#As Shadows Crawl from the Eclipse

[xensilverquill]

The Mage-Moths (Magitineus sophonti) are a race of sophont anthrosects native to the deep temperate forests in the heartland of the Sunken Continent. Mage-moths are reclusive yet peaceful tree dwellers who make their settlements in the branches of the forest understory. Their housing, tools, and apparel are most often made from the bark and foliage of the leatherleaf tree and the silk of their children. The mages of their tribe are a respected guild who are prized for their prowess as lorekeepers as well as their extra-dimensional manipulation abilities.

An excerpt from an interview with Star-Crashing-From-The-Sky, Mage of the Westwoods Eclipse, and her apprentice/creche-son, Shadows-Under-The-Maple:

"Many are the peoples who dwell in this Land Between the Inner and Outer Reaches. Running and flying, crawling and swimming, awakened and unawakened -- they are all one and beloved under the eye of the Inner Sun. Come, dear stranger, come away with me a while. For the night is flying on, and I should love to share this wind with you."

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[naffeclipse]

Charm Brought It Back

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

I am so excited to present this Hocus Pocus inspired AU requested by the lovely @jackofallrabbits! The boys star as the witchy brothers who return once a fated reader lights the starry candle. They simply must show their gratitude! And what better day to post such a spooky and fun fic than on Friday the 13th?!

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

———

You turn the key and cut the engine of your car. With a flick, you turn off the headlights. The beginning of a sunset swoops down onto your ill-adjusted vision. The horizon is drenched in purples and oranges as shadows begin to crawl off of trees and their yellowed leaves. It will take a minute or two for your sight to adapt, but you have tilted and revolved the structure waiting just at the edge of the forest within your mind’s eyes for days now. It’s beyond the dirt road you’ve pulled onto the shoulder of.

Blinking slowly, you find the house’s dark silhouette through the boughs of clustered trees, and you sigh at the beauty of its preserved history.

The building is an artifact dating back roughly to the 1630s. A post-medieval English-style home, it contains two stories with an overhanging jetty and stunning clapboard siding that has survived a little under four centuries of existence. Your eyes catch on the windows and your heart sings at the sight. Diamond-paned casement. And there, decorative pendants of celestial bodies, including iron-casted suns, moons, and overlapping symbols of the two. The steeply pitched roof is common for the era and is more renowned in its descendant the saltbox form, but this style boosts its spooky aura.

The Puritan colonists were the ones responsible for importing the style to America as they landed here on the eastern coast. 

It’s no stretch of the imagination to think of witches and execution trials while gazing over the beautiful home. You’re particularly intrigued by the history of the Salem witch trials, and as a historian, you couldn’t deny yourself the chance to enter the building and feed the gnawing need to stand within a piece of history.

Stepping out of your car, a gust of wind carrying the bitter edge of autumn cuts through your brown sweater. You shiver and shut the door as quietly as you can manage. This is hallowed ground. This will supply your ever inquisitive mind which is always looking to the past with a curiosity most insatiable.

You face the home. A footpath lightly serpentines between the trees. Hooligans with destructive tendencies and teenagers on dares will venture here for a spooky, fun time, but are usually caught by the police because the building sits on private property. You asked for permission from the owner of the hundreds of acres of forest land that includes the so-called “Witch House” if you might enter the premises. Given your credentials, you were certain the owner would trust you with exploring the home.

Much to your relief, the owner agreed. 

You look up, arms clutching your knitted sleeves to fight the chill of an October breeze, in awe and reverence. 

From your pocket, you slip out a wrought-iron key with the symbol of the moon overlapping the sun to form a black eclipse and marvel again at the intricacy of ancient beauty. Your fingertips grow chilled in the late hour. The sun shifts from orange to dark, bleeding red like blood from a heart spilled across the horizon. You walk towards the home. 

Perhaps you should have arrived sooner. You were caught in another historical journal depicting the specific timeframe of when this home would have been occupied by its original inhabitants. 

The rumors even now speak of curses and cursed artifacts within the building. Some of it is true—you have confirmed with your own scholarly sources. The original owners were a trio of brothers. They were accused of witchcraft and hanged for the crimes. That much is historically documented and verified. 

What is fantasy is the tale of the brothers casting a curse with their dying breaths, declaring they would one day return if a virgin lit a starry candle on the anniversary of their executions.

Superstition. Most likely, the fear of the townspeople transcended to their children, and their children, down and down until it became a tale to spin on Halloween night around these parts. 

The door is black as you approach it. A stray branch catches on your sweater, pulling on a thread, and you yank yourself free and silently mourn the roughen fabric before returning your attention to what really matters. You must be careful. This entire place is iconic and in need of preservation. 

You slip the key into the lock hole and turn it with a thick, heavy click before the black wood door groans and slides inwards as if inviting you into its sphere. You take a breath. Your boots cross the threshold and you enter the home. 

As is typical of some homes built in the early seventeenth century, an open hall greets you. In the far back is the fireplace with a cauldron still sitting upon an ashy bed. An original wood-carve table and chairs are set to one side as a staircase climbs up into the darkness of the second level. What little red light leaks inside is narrowed and cut up into diamonds by the panes. To one wall, shelves contain dusty and forgotten cooking utensils, once glimmery copper pots, and dinner dishes with designs considered much too gawky in the Puritan era but it causes you to softly gasp.

Your hand covers your mouth as you gaze around you, overwhelmed with the beautiful intricacies of metallic chandeliers holding half-burned tallow candles, and to the other wall lies a bookshelf covered in cobwebs as if the spiders refuse to let anyone examine such precious reads. Your fingers already itch to gently pry out one manuscript and gaze at the original script of whoever wrote it.

But the light—it’s far too dark now. The red has given way to blue and pale indigo. You squint. You reach into your other pocket for a lighter and flick it on. The tiny flame spouts a delicate light. Never would you dare admit this out loud to a living soul, but you so desperately wish to see the home in its authentic state, lit only by the technology the brothers had at the time: fire.

There are thick, yellowed candles lying on the table and clustered together on the narrow window sills. You have no hope of reaching the metal chandeliers but you do spy a candelabra positioned near the bookshelf on a small end table. You light it first with a careful touch of your lighter flame. The wick catches, even after all of these years. You smile softly, your heart warm within your chest as you bask in the essence of this beautiful place.

A few more candles should suffice. 

You slip to the table to light the thick and tall candles. The flames bloom and warm the space in rich light, casting thick shadows from support beams. You almost set your lighter away when you spy one last candle set upon a golden candle holder. The fashioned metal twists and twines with elaborate engravings of shooting stars and slices of sun rays were placed in the corner of the room almost out of sight. The curiosity within you urges you to take a step, then another, and another. You stand in front of the almost forgotten candle.

The tallow is black as midnight. Strange. How did they color this? Embedded within the darkness are speckles of white, splattering the candle like an array of stars. Your eyes stray in search of constellations before shaking your head.

It’s true. There is a starry candle. Perhaps the brothers did dabble in the occult, playing with cards and fortune telling, and being punished with death for their interest in unholy magic. 

The wick is dark and untouched as if it were never lit before. You bring the lighter flame closer. Superstition might worry another, but you concern yourself with logic and reason—explanations of humanity rather than inexplicable forces beyond comprehension. 

Something stirs from a nearby corner shelf. Two long ears twitch. You catch a glimpse of a rabbit with creamy white fur just before it leaps off of the shelf and directly onto your arm. You yelp. Nearly dropping the lighter, you scramble back as the rabbit hits the floor, collects itself, and sits on its haunches.

Green eyes glare up at you. The rabbit, small and bunny-like, stays firmly between you and the starry candle.

You stand with your chest heaving and your lungs scraping out air, almost burning your thumb on the lighter flame before turning around yourself. Where did the woodland creature come from? Did it crawl its way inside like a rat and become trapped within the colonial home? The shot of adrenaline still flowing through your veins leaves your hands shaking.

The rabbit is still watching you with uncanny eyes. Prey animals so rarely stare back at bigger, larger threats. Perhaps it’s a pet. A runaway pet that somehow ended up here, of all places.

You slowly offer out your hand, keeping the lighter away in your other, as you take a step towards it.

It thumps a foot once, as if in warning, then bounds away. You watch it disappear into the house, still reeling from the fright it gave you. 

If Michael was here, he would have laughed and told you to leave with him, now. He never wanted you to go here, especially alone, but you shake such ominous warnings away. He said curiosity killed the cat. You disagreed. This house is a part of history, not a curse. Witches are mere stories, conjured out of historical unrest and the longing to blame bad luck and tragedies upon an individual or three. 

There’s always an explanation for fear superstition or mistrust. It’s far more sad than it is spooky.

You shake your head, smooth out the creases in your sweater, and face the starry candle again. The lighter flame flickers softly as you draw near it.

It is the anniversary of the brothers’ executions. You remember now as the shadows from other candles drape over you like a veil. You are also a virgin.

You laugh to yourself, covering your mouth as you do so. Look at you! You’re getting so worked up because a rabbit jumped at you.

It’s only hocus-pocus.

You tilt the lighter until it engulfs the wick. The flame catches, and you at last snap the lighter shut and return it to your pocket. Your eyes squint slightly at the candle. The wick snaps and bursts into sparks. The flame is not yellow or orange or even blue—it’s pure white like a comet streaking across the sky.

A crack of thunder splits the night sky with a bellow so monstrous, you feel like a child again, fearing a storm. You drop low to the ground, shielding your head as if the very world was going to fall upon you. A spark cracks in the fireplace, conjured out of ash underneath the cauldron before it burns hot and bright. The cauldron immediately begins roiling and bubbling with water. Laughter, great and terrible, and filled with the most jester-like joy sweeps over the room.

The pulse in your ears drowns at any sense but the need to hide. You scramble into the corner, tucking yourself behind the stand of the starry candle and hunker down. Holding your breath, you grab a fistful of your sweater while clutching your chest, and watch the door to the almost 400-year-old house fly open.

Three figures stride inside, looking about the place with wide eyes and disk-like heads framed in jutting adornments not unlike sun rays or shrouded in a heavy, dark blue hood.

“Brothers! We’re home!” The first one, tall and dark with deep red hues to his form, accent in sharp orange sun rays and an eclipse upon his face, turns to face his brother with bright, cat-like yellow eyes. “Isn’t it glorious?”

Another figure steps forward, yellow and off-white. Pale eyes beam. His head is crowned in bright sun rays as well. His spindly fingers twindle together in exuberant energy while he glances about the room eagerly. “Oh, yes, yes! More than anything! It’s as if we weren’t gone for more than a day—though the dust and cobwebs beg to differ.”

He draws a claw—you suck in a sharp breath—along the table’s edge and rubs his taloned fingertips together in disappointment. 

“We must get to cleaning at once.”

“No,” the last figure fixes his hood with silvery digits. Golden jewels hang down the back of his unusual skull, the last and most prominent adornment a thick, golden star pendant. His eyes cast around the room, scarlet, and searching. “We must thank the little mouse who lit the candle.”

He flashes sharp teeth within his wide mouth, shaping it into a hungry grin. You gulp.

“Where are our manners?” The red and dark one twists back to the room with a flourish of his arms. His yellow gaze sweeps over the shelves and floors with a blade-like glint. “Of course, we must thank one so lovely.”

A dark cape drapes about his person. Underneath, a white flowing shirt hangs loosely to his lithe and slender figure, causing you to balk upon staring at such an exposed chest. The other two are no different, wearing similar shirts and dark trousers, but the hooded one bears a thick, longer cape while the sunny figure shares a cape similar to the first.

The yellow one lifts his wrists and frowns at the red ribbons tied around them. Golden bells jingle softly in an ominous chord. 

“How terrible a reminder of our current impermanence,” he growls low in his throat, all cheerfulness lost and causing you to squeeze your ribs in fear.

“Patience, Sun,” the red one speaks, though he too casts a narrowed glance to the black ribbons and golden bells adorning his wrists. “We will affix ourselves back to this world in due time.”

“Eclipse, what a delicious creature I smell.” The hooded figure steps deeper into the home. Blue claws scratch at equally blue ribbons knotted to his hand bones but his attention is terrifyingly fixed on the candle stand just above your hiding spot. 

You shrink further into the corner.

“Yes, Moon? And how lovely?” Eclipse, you assume, asks. His yellow eyes flash.

“As lovely as the stars,” Moon answers.

You watch claws curl around the wooden side of the candle stand, scratching deeply into the wood before a half-moon face emerges from behind, teeth set like a predator’s upon the sight of a wounded animal. Your heart flutters like a bird with a broken wing.

“Hello, little mouse. Won’t you come and play with us?” 

You scream as he leaps behind the candle stand, takes you by the arms, and pulls you to your feet. You struggle to free yourself, crying out as he grabs hold of your wrists and fixes you firmly in place. 

“My, how sweet,” he purrs in a dangerously low voice that rolls in the back of his throat. “You are the darling virgin who lit the candle, no?”

“Let me go!” You thrash but Moon grins in delight, as if you’re simply too precious. 

“You deserve proper thanks,” He lowers one hand, forcing you to submit with slightly bent knees. “Here is my gratitude, little mouse.”

You freeze as he brings your hand towards his mouth, and a hundred, horrifying visions of him biting your fingers off or sinking his teeth in your palm send your blood into a frozen sludge of fear.

The witch, however, presses a kiss to the center of your palm. The softness catches the gears in your mind and jerks them to a halt.

“Thank you for allowing us to return once more,” he rasps. His scarlet eyes find yours between the space of your thumb and forefinger, and a strange stirring takes hold of your middle.

“This isn’t real,” you breathe. Dizziness begins to take hold.

This must be a dream, a thought gone wild, or inhaled bacteria triggering hallucinations.

Moon’s grin widens. He lowers your hand, loosening his hold for one precious moment. You rip your hands free of his grasp. A low growl escapes him but you’ve already slipped away, your eyes upon the door and spilling with the need to rush out into the night, away from the impossibilities standing before you—

Arms snatch your waist and lift your feet from the ground. You gasp. 

Held in the air, you squirm before a hot breath dusts the shoulder of your sweater. You fall still, your throat bobbing as a mouth presses into the corner of your neck and lays a kiss on the sensitive spot. Gooseflesh prickles up and down your body.

“I assure you, I’m very real, little mouse,” Moon purrs. His hands squeeze your hips once. “And as nice as this… attire is, I would dress you in blues and silvers. You would look proper and powerful, like my brothers and I.”

A squeak escapes you. You shrink against him, caught in his embrace.

“Brothers?” The word rattles out of your throat. 

“This is our home,” Moon whispers. “And you are our most honored guest.”

You manage to pry off his hands from your waist. With a sinister chuckle, the blue and silver hands release you. Without looking back, you run, ignoring the twinge in your stomach that whispers it was too easy to get away.

You hardly get a few steps before the sunny one—Sun—steps into your path. He catches you in his arms and spins you in a waltz at breakneck speed, your feet never touching the ground, before stopping without warning as he dips you low. He looms above you, his smile filled with sharp teeth.

“Let me get an eyeful. Oh, yes, you look good enough to eat,” he simpers. His hand splays along the small of your back and you gawk up at him, still trying to regain your balance after the sickness-inducing whirl. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.”

“I just want to leave,” you whimper. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Sunshine,” he laughs, and it echoes with all of his heart—do once-hanged witches have a heart? There is no historical journey to give context to this very moment, you fear.

He lowers his sultry gaze to you. “I wish to only thank you. And I intend to.”

He pulls you back to your feet. You’re still clasped in his embrace like lovers on a ballroom floor. His hand hooks tight to your hip, and his other catches the side of your face. Heat spreads through the marrow of your bones.

On the tabletop beside you, something white moves across the plane of its surface, hunkering behind the thick stack of candles still burning.

His head lowers to your neck. You stiffen as he tilts your head away, opening you to his parting teeth. A tongue, dark and sinuous, flicks out of his maw. A gasp slips from your lips at the wet lick up the column of your throat. Eyelids fluttering, you start to sag as weakness fills your knees. He drags his tongue higher to taste your jawline and finishes at your cheek with a swipe for good measure. 

Your hands find him and clutch tightly to his slender arms. He presses his lips to your ear and with a misty warmth, whispers.

“Thank you for—Gah!”

The white rabbit leaps up from the table, squirming directly between you and his chest, breaking you apart. Instinctively, you jump away just as Sun snarls. The heart-wrenching sound shakes your entire frame as he snatches the rabbit by the scruff before it can scramble back from his wretched claws.

“I’ll boil you alive!” he thunders. He steps towards the cauldron, back where Moon leans against the wall, watching the spectacle with an amusing twitch of his grinning maw. Behind you, Eclipse stands at the door like a sentinel, his eyes still hungry and even furious as he follows his brother’s movement to the cauldron. 

Sun dangles the rabbit, now struggling and kicking but unable to find purchase against the witch’s hold, above the boiling water of the caldron.

“No!” you cry.

Sun’s eyes widen. He turns back to you just as you close the distance and scoop the rabbit in your arms. His claws, pale-boned and wickedly curved, clench around emptiness. Without thought, you turn and run again though there is little hope as you come to the door. Your boots stamp against the wooden floorboards.

The rabbit in your embrace turns its face up to you and mutters in a woman’s voice, “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

You gawk, stunned before hands catch you by the shoulders. You’re brought to a dead halt. The rabbit leaps from your arms, drops to the floor, and races away into a shadowy corner of the room with only one glimpse of its fluffy tail before you’re left alone.

You twist and face the eldest witch’s attention. Eclipse. His yellow eyes go up and down your body, and you watch in muted shock as two additional arms emerge from the shadows of his cap. He forces you backward, one step after the other until your back is pinned against a dusty wall.

You stare into his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly. Your pulse pounds in your eardrums.

“I don’t believe this is happening,” you utter.

The witch tilts his head with a wicked grin.

“We’ll make you a believer yet.” He promises, and his deep cords vibrate through your form. “My dear, we simply must thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

His claws slip over your collarbones. Your breath quickens, a stirring you cannot name unfolding deep within your middle. His extra set of hands fall to your hips and begin caressing the bones. Daintily, carefully, his warm fingertips slip just underneath the hem of your sweater, touching your bare flesh. A shiver runs down your entire body, leaving you to squirm.

“Be a good little comet,” he says softly, “Let me pour my gratitude all over you.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t know it was true,” you stare into his face, marked with a red crescent over a dark shadow, and his eyes pierce into the very nature of your being. “You’re back.”

“Because of you,” he rumbles softly in his chest. His grin pulls higher at the corners.

His claws slip over the nap of your neck and card gently into the small, sensitive hairs at the bottom of your skull. You breathe in. His eyes brighten in pleasure before he slips his sharp but controlled talons over the shells of your ears and follows the arch of your cheekbone. His gaze drops to your lips. Your heart thumps and thumps against your sternum so powerfully, you fear he may hear it.

His lips pull over his razor-sharp teeth and you stop breathing.

His other set of hands begins working up the sides of your torso. He rubs slowly and gently, but you squirm despite this. He touches you far too intimately when you have never experienced such affections before. A mewl escapes your lips. You wriggle as he refuses to relent. 

In answer, his upper hands lower and capture your hands together in one, and pin them above your head to hold you in place. He coos, chastising. A great roil starts in your stomach and expands upwards until your face becomes pink and flushed.

“Hold still, little comet,” he chuckles, and you whimper. “I’m not finished with showering you in all my adoration.”

“Eclipse,” your breath is harsh and hot.

“It is good to hear my name upon such lovely lips,” his voice lowers, husky and scorching. “I knew a virgin would light the candle. I swore it to my brothers as they set us on the gallows and draped nooses around our necks. You are our light, our savior. How could I ever thank you?”

In his words, his burning stare that singes with sincerity, it clicks into place. All at once, you believe what you are seeing with your own two eyes. 

It’s true. He’s back. He and his brothers have returned with magic.

“I have questions,” you say hesitantly in your demureness, “I want answers.”

“Of course,” Eclipse agrees easily. “But first…”

A dark claw brushes your hair back from your face. The flutter in your heart can’t seem to hold still. Eclipse’s grin widens and his eyes soften.

“You have freckles like constellations,” he murmurs in the manner of one gazing at the night sky or one studying an ornate painting.  

Before you can shape words to reply, to say anything that might free you from his grasp, his mouth is upon yours. A sound softly catches in the back of your throat. You fall still under his caressing hands still moving below your sweater. He traces the row of your ribs. You have just enough mind to wonder if he feels your skin prickle in your sensitivity. His other hand clasps your wrists tighter. You gasp against his teeth. 

He pulls gently, hungrily, taking you as if a bite of honeycomb. You become melted honey, easily malleable between his teeth and then molded by his mouth. His tongue invades you. You moan softly at the claim he lays upon you until you become weak in the knees and almost fall. His kiss seals your fate.

He releases you from his maw. You sink slightly, and his arms fall out from under your sweater to properly catch you. He lowers your wrists, returns your hands, and brushes your hair once more from your face.

A chuckle emits from his lips, and you burn.

“You’ll stay with us, won’t you?” he asks, but he waits for no answer as he scoops you into his arms. Feet dangling, you have no choice but to cling to his shoulders and endure his brothers’ attention as he twists around and faces them.

The rabbit’s right. You are in trouble. Michael warned you. He said curiosity killed the cat.

But charm brought it back.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ On Sunny Days I Go Out Walking ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x reader words: 3k synopsis: Jacaerys is learning that the world moves on. contents: angst. mourning, grief, major character death. mentions of depression, anxiety. sad jace notes: i was listening to the song francis forever by mitski and this somehow showed up fully written in 20 mins. also some inspo from mind over matter.... im so happy idk what else to say. super happy fic im happy and fine. this does not follow canon, jace aged up, no spoilers rly but like... iykyk. ps im sorry @softspiderling for what ive done. the gun is at my temple feedback is appreciated <3 requests open. masterlist

THE DARK IS NO FRIEND OF JACAERYS VELARYON.

A flicker, the single room illuminated in the obsidian of the castle at such an hour; the dark crawls upon him, slow as shadows, stealthy as the beast that lingers empty within his stomach. 

The dark has begun to infect him. 

Seeping slowly into skin, carving through into the sponginess of his bones - some shadowed poison, twisting and lingering in the blood that dawdles slowly through his veins. The quiet is deafening, in the way it had been up in the North those months ago; when snow tumbled from the chasmous skies in the dead of night, a blanket of reticence chilling him to his heart. 

Breaths tumble scarce from his lips. The darkness crawls, it whispers; fingers, blotched and stained, though he has scarcely written one word upon the parchment in the hour since he’s crawled from the refuge of bed. 

Perhaps, if things were different, there would be hands; hands, sleek and gentle, sliding over the slope of his shoulder, wrapping to embrace him from behind. A sweet whisper in his ear, encouraging. A ward to the shadows; though darkness swallows up any memory of that touch, the memory of which becomes more and more scarce with each breath he takes. 

Waves crash in the distance, twisting the dagger further into his gut. The word stares up at him - and he, avoiding the swimming vision, stares out into the pain of a world so large, so cold.

Dearest, 

He cannot bring himself to write what comes next. Your name, so sweet - your name, the world. His limbs frozen in fear - to pour his self into this letter, to release the pressure that has built and built and festered and rolled its beastly body upon itself to reveal a soft underbelly; a sharp pain below his ribs, one trembling hand pressing against the lids of his eyes, vision swimming in soft patterns. His lips wobble with poorly concealed anguish.

Jacaerys is no stranger to the feeling of loss - a swallowing, consuming dissolution, the eclipse of any warmth with the cold strike of grief. His father, fathers - and then when he lost his brother, he lost himself; anger, mistrust, pain. Your hands, the sweet embrace of your warm breast, heart beating strong enough for both of you when he thought his own might stop. You had been the one to suggest it, back then. 

The irony of it makes a vicious wave of bile begin to rise in his throat, fingers trembling as he holds a quill, shaking his head to rid himself of the barrage of sorrow that tears at his chest. 

You were there. In the middle of the night, when he could not find rest; in the peak of day, when the sun served nothing but a reminder of the laugh he would not ever hear again, you’d been there. Write a letter to him, you’d suggested. 

Jacaerys did not heed your suggestion for many days; a young man, festered with anger, revenge, grief; your insistence, despite his vicious sorrow, breaking through and softening the blow of life without Lucerys. With shaky hands he wrote the letter, one day. Brother, he’d addressed it to - and then, after sealing it in a bottle, had sent it into the tides in the early hours of the morning, turning to relieve his grief upon your shoulder. You’d held him in the wet sand until the sun rose in the sky. 

You would want him to do this, he knows - you, always pushing him to be better, to speak and be understood, to listen and understand, to feel, to love. To prepare, because when the time comes, when the crown is heavy upon his head, he will rule well - and you… to rule aside him. 

And that’s what it was for, in the end. You were what it was all for. 

But nothing of that remains; the quill hovers above the parchment, suspended in time. Jacaerys’ hand trembles with the weight of what he knows he could never convey. How can you express the loss of the entire world, your entire being, everything you are, into one piece of parchment? How can he confess that when you were consumed by those depths, he too was lost within them?

Jacaerys swallows the lump that rises; the parchment before him is warbled, dipping and swimming in his vision. His grasp shakes - with a soft whimper of desolation he realizes his foolish hand has marred your name, that sweet word, upon the parchment. Tainted, smudged now with darkness.

Your name, so sweet from the curl of your lips - lips now so cold to the touch, blue and purple with the unrelent of the ocean. That haunting thought - did you realize, in those last moments? 

Did you understand when you were going down, aflame and prepared to meet the Stranger? Was it Luke, who welcomed you with pale lips pulled into that ceaseless grin wherever your soul went after your body was dragged under the currents? 

A choked gasp, tears splattering upon the parchment.

Jacaerys used to grow exasperated with how Luke seemed to follow you and him around - blathering ceaselessly about anything he could think of; a menace, snickering when Jace threw glares at him yet beaming when you sent him a sly wink. You told Jace you didn’t mind Luke’s company, so Jace grew to enjoy it, too. 

After all, you’d always wanted a younger brother. 

Gods, why not me? The salinity mixes with the ink, tainting the curve of the first letter of your name as it begins to bleed through. He cannot stop the tears, his gasping sobs swallowed by the dark of eve. 

The letter is shoved away from him expeditiously, a heavy cloak falling upon him as he tries to suck in breaths; letting loose an involuntary groan of sorrow, his fingers tug at the laces of his tunic, much too tight against the heart beating into his chest.  The parchment flutters to the floor.

The cusp of adulthood was tread only by the hand within his own, the smiles in dark, the terse furrow of strategizing brows in the light of the council room. Jacaerys is a man, now - grasping, unsteady in the ground that has been ripped and overturned, the stench of fresh earth suffocating. The pillow that lies in the empty space of his mattress, illuminated by the second of two lit candles; dragged with detached hands that night when the raven came home, but you did not. 

It is beginning to smell less and less like you - like the dahlia blossoms you’d clipped in the gardens and refined into oils and pressed between the pages of Jace's old journals, the sweets you’d sneak into his chambers after a visit to the kitchens. Perhaps worse - with a violent twist of his gut, a panic; what will he do when the pillow is absorbed, the last of your scent snuffed by his own? Where will you have gone? 

He cannot bring himself to lay aside that pillow; with a shaky breath, he discards his tunic, running a shaky hand over a clammy chest, wishing it felt more like your own palm.

In only a few hours, the sun will wake. 

The darkness over the island will dissipate, the fog creeping along the coast in a slow crawl; and Jacaerys will rise, bleary and red-eyed, throat hoarse. He will break fast alone, as he does these days. He will rip apart pastries just to discard them upon the plate uneaten, take a sip of tea and force it down his throat; he will recall how you used to dunk little cookies into your own, how you often preferred to take yours with his mother when time allowed it, because you both enjoyed a later tea. 

He will walk to the hall, see to his duties - the Prince of Dragonstone; he will stare at the seat you used to occupy, recall the day he’d lifted you upon the table in isolation, how you’d sighed with a frilly laugh into his neck as he’d kissed the expanse of your face. He will walk to Aegon’s Garden, but he won’t go all the way towards the end where the freshly turned soil of the memorial grounds bears a new member.

The darkness will dissipate; the sun will rise.

The sun will come, and he will remember the way your hair shined in the early mornings, slumped upon the pillow, tickling his nose as he woke. 

The sun will rise every morning, but you will not. 

JACAERYS USED TO LOVE WATER.

He is kin of salt and sea; in one way or another - and the ocean, a soft presence, some secret rebirth. In youth, it held him like he was its own - wading, throwing stones, floating on lazy afternoons. Sailing with his father, slipping on the quarterdeck, diving into the captain’s quarters under rough seas. 

Jacaerys stares down at the water that surrounds him: Things are no longer what they used to be.

The bathwater is warm - his skin, pinked by the heat as tendrils of steam rise, a handmaid lifting his arm to scrub underneath his nails. The bath is full; he stares helplessly upon the ripples that undulate over the surface, eyes harrowed by his own reflection. A man he does not recognize. 

And a blink, then the face that stares back is so similar to his own; carved of the same bedrock stone, birthed of the same love, kissed by the same gods. Not himself, but one who knows him just as well, as close as one… a brother. Panic, a flash of jaws larger than the moon - pain, the wail of a lifelong companion, swallowed by a beast. A freefall, wind in ears. The cold, tumultuous sea, swallowing yelps, gasps, struggling to stay upright amidst screams for mother, for brother. Then, hair; not his own, nor his brother’s, but a reflection upon the refracted waves, a scream warbled as water fills sweet, kind lungs. The reflection of the one who knew him more than he knew himself - a smile, a gasp of pain. Legs, thrashing against currents, littered with arrows and tangled by a thick riding dress; skirts heavy, riding armor dragging to depths as hands grasp fruitlessly at a splintered castaway of shipwreck. 

This life; merely borrowed time from the Stranger. 

His hands tremble under the soft grasp of the houseworker; he ignores the looks of concern, sliding back until he is nearly submerged, letting the water flood his senses. This life - bright skies that leak through the curtains he continuously draws closed - soaked and numb, deafening silence as water trickles into his ear canals, an urge to breathe though he is submerged nearly to the line of lashes that weep from below his eyes. A voice asks meekly if he’ll be breaking his fast in his chambers this morning. He does not hear himself respond.

A rippled noise as his hand slides back into the water, the handmaids rising with worried looks before bowing, exiting to give the prince his privacy. He is left alone, isolated, small. Tired.

Is this what it was like? 

The cold, empty silence that followed your fall, bones splitting at the surface, water swallowing you, meeting with the same cruel depths that somewhere still tether Luke’s body to a watery grave.

Do wait up for me, my love… Your voice suffocates him. His throat tightens, head thumping against the back of the tub, tilting his head back to suck in a watery, ragged gasp, eyes screwing shut. Hot tears upon his cheeks. I heard they’re preparing lamb roast this evening, you’d told him as you’d straightened the clasp of his cloak. Such a sweet observation - his favorite of the meals the cooks oft prepared. Your bravery - a promise, a resolute promise. 

You’re ill, Jacaerys, you’d reminded him when he suggested once more he should come with you. You must rest. His worry was not easily concealed; yet you, with a smile so graceful it lit up the dragonmont; you, knowing him as familiar as your own reflection; you, brushing his hair away from his cheeks, poking his nose. -But do wait up for me, my love, and we can share dinner. I heard they’re preparing lamb roast this evening. 

He’d sighed then, worry lacing his heart as he roved his hands over your hips - for the last time. Your voice was so sweet, playful. I'll be fine, Jace. Don’t you trust me? 

A question asked rhetorically; yet he’d nodded, pressing a kiss to your hairline, straightening the riding armor over your dress, murmuring into your skin. I trust you with my entire being - with my life, and every life after. 

Your breath, shuttering as you tilted your head up, brushing your lips against his, whispering: And you, with mine. 

But the lamb roast went cold in the kitchen that evening. You did not return. A raven, broken whispers, his mother with unshed tears, choking as she grasped his shoulders, cradled his head - whispering: I’m so sorry, my sweet boy. 

The tears ripple into the bathwater. 

Jacaerys drifts, heart numb; harsh waves, sharp laughter, whispered kisses.

LIGHT IS DILUTED.

These days, the sun beats upon the castle; scarce clouds that begin to grow and cluster upon the shoreline, rumbling as they begin the slow descent upon the island. 

The scent of pine lingers in his nose; a sharp break from the salty air of coast, Aegon’s Garden is cloistered with tall trees, swaying in the breeze. The light that filters through the needles high above flickers in his vision; dappled shadows spreading across the path, crawling in a slow lumber towards the end of the garden.

He can feel you here, more than most places. 

The soft breeze in the wind, a fleeting touch of your nose against his neck. The trickling water of a stream nearby, crawling its way towards the sea - the bubble of your laughter between sheets, his fingers tickling your side gently, your hands pushing him away and then pulling him close. 

Those perfumed oils. gentle, sweet dahlia petals - lingering upon his clothing, upon his face after you'd pressed a kiss to his cheek. The call of gulls in the distance, the ones that'd flee when you and Jace, wild and yelling in joy upon Vermax's back, gave chase across the glassy refraction of the sea. Quiet afternoons under the pines, his head in your lap - he'd read you the history of house targaryen; you'd thread your fingers through his hair, and hum his favorite song.

Here, near the Dragon's Tail - where he taught you to weave wild grassroots and flowers together, and make a crown. You'd worn yours to supper proudly one evening, coaxing a grin from his mother and uncle alike when you'd placed the crown, wilting and too large, unto Joffrey's little head.

His steps are heavy; boots crunch softly on gravel as the pines sway, their needles whistling in the breeze. A sparse raindrop upon his shoulder.  

Silence passes until he's carried himself much too far - a tightness in his chest, breath coming in quicker as he nears the corner of the garden.

The intention was to turn around; though lost in the emptiness of his mind, watching a fat bumbling bee struggle to float its way past him, recalling when you'd helped Luke mend his split knee after tumbling from the low-lumbering branch of the tree near the Sept - Jacaerys’ steps slow, then stop altogether as the path bends and returns from whence it began. 

He told Baela he would not venture this far; though she told him it would be good - even offered to accompany him. The taste of his lip between his teeth has grown metallic as he stares ahead, eyes burning, heart stopped. 

Beauty is never consolatory, you’d told him once. He stares, heart pinched - a plethora of flowers - and there, carved in stone, fresh. 

His vision swims, taking a staggering step forward. The bush of forget-me-nots - vibrant, full of life - a soft, wistful blue, so matching the very shade that his brother oft favored. The flowers have grown in the months, spreading delicate beauty - indeed, not consolatory - and curling around the name: Lucerys Velaryon. 

And there, just beside them, white blossoms of dahlia. Your name.

His knees buckle. 

The ground welcomes the brunt of his weight upon his knees, trembling as he gasps - buds have just begun to open - white, bleeding with a deep red, leaking through and bursting sharply against the forget-me-nots. A new memorial grave. 

The buds flourish under the broken sunlight, even as light rain begins to kiss over the stones, sending heavenly tears over your name, over Luke’s. 

A glance upwards; some self-comfort, a seek for the dragons which circle the sky - the sunlight is gapped between the trees, swaying as rain falls from invisible clouds. Rainshine, you used to call it: Rainshine, Jace - You’d laugh, tugging him outside onto the ramparts, twisting the two of you in some lazy waltz through rain, smiling up at him, sunshine in your eyes, in your hair, in his heart. 

Tears fall from his aching eyes, though he is unsure if they’d begun when he entered the garden or just now, as he’s crumpled to his knees. A leaf falls, fluttering to land on the path beside him, orange and yellowed from the liquidation of summer. 

He stares in disbelief at the forgotten frond, settling itself onto the pavement, so ready to be trampled, discarded, destroyed. Some sick cycle; a long season through, fruit rotting unpicked, sunshine and days of warmth melting fresh and revealing upturned decomposition of below. Summer is ending.  

The smell of earth, of ocean; the sweet sick of flowers, once so lovely, now nauseating. It hits him within the chest: this summer cannot end - you are still here. His heart, suffocated as he stares, hands beginning to shake. 

Fingernails cake with dirt, grasping at the soft earth that lies before him; the heavy smell has begun to take over, a thick, lingering sweetness that has turned bitter in his mouth, rotting dahlias festering in the late heat of summer, soon to freeze and wilt in the cold of winter coming. 

“No,” His voice is hoarse. His head shakes, palms to the ground, reaching for whatever part of you remains in this cold earth. The sound of the ocean, mocking; The rattle of a hoarse whimper, tears hot and lethal against the apple of his cheeks, “Don’t go.” 

His words remain empty, heard only by the flowers blooming in the sorrow of the garden, forgotten by ears long since gone. “Don’t make me, please,” He sobs, now - eyes squeeze, tears fertilizing the deep roots of your flowers, “Please, don’t make me leave you.” He whispers, voice cracked and trembling with emotion. Don't make me leave you in the decay of summer. 

He remains, miserably curled between your memorial and his brother’s, pillowed by his hands as though he is once again a boy; head bowed, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Pine, earth, flowers - it is overwhelming, so thick he might choke on it. A blurry glimpse against the rain, against the hues of white, of red, of blue - the light which filters down upon him, a mockery - bright, much too alive in the garden of death. 

Jacaerys’ head tilts back as he sucks in a gasp, tears leaking hot over his red cheeks, a dizzying wave of vertigo spinning the world around him - stumbling backwards down an endless staircase, reaching for the cold, lifeless hands which once held him so lovingly.

The leaf finds itself in his hands - a blurry hole through it, tiny, from the jaws of some insect; eaten through, a skeleton of summer. 

There is something etched into it by the hands of nature; though he swears it almost spells your name. It is crushed with the weight of his fingers, disintegrating into the stream that trickles just beyond the flowerbeds, pulled along, towards the deep blue of endless sea to watch over you and Lucerys' forgotten graves.

Jacaerys curls in on himself, wracked with quiet sobs that dwindle into a tranquil stare at the blotches of sunlight through the trees; he should have let Baela come, or perhaps sought the company of his mother - the garden is awfully empty, the world awfully empty - in such a large absence. 

His fingers trail shakily over the curved letters of your name, carved into the stone as he stares, tears ceaselessly leaking, chest hiccuping. “P-please,” He whispers again against the straining pain in his chest, lips brushing the earth, trying to recall the sound of your voice, the feeling of your lips. The twisting days, shortening with the fall of each eve; soon, he will have to face winter, and you will be left in summer. His tears are salted; they sting over his lips as he whispers against the stone of your name. “Please, I don't want to. Don’t let me leave you.” 

Whispers in the wind that almost sound like you, calling his name. But there is no answer.

Leaves rustle in the breeze, the sunlight dapples across his body, the birds sing, the flowers bloom.

The world continues to move on without you.

taglist: @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @jottositto @chloe-petrichors @elaena-aerrin @smurfelle @greenvita @alyssa-dayne @uhnanix and also to @cregan-starks ily. @dipperscavern pls do not revoke my writing skills. also i need that shotgun pls and thx

[merakiui]

everything is going to be okay.

yandere!trey clover x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, descriptions of unsettling imagery, derealization, implied drugging, descriptions of hyperdontia, descriptions of teeth falling out, non-graphic allusions to sexual assault, emotional manipulation, gaslighting note: 01110111011011110111010101101100011001000010000001101001001000000110110001101001011001010010000001110100011011110010000001111001011011110111010100111111

i. itchiness - the worst feeling in the world is knowing something is inside of you, and there’s nothing you can do to get it out.

A white rabbit blinks up at you with its beady, red eyes. Its nose twitches. Once. Twice. Thrice. A quiet breeze slithers through the field in which you currently stand, surrounded by lush greenery and colorful wildflowers. They sprawl endlessly, clawing at the horizon beyond with botanical fingers. You watch rainbows sway, dewy petals fluttering like butterfly wings beating against a cloudless, cerulean sky.

You take one step towards the rabbit and it takes off in a sprint, bounding through knee-high grass. You stagger after it, crushing flowers underfoot. Stems snap like spines, sturdy until smashed. You hear agony whispered in the wind: How could you? How could you? How could you?

Shrugging it off, you pursue the rabbit. The grass grows with every passing minute, thickening in abundance. It’s so tall it blocks your view of the sun, eclipsing your figure like a menacing shadow. You fight through it, your gaze pinned solely on the speck of white fur. Verdant blades brush your skin, soft like silk. Itchy like hair. Itchy like maggots wriggling in marrow.

Itchy.

You struggle through the infestation until, eventually, you burst through the grass. The other side is calmer here. When you glance back at the way you came, you find a wall of grass stretching up into the above. The wildflowers are nowhere to be seen, but you can hear them when you stick your head through the grass. They’re still weeping: Why? Why? Why? It’s not fair. We were so happy. You’ve stomped us out—ruined us. We’ll never grow back the same.

“You coming?”

You whirl at the sound of a familiar voice, scanning the field in search of him. Instead, the rabbit is just a few feet away. It tilts its head at you, ears pricked. You meet its scarlet stare.

Something tells you you’re better off waiting. There’s no point in chasing, but curiosity crawls into your cranium. You hurry ahead, single steps sliding into fast, frantic footfalls. The rabbit moves quickly, its little legs thumping against the ground. You run until your every breath squeezes your heart. Until your head is dizzy. Until you’re nauseous and panting.

You run all the way to the edge of a forest, the field falling away in patches, and you reach for the trees, fingers splayed. The rabbit is within your grasp.

You step with your right leg and crush a violet butterwort.

Pain shoots through your foot in a white-hot flash. The butterwort stabs through your sole, emerging from your flesh as if it’s simply a clay pot with soil for snuggling. You yank your leg away and roots are ripped from the ground with it, attached to the flower stuck in your foot. Warm blood trickles out. Green grass is stained rusty-red. It sweeps along your calf, a physical lullaby.

Itchy.

“Fuck,” you hiss, stumbling backwards. The root goes with you, an endless strand set deep into the ground. You tug, but the flower persists. It folds itself into a bow and wraps its petals around your foot in a parasitic hug. “Let go of me.”

At the edge of the forest, the rabbit remains. Watching. Waiting. Wondering.

You flop onto your side, breathing heavy and haggard. The pain is itchy. The blood is itchy. The flower is itchy. You grab at it with shaky fingers and attempt to pry it off. Trees tower overhead, bark bending forwards to loom like leering fiends. With all of your might, you yank the butterwort out. It comes free with a sickening snap, soil-speckled roots dragging through the hole in your foot.

Itchy.

Between the breeze and your devastated whimpers, you hear it—the withered wheezing of the earth beneath your body.

Suddenly, the trees have eyes. Suddenly, everything is alive.

Desperately, you stretch your arm towards the rabbit. It blinks at you. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then it turns and disappears into the forest beyond.

You roll over on your back just as more butterworts bloom from soil moistened with your blood. A garden germinates from flesh and bone.

You shut your eyes.

Itchy.

When you open them, you see a single blade of grass backdropped by a cumulus-spotted sky. He peers down at you, glasses glinting in the sunlight, and offers his hand.

“Nice day for a nap, isn’t it?” He smiles a boyish, lopsided grin.

You stare for another quiet second before closing your hand around his. “Trey…”

Right. Your friend, Trey, who offered to stay with you in the wake of…something. Something about companionship. Something about looking out for you during difficult times. Something about something. 

Was that it? What did he say again?

Words are a valuable thing for people like Trey. When strung together, they create stories and Trey is especially good at amazing others with sugared ambiguity.

You allow him to pull you up. When he moves to brush the grass clinging to your clothes, you jerk away. The two of you stare at each other for an abnormally long time.

A discordant note resounds within your head, a strangled cry from a pretty piano. The jarring crash of splintered glass. Looking at him now, in his green-and-white checkered jumper and boring, beige slacks, you feel…itchy. There’s a dull ache at the back of your throat. You think you might be coming down with a cold.

Spring is just starting to poke through the frost of winter. Even though today’s sunny and the weather is warmer than usual, there’s a frigid feeling in the air. A disconnect between seasons. That odd border between not-quite-winter and not-quite-spring.

“How long was I out for?”

Trey’s hand falls to his side. “Long enough to give the muffins time to cool.” He nods in the direction of the house, a quaint structure built at the edge of the forest. “I made your favorite.”

You brighten like candles lit in a birthday cake. Twenty of them, in fact, all arranged perfectly. It will take twenty more for you to overcome the tragedy of never having the chance to partake, for every slice was dragged onto the plate and devoured with haste. And all the while the flames flickered, burning wax down to tiny stumps.

Itchy.

Blueberry muffins are placed on a circular glass plate. The accompanying dome lid sits off to the side. You take one and turn it over in your hands. How does someone determine their favorite food? And when does that food stop becoming a preference? Memories attach themselves to everything: clothing, rooms, bodies. Even food. If something unsavory happens when indulging in a favorite, the memory soaks into the batter. The next time you encounter it, even if it’s in a dream, you avoid it. Not because the food has lost its flavor, but because the memory has corrupted the comfort of the gastronomic experience.

In a distant past, you think you liked blueberry muffins. Certainly at one point, right?

Still, you bring it to your lips and bite into spongy bliss.

Blood fills your mouth.

Trey’s initial placidity morphs into something disturbed. He moves to your side, to your aid, but you shove him away. The blueberry muffin lands on the table in a spoiled heap, crumbs scattering. You spit chunks of muffin into your palms. It feels like something’s lodged in your throat. A tiny porcelain hand pinching the skin of your esophagus in an unrelenting hold. A wad of something impossible to swallow. Like words or screams.

Crimson-tinged saliva dribbles past your lips. Lying in your hands, amidst bits of chewed muffin, is a sliver of skin.

“(Name)?”

Your name sounds wrong on his tongue.

“Hey, are you okay? Let me get you some water. Wait right there.”

Wrong. It’s wrong.

You stare at the flabby piece of skin. Your skin.

Trey returns with the aforementioned water. He pulls a chair out from the table. “Sit and have a drink. Not too fast. Slowly now.”

The rest of the muffin is swept away, destined for the rubbish bin. While you watch Trey clean up your mess, you sip at lukewarm water. Your tongue squirms in your mouth, searching for the space that’s now bleeding freely. You find it, almost like one finds the space where a missing tooth ought to be, and prod at it with your tongue. It’s raw and sensitive. Stinging slightly. You wince.

“Bit my cheek,” comes your reply when Trey walks over. He wipes his hands on a towel patterned with tulips. “Hurts.”

Trey frowns. Golden hues flick from the plate of muffins to your forlorn face. He lowers to his knees, peering up at you through his glasses. “Don’t eat so fast next time, all right? You could choke.”

“Tastes funny.”

“I can’t imagine it’s very appetizing. Blood and blueberry muffins… A crazy combo, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

He chuckles. “Well.” He runs his hand through his hair. It reminds you of the grass and trees outside. Of a summer that has long since passed. “Nothing like a little scare to liven the afternoon. How’re you feeling?”

You set your half-empty glass on the table. “Better. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. You wanna try another one? I promise the next one won’t have you biting your cheek.”

“I… I think I’m good. Thank you, though.”

“As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” Trey smiles. “I’ll make something softer for dinner. Any requests for the chef?”

You think back on all of your favorites and choose something you wouldn’t mind losing. “Lentil soup.”

After tonight, you’ll never enjoy the taste of that dish again.

Maybe that’s okay. Soups are easy to eat. Easy to slip special sentiments in.

Soup is what becomes of your brain when your body is too itchy.

ii. incessant - static is buzzing in your ears. buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. fluffy like bumblebees. sharp as a sting.

The elusive rabbit is looking at you again, red eyes boring into the back of your skull. You glance over your shoulder at it. A little bow fashioned from blades of grass is fastened around its neck. It nods in a new direction, urging you to follow. For a moment, you stand there and wait. Deep down in some forgotten corner of your stomach, you know you’ll never be able to catch the rabbit.

So you fall into step as it hops off to its destination.

Hedges line the horizon, boasting roses and thorns. The rabbit leads you all the way to the entrance of the maze. A xylophone rattles. You step forward. Another hedge rises from the ground up to trap you inside. With the rabbit out of sight and no other way around, you trek onwards into the maze.

The frequency at which xylophone chimes are registered and translated in your mind are muffled. At best, they’re almost silenced. At worst, they are static—piercing and grating in your ears.

Amidst so much static, Trey’s voice has always remained at the same pitch. An immutable intonation, one that fills the clouds with buoyant assurances: Just relax. You’re all right. I’ve got you.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him shout, but that makes sense. Grass only whistles and shivers in the breeze. It never screams. It’s soft and sweet—a wondrous embrace until it begins to feel itchy with time. Like a wool sweater. Like ants crawling in lines up your arms. Like cobwebs wrapped around your wrists.

The grass in your garden sounds more like static. Incessant, ear-splitting static. In your brain, bunching up like scribbles on paper, and falling in waterfalls from his mouth whenever he speaks.

It was static you heard when the grass cradled you in wispy tendrils.

Quiet at first, as if the world had been clicked off like a bad program on television, and then the static came seeping in. Rot was encroaching, grabbing at the rabbit and gutting it before your horrified eyes.

Somewhere within the maze, a jovial, uplifting song spills from a spinet. It puts you at ease, filling your soul with serenity.

Itchy dissonance. A rabbit split open, gooey innards tumbling free. Cotton fur tarnished. Lines running red.

Dead.

The spinet swells with rhythm. You’re walking yourself into corners, traveling in circles.

Incessant melodies, ringing in your ears like cicada shrieks.

The circle winds around and around. Where are you going? Hedges on either side, white roses blooming from comforting green. The deeper you delve, the darker they bloom. Mottled, petals wilting, white closes up and shrivels away.

Blotted black with tar, trailing in thick streaks.

Your feet pound against mossy meadows. You need to find the exit. It’s here and then there and then here again. It’s everywhere and then it’s nowhere. It’s here. Here. Here. Here. Here—

Now it’s there!

Static screeches. Blood trickles from your ears.

It hurts until it doesn’t. Until the static numbs everything and all that’s left is nothing. Blank and bitter, a wonderland set on mute.

The hedges breathe alongside you. It’s incessant, unintelligible static.

Frosting melts on cake. Pastels are sticky and spoiled. Candles droop.

A xylophone played in garbled glissando.

Quiet breaths. In and out. In and out. The grass whispers to you: “Hey, it’s fine. You trust me, right?”

In and out.

Out and in.

In and out.

Out. Out. Out. Incessant itchiness. Get it out.

Glass shatters. The rabbit’s heart, still beating faintly, is slit. 

That…didn’t just happen, did it?

It didn’t, right?

Grass is supposed to be soft and full of life when watered with love.

That didn’t just happen.

What happened?

The grass billows in a breeze. “You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

You’re not. You…are anything but fine.

What happened?

You run under an arch, past thinning hedges, over the threshold, and burst into the kitchen.

“Trey!”

He startles, almost dropping a bowl of cake batter. His glasses sit crooked on his face. It takes a moment for him to process your arrival. He sets the bowl on the countertop and turns fully to face you, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His concern makes your skin prickle.

Itchy.

“Everything okay?”

Incessant.

“Why…” Your fingers curl around the doorframe. You gulp down a gasp. “Why are you here again?”

He gives you a weird look. “You said you needed my help—that you were having trouble getting up in the morning. Remember? Actually… Here. How about this? Do you want me to fix you a cup of chamomile? It’ll help with anxiety and insomnia.”

Your once rapid-moving world slows to a screeching halt. You said that? When? When did you say that? When the fuck did you say that?

“I…don’t remember saying that. Ever. I don’t think I invited you here either…”

Trey shakes his head, tutting softly. “I get it. It’s rough. I know.” He folds the spatula through the batter. Calmly. “But you’re exaggerating. I’m only here to help.”

Static. Incessant, itchy static. You blink owlishly at him, straining to hear over it.

“What?”

“I came over because you asked me to, and I’m staying to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine.” You point towards the door. “I think… Trey, I think you need to leave.”

His arm, which had previously been moving in circles, falls still. He sets the bowl down again. “We’ve talked about this before, (Name).”

“I don’t remember.”

“All the more reason for me to stay, yeah?”

“No… No, that’s not—”

Trey smiles, his tone lighthearted. “Hey, relax. You’ll feel better after something sweet. It won’t take long for the cake to bake. Wait for a little longer. If you want, you can lick the spatula when I’m done—”

“I don’t want cake.”

“No? I remember you told me it was your favorite, though. Am I remembering wrong?”

Is he?

“It’s…gross.”

“Gross?” He chuckles sheepishly. “That bad, huh? Not a fan of my baking?”

You gaze past him at the batter in the bowl. Confetti cake. You look towards Trey again. “What was that?”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t hear the words.

Static.

Incessant, itchy static.

You track his lips, his eyes, his hands.

“What?”

Sound seeps in, crunchy but audible.

“…a joke,” he’s saying. “I was just joking.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Don’t worry about it. My feelings aren’t hurt. I know you enjoy my baking.”

The TV tunes into a nonexistent channel. Static buzzes on the screen.

Loud. Louder. So loud!

You can’t hear yourself think. Can’t hear your lungs wheeze. Can’t hear yourself speaking slowly as you stumble into the grass’s green embrace.

Incessant. You’ll go insane. Static. Incessant. Too much. You feel sick. Bile drags itself up your throat.

Loud. Loud. Loud. Impossibly, incessantly loud!

Your arm sweeps through the air. The bowl is flung across the room. Ceramic shatters. Batter spatters on the wall and kitchen tiles. You feel the dull ache in the aftermath. Trey’s speaking, but it’s just static. All-consuming. Buzzing like flies over birthday cake gone bad. Incessant.

And then the TV clicks off.

And then it’s quiet.

iii. insanity - over and over and over and over and over and over and over and and and and and and and andandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandand01100001011100100110010100100000011110010110111101110101001000000110111101101011011000010111100100111111

Teeth. All thirty-two of them. Porcelain teeth. All forty-two of them.

They grow under your tongue and along the roof of your mouth in clusters. Insanity. It’s doing the same thing incessantly while anticipating different results. Insanity. It’s looking at too many teeth crammed where they shouldn’t be.

Opening your mouth as wide as it can go, you peer at yourself in the mirror. Your tongue runs along them. Smooth.

Teeth. All fifty-two of them. Hellish hyperdontia.

Grass is pesky when it gets in your mouth, reaching far with green fingers.

Flossing is important. If you forget, your gums will bleed and bleed, and then your mouth will be in for a world of pain. You’re smarter than this, so you need to keep up good dental hygiene. Brush and floss as you would, but not too hard or else you’ll break.

Insanity. It’s taking advice from butterworts and rabbits—from meadows tilled and filled with sin.

Teeth. Too many. Have you been flossing properly?

And then they’re at the back of your throat, sprouting from skin like the dainty heads of a dozen Frozen Charlottes. You stick your fingers down your throat to grab at one, but you can’t get hold of it. You cough. Teeth are closing up your esophagus. You look at your mouth and see a lamprey.

Insanity. It’s full of teeth.

You gag around them, heaving mouthfuls of air that struggle to reach your lungs. You feel teeth in there, too, growing in groups like an invasive species. You brace yourself against the sink, gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles sting. Your jaw is starting to feel sore.

Terrified, you find your reflection staring back with wide eyes. And then the first tooth comes loose. It falls into the basin of the sink with a pattering clink. You inhale through your nose, and that’s as much of your shock as you can express before more teeth follow suit. They shift out of your gums, one by one, until dozens of them are spilling out in calcium rain. Bent over the sink, you spit and spit. Tears threaten to pour from your eyes.

This can’t be happening.

You try to scream, to beg for it to stop, but the teeth keep coming. For every few that fall out, twenty more grow. It’s a cycle.

Insanity.

Incessant.

Itchy.

You sob helplessly, salt mingling with saliva and teeth.

When you look back at the mirror, you see blood stringing from empty gums.

The bathroom light flickers. Dizzying darkness. An unusual heat settles under your skin.

Itchy.

Incessant.

Insanity.

The bathroom light flickers. Blinding brightness. You’re still reeling. The heat won’t go away. Your eyelids are heavy. You feel sleepy, but it’s only early evening.

“Everything okay?”

You spy Trey in the mirror. His arm is propped against the doorframe as he leans in, half of his body shrouded in the shadows from the hall.

You swallow. It goes down smoothly. The teeth have retreated.

“T-Too much chamomile,” you grind out, reaching up to touch the column of your throat.

Teeth. All thirty-two of them.

The basin is empty. No teeth.

“How about a slice of bread? You’ve gotta eat something, (Name).”

“I’m not hungry.”

Your tongue traces all thirty-two of your teeth. They’re there, rooted firmly in your gums.

Trey frowns. “At least let me heat the leftover lentil. It’s liquid. You won’t bite your cheek again.”

“I might burn my tongue.”

“If you’re worried, I could feed you instead. Airplane it and everything.”

At your bewildered stare, Trey laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Joking.”

“Are you really here to help me?”

He lowers his arms. An uncanny cold fills the bathroom.

“Nothing is going to get you.”

“What?”

“There’s nothing here, (Name). You’re safe.” Trey glances down the hall for good measure. The hair on your neck rises, alert. “It’s in your head. You’re messing with yourself, you know, getting worked up over things that aren’t really there. I promise you’re okay. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here.”

It’s not in your head. Of course not. It couldn’t be.

Right?

It’s not really in your head, is it?

You storm out of the bathroom, pushing past Trey in your impatience. He follows you soundlessly. Everything looks the same. The sofa. The wallpaper. The kitchen. The cracks and creaks. Nothing’s changed.

So is it in your head? What is it—the thing in your head? It’s itchy and incessant. It makes everyone gaze at you as if you’re insane.

If you could, you’d take a scalpel to your body and cut yourself out of your skin, put it through a long wash cycle, and hang it out to dry. Maybe then the thing would leave.

You stop at the front door, suddenly hesitant. Has it all been in your head? Are you going crazy? Is Trey right: There’s nothing here and you’re making everything up?

You wrench it open.

A black rabbit blinks up at you with its milky-white eyes. Its nose twitches. Once. Twice. Thrice. A loud gust slithers through the field in which you currently observe, surrounded by decaying greenery and wilted wildflowers. They sprawl endlessly, clawing at the horizon beyond with broken fingers. You watch monochrome tones sway, dried petals flaking off like scabs against a battered, bloodless sky.

You take one step towards the rabbit and it takes off in a sprint, bounding through—

The grass gathers you in a hug. It whispers strangely soothing static.

“Everything is going to be okay.”

iv. 01101001011101000010000001110111011000010111001100100000011000010110110001110111011000010111100101110011001000000111010001110010011001010111100100101110

[pasukiyo]

LEECH: ALL AROUND ME

| a collection of one-shots. collection masterlist.

DISCLAIMER: this fic is simply a work of fiction and is in no way, shape, or form claiming to be a reflection of how leon kennedy is canonically portrayed as a character. this is an au, meaning it is an alternate reality written for fun, so please heed this warning and keep it in mind while you read.

** none of these fics necessarily need to be read in any sort of order **

— to join the taglist, follow the link here and choose "leon kennedy" in the character list.

collection songbook

leon kennedy x fem!reader word count; 3,031 warnings; leon is a stalker, themes of dark!leon, smut, masturbation (both m & f), alcohol use, allusions to oral (f receiving), spit play? summary; long shifts two days in a row apparently called for drunken measures. she knew it had to be because she was drunk that she was breaking her routine, that she was thinking about leon kennedy again, that her hand was slipping between her thighs, that she could feel him all around her...

 Ghosts haunted the long hallway leading to her apartment door. They lingered in the shadows, watching her as she walked by, their gazes like insects crawling on her skin. She was too tired to fully acknowledge them now but they were there, she could feel them all around her. 

 For now, she fumbled around with her key, circling the hole in the knob through half-lidded eyes until it finally entered the lock. The door squeaked as she stepped into her apartment, kicking her foot back against it to close it again. Sleep weighed heavily on her eyelids and there was a crick in the back of her neck she desperately tried to rub out as she locked the door, groaning while she tossing her purse and keys atop the kitchen counter. 

 She shuffled her feet towards the refrigerator, squinting against the harsh, yellow light inside as she reached for the leftovers from the night prior. She was going through the motions— dumping the contents of the white styrofoam to-go box onto a plate, opening the microwave, setting the plate down, slamming the door closed, pressing the 1, 3, 5 buttons. 

 Nights after long shifts at the hospital were always spent like this. Barely able to feed herself properly through a numb mind, scarfing down the lukewarm food, tossing the styrofoam to-go box away, staggering into the bathroom, stripping herself of her scrubs, turning the knob of the shower all the way to the left until the water was hot enough to scorch her skin. 

 It was all routine and practically nothing could break her from it through her barely-cognizant mind. Nothing— although, she did wonder somewhere in the back of her mind whether or not she left her toothbrush on the edge of the sink rather than in its holder before she left that morning. 

 Her flesh pleasantly burned as she shut off the shower, wringing the water from her hair before wrapping herself in a towel, stepping onto the bathmat. She finished the rest of her routine— brushing her teeth, blow-drying her hair, tugging on a t-shirt and underwear. 

 She was completely numb to the world by the time she was finished and all she could think about was her bed. Nothing could distract her from her bed. Everything ceased to exist save for her bed. 

 She practically face-planted into the mattress, tugging the comforter over her body as a chill settled into her bones. It was cold, unusually cold but cold was nice— she could sleep better when it was cold. 

 Nothing could distract her from her bed, from the sleep that was finally coming to, so close now, it hovered over her like the moon over the sun in an eclipse. Nothing could pull her away from sleep now— although, she did wonder whether or not her closet door had been cracked when she left that morning. 

 Her shift was an hour less than the one she’d worked the previous day. 

 She wasn’t sure if she should’ve been celebrating, as working nine hours was practically the same as working ten, but she’d take the small-scale victory for what it was worth anyways. 

 “You drinking tonight?” A fellow nurse, Grace, asked as they both gathered their things. She blinked at her coworker, then past her where another nurse, Isa, stood, staring back expectantly. 

 “I just worked nine hours,” she informed, turning back to her locker to shovel the rest of her things in her bag. 

 “Perfect drinking measures, if you ask me,” Isa grinned, leaning a shoulder against the wall. Grace closed her locker, tittering an, “exactly.”

 She sighed as she slammed her own locker closed, huffing a lock of hair away from her face while she slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. The two nurses gazed back with expectant looks— she had a feeling they wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. 

 “I should really catch up on sleep.”

 Grace and Isa rolled their eyes in unison, the latter reaching forward to give her elbow a shove with her own. 

 “Come on. Just one drink and then you can go home, okay?” Isa pinched her brows together, her eyes rounding in a look that made her curse beneath her breath. She knew she couldn’t say no now. 

 “Fine,” she grumbled. “One drink. And I’m not paying.”

 She had more than one drink. 

 One turned into two, two turned into three, and four had her stumbling over her own feet down the hall towards her door at a quarter past midnight. Ghosts still haunted the hallway, lingering in the shadows, watching her with eyes that made the hairs on the back of her neck perk. She turned and glared back, even though to nothing in particular. She huffed at the prickly feeling of being watched, muttering a string of curses beneath her breath while she fumbled with her key as she approached her door, seemingly unable to find the hole in it. 

 “Come on,” she groaned until finally, the key was in and she hastily turned the lock, stumbling. The door banged against the wall as she fell into the knob, cursing again as she slammed it back closed. She locked the door behind her and fell back against it with a huff, trying to blink the blurriness away from her drunken vision. 

 The cue in her brain that usually reminded her of her routine: eat leftovers from fridge, take shower, go to bed failed to function properly. Instead, images of memories embedded somewhere deep in her mind flashed, flooding her every sense until her entryway faded and she was back in the secret government training facility, knocking back a drink someone had snuck in. 

 She sat on a cot with her legs over someone’s bare lap, their fingers tracing patterns into her calves. When she swallowed down the bitter liquid and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, she blinked up at them to find they already stared back. 

 “Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked, leaning over to hand them back the flask. Leon’s full, pink lips curved into a soft smile as he brought the rim of the small container to his lips, taking a sip of its contents. 

 “Looking at you like what?” 

 She pursed her lips as she leaned back on her elbows, head lolling back towards the metal rods that made up the headboard. “Like you’re trying to get into my head,” she replied and Leon snorted, setting the cold bottom of the flask down on her knee, resting his other hand on the middle of her calf.

 “I’m not trying to get into your head,” he said, leaning his head back against the wall, green with muck. She narrowed her eyes, “right.” 

 She rolled her head around her neck, brow pinched as her gaze found his again. Her eyes trailed from his down to the breadth of his shoulders, to his toned chest and stomach. There was an angry swelling in the crook of his neck and she pushed herself up to lean over towards him. Leon’s blue stare followed her hand as it reached for the mark, his breath hitching for but a mere moment when her fingertips touched his skin, his grip tighter around the metal flask.

 “It’s so red,” she noted and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was bordering on drunk that she was so entranced in this little, dark bite, but all she could really gather was that something about it made her feel… good. There was something so enthralling about having made a mark upon another’s skin, something that felt so potent. The blemish she’d made on his skin in a way made him hers, made it feel real. 

 “It doesn’t hurt,” Leon said, his eyes trailing up from her arm, past her naked breasts, up to her face. She blinked up at him, finger still on his pulse point, feeling it throb beneath her. It’s beat was irregular to her own heart but still, it beat for her, because of her, nonetheless. Leon’s flesh grew hot underneath her fingertip, like she was the match rubbing and igniting against him. 

 In a way, she really was. There was something about the way Leon felt, the way he looked at her, the way he smelled that had her center throbbing, flooding with liquid warmth. Her belly was melting and she felt like her entire body was on fire, unable to extinguish if she didn’t have him all over her. 

 She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his, his tongue eager and already feeling around her mouth. She already felt his hands circling around her waist— the flask toppling to the ground from over the side of the bed— pulling her in closer, her legs slithering around his hips. Her arms rounded his neck and she used them as leverage to allow herself to draw even further into him, deepening their kiss. 

 Leon kissed her with a fervor she’d felt from no one else before. He kissed her like she was his lifeline, like her lips were the tourniquet holding him together. He kissed her like he planned to infect, to invade her every sense and corrupt like a parasite. He was the sickness injecting itself into her veins and wearing down her bones but when he kissed her like that, she couldn’t find it within herself to care. 

 She canted her hips in his lap, feeling his erection beneath her ass, covered by the thin, fleece blanket on top of his legs. Leon hissed through his teeth as they pulled away for a moment of breath, a thin string of saliva bridging their mouths together. She glanced between it and back to the hazy storm in his eyes, dipping her chin to follow the line of spit back to his mouth, pulling him in for more. 

 One of Leon’s hands ventured from her waist, all the way up her back to her neck, creeping into the hair on the back of her head, his fingers woven in the tresses there. With a firm yank, her lips were pried off of his and she gasped, chin dripping with spit, another bridge of saliva drooping low towards their laps. 

 “Open,” Leon panted, the pad of his thumb not in her hair prying at her bottom lip. She complied, lips falling open and she watched as he gathered saliva on the tip of his tongue, leaning in closer to spit into her mouth. She hummed at his taste, stared into his eyes and he watched the lump in her throat bob as she swallowed. “Fuck.”

 There still remained a bridge of spittle between their mouths and she watched from the bottom of her lids as Leon copied her actions from before— following the trail of spit until his lips were on her chin, sucking the saliva that coated her skin there. 

 Her lips fell agape in a gasp, eyes rolling in the back of her head as his mouth left a slimy trail of spittle down her throat, lapping at the oasis between her neck and shoulder. It was so filthy, being kissed like this but fuck, she wanted more of it. She wanted more of his spit on her skin, more of his tongue swirling on her flesh, more of his teeth etching marks into her body, more of his saliva down her throat. 

 Leon’s tongue whirled to the crook of her neck, the same place where she’d left a mark on him and pressed soft, tender kisses there. She could feel him breathe against her skin, his breath warm and making her saliva-coated flesh bump with chills. The palm of one of her hands smoothed over his chest, trailing all the way up to his shoulder and around his neck just as his teeth sunk into the flesh at the base of her throat, her fingers woven through the dark blonde locks at the nape of his neck, tugging. 

 “Oh… f..fuck,” she gasped as he sucked her skin, pressing his tongue flat to the mark he’d etched there. Her head was still tipped back and Leon used the hand curled around to the back of it to force her gaze down to his. Her eyelids fluttered open and Leon stared back through heavy, hooded lids, the blue in his irises so dark they were nearly gray, like the sky in a storm. 

 Her chest heaved in tandem with her breaths, feeling so entranced in the way his gaze seemed to draw her in like the sea in stormy weather. She was in the midst of his ocean, being drawn in further away from the shore the longer she stared. 

 “You’re so beautiful,” Leon murmured, glancing between her eyes and her lips as the hand not on the back of her head fell down to her lap, soothing patterns into the soft flesh of her thigh. She could feel her heart skip a couple of beats as his palm slipped between them, within mere centimeters from her heat. 

 She couldn’t look away from him. There was something so strangely haunting about the way Leon looked at her and she wasn’t sure if it was because they were both a few swigs of drink in, but there was something poignant in the murky waters of his stare. There was something about Leon Kennedy she hadn’t quite figured out yet, she knew this much. But the mystery of this man was alluring, like his story was calling out to her as if it were a siren and she was a sailor at sea. She could already feel it pulling her down, sinking further until her head was near-fully submerged in water. 

 As his fingertips brushed against her aching clit, she vowed that whatever it was calling out to her within Leon Kennedy, she would find it. 

 The pads of Leon’s middle and forefingers spun circles against her bud and she hissed. 

 But Leon Kennedy’s story would have to wait for now. 

 Burning hot pleasure blazed her skin as the memory began to fade, but still, that bliss remained, even as her vision began to clear and she was back in the one bedroom apartment she called home. There was a searing ache between her legs and she could already feel her slick begin to pool in her underwear. Her legs shook with the sheer power of her arousal and she gasped, lunging forward to grasp the edge of the kitchen counter. 

 She knew it was the alcohol making her feel these things, reigniting whatever sort of feeling she had for Leon Kennedy. It’d been months since the last time she’d seen him, anyways. He was but a ghost now, a distant, faint memory buried somewhere deep in the archives of her mind. 

 She knew it had to be because she was drunk that she was stripping herself naked and slipping into bed, leaning back against the headboard. She knew it had to be because she was drunk that her hand was sliding down between her legs, that her fingers were rubbing in all the places Leon’s once were. She knew it had to be because she was drunk that all she could think about was Leon: Leon’s hands, Leon’s fingers, Leon’s skin, Leon’s face. She could feel him all around her, possessing her, corrupting her like an infection until she couldn’t even think straight. He was circling like a vulture, thickening the air she was breathing and holding on to her every feeling, locking her in, trapping her. 

 She knew it had to be because she was drunk that her mouth fell open as she tossed her head back against the headboard, arching her back, rubbing her fingers over her clit harder and harder, Leon’s name tumbling from her lips. She knew it had to be because she was drunk that she was coming, that white hot bliss was shooting straight through her and out her pussy, envisioning Leon’s face between her thighs, letting not a single drop of her orgasm go to waste. 

 She knew it had to be because she was drunk that she swore she could hear something come from the closet across the room. Did she leave it closed like that when she left that morning? She knew it had to be because she was drunk that she didn’t care, not in the moment. All she could think to do was close her eyes and let the memory of Leon Kennedy coax her down from her high. 

 Leon sunk his teeth deeper into the plush of his bottom lip to stifle the sounds threatening to come out. He used one hand to steady himself against the wall, the other to fist his cock, pumping himself harder and harder in rhythm to her fingers’ ministrations against her clit. His name was slipping from between her lips and she was spread out on the bed like the incarnation of all of Leon’s vices. 

 There was a knot of pressure building in his sack, being strung forward with each sharp tug of his hand on his cock. He was so close, so dangerously close that he could feel it, could see it, could taste it. All he had to do was wait a moment longer, just one small second…

 “Oh… oh shit, fuck! Fuck, Leon! Ri… right there!” She cried out and Leon’s eyes snapped open, watching from the slivers of openings in the closet door as her toes curled and her back arched, finally coming to her release. That knot slipped and he practically exploded into the palm of his hand, clamping his mouth closed with his opposite, willing himself to stay quiet. 

 Once the aftershocks of his prolonged orgasm began to fade, he leaned against the wall of the closet, trying to catch his breath as quietly as possible. He peeked through the openings in the closet door as her eyelids began to flutter closed, her heaving chest slowing until she slipped into the arms of slumber. 

 Leon sighed— there was only one thought that circulated his mind now.

 She still thought about him.

a/n; i wrote the last like 1500 words while sitting in my bed, fan turned up to high, freezing my ass off 😃 i've found that i'm more satisfied with the outcome of my writing whenever i make myself physically uncomfortable to the point its nearly unbearable LMFAOOO

anyways! i really enjoyed writing this one and i really hope you all enjoy reading it! i'm feeling really excited to write more for the leech collection 🤭

💿 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the entire world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

@corruptcoder @chaoticevilbakugo @luckypurins @glovesandhorror @xoxostarlet @illsksm @echo1200 @d3adp00ls @woahhajime @leonkennedygvrl @elliewilliamshotwife

[tojigasm]

I’m crossfaded right now but I need diff Jake x pregnant reader a combination and angst, fluff and smut I literally don’t care what it is please !! It will make the wake and bake hit

I'm so fuckin deranged. In so sorry for this. This is so evil. I went down an angsty route with this one. I wrote this to be a sequel to "Who am I to Love you"

It rots within him. A thorny, prickly weed burrowing itself in the thick of his mind. It pricks and prods at his thoughts, trickling down his spine in a sickly plague.

He bides the long days with time in the ocean. Learning the ways of the metkayina and spending time with his children. He's braiding seagrass when his mind crawls back to the metkayinas soul tree. The tree where he'd seen Neteyam soon after his death.

He wonders if you're there too.

"Daddy, you're not braiding it right." Tuk scolds from beside him, taking over the thick weed and finishing the fishtail with a knot at the end.

"Sorry, Tuk," Jake doesn't go to the tree.

—

"I know you're thinking of her." Neytiri speaks through a sigh, cutting pieces of fruit. She places her knife down to rest a hand on Jake's back.

"Thinking of who?" Jake hardly acknowledges her, finishing a thread of grass, cinching the dried weed into a fold.

"Dont–" Neytiri takes a sharp inhale through her nose. "Don't even."

Jake drops the padded grass to turn to her, "what?" He shrugs, "what do you want me to say?" He stands up to pace around the length of the hammock.

"My Jake," she speaks softly, massaging the skin of her arm in an attempt to comfort herself.

"You want me to go talk to her?" He points outward to the ocean, and Neytiri drops her head in defeat, braids swaying side to side. "You want me to go pour my heart out to my dead mate–

"Our." She chokes under her breath.

It's begin to rain.

"Y-you want me to attach myself to her again? Attach myself to the one thing that I can't come back from? If i go there, i won't leave." He shakes his head solemnly. "God only knows how hard it's been fr'me to not take a knife to my fuckin' throat." Jake's voice croaks and blubbers.

Neytiri looks up at him under her lashes. A deepened blue shadows her features, and her honey eyes run an amber heat to them. She stands up and meets him eye to eye.

Jake's crying.

"She was my mate too, Jake." There's a sickly hiss to the way his name is spit from her tongue. "Not just yours," her ears flatten back and her canines bear, "you suffer in silence, but I will not."

He watches her leave.

—

It's late past eclipse when Neytiri returns home. Wet footsteps make their way into the hammock and a breeze pulls him from his light sleep before she slots herself against his back.

Neytiri presses a kiss to the base of his neck, thumbing his braid gently.

"She misses you."

She knows he's awake. He knows that she knows. Even so, he doesn't say anything.

—

He waits along the surrounding rocks of the tree of souls for hours. Fiddling with sheets of rock and coral that spots the ground as though it were weeds.

He thinks about going back to the clan. Back to his children, back to his mate, and back to his home. And a part of him thinks back to the forest and the years before neytam had been born. He thinks back to you.

It's not a long swim to reach the sprouting limbs of the tree, making the bond with shaky hands.

There's a moment of darkness before the forest surrounds him. He walks through the heavy brush and thick plants, running the tips of his fingers over the small flowers that litter the forest. He remembers the flower crowns you'd made for him. He wishes that the petals would live forever. Instead, they rot away, trapped in a chest hidden within the hammock. They lost their color long ago.

"Jake?" Your voice calls to him near the pond, and he can see you as he rounds a thick tree.

"Hi, honey," he whispers. His voice is quiet and soft. He thinks he might cry.

You're glowing under the rays of sun that glitter along the forest floor. Capturing you in their wake and painting an almost infinite image of you.

You run to him, jumping into his arms so quickly he doesn't have time to react before the both of you fall to the floor. "I missed you!" You squeal through a giggle.

"Woah," Jake chuckles lightly, "missed you too, kid." He kisses your temple, wrapping his arms around you loosely as you laugh into his chest.

Rolling off of him with a giggle, you land on your back beside him, arms and legs outstretched through the thick blades of grass that tickle your thighs.

Jake props himself onto an elbow beside you, tracing over your soft features, taking in the glow of your excitement with a warm smile.

"I never see you anymore." You say, lifting a hand to trace your finger over the outline of a few clouds thay scatter the sky. "Are you mad at me?"

Jake physically recoils at your question, scoffing at the idea that you could ever do anything wrong, let alone lead him to be cross with you.

"No, I'm–I'm not mad at you," he follows it with a laugh, brows furrowing. He watches you roll to your side, meeting his eyes.

"Then why don't you see me?"

"It's not–"

"Neytiri comes to see me all the time. She's made bracelets with me, and she's so excited to have another baby!" You scrunch your nose in glee.

A lump crawls up Jake's throat and plants itself there. He nearly chokes on it.

"M'sure she is–"

"Do you not want another baby?"

The genuine innocence in your voice makes Jake want to scream. He wants to rip his hair out and bite his lips until they bleed and choke on his tongue and sit at the bottom of the shallow water until he just falls asleep there.

You don't know about Neyetam.

"Jake," you stroke the soft of his jaw softly, and his eyes fill with tears. "Are you okay?"

He doesn't even realize he's crying until you're cupping his face in your small hands.

"M'so scared, baby." Jake's voice shakes under the weight of his fear. It cracks, and it bubbles over.

You aren't quite sure what's happening, settling on pulling yourself closer to your mate, letting him hold you to him.

There's a long while of quiet, only filled by the soft strokes of Jake's hand along your stomach as he presses kisses to the back of your ear.

"Thinking of any names fr'the little squirt?" Jake asks, voice hoarse as he massages his thumb over your belly button.

You shake your head. "I was hoping you and Neytiri could figure something out. Maybe a mix of both of you guys' names?" You pull at your bottom lip.

Jake nods, eyes falling from your own to your lips. He kisses you gently, stroking a hand over your cheek and the other at your hip.

When you pull apart, he holds you in his lap again. "I like that idea," he offers, kissing your shoulder.

You nod, "what did you mean earlier?" You fiddle with your anklet, tracing the engrained 'J'.

"What do you mean?" Jake shrugs through a hum.

"When you said you were scared."

"Oh."

—

Jake tells you about Neteyam. He tells you about the metkayina. He tells you about the forest and the sky people and your ikran that still follows him around like a lost puppy.

He tells you about the ocean and the pretty talkun that come in waves and about Ronal and how the two of you'd be friends.

He tells you about how big Tuk's gotten and how much trouble Loak still causes. He tells you about Kiri and Eywa. He doesn't tell her about how Tuk braids exactly like you do, or how Kiri's picked up on your mannerisms, or the fact that Loak subconsciously still leaves extra pieces of food for you.

Jake sits with you for hours, letting you trickle and trace lines with the tips of your fingers over the stripes that litter his arms and ribs.

He lets you sing to him, and he hunts with you for the night.

And it's only when he's completely certain that you've fallen asleep that he pulls himself from the root of the tree.

He does so with a heaviness as he makes his way back to the clan. Back to the hammock and back to Neytiri and back to the rotted petals and braided flower crowns.

He knows you won't remember when he comes back to visit — if he comes back at all.

[xxdemonicheartxx]

Super potency elements:

Nature dragons with life accelerant in their blood, plants grow, bloom fruit and die if they simply spill it. Flora clings to their scales

Plague dragons who command bacterium, flesh and bone dissolve to its hunger. Their saliva acrid allowing them to shred through meals

Ice dragons who’s touch causes frostbite, they know how much of the body one can live without, their presence chills the room

Fire dragons who belch molten rock and choking black smoke, their bodies aglow with the eternal inferno within, they’re almost too hot to touch

Arcane dragons who can summon the cosmos, meteor showers and eclipses can be pulled into effect if they so choose. Their mouths look like jaws opening to a sea of stars, magica pools in their very DNA

Shadow dragons who can pull the light from the world around them, swaths of blackness so dark blindness would be a blessing. Their maws and eyes suck in light and appear to be black holes mounted to their faces

Earth dragons who’s bodies brim with crystals, they can be shot off their bodies with extreme force, a breath weapon is pebbles in comparison. Gems are never short in supply when they grow on you in hours or a few days

Lightning dragons who’s throats thunder and cause supercells to roll in, lightning whips from their teeth idly as they speak, being near to one is like almost touching an old box TV, the skin crawls

Light dragons who’s eyes and maw are illuminated always, their breath glows and falls like stardust when they speak. Youd think they were celestials

Water dragons who can climb waterfalls and stir whirlpools into existence, their wake is disaster on glittering scales, ships capsize on their whims

Wind dragons who’s wingbeats thunder, their bodies create their own updrafts, flight is effortless. They could pull the wind from your wings or the breath from your lungs

[amirasainz]

Hello 👋. Just have to say I love the work that you put out. Doing an amazing job. Would you be able to write one if you are free about baby sainz feeling anxious in the paddock and starting you crying because it's too overwhelming.

OMG thank you so much. I included Daniel and Heidi in this story, I hope you won't mind.

Send me some requests and enjoy reading!

-XoXo

La princesa ansiosa

Amira’s life had been a tapestry of praise and confidence. Childhood memories painted in hues of joy—no problems with other children, no sibling squabbles. Everything was perfect. But then, one Instagram comment unraveled it all.

As a public figure, Amira had been photographed since an early age. Her acting career only intensified the spotlight. Tagged on social media, she reveled in positive comments about her personality and style—until now. The words “I don’t know why everyone likes her so much. She’s just a rich girl, has zero personality, is a bitch and has no talent” stared back at her.

At first she didn't know what she felt. She never read such mean comments about her before. However this one comment changed everything. Anxiety surged through her. A thousand eyes seemed to scrutinize her. The influencer’s comment weighed heavily, and perhaps it was her discomfort in that outfit or the fame that magnified it. Her heart raced, and a knot tightened in her stomach. In that moment, vulnerability eclipsed confidence, and Amira wondered how to mend the unraveling threads of her self-assurance.

To make herself calm down a bit, Amira wandered through the nearly empty Pit-Lane, her footsteps echoing against the cold walls. The drivers were preoccupied with media obligations, leaving the space eerily quiet. Perhaps a short walk would ease her restlessness.

Yet, as she moved, an unexpected weight settled upon her—a phantom gaze, multiplied a hundredfold. Fans, invisible but ever-present, bore down on her. Their imagined scrutiny made her skin crawl, and she stumbled, unable to focus on her surroundings. Passing a group of girls, their whispers intensified, their eyes dissecting her.

Overwhelmed, Amira fled. She ran, heedless of direction, until a secluded corner embraced her. There, her legs gave way, and tears blurred her vision. Everything crumbled—the façade of confidence, the armor of fame.

Unbeknownst to her, Heidi and Daniel witnessed her breakdown. They rushed to her side, enfolding her in a protective embrace. “Shhhh, what’s wrong, little kangaroo?”Daniel’s voice was gentle, coaxing. Amira couldn’t find words, but their presence offered solace. Together, they sat in the dark corner, away from the media and fans.

Amira’s vulnerability hung in the air, her tears a testament to the weight she carried. Daniel, ever the gentle soul, cradled her head against his chest, humming a soothing tune—the kind that transcends words. Heidi, with her heart aching, wrapped Amira in her jacket, pressing kisses to her cheeks and forehead. The trio formed an unspoken pact—a refuge against the world’s judgment.

Amira’s confession spilled forth: “They-they hate me. They say I’m just a rich girl. Why do they say that? I didn't do anything to them.”Daniel and Heidi exchanged confused glances until she revealed the Instagram comment—the venomous words that had pierced her armor. And then, the final blow: “And when I took a walk, they all stared at me.” She looked at the couple and asked n a quite voice: "Can you make them stop looking at me?"

Heidi’s silence spoke volumes. She couldn’t fix the world, but she could shield this girl, this fragile soul who deserved better. Her nod conveyed promise“I’ll protect you.”

Daniel’s voice, thick with emotion, sealed their pact. “Always, Roo.” His nickname for her held the weight of a thousand assurances. Together, they retreated to the shadows of the paddock, away from prying eyes. In that quiet corner, they forged a sanctuary—a place where judgment couldn’t reach and where Amira would always find solace.

[the-six-that-thrive-if]

THE SIX THAT THRIVE IS A 18+ INTERACTIVE FICTION! THIS DEALS WITH DISTURBING THEMES OF HORROR, MURDER, GORE, VIOLENCE, EXPLICIT SEX SCENES, ABUSE, DISCRIMINATION, AND DARK ROMANCE! PLEASE BE AWARE WHEN INTERACTING WITH THIS STORY

· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·

♡ | DELVE DEEPER |

♡ | DEMO | ~ LAST UPDATED: AUGUST 2ND 2023

♡ | PATREON | DISCORD | ASK BOX |

· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·

AMERICA | NORTHEAST | DISTRICT 6 | DATE UNKOWN

ILLECEBRA

/ilˈle.ke.bra/

/noun/

1. the state of enticement and or lure.

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

“Anyone with the illecebra Illness is destined to die at the age of 22. There is no cure.”

You were destined to die in 22 years. Since the moment of your birth, you have known your downfall. The age in which you die. You aren’t sure why your parents told you, why they wanted you to know on your tenth birthday, but they did. Holding back tears as if they were the ones to suffer, as if they knew the exact moments they’d die. You like to pretend they prepared you, made you live your life without fear, but—

You’re 22 this year. With no cure in sight, and no way to prevent what is bound to happen to you. You’ll die and you’ll die soon. Unless you can make a deal.

Nearly two thousand years ago, creatures assumed only myth broke free from the ground and ripped away the sky. Fighting amongst themselves and fighting and killing humans. Unable to fight against these creatures, the creation of districts came into being, representing states, nations, and countries, bound to crawl amongst the floor and a dome of safety for the humans living.

Your story begins within the District of Six, one of the first domes built, and the location of the Eclipse Facility, which is in charge of studying Subjects who are monsters from the outside.

☼ Bring Death to a vicious cycle and allow destiny to take a course or Save a vicious world, which seems to be beyond saving. It is up to you.

☼ Customizable MC

[Name, Personality, Gender, Pronouns, Appearance(tattoos n scars), Traits, Allergies, Diet, Piercings, Aesthetics, & More]

☼ Ability to have certain traits, likes, and disabilities

[Favorite Foods, Smoking/Drinking Habits, & More]

[Personality, Mental Illness, Hearing Aids, Prosthetic Arms or Legs and choosing how you lost + MORE]

☼ Options that have and effect on romantic and platonic relationships.

☼ Choose between seven romanceable Love Interests or None at All.

☼ Stats that will affect the story.

☼ The ability to fight, run, hide, and survive.

[Harem Route & Poly Routes Optional]

☽☼☾ [THE DEMON] SUBJECT F-24:

THE FIRE WHICH BREATHS — {AMAB - MAN}

A sadistic and sarcastic demon that is often quiet and looms around you like a shadow, he's oddly cold to others and can be described as being dosed with water. He's smart, far smarter than the others, and only cares for your input. He's murderous and has no qualms about killing others for you. No matter how good they seem. He's lazy but has an extremely good sense of smell and exceptional hearing.

“What the others think, matter not. I’m here for you and you alone.”

༺ Appearance:

6’7FT[200.66CM] He says long, shaggy black hair that reaches his waist and messy side hair pieces that messily shape his face. He has striking almond-shaped gold eyes that seem to glow. He has an athletic build and warm tan skin that's littered with scars, such as cuts, bites, gashes, healed bullet holes, and claw marks. He has a facial scar that runs vertically along his lip's left side.

[UNKNOWN YRS OLD, SPECIES: DEMON BLOODHOUND]

· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·

☽☼☾ [THE ANGEL] SUBJECT L-18:

THE WESTERN WINDS WHICH BLOWS — {AFAB - WOMAN}

A calm and energetic person who switches often. Sometimes being extremely energetic and loud, while others, she's calming, and sometimes you forget she's even there. She's kind and loves humans and mortals. She finds their short lifespans adorable and thinks humans are adorable since she's lived many lifetimes. She is quite the birdbrain and often jumps from topic to topic.

“Aw, humans are the cutest~ I just love, love, love ‘em!”

༺ Appearance:

6’0FT[182.88CM] She's a tall woman with the orangish-yellow talons and legs of a harpy eagle, with two large white wings that fade into a pastel yellow. She has the tail of a bird, which is a pastel yellow that fades into a pastel blue. Her skin is white, almost yellow, and she's covered in an assortment of blue freckles, varying in color.

[3000 YRS OLD, SPECIES: HARPY]

· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·

☽☼☾ [THE DRAGON] SUBJECT R-12:

THE WATER IN WHICH BITES — {??? - GENDERFLUID}

A quiet and soft-spoken woman who spends most of his time reading. She's very straightforward, blunt, and struggles to pick up on social cues. He likes the dark and spends time in the dark corners, only speaking up when necessary. She's obedient and kind but dislikes humans.

“… No. It is simply easier for my skin to remain in the dark.”

༺ Appearance:

5’11FT(180.34CM) She's a tall and slender woman with dark brown skin that looks almost black and black eyes. She has raven black hair that reaches her feet, with two long dark blue horns. Her back is lined with dark blue spikes. Her wrist, upper thighs, upper arms, and ankles have white armbands. She also has a thick lizard-like tail with spikes that run along the middle. While her forehead has an intricate design, similar to a circlet.

[UNKNOWN YRS OLD, SPECIES: DRAGON(UNCOMFIRMED)]

· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·

☽☼☾ [THE ARMADILLO] SUBJECT X-6:

THE EARTH IN WHICH LIVES — {AMAB - GENDERFLUID}

A hardheaded and stubborn individual who is strong-willed but hates change. They often spend time sleeping, curled up into a ball like a rolly-polly. They hate humans and don't shy away from letting you know; they're sometimes outspoken and aggressive.

“Get away, please! The last thing I need is human cooties!”

༺ Appearance:

6’10FT(208.28CM) He has deep brown skin and glowing emerald green eyes, with pale brown armor plates along his back, starting at the base of his neck, with a long flat tail that drags behind him. He has short curly dark brown hair, and his face is dusted in white and pale brown freckles.

[1046 YRS OLD, SPECIES: UNKNOWN (WITHIN ARMADILLO FAMILY)]

· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·

☽☼☾ THE WARDEN:

THE VOID WHICH BECKONS — {AMAB - MAN}

A towering, intimidating man that rarely speaks but is quite sadistic. He cares for order more than justice and is okay with playing the role of the bad guy. He prefers it. He's seen as emotionless and uncaring but constantly aware of his surroundings. He demands attention and unwavering loyalty.

“You must simply follow the rules. Or die. There is no other option.”

༺ Appearance:

6’7FT[200.66CM] Simple black slacks, thick black winter trench with silver buckles and chains, and a black helmet similar to a 12th Century English Knight.

[UNKNOWN YRS OLD, SPECIES: SPECKULATED SHADOW BEING OR CHAOS DEMON]

· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·

TWO HIDDEN LOVE INTERESTS - THE KING & ????

· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·

☽☼☾ HAREM [MAIN] ROUTE:

F-24, L-18, R-12, X-6, WARDEN, & MC

☽☼☾ POLY ROUTES:

Poly Route One: F-24, WARDEN, & MC

Poly Route Two: L-18, R-12, & MC

Poly Route Three: L-18, R-12, X-6, & MC

Poly Route Four: R-12, Warden, & MC

Poly Route Five: X-6, Warden, & MC

Poly Route Six: F-24, R-12, Warden, & MC

Poly Route Seven: F-24, R-12, & MC

[You’ll learn their names in book]

ⓒ 2023 CVLUTOSGAMES & the-six-that-thrive-if — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[newskin4theoldceremony]

DARKNESS AT THE BREAK OF NOON SHADOWS EVEN THE SILVER SPOON THE HANDMADE BLADE THE CHILDS BALLON ECLIPSE BOTH THE SUN AND MOON TO UNDERSRAND YOU KNOW TOO SOON THERE IS NOW SENSE IN TRYING POINTED THREATS THEY BLUFF WITH SCORN SUICIDE REMARKS ARE TORN FROM THE FOOLS GOLD MOUTHPIECE THE HOLLOW HORN PLAYS WASTED WORDS PROVES TO WARN THAT HE NOT BUSY BEING BORN IS BUSY DYING TEMPTATIONS PAGE FLIES OUT THE DOOR YOU FOLLOW FIND YOURSELF AT WAR WATCH WATERFALLS OF PITY WAR YOU FEEL TO MOAN BUT UNLIKE BEFORE YOU’D DISCOVER THAT YOU’D JUST BE ONE MORE PERSON CRYING SO DON’T FEAR IF YOU HEAR A FORIEGN SOUND TO YOUR EAR ITS ALRIGHT MA I’M ONLY SIGHING AS SOME WARN VICTORY SOME DOWNFALL PRIVATE REASONS GREAT OR SMALL CAN BE SEEN IN THE EYES OF THOSE WHO CALL THAT MAKE ALL THAT SHOULD BE KILLED TO CRAWL WHILE OTHERS SAY DON’T HATE NOTHING AT ALL EXCEPT HATRED DISILLUSIONED WORDS LIKE BULLETS BARK AS HUMAN GODS AIM FOR THEIR MARK MAKE EVERYTHING FROM TOY GUNS THAT SPARK TO FLESH COLORED CHRISTS THAT GLOW IN THE DARK IT’S EASY TO SEE WITHOUT LOOKING TO FAR THAT NOT MUCH IS REALLY SACRED WHILE PREACHERS PREACH OF EVEIL FATES TEACHERS TEACH THAT KNOWLEDGE WAITS CAN LEAD TO HUNDRED DOLLAR PLATES GOODNESS HIDES BEHIND ITS GATES BUT EVEN THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES SOMETIMES MUST HAVE TO STAND NAKED AND ALTHOUGH THE RULES OF THE ROAD HAVE BEEN LODGED ITS ONLY PEOPLES GAMES YOU GOT TO DODGE AND ITS ALRIGHT MA I CAN MAKE IT ADVERTISING SIGNS THAT CON YOU INTO THINKING YOURE THE ONE THAT CAN DO WHATS NEVER BEEN DONE THAT CAN WIN WHATS NEVER BEEN WON MEANWHILE LIFE OUTSIDE GOES ON ALL AROUND YOU YOU LOSE YOURSELF YOU REAPPEAR YOU SUDDENLY FIND YOUVE GOT NOTHING TO FEAR ALONE YOU STAND WITH NOBODY NEAR WHEN A TREMBLING DISTANT VOICE UNCLEAR STARTLES YOUR SLEEPING EARS TO HEAR THAT SOMEBODY THINKS THEY REALLY FOUND YOU A QUESTION IN YOUR NERVES IS LIT YET YOU KNOW THERE IS NO ANSWER FIT TO SATISFY ENSURE YOU NOT TO QUIT TO KEEP IT IN YOUR MIND AND NOT FORGET THAT IT IS NOT HE OR SHE OR THEM OR IT THAT YOU BELING TO BUT THOUGH THE MASTERS MAKE THE RULES FOR THE WISE MEN AND THE FOOLS I GOT NOTHING MA TO LIVE UP TO FOR THEM THEY MUST OBEY AUTHORITY THAT THEY DO NOT RESPECT IN ANY DEGREE WHO DESPISE THEIR JOBS THEIR DESTINY SPEAK JEALOUSY OF THEM THAT ARE FREE DO WHAT THEY DO JUST TO BE NOTHING MORE THAN SOMETHING THEY INVEST IN WHILE SOME ON PRINCIPLES BAPTIZED TO STRICT PARTY PLATFORM TIES SOCAIL CLUBS IN DRAG DISGUISE OUTSIDERS THEY CAN FREELY CRITICIZE TELL NOTHING BUT WHK TO IDOLIZE AND SAY GOD BLESS HIM WHILE ONE WHO SINGS WITH HIS TONGUE ON FIRE GARGLES IN THE RAT RACE CHOIR BENT OUT OF SHAPE FROM SOCIETYS PLIERS CARES NOT TO COME UP ANY HIGHER BUT RATHER GET YOU DOWN IN THE HOLE THAT HES IN BUT I MEAN NO HARM NOR PUT FAULT ON ANYONE THAT LIVES IN A VAULT BUT ITS ALRIGHT MA IF I CAN PLEASE HIM OLD LADY JUDGES WATCH PEOPLE IN PAIRS LIMITED IN SEX THEY DARE TO PUSH FAKE MORAL INSULT AND STARE WHILE MONEY DOESNT TALK IT SWEARS OBSCENITY WHO REALLY CARES PROPAGANDA ALL IS PHONY WHILE THEM THAT DEFEND WHAT THEY CANNOT SEE WITH KILLERS PRIDE SECURITY IT BLOWS THE MIND MOST BITTERLY FOR THEM THAT THINK DEATH’S HONESTY WON’T FALL UPON ‘EM NATURALLY LIFE SOMETIMES MUST GET LONELY MY EYES COLLIDE HEAD ON WITH STUFFED GRAVEYARDS FALSE GOALS I SCUFF AT PETTINESS WHICH PLAYS SO ROUGH WALKED UPSIDE DOWN INSIDE HANDCUFFS KICK MY LEGS TO CRASH IT OFF SAY OKAY I’VE HADE ENOUGH WHAT ELSE CAN YOU SHOW ME AND IF MY THOUGHT DREAMS CAN BE SEEN THEYD PROBABLY PUT MY HEAD IN A GUILLOTINE

BUT ITS ALRIGHT MA IT’S LIFE AND LIFE ONLY

[badbatchsprincess]

Heated ~ pt.15

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake. 

Warnings: SHORT CHAPTER. FILLER CHAPTER IF YOU WILL... Mentions of omega trafficking, Tarkin's up to some sus shit, imperials everywhere.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The warm sun on your face made you sigh in content. Looking up, Ord Mantel’s yellow star shone down on you like a warm summer day. You ran your fingers over the soft blanket below you, cushioned by the softest grass you’d ever touched. 

Growing up on Coruscant, seeing this much greenery was still such a novelty to you. It was amazing in every way, and you always wished you had grown up on a planet like Naboo instead. 

“Adi’ka.” A distant voice called out to you. 

You continued to pear up at the cerulean sky when a shadow eclipsed you. You looked up adjusting your vision to peer up at your alpha…

You traced a finger over the tattoo covering his eye, before affectionately running your fingers through his lengthening silver hair. 

You happily sighed, “Cross.” 

He smiled down at you admiring your form before running the back of his fingers over your hair, cheek, then neck. He smiled making your heart flutter. 

He mumbled something while dancing his fingers over your collar bone making you quirk your head, “what alpha?” 

“I said,” His soft expression suddenly turned wicked and depraved. His hand shot out locking around your throat in a vice grip. Suddenly the sun was gone and replaced with pouring rain and what was once warm and welcoming was now a lightening filled storm, “I’m coming for you…adi’ka.” 

You shot up in bed grabbing at your neck gasping for air looking around like a feral hound.

“What?” Tech shot up looking at you before looking around forcing himself to be alert. 

Wrecker and Hunter came bursting through the door not even a minute later while you were still sitting there trying to catch your breath. Tech rubbed soothing circles into your shoulder blades comforting you. 

“Bad dream.” Tech said trying to explain to the others. 

Hunter sighed letting the tension fall from his shoulders. You knew he must have heard you from his room and thought you were in danger. 

You finally got a deep breath down before turning to look at the concerned soldiers, “It was about Cross.” You rubbed your neck tugging at the collar of tech’s shirt, “I’m alright. It just frightened me.” 

Wrecker looked worried. You smiled at him before lying back down. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hunter asked, “I-we haven’t really talked about what happened.” 

Tech leaned back on the mattress pulling you into his chest. 

“It’s okay.” You shook your head, “I think it’s better if I don’t think about it.” Even though you couldn’t feel the pain of the bond, the empty feeling still hasn’t repaired itself and you were starting to think it might never. 

“Okay well if you need anything.” Hunter said turning to leave you and Tech alone. 

“Wait.” You perked your head up, “Can you both stay? I just…” 

“Of course mega.” Wrecker was thrilled and crawled into the bed on the other side of you. You snuggled into his warmth while Hunter crawled nearly on top of you to lay his head on your hip. His added weight really helped calm the anxieties while you were now surrounded in warmth and safety. It was reminding you of Mimban when everyone was piled into your nest all cramped up and on top of one another. 

You sighed feeling alright to sleep again. 

“Thank you.” You whispered before closing your eyes and forcing yourself to drift off into sleep comforted by your alphas. 

~~~

“So I need you to help me bring in 15 cases of Nabboolian wine out back.” Cid was looking at the check list while you and the droids she owned helped start to drag in the crates. You just followed her directions and got to work. 

Your new muscles from all your training was really coming in handy. The shipping crates weren’t even phasing you while you pulled the bottles and started placing them on the shelves. 

You got through those boxes quickly and made quick work of restocking the snack packs and filling the little bowls to set out on all the tables. The spicy treat was a favorite of the locals you noticed, you kept track of all of the incoming shipments making sure to send Cid the updated roster. 

“Hey Cid?” You stacked as many bowls as possible onto of one another walking out towards the bar, “I have the updated roster, so you want me to send it to you or just leave it on the data-”

Cid suddenly barreled into you shoving you back into the supply closet, “Go. Go! Shh!” 

You scrunched your brows but followed her lead and stepped back into the back room. 

“What?” You whispered still clutching onto the bowls. 

“There’s imps out there.” She whispered poking her head back out from the door to get another view. 

“Imperials?” Your blood ran cold. There has never been imperial’s on Ord Mantel before.

“Thats what I said sweet cheeks.” She snapped. 

“Why are they here?” You asked putting down the bowls making sure you did infect have your blaster on you. 

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, “I think they’re just passing through.” 

You poked your head out just barely catching a glimpse of their white plastoid armor. The new storm troopers you saw on the holonet. It was a pathetic attempt of copying the clone’s armor. According to all of the news streams there was a new mandatory civilian conscription going on. These were no clones, none of your friends, just strangers under the imperial dictatorship. 

“All the way out here?” You whispered watching them sit down in the corner booth your boys claimed as their own. 

“I don’t like this.” Cid turned back to look at you, “Your boys will be real upset with me if something happened to you sweet cheeks, you better go up stairs and wait till they're gone. I’m taking you off the clock.” She fapped her claws at you and you nodded without a word untying your apron and scurrying out the back to the fire escape where you climbed the stairs to get to the apartments above. 

You were feeling your anxiety start to creep back in as you fumbled to unlock the padlock. Once the door slid open you stepped inside forcing a deep breath into your lungs. Flashes of the horrible dream you had last night came flooding back and the feeling of Crosshair’s calloused hands snaking around your throat. 

You flung yourself down into the nest by the window trying to calm yourself down. 

~~~

“Cid sent us a message.” Tech Hunter said walking into the bar while opening the ping. 

Behind him, Tech was yapping about the flora spawning this time of year after the rains while Wrecker chowed down on some kind of massive roasted bird leg. 

“What does it say?” Echo asked when they stepped inside. 

Hunter stopped dead in his tracks noticing all of the white amongst the usually colorful crowd. His gaze immediately went to the bar looking for you, but instead he found Cid. He noticed the way she casually signaled a claw up at the ceiling letting him know you were hidden and safe. 

“Imperials.” Tech pushed up his glasses looking around at the cantina. 

“What are they doing out here?” Wrecker wondered allowed finishing off his bird leg. 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Hunter walked forwards trying to remain casual. The three clones stepped down inside the building getting settled in like they were also just passing through. They sat down at the bar ordering a drink each and reaching into the snack bowls. 

Tech started another conversation with Wrecker while Hunter was carefully listing in on the storm troopers.

From what he could tell, they just stumbled into this place. It didn’t seem like they were looking for anything in particular. 

Hunter could pick up on your footsteps upstairs as you walked around presumably pacing, probably wondering where the hell they all were. 

Then he zeroed in on the group in the booth they usually sit in way in the back. 

“I just got back from going to the new fortress on Naboo.” One of the troopers said running a hand through his golden hair. 

“What was it like?” 

“Why is it on Naboo?” 

“They prefer the conditions there.” He said again leaning forwards onto the table, “But, you wouldn’t believe what I saw.” 

They all leaned in closer listening to this one trooper. 

“It’s a new breeding program.” He said in disbelief, “They’re making it into a place for conscripted omegas.” He looked around suspiciously hoping no-one but his friends were listening, “and, I overheard they’re creating more clones.” 

“If they have clones, why bother with omegas?” One of them chirped. 

The golden haired one shrugged, “No clue. That place is guarded to the teeth. I was ordered here when the first cargo freight arrived. It was full of omegas.” 

“Human omegas?” 

“Yeah.” He nodded, “You wouldn’t believe it.” 

“Are the omegas and the clones… ya know…” This trooper made a lewd gesture alluding to fucking. 

The gold one shook his head and shrugged, “Thats what I thought too, but who knows. Those scientists weren’t letting anyone near the internal part of the building. Only the coruscant guard were allowed entry.” 

“Well the clones are an army of alphas.” A smaller man spoke up, “It’s the only thing that would make sense if they’re trying to breed more lupin-humans.” 

Hunter looked to his brothers with a concerned glance. They caught on and continued to have their casual conversation making sure to pay a bit closer attention to their surroundings. Echo leaned in closer to Hunter, “What’s going on?” 

“They’re trafficking omegas to Naboo. I heard the one with gold hair say he saw them arrive in cargo containers. Apparently theres a massive compound there, and they’re making more clones. Presumably, for this program.” 

“Program?” Echo repeated out of habit. 

“He said it was a breeding program.” Hunter lowered his voice. 

They both waved at Cid for another drink. 

“You don’t think thats why they had Crosshair reprogrammed and ordered to retrieve Y/N do you?” Echo’s protectiveness was starting to ebb into his chest, but that would make total sense why Tarkin wanted to keep her under his thumb. 

“Can’t say for certain.” Hunter shook his head, “But, I don’t think it’s going to be safe for Y/N for a while. We can’t let her out of our site until we understand what is going on.” 

“If thats true, that’s beyond fucked.” Echo shook his head, “sick bastards.” 

Hunter grunted in agreement pouring the rest of his drink down. 

“Let’s get upstairs before-”

Hunter was cut off when a drunk trooper shouted, “Hey! You look familar!” 

Hunter and Echo swiveled around to face the stumbling trooper. Beta, from the smell of him.

“Sorry, you got the wrong guy.” Hunter said calmly. Hunter used his elbow to turn his helmet away from the man knowing the shape might be a little recognizable. 

The beta just hummed and stared for a bit before flopping back down in his chair fisting the snacks on the table mumbling something incoherent. 

Hunter got up leaving with Echo while Tech and Wrecker left shortly after. They walked out the front but disappeared around back making it to the entrance to the courtyard undetected. When they climbed the fire escape and entered the apartment, they found you panic cleaning the whole place. 

“Woah.” Echo put his arm up trying to get you to slow down, “You okay Tiny?” 

“Where have you been!” You squeaked throwing the broom off to the side, “Did you see the imperials down there!” 

“Yeah we saw’em.” Echo stepped inside walking towards the living room couch. 

“Pip, I don’t think we can leave you here anymore.” Hunter shook his head, “I think you need to start coming on jobs with us.” 

“Why?” You asked a little nervous. Republic missions were one thing, but their mercenary jobs were a whole other ball park. You had no experience in this whatsoever. 

“If they’re casually stopping in here from time to time, it’s just a matter of time before someone recognizes you or us.” He explained, “I know you’ve kind of made a home here, but it’s just getting too dangerous with them coming here now.” 

“We can move your nest to the marauder like last time!” Wrecker offered rubbing his forehead. 

“Did you tell Cid?” You sat down next to Echo letting him put an arm around your shoulders. 

“She sent us a message warning us and to get out of dodge.” Tech replied showing you the memo. 

You read it and sighed, “Okay.” You agreed. 

“Okay?” Tech clarified. 

You nodded. 

“No fighting? Just like that?” Hunter narrowed his eyes.

You shrugged. 

“What’s wrong, I thought you liked it here?” Echo looked at you. 

“I do, I just… after last night… I don’t know. I just have this feeling like Crosshair’s right around the corner and he’s going to come walking in here with those troopers one day. I think Hunter’s right. I think it’s getting too hot here.” 

They stood there in contemplative silence. Obviously you were getting anxious, but they had reasoned that your fear of Crosshair finding you was just paranoia. Now, they understood that with so many imperials running around, your worries might actually have a chance of coming to fruition. 

“It’s settled then.” Hunter said, “Let’ get packed up and back to the ship.” 

You nodded, back to the marauder we go…

Super short little chapter! The next one is coming soon, posting both back to back!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @substantial-exposure

@rains-on-kamino

@minimissmoo

@z-and-the-batboys

@aynavaano

@9902sgirl

@sideofhorny

@sxftiebee

@booksandtitts-blog

[naffeclipse]

I'm honored to reveal that I'm @darthsuki's secret Santa for the DCASS2023 event! When I saw that Howl's Moving Castle was one of the movies you love, I was immediately possessed by this AU for the DCA! I had so much fun crafting this fic along with Eclipse, Sun, and Moon reimagined in such a setting, and, of course, the reader! There is so much fluff and romance; I hope that's alright! Please enjoy!

Eclipse's Moving Daycare

Eclipse & Sun & Moon x Reader (SFW)

You can also read this fic on AO3!

Word Count: ~5,500 Warnings: N/A

-

In the heart of the castle-like structure, smoothly crawling over the snowy mountain peak with bending, robotic appendages that sink claws into the fresh, cold powder, is a room alight by a fire demon. The creaking and grumbling of the house have long since faded into a familiar drone in the background of your senses. A few candles burn and flicker, dripping hot, white wax. The main source of light, in the late hour on a blistering cold night, emits from Sun in golden radiance.

You stand over the fireplace. It holds a small cauldron upon its embers. Water bubbles and pops with gentle wisps of steam rising, rising up into the chimney. Behind you, the great light of the room begins to shift, shadows leaning away from the approaching presence.

“What is my darling brewing tonight?” The fire demon saunters close behind you. Sun’s voice brushes against your ear, flickering with life so powerful, it only leaves ash in its wake. The heat sinks into your back—a soothing reprise from the chill circling the moving daycare. “Could I be of assistance to your crafting?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind, Sunny,” you say softly. 

You turn around to face him, almost squinting your eyes against his brilliance. The fire demon flickers with flames, set soft and low in a gentle yellow light. The energy burns over a body of deep, dark charcoal and embers. Red pulses in between the burnt aspects. His head, large and flat like a disk, flickers with a great grin. The very pale center of his eyes holds a blue tint not unlike the very tips of great flames. A crown of red fire circles his face, and you marvel how he has never once burned you—part of his magic, of course. He decides when and who shall be scorched.

“Oh, you haven’t answered me yet.” He looms over you, the fey-being easily entering your space in the way smoke fills the air. “Is it a special potion? Perhaps a liquid that would set itself on fire should someone sing a sour note? Or a drink for trees that allow them to become ready fuel, set to torch the mountainside for a bit of warmth on this dreary winter day?”

You smile. When does he not suggest you concoct some sort of fiery potion? You certainly don’t recall. The fire demon is what he is.

“Neither,” you answer and strip a thorny branch of herb, dried and well preserved, of its flat fronds. You turn away to toss them into the cauldron. “It’s soup.”

The light of the room dims in the briefest moment before flaring with fresh vigor. Dancing heat becomes almost sweltering at your back before a hot hand slips around your waist, wrapping you up in a cozy embrace. Your eyes flutter when Sun’s mouth presses to your shoulder, sharp teeth grazing your skin exposed by the stretched neckline of your tunic.

“We’ll save the pyromania for later, but soup! Yes, that would warm you and Moon and Eclipse.”

“And you.” You hold up the thin dry branch, as he likes it, to the fire demon’s mouth. “I’ll make it for all of us.”

“Oh, I don’t do well with soup. Too watery for my taste,” he says mournfully. 

You watch a lick of flame wrap around the branch and pull it into his mouth, leaving your hand empty. His jaw bumps slightly against your shoulder as he chews, fire splitting and cracking the fuel over his tongue. He swallows and the light grows brighter around you. For a moment, you swear you understand what a candle wick feels like sitting in all that great light. He holds you tighter.

“I will make it so you can consume it, too,” you say, and pat his arm as it hugs your waist. The flames flatten underneath your palm, whipping and flaring at your presence, but never biting. A bit of soot smears across your hand. “Now let me get the rest of the ingredients. You’re holding me captive, love!”

He laughs with the boisterous gale of a bonfire. “How else am I supposed to keep you safe on a freezing night such as this!” 

“I’m plenty safe with you here, and I’m in need of soup.” You turn your head to catch his twin flame eyes. 

When he lets you go, he does so with a smoking sigh as if you intend to leave the moving daycare rather than simply his embrace. You keep your smile to yourself at his theatrics. He remains before the cauldron as you search a few cupboards, gathering several spices, herbs, and a few bits to toss into the soup. You turn to the kitchen counter, the wood rich brown and well worn with your work.

In a few moments, the great cold of the night has taken hold and your shoulders shiver. Setting the glass jars down, you breathe in a rattling breath. It’s getting worse outside. Over the quiet motions of the building shuffling along is the great howl of wind.

You must hurry with the soup. Eclipse will be home soon.

Taking a few ingredients, you turn back around only to be greeted with a fire in your face. Sun grins, the blue in his eyes dancing brightly. You almost drop the spices in your startle.

“Poor thing, you’re shivering! Allow me to warm you up.” The fire demon coos impishly before taking you by the hand. His warmth laces between your fingers. Your other arm is crooked, cradling the glass jars as Sun lays his hand on your waist, and in the fashion of a waltz, spins you the short distance back to the cauldron. 

You gasp, pressed tight to his body with little but spice containers between your heart and the deep red pulsing in the fire demon’s chest. The small clinks of glass echo like notes to the movement of the song Sun carries you along to with his swift steps. His crown of flames waver in excitement, snapping and flickering. He sets you down for a moment. 

“Oh, you’re already so pink!” He touches your cheek with hot fingertips before slipping away the spices with a small flick of his hand, magically tugging the jars from your grasp and setting them on the edge of the fireplace. You sputter, head spinning in his fiery whirlwind. “There! Aren’t you toasty?”

“Sun!” you laugh. You lay your hands on his chest as he gathers you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. His heat seeps deep into your body, chasing away the awful chill. “I am making us soup! Let me go, you fiery fiend!”

“Ah, but how can I? You’ve bewitched me.” He twists you around—much to your amusement and surprise, dipping you low as you cling to his shoulders. “My darling, I simply can’t let you grow cold for even a breath.”

You melt like mountaintop snow in spring, his pale, lovely gaze burning with intent so promising. You become warm—not of body, but of soul. Slowly, softly, you find his mouth hungrily reaching. You answer with a soft, chaste press of your lips upon his fire, closing your eyes. The light glows through your thin eyelids, sparking blue at the edges in the center of deep, passionate gold. He has never burned you. He never will.

The light increases until it becomes as bright as noon in summer—as bright as his name.

He brings you back to your feet in a careful rise though his hands have yet to unlock from your waist. The distant boiling of the cauldron sends you back to your senses before you lift your head. You gaze adoringly at the fire demon, tasting cedar-turned-ash on your tongue. Reaching with one hand, you run a few fingers through the brightness of his head flames, now tinged with blue at the very tips. 

Oh, he’s satisfied.

 “I am making soup, and you can’t seduce me away,” you say firmly, before pecking his fiery mouth once more. His teeth almost catch your bottom lip but you manage to slip away.

“But I’m already starving!” He half cries, placing one arm across his forehead in a swoon-worthy of the theater. “If you leave, I will vanish into smoke and soot!”

You reach up into a cupboard dusted with black powder and snatch up one lump of coal, small enough to eat in one bite, and turn around. You promptly set it into Sun’s mouth. His wail is muffled by the press of your fingertips until he begins chewing with a rather disgruntled look. The blue in his eyes pales slightly.

“I’m glad to see you have an appetite.” You smile. “Save the rest for soup.”

The heat lingering in your fingers is warm and tingly. You quickly snatch up a small wicker basket from the counter. The yellow light of the fire demon follows at your back as you make your way across the large living space, the cold quickly returning. Then, you enter a long hallway.

“Stay here,” you call over your shoulder, “I need to fetch a few things from Moon’s room and he doesn’t like you in there.”

A protest around a mouthful follows but you’ve already knocked and quietly opened the door, the room thick with darkness, before shutting it behind you. The fire demon is left in the heat of the living space.

You stand in Moon’s room. The clotting blackness hangs like a mist around your shoulders. You squint into the dark collection of shelves and small comforts, such as loveseats and chaise lounges and of course, several beds shoved up against the wall. You’re not certain if he sleeps in any one of the furnishings—if he sleeps at all.

“Moon?” you call out softly.

The nightly shade shifts in the slightest. Tendrils of shadow creep around you, waving like the petals of a flower before you feel a hand slip over your hip from behind and another hook under your jaw to take your chin.

“Hello, jewel,” he rasps low in your ear. A cool but pleasant shudder falls down your spine.

“Hello, scarecrow.” You allow him to tug you around to face his shadowy visage, his hand caressing your cheek as you gaze up at the fey-being. “Might I get into the food storage? I need beef and potatoes along with a few other vegetables.

His eyes, round as moons and pale red, drink you in. Underneath the brim of an old, sun-bleach straw hat that he stole from a scarecrow, the shadow demon tilts his head to an unnatural degree. A curve of silver light flashes across half of his face, like a coin winking under midnight light. 

“Of course.” His body stretches slightly, thin and elongated, like darkness at sunset. A few inky colors of red flare out around his neck and waist, the cold energy wavering about him, before his hands hook into your hips. You gasp once when he effortlessly lifts you off your feet and carries you to a chaise lounge dyed a deep ocean blue. 

Your eyes slowly adjust to the stark dimness when he sets you down. He kneels to sweep your ankles up and lay your legs across the couch.

“Moon, I need to get a few things,” you remind gently.

“I’m aware.” He, in a blink of darkness, has your basket in his hand where it swings slightly from side to side. His smile flashes with teeth reflecting a bony color. “Stay here.”

“If you insist,” you give with a chuckle. You lean back until you’re reclined on the cushy backrest, feeling much too elegant for someone who still has potion stains on their apron. “It’s dark now. You can come out. Sun is in the living space with me, helping me cook.”

“ Helping ,” the shadow demon echoes incredulously.

You snicker.

“Yes, he is, and I need your help as well.”

Moon slips into the darker corner that your weak human eyes can’t decipher. Soft rummaging echoes. The storage space is under a hatch in this room, and seeing as it was already so dark behind, Eclipse allows Moon to claim it as his own—provided that Moon allows you access to whatever ingredients you require when you are in need. 

You can’t think about Sun’s room without wincing at the amount of ash, gold relics, half-burnt walls, and little fires no doubt still running rampant in there. Eclipse placed a clever spell to keep it from spreading to the rest of the rooms and daycare.

The darkness moves as if ripples in water. You try to peer at a few dolls nestled onto a top shelf above one of the beds, their visage adorned with bows and curls but the strange distortion carries across the room. They must be for when there are children in the daycare again. Moon does love to give gifts to the little ones.

Then, a quiet sound of a wicker basket touching the floor. You jump before registering the slow blink of pale red eyes before you. At the end of the chaise lounge, Moon begins to creep forward. One hand follows the other, sliding along your legs and up your hips before one grabs onto the top of the backrest and the other reaches for your face. He hovers above you like a vulture in the sky.

The shadow demon brushes his thumb over your lips. The cool caress causes you to shiver but not from the cold.

You stay motionless. He hums a low sound; the beginning of a lullaby. He lays a soft touch of a cool knuckle over your cheek.

“Did you get what I ask?” you murmur, distracted by how he strokes the shell of your ear with soothing motions.

“Yes,” he grumbles. You’re glad he can see much better in the dark than you.

“Thank you.” You grin up at him. “Help me make soup, won’t you?”

You slide out from under his shadow. Back onto your feet, you hook the handle of the basket, now heavy with ingredients. You straighten only to find Moon’s sharp teeth curved into a wicked smile before you. In a split second, he pecks your mouth with a rush of midnight cool air and syrup-sweet darkness. You blink.

“You’re welcome.”

You stop him before his form can melt into the darkness. Snatching his wrist as he attempts to slip between your fingers, you step closer. The shadow demon makes a low sound of surprise. You grin as you press forward on your tippy toes into the darkness to find what you hope is his mouth—it often disappears in his face when he’s not actively showing his teeth. You kiss a smooth, satin-soft cheek.

“There, a proper kiss,” you murmur, falling back onto the fall of your feet.

A low, husky breath disagrees. Shadowy coils slip over your arms and your waist, creeping higher and higher until one hangs around your throat like an onyx necklace. The familiar and comforting weight of his embrace encircles you completely. 

“No,” the entire darkness seems to whisper in Moon’s rasp, “Let me show you a proper kiss.”

A dark finger tilts your chin up. You find his eyes as ghostly as red moons hanging above you, bathing you in unholy light. Moon hums softly. He lowers his mouth, teeth sharp but yearning, onto yours.

Cool and gentle, the shadow demon tastes your mouth. He presses to your lips in a silent declaration of fondness so sweet, it stains your tongue. His shadowy tendrils softly tightens around you in a tender crush of affection. A little nibble along your bottom lip teases his dangerous jaws, but you only gasp softly, pleased.

He releases you, unwinding from around you to slip behind your back. You, in a near daze, press towards the door and push it open. A soft hiss at the candlelight aggravates Moon for a moment before he adjusts and slithers into the living space. You catch your breath. Sun stands before the cauldron, feeding it logs but leaving it scorched with marks in the shape of his hands.

“Oh, Moon!” Sun turns around with a sharp clap of his hands. Moon hisses when his golden flames spread their light, eating away at the heavy pools of shadow at Moon’s feet. “You have been held up in that dreary room all day! Some company will do your shadows some good.”

“Ease your light,” Moon growls then slinks to a corner near the dark window overlooking the mountain peak. Pale red eyes glare before Sun inclines his head with a mischievous glint, but draws down his flames to a deep orange simmer over his charcoal body.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Sun asks with a much gentler tone.

“Yes,” Moon mutters but eases, the coils of shadows at his feet twisting with a relaxed aspect. “Are you going to sit with us while we dine?”

“Sit? I’m going to dine with you—I’m afraid I haven’t been given a choice!” Sun drops against your shoulder—a feat that would otherwise push you to the ground if he wasn’t holding himself back while maintaining the illusion of slumping over you. His hand immediately takes your own and squeezes it. “Our darling potion maker insists the only options are to starve or eat soup!”

“How can you eat soup?” Moon asks in a curious rasp. His straw hat swivels slightly to focus on you. Playfully, you roll your eyes and reach out to take a small stack of bowls from the cupboard.

There’s so little difference between cooking and the science of potion making, you’ve found.

“Are these doubts for my craft I hear?” you question.

Two sharp objections follow one loud and crackling, the other low and gravelly, causing you to laugh and break away from what was supposed to be a stern facade. 

“Good. I won’t hear any more complaints then.” You pat Sun’s cheek though you weren’t certain what part of him you’d end up touching. He’s still hanging onto you with the clinginess of a burr. You fish within the basket to snatch up a paper-wrapped and chilled pound of beef. 

“Sun?” You hold up the meat, “If you don’t mind?”

“It would be my pleasure, darling!” He snatches it up, his flames immediately eating away the paper concealing it. He cradles the meat in his palms. You feel his heat shift, concentrating to a steady and low red crackle in the black coals of his hands.

“Please remember to not burn it.” You turn away to search for a sharp knife in the drawers and withdraw one. Sun’s light sheds much-needed aid over the drawers.

“I would never! Well, maybe a little, to make sure it’s cooked and blackened as it crumbles to ash—”

“Sunny.”

“Yes. Not burnt. As you wish.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

The light flares for a moment, brighter and brighter, before calming down for poor Moon’s sake. He hisses once. Sun flashes a cheeky grin.

You smile as you turn around, only to jump slightly when Moon is already standing before you, reaching out to take the knife. His half-silver face, reflecting even sharper in Sun’s light, winks. His pale red eyes stare into your own. You shiver in his presence, caught between a revolving world of hot and cold.

“Potatoes, celery, and carrots, Moon, if you don’t mind,” you ask softly. 

“Of course,” he answers in a murmur and takes the basket away to work on the opposite end of the counter. You study the kitchen for a moment, pleased.

Moon and Sun both hum a low song they both seem to know. A lullaby of fey beings, you suppose.

Now, you’re missing someone.

A soft woosh sounds outside, right on time. You jump slightly when a metal clank follows as if you haven’t heard his arrival a hundred times.

“Please continue what you’re doing,” you say while dusting your hands on your apron. You rush for the stairs. “Eclipse and I will help when we return.”

“I hope the buzzard isn’t freezing to death,” Sun exclaims, “It’s a brutal night in the cold.”

“He shouldn’t have left,” Moon mutters in an ominous but concerned tone.

You don’t stop to answer them both as you take two steps at a time. He was gone all day. Your heart has been wrung like wet laundry before being hung out to dry. The fool—the wonderful fool. 

The howl of the wind grows as you near the outside of the moving daycare. The top of the stairs leads into a long hallway, doors branching off to yours, Eclipse’s, and Sun’s rooms, but you continue forward until you reach the end. There, you push open two frosty glass doors to see who stands on the balcony but Eclipse himself.

The wizard of the moving daycare. The balcony is dusted in snow and the metal gate separating you and him from a severe drop down the mountain face is dark and wrought. You sweep your gaze over him from head to toe and wingtip to wingtip until you’re satisfied. He’s back in one piece.

His wings are intricate mechanisms of bronze and black iron that click softly as gears whirl within the joints and settle at his back. Deep and dark feathers cover the internal workings of the frame, but sometimes, you can catch a metallic glint when he shifts just slightly. A deep red hat, pointy and rumbled, sits upon his disk-like head with bursts of yellow in the fabric. His expression is carved into two—one bright and sunny, the other lunar and dark. His eyes flash, two-toned with yellow and red, upturn in relief. Tall, even taller than Moon and Sun, he bears a willowy aspect in his white shirt and dark trousers. Robotic arms softly click with his movement. 

“Eclipse, you’re back,” you say softly. Your breath mists the cruel wind and fierce cold of the mountaintop. You immediately hug yourself, the thin sleeves of your tunic doing little against the blizzard.

“Hello, dearest. I’m terribly sorry for being away all day.” He opens his arms wide. His wings flutter, clicking and clunking with thick sweeps of dark feathers. The electric glow of his eyes softens. “I missed you.”

You run into his arms. Catching you as if you were falling, Eclipse spins you around once before spreading his wings. His plumage falls over you with a gentle breeze and all at once, the wind howls and the bitter cold dies. It is you and him, again.

“Did you find any children in need?” you ask against his chest. He’s terribly cold but you don’t mind as you rest your cheek on his wind-tugged shirt.

“I did. We should make it to the village in two days.” His fingertips stroke the back of your hair, softly scratching against your scalp in a way that lulls you into forgetting every dangerous and terrible thing that could take your loved ones away.

“That’s wonderful.” You press your smile against the metallic plates of his chest. “I’m so glad you came back safe and sound.”

“As I am. Oh! How’s our family?” he asks.

“Sun has missed playing with the children and Moon has more dolls to give away. They were worried about you. Both are helping me make soup.”

“ Helping ? Oh, I’m afraid to see what they’ve done!”

“All three of you are the same,” you snicker, “believing you can’t help me when that’s what all three of you do!”

“Hm, dearest, I don’t believe you understand.” Eclipse’s feathers ruffle when he leans low to press his forehead against your own—the frigid metal sends a great shiver down your back. His eyes glow as soft as starlight. “You are the one who keeps our heads on our shoulders. Without you, Sun would still be running away from angry villagers, Moon would still be trapped to that scarecrow pole, and I… well, I shouldn’t have to tell you how lost I’d be without you.”

His hand takes your own and gently lays it over his chest. Underneath your palm through the fabric of his shirt, a great thrum of a machine pulsates with timed clicks as quiet as a clock. His bronze and geared heart. You did put it back in his chest.

“Both can be true,” you whisper. You close your eyes. “You and Sun and Moon mean so much to me.”

The alternative is desolate. The vision behind your eyelids is sad and abandoned, a little rundown shack in the middle of dirt and rocks, and you, all alone, believing that’s what you deserved for so long. None of your potions would cure you of this wretched existence. You sunk into the numbness.

Until one day a wizard with wings swept by in his moving daycare, cruel and cursed until you found his bronze heart. Then along his adventures, you discovered a fire demon in need of fuel and comfort from running, and a poor shadow demon cursed to be blistered by the sun in his stationary pose, begging for aid and a kind hand.

You found your family, and you found you deserve their love, too.

“We know.” He draws back slightly. Squeezing your hand tenderly, Eclipse holds your gaze with the softness of a gentle night and the hope of rest. “We might not believe it, but we know.”

Despite the freezing temperatures, your heart melts inside your chest. A deep flush heats your cheeks. You wrap your arm around his waist and duck slightly to hide your face.

“Come in before your joints freeze,” you gently insist. Eclipse allows you to drag him inside before he flicks a metallic finger. The door shuts away the brutal winds and the screaming rush. You, at last, sigh, much more content to linger in the slightly warmer hallway and feel his feathers and arms become less frigid, easing your concern.

“Ah, that is immensely better,” Eclipse hums. 

He shifts, allowing his wings to lift and tuck behind his back. The beautiful feathers catch on the bit of firelight cast up the stairs, no doubt from Sun’s determined will to cook the meat without burning it. Distant chops of a knife against wood echo in rhythmic knocks, sounding of Moon tending to the vegetables.

“Next time, wait until after the storm, won’t you?” You fix his shirt so that it doesn’t fall so low down his chest—not that you don’t mind the intricate design of his bronze and steel frame, but you do intend to feed him a civilized meal. “I had worried I would have to send Moon to fetch you then thaw you out in Sun’s fire.”

“I apologize again, my dearest heart.” He bends low to cup your cheeks in his cold hands. You shiver once, eyelids trembling. In gentle regret, he strokes your cheekbones. “You worry too much, but I do adore how much you think of me.”

You glance away, frowning. Of course, you think of him and Moon and Sun too much for your own sanity, but how could you not? They’ve captivated you wholly. 

He leans closer, drawing your eyes back to his mournful expression. The brim of his deep red hat almost touches your hair.

“Forgive me?” he breathes. 

You slowly reach up to cover his hands, rubbing your thumb over the delicate yet strong design of his metallic wrists. The sleeves of his loose shirt are beginning to warm, too.

“I forgive you, always.” You press under the intimate shade of his wizard hat, and Eclipse stills at your smile. “I missed you, too.”

Before he can answer in relief, you lay your lips upon his face plate, over the grin that mystically shifts about his expression as if he were human and not a machine. A taste of the sweet crispiness of apples and the chilly darkness of twilight slips into your mouth. The large hands that cradle your face softly spasm once. Eclipse then captures you, pulling you deeper against him as the teeth of gears and the tangy metal of his mouth give into your affections entirely. Feathers flap softly, and you are concealed in the eclipse of his wings. 

He allows you to break briefly away to breathe—he once took your kiss for so long that you fainted in his arms (for which he never stopped apologizing)—and the living hum in his body harmonizes with the great pulse in your chest.

“There,” you murmur. You look up into the wizard’s gaze and how much he’s softened in your embrace. “Come downstairs and let’s eat.”

Eclipse taps your bottom lip once before straightening. A black feather slips from his back but you catch it beside his shoulder before it can slip to the ground. You carefully tuck it into your apron pocket. His eyes upturn into crescents.

“Lead the way, dearest.”

You take him down and into the warm, bright living space, cast in comfortable shadows. The scent of cooking meat causes your mouth to salivate. Eclipse’s wings relax when he views the sight. Moon and Sun lift their heads from their tasks and greet Eclipse with gladness and relief. Their family member is back safe.

“Did you find any children?” Moon rasps low but his eyes wink with piqued interest.

“Yes, several. They’ll need our help once the daycare arrives in a village in two day’s time,” Eclipse nods.

Moon and Sun exchange wide looks of excitement. The shadows below the dark demon stir and flicker. In contrast, the fire demon’s body burns brighter.

“Eclipse, won’t you gather my tiger’s chaudron jar?” you ask with a soft squeeze of your hand around his, “Be very careful. It’s temperament and might fizz and overflow if it's upset.”

“He’s helping with the food?” Sun mocks a great gasp of incredulousness. “I was under the impression you wanted to eat tonight!”

“Oh, stop it, you,” you chastise before leaning over the table to press a kiss to his hot cheek. Straightening, you release Eclipse’s hand to stand close behind Moon and slide your hand over his arm to gather a few chunks of potato he’s cut for you. “Thank you, dollface. Here, let me take these to the cauldron.”

“I will do my best,” Eclipse promises in amusement before flitting back upstairs with a soft breeze under his wings.

“Oh, he’s far too cold. I can feel how much heat he’s lacking,” Sun chitters in that rapid-fire concern of his. You silently direct him to add the meat to the cauldron. 

“You’ll sit beside him while we eat, won’t you?” you plead softly. Nabbing a wooden spoon, you begin to stir the contents. Sun wraps an arm around your waist and presses his blissful warmth against your side.

“If he won’t mention anything about me setting his wings on fire—which was once, mind you!”

Moon snickers. You press a hand over your mouth to stop a chuckle. 

“Yes, I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” you nod. “Moon, can you bring the rest of the vegetables?”

He slips behind you silently. When you turn your head to find him, you jump slightly at how little distance is between you and his dark form. Smiling wide, he reaches a hand over your shoulder and plops the remaining carrots and celery in.

“Oh. Thank you.” You quickly catch his chin and plant a kiss against his cool, smoky jawline. Moon becomes still as night. His eyes gleam with quiet delight before he slips his hand under your elbow and begins softly caressing his long, inky fingers along the sensitive underside of your arm while you stir.

A gentle ruffle of feathers glides in behind you. Before you can turn your hand and break away from the two demons, metallic arms slide over your shoulders and gingerly uncap one of your potion jars. A green clump of flowers falls into the cauldron. The concoction briefly throws small emerald flames about the surface—the key ingredient to allow Sun to consume it, as well as providing a slight spice to the dish. It will feed you all.

Eclipse’s hand withdraws only for a moment before reappearing to gently slide underneath your jaw and trace the bone tenderly. The familiar presence of the wizard with his chin resting on the crown of your head warms you, and you sigh softly. 

Surrounded by fey beings and their great powers, they attach to your presence as if you were a great sorcerer and not a humble potion maker. Their hands warm and cool you. Their bodies softly press against your ribs and spine. They don’t mind sharing.

You have your family, and they have you.

You take out the spoon with one satisfied tap against the rim of the cauldron.

“Soup’s ready, my sweethearts.”

[fosermi]

teehee

-

Eclipse the darkling had been alive for over a hundred years, in that time he raised a lot of kids. All of them orphans, all of them brought back to his village. He had seen a lot in that time, children who had seen their parents or sibling die, kids who had been so upset they didn't start talking for weeks. It was part of the world they lived in.

He had never thought he would deal with his much younger self, especially seeing his trauma on full display.

This Eclipse was still a hatchling, his scales were bright and shiny red that indicated that. He still had his baby teeth. When he was scared, he would hold onto his tail or his favorite toy for comfort. He was just a child.

And yet, he had gone through so much pain, he had been cut off from the hivemind. He was mentally alone. A terrible condition for someone who had hatched among noise and surrounded by others.

He wasn't physically alone. This human was taking care of him, along with the hedgehogs that also lived here. And the man did seem like he cared, was making an effort.

But he wasn't Black Arms, he didn't know what it meant for a hatchling to be completely abandoned and left for dead. Or how much this child was silently suffering.

Eclipse could barely remember being that age himself, barely remembered what it was like to be so young and full of bad ideas and impulses, but he did remember being proud and stubborn, digging in his heels and insisting getting his own way over mundane things.

It was another to actually see that in front of him.

This young Clippy looked at him stubbornly, already full of spitfire. "I'm fine."

"You can be honest with me," Eclipse told him. He could feel the heavy waves of emotions coming off him, the weight of carrying all this pain. "I'm you, no one else will know."

He thought it would take longer but then he had a sobbing hatchling in his arms.

And it all came out. How hard it was, how much he missed the hivemind and being around others, that he was having a difficult time adjusting to this new planet and being part of a family, how alone his mind was and overall, how much he was struggling. And the hardest part of all, what if his choice to be here instead of crawling back to Black Doom had been the wrong choice.

It made Eclipse's heart shatter for him. No one else would be able to understand this kid's pain like himself. Here alone might have the power to get through to him.

"You made the right choice and you are not alone," he insisted. "But there's something you need to know."

Eclipse gently titled his younger self's face upwards, seeing those bright gold eyes full of years and pain and suffering. Poor child. "It will get better," he said, speaking quiet but intensely. "But you have to ask for help."

"They can't help me."

"They can," Eclipse said. "You are not alone and people care about you. Shadow does and so does Wade. They want to help you, they want to make it better, but first you need to let them know you need it and be able to accept it.

His younger self's voice broke, smeared with tears and pain as he gazed upward, "are you sure? It will get better?"

"It will," Eclipse insisted, holding him close as the younger Eclipse sobbed into his chest plate, all the stress and pain leaking out of him.

He hoped this boy would listen, that hearing his older self tell him that there was hope, but he had to start reaching out, that he had to let go of some of his pride.

Gently, he stroked the boy's back and thought about what else he could do to help him.

no

fuck you

i dont care about them

what do you mean

leave me alone

/silly

[wehaveimagineshere]

Request for Admin Ren! Could I request a scenario for Halsin to react to his gender neutral crush accidentally saw him shirtless? They're very apologetic & insist on making it up to him while promising to never do it again! Please make it NSFW/explicit! Please delete the first one since I forgot to put my name - eclipse anon

I didn't mean to take so long on this! I got a tattoo last week on my left hand and that put it out of commission for about 5 days, and then I didn't feel good for about 2. But it's here!

Watching Halsin's romance scenes, he's just so sweet. His "I don't want to keep you to myself, I want others to experience being with you" was just ;A;

Also Shadowheart, if you're romancing her, being like "I'd climb Mount Halsin too if given the chance." Girl. Agree.

~*~*~

The Last Light Inn was a bastion. After crawling through all manner of locations, having a place with a nice bed and a hot bath was a godsend. With Thorm gone and the curse finally lifted, you were sure the surrounding areas, once they started to heal, would just add to the comfort of the place.

Tonight would be the last night you slept in the beds here before finally heading back home to Baldur's Gate. You'd seen the last of the tiefling band off the day before, crossing off the second to last thing on your list.

The last was what you'd come here for, standing in front of Halsin's door, bottom lip between your teeth and knuckles posed to knock. With his friend back in one piece and the land finally allowed to heal...

There was nothing to keep Halsin around. He'd done what he set out to do, to help with. The thought of him taking off back to the grove...

Taking a deep breath, you push back the uncertainty and knock. The countless conversations by the fire had to have meant something. The openness and ease of being around him had to be twofold. Right?

Hearing a muffled reply, you turn the knob and enter. "Halsin, I was hoping to--"

Arms crossed, body leaned against the wall by the window, his eyes meet yours with a smile. "Welcome. I didn't expect you so late." Pressing off the wall, his arms drop. "What can I do for you?"

You barely hear him, however, as your eyes take note of the fact that the moonlight filtering through the tempered glass is hitting bare skin, highlighting the dips and planes of his chest, his abdomen, the contrasting shadows teasing the shape of the V that leads down--

Straightening, face flaming hot, you find a very interesting divot in the floor. "I didn't realize-- I must've misheard you when you answered!" Daring a peek at his face before your eyes dart away to the small nightstand, you fear you might melt onto the floor. "I'll be more careful next time! Won't happen again!" Should you leave? Should you announce that you'll leave? Would that make things more awkward?

There's a pause, an agonizing quiet that causes anxiety to climb up your throat. Finally, when you fear you're going to say something extremely stupid to break the silence, you hear him speak. "What are you talking about? I said you could come in."

Exhaling through your nose, you debate explaining and embarrassing yourself further or just saying what you came to say. You pick the latter. "Well. Halsin." Catching his gaze and pointedly keeping yours from straying, you say, "I was wondering what your plans were."

Surprise lights his eyes. "I was wondering that myself." Taking a step toward you, he adds, "I was hoping you would give me the honor of accompanying you."

Relief makes your knees weak. You're sure it shows in your face, the way Halsin's expression softens. "Thank goodness. I was wondering how I was going to strongarm you into staying."

That familiar chuckle makes your stomach flip flop. "Sorry to disappoint." His face smooths as he looks at you, eyes darting between your own before dipping down as if outlining your features. Outlining your lips.

You unconsciously wet them in response.

His adams apple dips, eyes rising back up. "There was something else I wanted to bring to your attention."

"Anything."

That smile that can, and does, make your knees weak flashes your way. "You are extraordinary." He takes another step closer. "I have lived a very long time. I have taken many lovers." Your heart starts pounding. "My heart does not stir lightly." He can hear it, you're sure he can. "But it does now."

"Halsin," you say quietly, half in question.

His eyes don't stray from yours. "I want more than to fight at your side, or sit around the campfire with you. I want to lay with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine."

Your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

"I think you feel the same way."

Gods, you're going to implode.

"But tell me I'm wrong, and the matter can rest. I do not wish to sour our friendship, but I have to know if it can be something more."

"Halsin," you repeat, swallowing hard. Your answer is barely above a whisper. "It can definitely be something more."

His face lights up, hands reaching out to gently touch your arms as he draws closer. "Thank you. For giving me the chance to experience you, to be at your side."

The smile tugs free, drawing your lips up to mirror his as you slide your hands behind his neck, interlacing your fingers to hide the nervous tremor. "I should be saying the same to you." You pause, building your courage to hedge, "I need to make it up to you."

His hands sit solidly upon your hip bones, his chest brushing yours. "For what?"

"For earlier. Coming in without approval."

"But I--" Brows furrow before they rise, a slow grin playing about his lips. "How do you plan to make it right?"

It was a question with many layers. Teasing, but his eyes were watching for any hesitation, any uncertainty.

He would find none.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you hover your lips just centimeters from his, nerves morphing into a fragile courage. "I have ideas."

His fingers flex, digging not ungently into your hips as he draws you even closer. "And I have many for you," he answers, voice deeper and huskier as you notice his attention shift a moment before he bridges the gap.

His kiss is tender but demanding, obvious restraint in his actions as his tongue asks for entrance, his fingers once again flexing. You comply, opening yourself to him as he languidly explores your mouth, caressing your tongue and nibbling gently on your lips.

His hands lower, finding the top of your thighs before sliding onto your behind, fingers kneading. An inhale finds yourself leaning against the wall -- curiosity of how you got there dying as quickly as sparks -- and you dare to lift your leg, hooking it around his hips and drawing him closer.

So close you can feel his arousal, the ache pressing against your own.

You swallow down the moan as he shifts, grinding against you as a hand grips your thigh around him tight to keep you in place. Another careful thrust has you hearing nothing but the blood in your ears, gasping for breath as he leaves your mouth to explore your neck. Sharp, quick bites against your skin caressed by warm licks rockets your pulse into a rhythm you fear will send you into cardiac arrest.

Somehow your fingers have ended up in his hair, gripping for dear life. When he grabs your other leg and hoists you up so your only rock is him, making you squeeze him closer to you or risk a fall, his erection rubbing in all the right places even over your clothes, you're not sure when you last took a breath.

A hand digs into your ass as another slides up and over, drawing between you two. The moment his fingers press against your aching parts is when you finally shutter out a moan.

Teasing, exploring, he prioritizes learning every touch that gets you to react, cataloguing every moan and hitch of breath. His mouth continues its journey along your chest, your shirt an irritating obstacle that you both quickly discard.

A nipple is immediately between his teeth, pressing gently but hard enough to smart, his tongue sending the pain into zings of pleasure. His hand between your legs leave just long enough to tug at your pants.

Wrestling back control of your body, you press against his shoulders. He straightens immediately, but before he can ask anything you shake your head, hand dragging down his abdomen until your fingers find their mark.

You palm him over his pants and you feel his breath hitch. Moving down then up, you watch his expression, watch as his eyes shudder and grow misty. Moving to unlatch one leg, you find instead your knee lifted in denial. Hazel eyes flare as you catch his gaze, a smile lifting his lips a moment before he crushes them against yours, a hand tossing the one against his erection aside as he instead presses hard against you, the friction of the fabric sending you both into absolute messes as grunts and groans intermingle.

It's not enough.

He lets you go just long enough to let your pants join your shirt before he hoists you up again, his cock free and pressing against your skin. With a look from him and a nod from you, he spits into a palm, pumps himself to mix the spit with his precum, and lines himself up.

He's slow, letting you adjust as he slowly sheaths himself bit by bit, your nails clawing at his shoulders and your head thrown back. By the time he's at the hilt, your legs are shaking and your hips shift, the movement sending lightning through your veins.

Another nod from you and he sets the pace.

Slow, gentle, making sure you're comfortable. Each slide in and out shredding your self control, any amount of shame as your hips demand a faster pace. Lips lock and tongues dance as you both feel that aching pressure build, his sweat making it hard to grip his skin so you fist his hair instead, his hands squeezing your ass in response.

His pace becomes erratic, sloppy, and you know he's reaching the peak. You are too, every thrust hitting that sweet spot, driving you closer and closer to that edge.

He mutters something, maybe your name, and you both come undone. Gripping you tight, he slams one last time into you as he moans, cock twitching as he fills you to the brim. You cry out as stars explode behind your eyes, tearing your body apart in the climax. All you can do is claw weakly as your body shudders.

When you fall back to earth, you're aware of his forehead pressed against your shoulder, your slick bodies pressed together in a caress. Running a hand up and down his back, you lean your own head against his.

"That was..." you find yourself trying, and failing, to articulate, breath beginning to even out.

A deep chuckle vibrates through your bones. "I know." He inhales slowly, leaning back enough to press his forehead against yours. "You are incredible."

The shy smile you respond with seems almost silly.

Wrapping his arms across your back, he steps away from the wall and toward the bed. Laying you down gently, reverently, his eyes drinking in every inch of skin revealed to him, you watch as his eyes darken once more. "We have all night."

Another invitation, another statement with questions.

Unhooking your legs from his hips, you shakily sit up, hand pushing his chest, your shy smile growing to something more sly as he allows you to press him against the bed. Letting your eyes roam over his body as you're now the one above, you watch his face as you move lower, lower. "Allow me to repay the favor," you whisper, taking his still hard cock in your hand and giving it a lick.

As he said, you have all night.

[totaleclipse573]

Shadow, trying to sleep

Eclipse, crawling around like this on the ceiling (because he can)

Spider Clip

Crawls into Shadows room ON THE CEILING and gives him the biggest heart attack of his life bc there’s just two glowing eyes watching him from above

[simonsquest]

A playlist of tracks inspired by Simon's first siege on Castlevania. :) It's significantly shorter than my last playlist, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Like last time, I highlighted pertinent lyrics under the cut and included a link to each song on YouTube.

Genres: Power metal, symphonic metal, metalcore

Please be advised the lyrics can be quite graphic.

DRACULA X! - MARC HUDSON, JACKY VINCENT, ADRIENNE COWAN (warning: flashing images in the video) Alive under the blackened skies The hunter waits in disguise For the evil one's in sight tonight And the time is right Behind veils of a masquerade Descend brave and nameless heroes We will strike tonight, protect what's right Beneath the cover of moonlight For the sake of mankind, we must lead the blind And vanquish all the demons Across the devil's red sand, through thе archways grand A neverending mazе See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "Now is the time to make a stand!" We strike, fighting through hordes of undead Searching the chambers unending For our one desire, the great vampire And banishing his soul with fire See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "You will die now and leave this world!" In the castle walls Where the demons crawl We will end this reign of endless night As the palace burns Justice shall return And lift the shadows that once eclipsed the earth Until the day you rise again When the sun shines again over the promised land Forever enshrined upon our hands, the fate of every man See the sunlight fade away, behold the night again and witness The rising dust, call for blood, breaking the minds of men Yet the fear inside falls away tonight For our destiny awaits us As the prophecies spoke through the ages told The sun will shine again Leave behind all of life's fleeting stories Come forth tonight into glory Raise your swords high and storm the gates!

POWER OF WILL - DYNAZTY I'm here to burn down the past I rise to build something to last I shall refuse to ever bend Through the storm that has no end I'm gonna make the wrong be right No matter what I stand before I'll be afraid no more I am here, I'm awake 'Cause this world is mine to take Through the power of will I'll find my still again I will take the pain and let it make me strong 'cause I believe There's a force no pain can kill The power of will I've seen the bridge over all grief It's the power of belief I'm gonna cross it all with ease I'm gonna bend realities I know the way out of the dark I hold the compass in my heart, yes I'll tear down the past, build something to last I'll walk through the towering shadows been cast Through power of will I'll shatter the still Turn every stone till all the lies have been killed I'll bend, never break, I'll earn what I make I'll stand up for what I believe is at stake My will's made of stone, it's infused to the bone It's a fire-lit force with the potency of a cyclone

CALL OF THE WILD (FEAT. HANSI KURSCH) - POWERWOLF When in the night at the altar we're standing Staring at the icon on the wall When we unite for the sermon pretending The holy word by our blood we're defending Wear the crown of thorns to praise the fall Stand up, tonight we raise the call We bring the call of the wild to the sign of the sacristy Rest in the eye of our sanctity Before the dawn we are hallowed and praying Another night, all the sermon obeying Breaking down the altar and the verse Preaching all the night to break the curse

INCENSE & IRON - POWERWOLF Follow the dead in the dark of damnation Pious in head and a demon at heart Sworn to the night, an evangelist nation born Under the sign of the dark Gather the wild from the horde of the brave men Brothers allied, fight the storm of this curse Combat ahead and the night calls for heroes Ready for fire command Revel in red come and wake up to bring no remorse Stand up as force Rise over the dead, bring us ahead, incense and iron Fight all of the night, banners up high to the top of the land Right into the red, all you can get, incense and iron Stand, follow the fight, doing the right as we come to defend

LET’S BURY THE HATCHET… IN YOUR HEAD - ICE NINE KILLS You sold our souls, so burn in Hell You fucking did this to yourself again Now, bow your head You suffocated us for the last time We paid the price for your pathetic vice So now we're taking back what's ours: Our name, our blood, our life, our cause! Oh! So, wake up Here's a mirror so you can see This crooked, spineless, disgusting man That's become your legacy Here and now I'm pulling all my strings I have with God I'm hoping to find a better way I pray the only thing I need is time To rid the world of your lunacy You're as faithful as a false prophet So, here's a prophecy for you: Yeah, you'll remember me (remember me, remember me!) When you're struggling to breathe! Can't you see what a monster you've become? I couldn't watch the world through your eyes Salvation for you's in the hands of God So save your prayers and just beg for life I'm fucking done with you

THE PLOT SICKENS - ICE NINE KILLS We’ll make it out alive Lord hear our prayer across the air Is God’s intent final decent or just a test of our faith? If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way out, we’ll find a way out Left behind by God or the devil himself To find a way, find a way, to make it out alive The sight at hand, gruesome and grand, cannot be rectified Searching for signs of life in wreckage we can’t recognize We cry out for those who can’t be saved One foot on sacred ground and one foot in the grave Steady we climb, ready to die To look salvation in the eye If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way, find away, to make it out alive

FEED THE FLAME - THAUROROD Fire from the heart Master it while you are Searching for truth Of our lives You are the light Walk through the fire To enter the light Banish the eternal night Stand tall and proud Let your heart feed the flame Things will never again Be the same This much is true Heaven or hell It starts with you Change begins with yourself Reach for the light In our lives Fight the good fight

EAGLEHEART - STRATOVARIUS All through the night he is lying awake Wondering how much more can he take Watching the walls where the shadows dance Drifting away into a trance And his eyes are blazing with fire Dreams burnt to ashes so many times Highest of mountains, still he climbs Ready to fly 'cause he just can't stay Flame burning brighter with every day And his eyes are blazing with fire Longing for the deepest desire Fever is burning in his veins Determined with courage, breaking the chains Back against the wall, under blood red skies Prepared to fight until he dies