own. Lucifer is behind his senses, taking them in, even the pain his own scorching hide rips through Sam. Lucifer is the one who presses Sam’s hand harder into his heartscales, but Sam- Sam is a towering beast with limbs he’s never felt before, with hungry fire burning through his entire being. Sam feels the rough crags of stone beneath Lucifer, the wind brushing over the thin membranes of his wings, even the leftover taste of blood from his last meal. Sam leans forward towards the small human body that is both Lucifer’s and his own, as Lucifer curls fingers around the heartscales that are both Sam’s and his.

Sam, Lucifer purrs, and the thought isn’t only Sam’s name, but his entire life, every thought he’s ever had, all of his anger and hurt and love laid bare and perused by this creature. Sam, in turn, is given Lucifer’s loss, his betrayal, his insurmountable pride.

Winchester, Lucifer continues with amused familiarity a moment later, when their minds have gone from two to one to two again, and Sam is left gasping and clutching his burnt hand. It’ll scar.

Lucifer bows to Sam as Sam puts his glove back on. The smooth leather still drags painfully over his injury. He takes a deep breath, grips Lucifer’s scales as firmly as he can, and hauls himself into the cradle between Lucifer’s spines. It’s only right if they’re doing this the old way that Sam’s first flight with Lucifer should be bareback. He can feel Lucifer’s muscles flex beneath his scales, every breath and heartbeat powerful enough to rock Sam on his seat. Lucifer stands tall again, head turned to the sky. He whips his tail with delight, and Sam feels it spread through his own mind, bright and overwhelming. He tempers it with focus, digging his heels into Lucifer’s sides, where his shoulders meet his wings. One wrong move and Lucifer could fling him off, but even thinking that leads to a possessive reassurance from his dragon that it won’t happen. Sam is Lucifer’s now, and Lucifer won’t allow anything to take Sam from him.

He spreads his wings. Sam braces for the running start most dragons need to take flight, but Lucifer sweeps them into the air with only a few thunderous flaps. The ground spirals below them dizzyingly as they take to the sky.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[manyfandomocs]

Once Upon A Time OC Masterlist

Name: Aimee Grimard (Elisabeth Barbot)

Fic: Evermore

Love Interest: Gabriella Lang

FC: Charithra Chandran

Name: Albin Palladino

Fic: Shades of Wonderland

Love Interest: Belle French or Emma Swan

FC: Luke Evans

Name: Barbara Thorne (Danaë Forsyth)

Fic: Blinded By Love

Love Interest: Graham Humbert

FC: Lily James

Name: Christian Blanchard (Michael Collin)

Fic: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Love Interest: Morgan Crane

FC: Bradley James

Name: Eliana Becker (Edeline Darlington)

Fic: Broken Melody

Love Interest: Emma Swan & Killian Jones

FC: Kylie Bunbury

Name: Gabriella Lang (Suzanna LePrince)

Fic: Evermore

Love Interest: Aimee Grimard

FC: Danielle Galligan

Name: Ivory Wynne

Fic: Shades of Wonderland

Love Interest: Likely David Nolan & Mary Margaret

FC: Katie McGrath

Name: Julie Travers (Mary Poppins)

Fic: A Spoonful of Sugar

Love Interest: Emma Swan & Regina Mills

FC: Kristin Kreuk

Name: Leila Becker (Lacey Darlington)

Fic: Broken Melody

Love Interest: Regina Mills

FC: Freema Agyeman

Name: Malachi Irving (Ichabod Crane)

Fic: The Tale of Sleepy Storybrooke

Love Interest: Emma Swan & Neal Cassidy

FC: Aidan Turner

Name: Malia Gold (Gwyneth Jones)

Fic: Pirate's Life For Me

Love Interest: Ruby Lucas

FC: Marie Avgeropoulos

Name: Morgan Crane (Joan May)

Fic: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Love Interest: Christian Blanchard

FC: Anya Chalotra

Name: Odelia Roth (Odile Rothbart)

Fic: Dance With Goblets

Love Interest: David Nolan & Odessa Pavlova

FC: Blake Lively

Name: Odessa Pavlova (Odette Cygnet)

Fic: Dance With Goblets

Love Interest: David Nolan & Odelia Roth

FC: Anna Kendrick

Name: Oswald March

Fic: TBD (leaning towards Total Eclipse of the Heart but idk)

Love Interest: Regina Mills (maybe Zelena)

FC: Pedro Pascal

Name: Rowan Chevalier

Fic: Shades of Wonderland

Love Interest: Rosella Gilroy, maybe Emma Swan

FC: Luke Pasqualino

Name: Rosella Gilroy

Fic: Shades of Wonderland

Love Interest: TBD, maybe Jefferson

FC: Anna Popplewell

Name: Vivica Dufort

Fic: Through The Mist, Through The Woods

Love Interest: Belle French, Belle French & Mr. Gold

FC: Anne Hathaway

[disneymarina]

supernatural x Marina

Dean sits across from Castiel at the large table in the common room, gesturing to the sketches spread out before them. "Alright, Cas, take a gander at these. They were in an old journal we found in the garage. Looks like they depict Marina here, but with some serious heavenly flair."

Castiel's eyes narrow as he studies the drawings, his expression unreadable. "These appear to be illustrations of an archangel, possibly Michael or Raphael. The script beneath is indeed Enochian, an ancient language used by angels for sacred purposes."

Dean leans forward, intrigued. "Enochian, huh? So these could be real representations of angels, then?"

Cas nods solemnly. "Yes, it seems likely. However, the specific ritual described here is unfamiliar to me."

Dean's brow furrows as he listens intently to Castiel's explanation. "Unfamiliar, huh? That's not exactly reassuring, given the circumstances."

He runs a hand through his hair, thinking aloud. "So, if these are legit angelic sketches, that means we might be dealing with something pretty powerful. A ritual strong enough to summon an archangel, no less."

Suddenly, Dean's eyes light up with a mischievous glint. "You know, Marina, since you seem to have some sort of connection to the divine, maybe you could try communicating with these archangels directly? See if they'll give us some answers or pointers on how to proceed."

He smirks, knowing full well the absurdity of the suggestion. "I mean, what's the worst that could happen, right?"

Dean watches in stunned disbelief as Castiel drops to his knees before Marina, treating her with a reverence bordering on worship. The sight sends a jolt of unease through Dean, making him question everything he thought he knew about their angelic ally.

"Whoa, hold up, Cas," Dean interjects, his voice laced with concern. "What's going on here? Why are you… treating Marina like some kind of celestial royalty?"

Dean's eyes flick between Marina, still suspended in midair, and Castiel, his expression one of awestruck devotion. He feels a twinge of jealousy, realizing that Marina's connection to the divine has seemingly eclipsed anything he or Sam could ever hope to achieve.

"Marina, can you hear me?" Dean tries again, his tone gentler now.

As Marina's transformation reaches its peak, Dean finds himself staring at a vision of otherworldly beauty and power. Her once-human form has been replaced by a figure composed entirely of swirling, iridescent energy, pulsing with an inner light that seems to defy the laws of physics.

Her silhouette retains a vaguely humanoid shape, but where flesh and blood once were, there is now only shimmering, translucent essence. Tendrils of pure light dance along her limbs, leaving trails of stardust in their wake.

A pair of magnificent wings unfurl from her back, each feather a prismatic masterpiece that catches the light and casts it in every color imaginable. They span the width of the room, their edges seeming to blur and fade into the surrounding space.

Dean listens intently to Castiel's explanation, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to wrap his mind around the magnitude of what he's seeing. He glances back at Marina, marveling at the way her form seems to pulse and shift, like a living constellation.

"So, wait a minute," Dean says, holding up a hand to interrupt Castiel, "are you telling me that Marina is basically an archangel now? Or at least part-archangel?"

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and bewilderment. "Because let me tell you, Cas, this is not what I expected when I woke up this morning. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's incredible, but… holy shit, how are we supposed to deal with this?"

Dean blinks rapidly, trying to process the sudden shift in Marina's appearance and the implications of the archangelic mark. He reaches out, gently tracing the glowing sigil with the pad of his thumb, marveling at the way it warms his skin without burning him.

"So, let me get this straight," he says, his tone equal parts awed and slightly overwhelmed, "that little tattoo is like… a cosmic on/off switch for her angel powers? She can just flip it whenever she wants to go all'shiny and chrome'?"

He looks up at Marina, his blue eyes searching her face for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty. "Is this… is this what you want, Marina? To have this kind of power at your fingertips? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's fucking amazing, but…"

[naffeclipse]

what if… let’s say… orca eclipse was turned into a human… how badly would he hate it or would he react differently?

Oh, he would loathe it. His spell goes wrong when he kisses the photographer to change them into a siren, and he becomes a human instead. He hates his blunt flippers (feet, they're called feet). He's baffled by how biting cold the very air is and that he stumbles like a newborn reindeer. The only good thing is that he is still taller than the photographer even if he has to lean against them to move his stupid long, lanky legs, also, it's freezing. Y/N gives him half of their Arctic gear so he won't freeze to death on the way back to base.

Eclipse keeps trying to kiss Y/N again to hopefully fix this whole mess and get them both back into the water, but they keep evading his attempts by fretting over his shivering form. He does not enjoy this at all.

Y/N is reeling from this chain of events. Eclipse is still dangerously breathtaking with his black and white markings but his arms and legs now possess the gradient deep red and rust orange of his flukes. He keeps his frilled head of sunset colors. They have no idea how to explain how they found a guy, much less a fishy one, out in the Arctic to Michael and Vanessa, but they're going to try. They will keep him sheltered and warm while figuring out what happened with that kiss.