#How Can I Help My Eyes Adjust to New Lenses?

[reglazemyspex]

How Can I Help My Eyes Adjust to New Lenses?

The key to adjusting to a new pair of lenses is simple; wear them as much as you can. Your eyes and brain need time to process the change in imagery, accepting the sharpness or vividness of your surroundings.

[iggy5055]

Yandere Emperor Darth Vader X reader Part 3

Vader uncrispy

Summary: (Y/N) lands on Coruscant, the foreign planet and giant palace that was now her home being a bit too much at first. Vader, refusing to let his love suffer, shows her something that helps her adjust as they grow closer. 

Warning: Yandere, manipulation, obsession, age gap.

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"Welcome to your new home my Empress."

I couldn't believe my eyes, my jaw was nearly on the floor. I knew Coruscant was big, considering there were over several trillion people who lived there, but this was just outrageous.

It was a beautiful planet, half of it bathed in artificial light and the other shining in sunlight. On one side I could see lights of all different colors from the never-ending city making it glow beautifully. On the other side that still had daylight I could see a shining light from the sun reflecting off all the beautiful shiny buildings that covered the entirety of the surface. 

I had jolted back into Anakin when we came out of hyperspace. The sudden jolt caused my accustomed legs to falter, my knees almost giving out on me. Anakin's arms were still wrapped around me securely keeping me from falling as I thanked myself for not putting on the heels, my back was tightly pressed into his front. I couldn't help but flinch a little as the little box on his chest plate dug a little too harshly into my back but I didn't say anything. 

I Find myself ignoring the sharp pain as nervousness came to the forefront of my brain. The reality of my situation suddenly being dropped on me. This whole time I have been worried about the emperor himself, and while I still am, I realized what position his affection puts me in. the thought making me shake a little. 

I look up at Anakin. All I could see was the dark red almost black lenses that covered his amber eyes. The Emperor of the galaxy really was intimidating in full armor that's for sure. It made sense though, someone with so much power was bound to be very intimidating, he had many subjects to lord over, I can understand why he would want some anonymity. But I knew I was safe in his arms, no matter how scary he looked but I also knew I was woefully unprepared for what was about to happen and the new life i was about to enter. 

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I could feel her nervousness seeing me in my full armor but also at the new life that was in front of her. I didn't like seeing her so tense, but she would have to get used to it. As much as I wish she could alway gaze up into my eyes for comfort, that was a privilege only my love would ever have, so it was a comfort she only got to have when we were alone. 

I knew adjusting to her new life would scare her and I wish I could comfort her properly, the way I wanted to, my skin on hers, but it would have to wait. I started to rub my leather clad thumbs across her shoulder and made sure not to squeeze her middle too much with my other hand as I counted the seconds till I got her alone. 

She stared back at me with a nervous look on her beautiful little face. I leaned down again, whispering into her ear not wanting to scare her anymore, just sticking to talking in a low voice so as not to frazzle her anymore. 

"When we land I'll show you your new home, my love. I promise you'll love it."

She seemed to relax at my words, nodding her head and giving me a slight smile. My heart melted at the sight of her. I continued to massage her shoulder and give her a little squeeze with my arm wrapped around her middle giving her a subtle hug. I loved her more than anything but I still needed to be seen as an intimidating leader. But at the same time holding her close to me told everyone else to stay away from her.

Wanting to give her as much physical contact as I could give her, I subtly pulled her closer to my chest only to feel her flinch as I did, a grimace flashing over her soft features. I could feel a pang of pain coming from her throught the force. I gave her a little once over but couldn't see anything wrong with my love.

"What's wrong, my love? Why are you hurting?"

She looks back up at me after a moment, her face still twisted in discomfort but also confusion as she tries to figure out how I knew. I couldn't help the smirk that made its way onto my lips at her adorable face.

"T-the thing o-on your chest is d-digging into m-my back."

I immediately loosen my grip on her significantly, moving my hand that was on her stomach to her other shoulder looking down to where my chest computer rested. It was what circulated clean air into the suit to let me breathe. I hadn't even thought about it digging into her poor delicate skin. I turned her around so she would be facing me and leaned my head down and gently rested my masks forehead onto the top of her head as a sort of kiss in lue of the real thing. As much as I didn't want to show weakness in public I needed to apologize to my love, even if it wasn't as intimate as I would like

"My apologies, my love I hadn't realized."

She smiles at me again, the discomfort no longer plaguing her expression. She opens her mouth to say something but was interrupted when Captain Shaef Corssin came over to us interrupting her.

"We are starting our descent my Lord, we wi--"

He was cut off when I removed one of my hands from my loves shoulders, my hand forming a pincer, holding him up and choking him as he hung in the air. My Empress, the sweet soul she was, heard the sound of his pathetic choking and attempts to beg for his life and tried to turn around to see the source of the noise. 

I gently wrapped my remaining arm around both her shoulders, holding her to my chest face first making sure the computer wasn't hurting her but keeping her in place at the same time, ensuring she didn't catch sight of the pathetic fool behind her. She tried to turn her head but my use of the force preventing her from turning her head. 

She looked up at me innocently after a few failed attempts at turning her head to the sound of the dying man quickly realizing something wouldn't let her, the look on her face making me want to kiss her non-stop.

'What were you going to say my Empress?'

She blushed a little at her new title, she must have been in too much shock earlier to realize I had already called her that. 

"It’s fine”

As much as I wished she could see the smile that formed on my face at her words, I was a little grateful for the mask at that moment. My love made my cold heart melt, a loving smile stretching across my face as it did. As much as I loved her I hated how soft she made me in her presence. That softness was only for her.

After a minute of staring down loving at my little girl, my smile turned into a harsh scowl as I stood straight once more keeping my love close. Her small hands had made their way up to rest on my chest, giving her a buffer between my hard armor and her fragile skin.

"Now. What were you saying, Captain." 

My voice was full of malice, as I released the now blue tinted man to the cold steel floor of the bridge. Making sure my love wasn't able to turn around with my other hand now finding purchase on the back of her head.

 I regretted that my love had to hear me speak with so much anger in my voice so soon but I would be sure to make it up to her later. 

I knew she would hear me talk like that to our subjects and soldiers eventually and I knew that one day she would see me kill someone, but I wouldn't let her see that just yet. She needed to feel safe in my presence no matter what and that would take time. I wanted to covet her innocence as long as humanly possible. 

The captain was now on his knees, his hand gripping his neck as he coughed and sputtered trying to gather his bearings. I was beginning to lose my patience.

"W-we will land in t-ten minutes m-my lord."

I shoo him away and look back down at my little love. I card my fingers through her soft hair, stroking her head gently. I could feel her confusion with regards to what just happened, only being able to hear the choking of a man and then a hard thump from behind her. I kept my movements soft and slow, despite the brave face she was wearing I could feel her anxiousness.

I continued to caress her and gently tell her about Coruscant in a low soft voice telling her how wonderful her new life would be till we touched down on said new home.

The Executor landed with a harsh hump, for someone like me I didn't even notice it anymore, having been on star ships for most of my life but for someone like my love, who had never been on a ship in her life her first landing felt harsh. Any jolt or thump, any sudden noise made her jump, flinch or gasp as the ship began to decompress and get ready for offloading. 

Regardless of her being in my arms I felt my anger begin to boil over. My love was clearly overstimulated. All these new things hitting her all at once and yet I couldn't do anything about it but wait for the startling ordeal to be over and take her to our room so she could calm down in my arms, safe and sound. For once I found myself seething at the armor encasing me, the thing preventing me from comforting my love properly. Unable to ground her with the touch of my skin. 

“Come my love, it is time to show you your new home.”

She looks up at me with big eyes. 

When we finally were secure in the hanger and ready to start unloading everything (Y/N) was shaking like a leafs. Her eyes were closed and she was clutching her hands together so tightly they were snow white. Her head was buried into my chest despite how uncomfortable of a position it is.

I stand straight and look out the bridge window. It was already dark, if she had a normal day she would probably be heading to bed soon, but she had just woken up a few minutes ago. I will show her around our chambers, maybe show her the throne room and my office so that she could find me when she needed, and end the tour by showing her the garden. Some of the plants glow in the dark, I'm sure she'll like them. 

I continue to card my fingers through her hair as she shakes in my arms. 

"Come, little star. Let me show you to our room. The palace isn't far, You can rest soon."

She doesn't lift her head from my chest but she does nod. Oh what I wouldn't give to take off all this cumbersome armor and hold her in my arms, kissing her till my lips fall off and hers a sweetly swollen and puffy. 

I slowly drag my hands from her hair back down to her shoulders and turn both of us around to the doors. No one dared to speak a word. All of them keeping their heads down not daring to look at me or their new Empress. I would have to hold a ball or a banquet of some kind and a coronation to crown her as the Empress of the galaxy but that would come after she grows custom to me and we get married. Rumors will spread by then so everyone will know who she is and who she belongs to. So the ceremonies will really all just be for show.

I led her out of the hangar and onto a private hover car to take her home. We were completely alone now with no chance of us being seen so I pulled her close and allowed her to curl up into my lap. Once again we sat in silence as she began to breathe a little easier. I gave her a little drink that she was slowly nursing on. I gently rubbed up and down her soft exposed back. Most of her clothes that I got her were revealing but not slutty. It was perfect for me to have some kind of skin contact in public while not exposing too much to others. 

It took me a while to figure out what clothes would work but these really were perfect. All her clothes had open backs with a kind of cap of some kind to both match mine and let me have easy contact on her but she isn't exposed to any other eyes. However the plunge neckline on her clothes that exposed her tits did irk me a bit but at the same time I couldn't help but enjoy the little liberty.

She had little goosebumps all over her skin. I knew she was a little cold but at the same time it made her more willing to cuddle up to me for warmth, all thought I will admit that my suit doesn't give much warmth. 

I gaze out the window into the brightly lit night. You could see the Coruscant palace now in all its glory.

I tap (Y/N) on her shoulder. She shyly looks up at me with her big doe eyes silently waiting for me to tell her what I wanted.

"Look over there, my love. Your new home."

She looks over to the window at the place. Her jaw nearly hit the floor. She had such an amazed look on her face. She has mostly been looking down in her lap or at her drink so she hadn't really taken a moment to look at Coruscant at all. I imagine she hadn't seen buildings as big as this in her life. I doubt she had even thought that building so big was even possible. 

I kept gazing down at her and her adorable look of shock and amassment. She was so cute I wanted to burn the look into my memory.

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I couldn't believe my eyes. Never in my life had I thought someplace like this could exist. The lights were extravagant. Everything was extravagant. 

My breathing got a little heavy. Suddenly this whole situation hit me. My new home, my new life. My smile started to drop, My hands started to shake. I didn't know how to react. This was all too much. 

I felt Anakin pull me closer to himself, if that was even possible. His hands slowly moved over to the drink in my hand, gently taking it out and placing it on a little table in the hover car. Even the car itself was ridiculously fancy. I mean who has ever heard of a little table in a car. 

He lifted his hand up to my face. Cupping my cheeks and guiding my head into his shoulder, taking my vision away from the city. In all honesty his shoulder wasn't very comfortable because of his armor but even with the uncomfortable armor digging into my cheek the gesture was still comforting. 

I closed my eyes. Slowly gathering my thoughts and trying to get everything straight. I understood everything that had happened up till now. My being rescued, the trip to Coruscant and now we are on our way to the Grand Imperial Palace that was now my new home with the Emperor who was now apparently my lover. I understood and now I had everything in order but it was still overwhelming. 

I couldn't help the tears streaming down my face. I let out soft hiccups every now and then as I tried to keep my crying as quiet as possible. 

Anakin was gently carding his gloved hand through my hair quietly cooing at me as I started to slowly calm down. 

"Relax, my love. It's ok. You will be ok. Just breathe with me."

I did my best to follow his breathing. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest throughout his suit. The sound of his breathing helped too.

I wasn't sure how long we had been sitting there but after a while Anakin raised my head to look up at him, or, well, his mask.

"We are here my love."

I looked over to the window again, and sure enough the Palace was there. My breathing was getting a little uneven again. What happened after this? Where do we go? What should I do? I could feel my head fill with a heavy ner painful fog. 

Anakin helped me get out of the hover car but the second my feet touched the ground I felt everything go black.

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I was a fool, I can't believe I let this happen to my sweet little love. I had overwhelmed her too much, shown her too much at once. Of course she passed out. 

I kept pacing the room around the luxurious bed that me and my love now shared, that she was currently passed out in, with rage. 

I had been so happy, so consumed with my love for her, knowing that soon she would be in my, now our, home and live the most luxurious life imaginable with all the most luxurious things ever known to any spices in the galaxy. She would want for nothing, need for nothing, always safe and loved and cared for in every way imaginable in my arms. But in all that happiness and the distraction of dreaming of the future I would give her I didn't keep my force around her. I wasn't monitoring her as much as I should have been. 

This was my fault. My doing. All because of my carelessness. 

I angrily took off all my armor, throwing it about the dark room. I was sure to close all the blinds once I tucked her into our bed. Once she passed out I caught her before she could fall too far, no part of her ever having the chance to hit the floor before I immediately wrapped her in my force at the sight of her starting to fall. It only made my rage worse. Not at her, never at her, but at myself. I could feel her overwhelming fear, her concern and her nervousness. 

I also felt a horrible headache coming on once she was out cold. The darkness of the room would help, even if it was dark the city lights did plenty to replace the sun and would no doubt still be too bright for her hurting mind. 

My armor was now completely removed, I had on a pair of comfortable loose fitting sleep pants and lose a shirt. Just as I had finished putting away my violently tossed armor in its proper place and gotten a bottle of painkillers and some water to give my love, when she woke up with a whimpering. 

Her face was harshly twisted in a pained expression. Her body was so tight it looked painful. I rushed over and set the cup of water and bottle of painkillers down. I sit down beside her, running my fingers through her soft hair. Gently my knuckles make their way to her cheek, gently guiding them down to her jaw. Her face relaxed some but her body was as tense as ever. 

I felt her mind was in such painful turmoil. Even in her sleep she was hurting so much, so scared, but at my gentle caresses she began to calm a little. I couldn't help the feeling of pride that grew within me knowing my touch made her relax, even just a little. 

After a few moments of my hands caressing her hair and soft skin her beautiful eyes began to flutter open. Her eyes were lidded, trying her hardest to keep them open with all the fog and pain in her mind. Tears started to form her eyes making them shine like crystals and beginning to cascade down her now reddened cheeks like a waterfall. 

"Oh, my love~"

I cooed at her, taking both her cheeks in my hands, caressing her puffy cheeks with my thumbs, gently pressing my forehead to hers as she sobs loudly in my arms.

"It is ok my love, I have you, just relax."

She was shaking like a leaf in my arms, so scared and in so much pain. 

"Its ok, my love~"

I gently sit her up, regardless of her quiet protests, moving behind her and letting her lean back into my warm chest. I reach over for the pills and water. I take out two pills and place them in my hand once again placing down the bottle. 

"Open wide my love, this will make all the pain go away."

She opens without any kind of hesitation. The action makes my heart warm at how completely she trusted me but at the same time it hurts knowing that even with her complete trust I didn't take care of her properly. I hold up the water to her lips as she gulps it down. Once she was done I placed everything down and tilted my head down to her cheek to give her a peck on the corner of her soft lips. 

We sit in silence for a while as she slowly relaxes more and more in my arms as the pain meds start to take effect. I was sure to keep my force around her, being sure to comfort her and ease some of the pain myself. I could tell she wasn't tired anymore even if it was dark. 

After a few minutes of holding her in our bed, she starts to calm, her mind relaxing. Her turmoil calmed significantly. While our room was big it was also pitch black. You could see almost nothing in the room at night and with the blinds drawn like this. Just being in a dark room with nothing to see, nothing to become overwhelmed with, helped her stressed mind.

"How are you feeling now my love?"

She looks up at me with her big eyes, the slight remnants of tears could be seen under her eyes. They were slightly puffy and a little red.

"Better."

I smiled down at her lovingly, Her voice was a little hoarse and it was just nearly above a whisper. All that crying took a clear toll on her.

She was still in stock to an extent but clearly not willing to go to sleep. From the time I took her to now she has been sleeping for a good chunk of that. She couldn't fall asleep even if she wanted to. But that was only her mind. Her body was clearly weak with exhaustion but laying in bed wouldn't do anything for her. 

"How about we get up and get you a little something to eat, then we can go down to the gardens and we will see how you feel after that, Hmm?"

Her eyes were still pretty sluggish, most likely from the pain killers that told have started to take effect, but she nodded and moved to get out of my lap but before she could get too far I pulled her back by her waist and gave her cheek a kiss then stood with my love in my arms. 

"Your body is exhausted, my love."

I started to walk towards the door to our room but despite my words she still squirmed in my arms a little, trying to gently get out of my arms without angering me. I could feel how nervous her mind was to annoy me even if she trusted me. 

Little did she know that nothing she could do could annoy me, that is except from her trying to leave and her hurting herself, but without her memories it's highly unlikely she will try to leave unless it would be to explore which I'll let her do once she's comfortable here, but never without me. And hurting herself, I would never let her do that. Besides she will sparsely ever leave my side. 

"Now now, my love~, let me take care of you. I wouldn't want you to faint again."

I press my lips to the crown of her head, letting them linger there as she stills in my arms, going completely limp as I open the door with the help of the force. 

As I walked over to the dining room I could feel her become completely limp in my arms, her head resting on my bare chest. If it wasn't for my force surrounding her I could have thought she had passed out. 

Her head nuzzled into my chest. I looked down at her, her face was completely relaxed. Just as we made it to the doors, I leaned down to kiss her head again, opening the door in the process.

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In Anakin's warm, safe arms I take in my new surroundings. The room opens with just a flick of his finger, like magic, but of course I knew better than to believe that. But there was no doubt the force was, well, for lack of a better word the force was a mysterious force to recon with. For instance this constant presence. I always felt him, in my mind, surrounding me in a blanket of safety. 

The room was grand, a large room that was black and red themed with hints of gold here and there. The room was huge, pillars going all the way to the roof and a red carpet adorning the floor right underneath the biggest dining table I have ever seen in my life. But despite the table's grandiose size there sat only four chairs around it. Two sat at separate heads of the table, they were much fancier than the other two, clearly for people of importance such as the Emperor. The other two sat on the sides of the table and while still very nice and comfortable they couldn't have been better than the chairs at the heads of the large table that stood a good seven feet away from the side chairs. 

To the right of us were two grand glass double doors, much taller than Anakin. The black marble stone floor stretched out past the doors and from the windows making up the doors it seemed to drop off into a staircase. I didn't get to see too much before Anakin walked over to the chair at the head of the table to the left. I thought he would have just placed me down and taken his seat elsewhere but instead he pulled the chair out with the force and sat down, me still in his lap. 

I squirmed a little, both out of awkwardness but also to get a little more comfortable on his muscled thighs. Even if I wanted to get off his lap his gentle but firm grip on my body told me this was where I was staying till he decided to let me go. 

The second we sat, servants came out from the doors around us, carrying plates of food and placed them on the empty table that now seemed to have no free space on it once all the dishes had been brought out.. 

I looked in front of us, well in front of us for Anakin, for me I was looking to the side, out the doors. I knew Coruscant was a planet that had very little to no plant life, so I found it odd when I took a closer look outside the doors to see green. Endless plants and trees with flowers of all kinds of colors. I couldn't see too much of it but from what I could see it was the most beautiful place on this planet of metal.

Lost in thought I hadn't noticed that the empty plate in front of us was now full of food, nor that Anakin was trying to feed me. I only noticed when he had placed the small piece of fruit he was holding to my lips, breaking me out of my stupor. 

I look back up at him, I must have had a funny look on my face because he chuckled. 

He reached up his metal hand, and ran it through my hair down to my cheek and jaw. 

"I'll take you into the garden later my love, first you will eat."

He presses the fruit a little closer to my mouth, the juice dripping down my chin a little so to avoid too much of a mess I open my mouth to eat it. It was so juicy and sweet. I had never tasted anything so good in my life. I groaned a little at the taste. It was just so good. It was only once I had swallowed the fruit that I realized how hungry I actually was. I reached over for more food only for my wrist to be grabbed gently by his mechanical hand and brought back over to my chest. I was going to turn my head to question his actions but before I could look over at him I felt warm lips on my neck.

I yelped out in surprise, not expecting it. His lips trailed up my neck, following the trail of juice that had dripped down my chin and apparently my neck. 

I look back over at him shocked at both his actions. Was I not supposed to eat? Then why did he feed me? Were we supposed to do something first like a blessing? I didn't take him for a religious man but he could use the force so maybe? And the kiss, while welcome there were people in the room. It didn't seem like a thing an Emperor should be seen doing especially to someone like me in public. 

Anakin just smiled gently down at me, seeing nothing wrong with his actions. 

"I know you are hungry, little star but you need to eat slowly or else you will get sick. Let me."

Without another word he held another piece of fruit up to me. it wasn't the same fruit as before but it still looked really good. He didn't even bother explaining his kisses, nor did he seem to care about the public setting all that much. 

After taking the other piece of fruit from his fingers I discreetly looked around, all the servants were now standing against the wall surrounding us, not daring to look at us, instead opting to look straight ahead at the servant standing opposite of them. 

I looked back out the windowed doors again. It was dark so the plants out in the garden weren't fully visible but from the city lights I could make out some colors.

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I continued to feed my love but it was clear it wasn't me or the food that her focus was on, more like she was just eating because I was feeding her despite how hungry she clearly was, otherwise completely lost in her own thoughts. 

It was clear the garden was all she could think about, but first her health came first and that meant eating but being lost in her own thoughts wasn't hurting anyone so I would let her dream until I fulfilled them once I was done feeding her.

I had fed her a fairly juicy piece of meiloorun and the juice once again ran down her chin to the column of her throat. While there was nothing wrong with her getting lost in her own thoughts that didn't mean I could try and distract her from them a little. 

I started from the bottom of the droplet, slowly kissing and sucking my way up to her jaw. I take my sweet time not being in any kind of rush, my little star on the other hand seemed to feel differently. 

With the use of the force it was clear that she wasn't necessarily uncomfortable with my actions or the feeling but our setting, the fact others were here, not like she had to worry. If any of them valued their lives, they won't even steal a glance. Regardless, I didn't like her being uncomfortable so I wouldn't drag on my affections. 

I kiss the corner of her lips before finally pulling away and leaning back into the chair once more. Her face was as red as my lightsaber, it seemed to glow almost as bright as it as well. The sight of her made me chuckle at her. 

I take my flesh hand and gently caress her cheek with my knuckles. 

"Do you want to eat more, my little star?"

She seemed to ponder the question for a moment both gathering her flushed thoughts and seeing if she was in fact still hungry. I had fed her for a while, not like she seemed to notice, so lost in her own little head. 

After a moment she shook her head, before I moved however I strengthened my force around her, making sure she really was full.  She wasn't exactly full but she was satisfied enough and with that I was satisfied. I quickly hoisted her up into my arms and started to carry her out to the gardens she seemed to long for so much. 

Once she realized where we were going her eyes lit up brighter than any of the lights on Coruscant. I squeeze her tightly to my chest, the contact making my heart flutter. 

I didn't want to take her outside. The closer we got to the doors the more I wanted to turn and take her back to our room, safe for everything and anything in my arms. I had my saber with me and the security here was stronger than anything in the galaxy but still. But I knew how much she would love the gardens.

Some part of me reveled in the fact that the servants and guard saw how I treated her, how I held her, how she belonged to me. but on the other hand I wanted to lock her away, I wanted to be the only one who ever saw her soft face and kind eyes full of trust. However the contrasts don't stop there, I want to hold her, always and forever. always to have a part of me touching hers. I know she is safe and protected but most importantly loved. Locking her away would eventually break her, and I could imagine no greater pain than hurting her. 

I wanted to make all her hopes and dreams come true, like I said, she would never want for anything, and right now my little star wanted to go to the garden, so in the safety of my arms that is exactly where she would go. 

Opening the doors with the force I could hear the servants scatter out of the room once me and my love crossed the threshold. 

I refused to wear my armor and mask around her all the time, especially when we are spending time together, such as eating dinner, or simply walking around the palace together, of course of locations outside the palace I will have to wear it, I already don't like that my servants are seeing my face for the first time but even without it I am still an imposing figure, but now they have a face to the phantom. They know I am human and have emotion when they should see me as an imposing emotionless being. But for my love, my reputation means very little as long as I have the power to do as I please and keep them in line. 

A rush of fresh air hits us as we enter the open space of the garden. I could feel my love wiggle around in my arms, clearly wanting to explore a little by herself, so clearly awestruck by what she saw in front of her. Reluctantly I let her go but I remained close to her at all times, often resting my hand on the small of her back softly, just letting her know I was here.

Occasionally I would add a little more pressure only for her to whip her head around to look at what just touched her, clearly get so lost in her own head she completely forgot she had company. I usually didn't like getting ignored but with her it wasn't an insult but a compliment and a win for me. It meant she felt safe enough with me that she was able to completely ignore my imposing presence and yet feel no danger even though I was right behind her, just out of her peripheral vision. 

Every time her little doe eyes shot back to look into my cold and sharp ones she would smile a little making my heart flutter once again. 

As she walked around admiring all the different kinds of flowers, faunas and other arrangements of plant life I took a few steps back. We had been walking around the massive garden for around thirty minutes now but we haven't even seen one third of it yet, she was certainly taking her sweet time. 

After about ten more minutes I was sure she completely forgot about me, even going so far as to quietly call her name but she gave me no reaction. 

I decided she had walked around for long enough, she would have all her life to walk around and memorize every single plant in the garden. Slowly while keeping my force tightly around her I summoned one of the servants, instructing them to bring me something warm to drink and to set it up in the garden. She hadn't eaten as much as I would have liked so I was sure they brought some sandwiches for us as well. Once I was sure they had set everything up again I went over to my little star, She wasn't hard to find. I knew where she was the entire time so all I had to do was follow the force. 

When I saw her she was sitting on the side of a stone raised flower bed delicately holding a flower in her hands and smelling it as she admired the colors of the petals. Her back was facing me which was in my favor, slowly I walked over to her. Once I was right behind her I wrapped my arms around her body, caging her in my arms with hers pinned to her sides. She lets out a frightened little yelp and for a moment I can tell she really is scared something bad is about to happen to her. 

Before she can scream too loudly I turn her around and incase her lips in mine, effectively stealing her breath away. I pull her into my arms as I kiss her deeply. Ensuring she is comfortable. 

After a moment she realizes I was the one kissing her, she goes from scared for her life to embarrassed. I could feel the heat radiating off of her cheeks as she finally kissed me back. 

She is shy, clearly inexperienced, but she is young, and I had no problem taking the lead. Being her first made my ego swell. Being able to teach her new things, discovering her pleasures together for the first time. The thought of it alone made other parts swell.

Slowly I unlock our lips, letting her catch her breath as I rest my lips on her forehead. I could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest, I had clearly scared her but she knew she was safe.

"Hello my love."

I could help the chuckle that escaped my lips as she gently slapped my chest.

"That wasn't funny, you nearly scared me half to death."

"I was just playing with you, my love, I would never let anything harm you."

I reach my hand up to her cheek, caressing it with the gentleness of a feather. 

I was about to tell her about the food I had prepared for us but just as I opened my mouth I could hear her stomach growl lightly.

Her face flushes with embarrassment and all I can do is chuckle at her. 

"Come my little star, I have some food for us."

This time I placed her in her own chair but remained close, but this time the table was very small so I was within arms reach of her. 

She looks around the selection of sandwiches in front of her and picks a meat sandwich, slowly she takes a bite as I sip on our warm drink taking in her beauty. 

She moans at the taste of her sandwich and I find myself closing my eyes and taking in the sound, locking it away in my mind. But still, I wanted more, I needed more. But all in due time. I had no need to rush her.

I open my eyes again to look over at her, a crumb on the corner of her mouth. I lean forward and kiss it away. She gasps at the sensation. Not expecting me to kiss her again so suddenly but I could tell she liked it when I kissed her no matter how much it seemed to surprise her, I just seemed to have developed a habit of doing it at unexpected moments. 

She blushes looking away and continuing to eat her food, taking the occasional sip of her drink. 

The garden had a bit of a chill to it, especially at night and I could see bumps appear all over her skin from the cold. The warm drink helped some but it was clearly time to go once she had finished. 

I stared at her as she slowly ate her food, enjoying every bite. As I look at her kind face as she eats I find my mind wandering to all the things I have planned for her, for us. All our firsts, seconds and thirds, they would all be mine.

I imagine at some point her moments will slowly start to come back but all I would have to do is erase them again, while being sure to keep all of our memories, her true memories. And at that moment I knew. 

I could never let her go, and I never would.

Once my love had finished eating I took her hand in mine.

“Come on my love, we best get inside before it gets too cold.”

At my words she seemed to realize how cold she really was, a visible shiver going up her spine. She shyly nodded at me, standing to go inside with me following close behind her. 

She seemed to remember her way around the garden for the most part. Making her way back to the doors of the dining room, walking up the stairs and into the room, gasping a bit as the door opened just as her hand reached for the handles. I couldn't help but chuckle a little at how she jumped back a little once the doors started to open by themselves. 

She whipped her head around, pouting at me for laughing at her, making it that much harder for me to stop. 

“Come my love, there is still more I want to show you before we go back to our chambers.”

She was still pouting as I led her down an adjacent hall. The luster of the palace had been lost on me for many years. Once being the Jedi Temple, it had been completely renovated, looking nothing like the holy place it once was. The late emperor took much pleasure in desecrating the temple, not that it mattered much to me. The memory of the temple leaving a sour taste in my mouth. The memories of my old master, the counsel, all fools and slaves to tradition and weakness. But now I would make new memories, the halls of the palace no longer being so dark and lonely. 

Walking down the hall my little star took in all the details. The painting on the walls of different planets and their immaculate scenery. Our private wing was the only part of the palace that actually had any proper decoration, the rest of it as bleak as one would expect from their droid of an Emperor. 

We walked down the hall, slowing every now and again when a specific painting caught her eye. A walk that would normally take ten minutes ended up taking thirty, normally that was nothing in the galaxy that pissed me off more than slow people who wasted my time, but with her. I wished it was longer. I wished we could walk like that forever. My hand on her back and her beautiful eyes lighting up at any pretty thing she saw, so lost in her own little world nothing could bother her while I got lost in her eyes. Memorizing every feature of her face. 

After a few stops we finally made it to our destination. My love's eyes widened at the doors in front of her, They were a pair of massive doors. Several feet tall made of black marble with gold vined accents curving in every which way and into handles.

I open the doors for my love and I, walking into the largest library on Coruscant. What was once the Jedi archives had been added too from my late masters and my rule.  The Jedi archives were already very extensive but it was limited. With my late masters renovations he expanded the archives into the library it is now. It was once full of empty space but now it was bursting with knowledge. 

My love was awestruck. Looking around with wide eyes at the massive shelves going up to the second level and from there, to the roof. Ladders spanning the entirety of the shelves. 

My little star turned back around to me, her mouth agape with a glimmer in her wonderful eyes. Her mouth moved as if she was speaking but no words came out. 

“This is our library little one, anything you would ever want to learn is all here. And it is all yours.”

Her eyes widen impossibly larger. 

“M-Mine?”

Her voice cracked, not truly believing my words. I couldn't help but chuckle at her flabbergasted face. 

“Yes my love. Everything in this palace belongs to you, including this library.”

She turns back around, slowly making her way to one of the shelves. Running her fingers over the wooden shelves, taking in all the titles of the books, some of them were in languages she didn't understand, but instead of skipping them she would pick them up and skim through them. Looking over the unfamiliar shapes with such interest before delicately placing it back.  

_______________________

I felt like I was in that library for days, the size of it was enough to keep me distracted from reality for weeks. 

I had never seen such an extensive wealth of knowledge. Lots of it I couldn't read but the books I could were in the possible billions. Not to mention all the digital archives. Anything I could ever want to know or anything I was curious at my fingertips. I could learn anything. Do anything. 

The knowledge was really on anything I could ever want: Gardening, Cooking, Baking, Different Species, Politics, History. Even things to read for enjoyment: Sci Fi, Fantasy, Action And Adventure, Anything I could think of was here. 

I had settled on a book called “Dathomirians, Species and Culture.” A very thick book but it was so interesting. I had seen many species on my home planet from visitors, but It never seemed appropriate to ask such personal questions about their lives and species as a whole. 

I had read through a good chunk of the book after a few hours of sitting in a chair close to a large window giving me a view of the city. Anakin had situated himself on a couch across from me, reading a book that he had already started. I glanced back up at him every now and then. Taking in his calm demeanor as he focused on his book, occasionally looking out to the city that I now apparently rule alongside him. 

I couldn't help the anxious feeling that swelled inside me every time I thought of being  ruler. I had no experience in politics or leading. Being as young as I am I found it hard to believe that people would accept me as a ruler. But anytime those thoughts plagued my mind, as soon as they came they disappeared and a warm fuzzy feeling washed over me. 

After many hours of reading and so lost in thought I didn't even realize how tired I had gotten, not even realizing the many yawns that had escaped me. Apparently it didn't escape Anakin's notice as he moved over to me plucking me from my chair making me yelp not expecting him to suddenly pick me up.

“Come, my love. Let's return to our quarters, we both need sleep.”

I was about to protest, wanting to continue my book but a yawn had interrupted me. After a few seconds I lay my head on his shoulder, nodding solemnly, already missing my book.

Asd if Anakin had read my mind he chuckled deeply, the rumbling in his chest reverberating back onto my head.

“Don't worry, my love. The book will be waiting for you tomorrow, but now we both need some sleep.”

_______________________

I carried my love back to our room, as she nodded off in my arms. Once back to our quarters I set her down only to see she was already out cold. I looked down fondly as I tucked her into her side of the bed. 

I stripped my tunic off, sliding into bed and pulling her into my side carefully, so as not to wake her. Letting her head rest on my shoulder as my arm wrapped around her, keeping her secure as a stare down at her. Taking in her soft sleeping features as I drift off.

_______________________

Waking up was peaceful. The most at peace I have been for years. I look down, seeing my little star dead asleep in my arms, her soft breaths wafting across my bare chest, clutching onto our blanket, her head nuzzling into my shoulder. 

I gently reached my free hand over to her face, brushing away a piece of hair that had fallen over her forehead. Leaning in a little closer my lips gently brush against her forehead. I sighed softly as I looked out the window. The blinds were drawn, leaving the room mostly dark, only a slight silver shining through telling me its near noon. 

I knew I would have to get up, regardless of how late me and my love were up last night but I had unavoidable duties that needed to be fulfilled. I hated the very thought of leaving her, especially so soon, her mind was so fragile. being exposed to so many new things. And as much as I wanted her to be by my side all day it was still far too early for her to start learning how to be a true ruler of the galaxy. 

I slowly lifted her, setting her back down on the bed, tucking her back in before stepping away to get ready. Once dressed I looked over my shoulder at my sleeping star before I had to go. I would normally have to leave early on most days, not like this was early. But some work could only be left to me, but with luck I would always return before my love woke up. She wouldn't need to be woken at such an ungodly hour. 

After a few minutes I opened the door once I was sure she was fast asleep. Once I shut the door and began walking down the hall I reached out and wrapped my force around her, keeping a light hold on her mind. This way I would know when my love awakened, being in the throne room wouldn't give me proper access to her but it would tell me how she was feeling at the least.  

Walking into the throne room I could already feel the deep-seated corruption and greed that polluted the room like a poison fog. Greedy politicians that only wanted to benefit themselves. It wasn't common for me to work with the senators and representatives of the planets I ruled but I did have to have audiences occasionally. Hear their petitions for the planets they claim to represent, as if their own wants wasnt what truly drove them to an audience with me.

But as much as I would like to, I can't spend all my time with my little star. Already I found myself on edge, leaving my love alone wasn't helping but I knew she was safe, and being able to keep tabs on her helps, but there was something else. Something in the air. Something that told me to keep on my toes. Today was definitely not a day to test my patience. 

___________________

Waking up felt colder than I was used to, I turned over a little snuggling into the overstuffed pillow under my head slowly opening my eyes as I find my hand wandering over to the other side of the bed where Anakin would sleep, only to find it empty, empty and cold. I slowly turn my head and look over as if feeling the need to visually confirm that he wasn't there. 

But regardless of the lonely bed I found the feeling disappearing rather quickly, as if to just vanish into thin air as it was replaced by my excitement to get back to the book I was reading last night. The excitement was reminiscent of sitting by the fire with a fuzzy blanket and a good book on a cold dark day.

I looked up at the ceiling with a soft smile on my face. Regardless of my anxiousness I couldn't help the feeling of safety in my new home, and the excitement to start discovering all the secrets that accompanied it. I let out a soft sigh as I closed my eyes again, allowing my body to take its time waking up. 

Sitting up in bed after having a good stretch, I looked outside the window, the dark black curtains had already been pulled back a little so I could see the beautiful view of the city. I furrowed my brows a little. Getting closer to the window let me get a proper look outside. Off in the distance I could see dark rolling clouds. A storm was coming.  Never in my life had I seen a more angry sky. The clouds were dark gray and black as they swirled violently. I felt uneasy at the sight of it like a rock had settled in the pit of my stomach. Something about the dark clouds seemed to bring a primal uneasiness to me. 

I moved away from the window, wrapping a robe around my body before I left. Feeling a little peckish. A light snack wouldn't hurt before I wandered over to the library. 

It took me a while to get ready and find the dining hall again but after a few minutes of wandering around like a headless chicken I finally found it again. I took my seat at the head of the table and started to fill my plate with the food already set out on the table. I quietly ate breakfast as I looked around the room again. Taking in all the hand carved details and stonework, the room was cold naturally but the robe I had wrapped around myself kept me plenty warm. A yawn escaped me as I finished up my food. I grabbed the cup of warm caff that was beside my plate and headed down the hall to the library. It was much easier to find than the dining hall was but upon entering the large magnificent room I couldn't help but stop and gawk at the vastness of it. Tall black marble pillars stood several meters above my head, reaching all the way to the roof standing in between the wooden book shelves. 

The library had two levels, the second one following a grand staircase with books adorning large bookcases. I had only skimmed through a few books last night and lots of the books were in languages I couldn't even read, but the ones I had found were amazing. Stories of distant civilizations, worlds completely unknown to me, books of universal plants and fauna, animals I could never have dreamed of. There was so much knowledge I had never even dreamed of hidden on these shelves. enough to keep me busy for a lifetime. I wandered over to the window seat me and Anakin had found ourselves at last night. Picking up my abandoned book, settling in to continuing from where I left off.

Settling on one of the many comfortable couches by the window I open the book to the page I left off on. The culture and practices of the Dathomirians was very intranet and mysterious, practices I had never considered before like tattooing their entire body starting at a young age, each tattoo having a deep meaning and all markings being unique and helps to distinguish the members of their communities. 

There was also information on the Nightsisters, the female counterparts to their male Dathomirians, unlike the men and their vibrant coloured skin the Nightsisters had more of a light gray color to their skin, with lighter coloured tattoos that don't cover their whole bodies.

The book itself was large with many chapters on the history of the species and planet, I became so enraptured in the pages I hadn't even realized the sky had been completely eclipsed by the energy clouds until it happened.

_______________________

I scowled as I made my way back to my stars and my room. Those damn politicians and senators had taken up all my time, never taking a breath before trying a new way to suck to me or to try and convince me to favor their system. 

The sun had already disappeared by dark storm clouds, the city being illuminated by the lights as a storm began rolling in.

I had done my best to keep tabs on my little star but in trying to get my day done and over witht as quickly as possible I had neglected to keep a very close 'eye' on her. I made my way over to the kitchen to instruct the staff to bring our supper to our room, wanting to be alone with her for the rest of the night. 

I could hear thunder crashing outside, the sound rattling the windows, it was clear that the storm would last us all through the night and most likely the rest of tomorrow. It would make a good excuse to stay in with my love. 

As I make my way to our private wing I feel a sharp pang in my heart before I feel it in the force, I could feel (Y/N) distress, it felt the same as when I first brought her to her new home. I ran towards the library, nearing bursting the doors off the wall. It was dark, all but a single candle by a book on a table but I didn't need the light to know where my love was.

Running over to the corner she was sitting in, her back against the wall and crouching down and cupping her cheeks in my hands, She gasps and tries to get away from me, her eyes screwed tightly closed as tears cascade down her red cheeks and down onto my leather gloves.

Her loud sobs broke my hard as I moved to hold her close only for her to scream as another clap of thunder seemed to shake her soul.

"Shhhhh, my love, it's me. You're ok, just breathe."

She wouldn't relax as I continued to try to calm her down with my words, flooding her senses with the force that seemed useless in her panic. 

I slowly remove my hands from her cheeks to pull off my helmet, setting it aside. Placing my hands back on her cheeks and forcing her to look into my eyes.

She gasps as she finally focuses on me, as if she had only just realized I was even in the room with her. She stopped for a moment only to collapse back into my arms in sobs. 

I lift her in my arms and take her over to the couch to sit. Holding her close in my arms and thunder continued to crash outside. Every time thunder would go off she would yelp and flinch at the sound. 

I keep her pinned to my chest as I try and comfort her rooting around in her brain to try and figure out what was wrong. After a few minutes of rooting around I finally realized what it was. 

The thunder sounded like a blaster bolt being fired, it wasn't something she remembered consciously, it was a physical reaction to PTSD. Even if her brain didn't remember it her body made her think something was wrong without her actively knowing what it was scared of. 

I let out a sigh of relief, obviously I wasn't pleased my darling was scared but at least she hadn't been hurt or attacked. 

"Shhh my love, it's ok. Nothing can hurt you while you're in my arms."

After what felt like an eternity of me trying to calm her I decided to use the force, blocking out her sense of hearing in a desperate attempt to relax her. 

Slowly but surely she began to calm down, no longer able to hear anything. Once she began to breathe normally I placed my arm under her knees and one on her back lifting her. She gasped a little as I lifted her and started to walk back looking up at me with big wet eyes. I give her a soft simile as I make my way to our room.

Once we arrive I gently place her on the bed and move away to take off the remainder of my armor only to feel her hand wrapped as tightly as it could around my arms, Looking back at her with surprise I knelt down to her level, relinquishing my force a little so she could hear me but nothing else. 

"Don't worry my love, I'm not going anywhere."

"Please."

My heart breaks at the sound of her voice, so soft and broken.

"Shhh my love."

I place my forehead on hers, slowly coaxing her to lay down. Once she was laying on the sheets I took a step back so I could remove my armor. Once it was off I crawled over her, hovering over her, my elbows on either side of her head as I brought my lips to her ear.

"You never have to be afraid of anything, not as long as I am here. I'll always protect you."

She sniffled softly, hiccupping a little from left over sobs. She lifts her arms and wraps them around my torso, her nails lightly digging into the skin on my back. I groan softly in her ear, loving the feeling of her clinging to me. 

"I'll always keep you safe."

I kiss her forehand, scowling moving down to her eye-lids and cheeks, kissing every tear.

I continued to hover over her and kissed her softly till she had calmed down, her hiccups quieting down as she finally went limp under me, her arms no longer clinging to me for dear life, instead just hugging me gently.

I lifted myself up, moving to crawl under the covers, pulling her with me till we were snuggled together in the middle of our bed. Once the blanket was wrapped tightly around her, one of my arms under her head as a pillow and the other kept her close to me by her waist. Our legs tangled together in a mess of comfort and love. 

I kiss her forehead once more as I slowly feel her fall unconscious in my arms.

Right as I had closed my eyes feeling content with her in my arms I felt her soft warm lips on my bare chest. My eyes slash open to look down at her lips pressed tenderly to my chest.

"Thank you, I love you."

Her voice was blurred with sleep but I heard her well enough.

My heart began beating faster than it ever has in my life. I kissed her tenderly, holding her impossibly closer, relishing in those five simple words, treasureing them. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine she would say such words so soon, but she did. 

I couldn't believe it at first, but as she fell asleep in my arms, her words replaying in my mind, burning it in my memory for all eternity I knew, I finally had my true love.

[housewilson]

A MASTERLIST OF ALL THE BOOKS I COULD FIND IN TIM'S BOOKSHELVES

As someone who basically sees Tim Laughlin as my own version of Jesus Christ (I kind of wish I was lying but I have a 'beyond measure' tattoo branding my skin so perhaps I'm entirely serious), I simply needed to know what was on those shelves of his. And this was a hard task to achieve, believe me... but I got much farther than I initially thought I would.

(I've got so much to say about all of these books and how they might string together to create a deeper understanding of Tim as a character but I won't go into it here... maybe in a future post or video essay, who knows).

If you wish to help a girl out and attempt to figure out any of the other books I simply can not crack no matter how I look at the screenshots and mess with the adjustments... here's a folder full of 2k sized screenshots of those shelves.

Before I list the books one by one, I want to make a couple observations:

1) Almost all of the books I was able to pinpoint are non-fiction. The ones that aren't are children's books.

2) Topically, we see an interdisciplinary interest in:

History: from a book on a king in 4BC, to a survey of landholding in England in the 11th century.

Somewhat current historical events: books on World War I and II.

Western Philosophers: specially from the 16th to the 18th century.

Aesthetics: there's at least 2 books on the subject matter, but I couldn't find the second one, sadly.

Spirituality: not only christian/catholic; some of these books touch on Eastern practices such as Buddhism and Hinduism.

Fairy tales / children's books.

Psychology: specially in regards to mysticism and sexuality.

Science and scientific discovery/research.

3) A lot of the history, current events, and spirituality books are autobiographies/memoirs.

4) A lot of books (specially those on sciences and philosophy) tend to be more so anthologies or overviews on a subject matter rather than a book written by one specific author on one very concrete topic.

Overall, this all reflects very well an idea Jonathan Bailey himself expressed in a brilliant interview you can watch here if you haven't yet:

"Tim has buddhist flags in his 1980s flat in San Francisco, he has crystals, he is someone who is always seeking other ways to understand human experience. Which is probably tiring for him. Throughout the decades, he sort of appears as completely different people. At the crux of it there's this extreme grinding, contrasting, aggressive duality between feeling lovable and not feeling lovable. There's such shame in Tim. But it's the push and the pull which keeps him alive.”

This desire to understand human psychology, spirituality, and the ways of the universe through as many diverse lenses as possible, as well as a predilection for non-fiction, expresses very much to me that insatiable thirst for truth that defines his character so strongly.

OKAY, THAT BEING SAID. Here's the list in chronological order of publication.

PS. if you decided to click on any of the following titles it'd definitely not take you to a google drive link of the pdf file where you could download and read these books for yourself. Because that would be illegal and wrong.

Journeys through Bookland by Charles H. Sylvester (1901?) (1922 Edition)

I don't know which specific volume he owns, sorry, I tried my best but the number is not discernible (hell, the title barely is). If anyone wants the download link to these hmu because I'm not about to individually download all 10 right now.

10 volumes of poems, myths, Bible stories, fairy tales, and excerpts from children's novels, as well as a guide to the series. It has been lauded as ‘a new and original plan for reading, applied to the world’s best literature for children.’

Pilgrimage by Graham Seton Hutchison (1936)

This book provides a view of the battlefields of WW I through the eyes of the average fighting man. 

One curious thing about this book is that it's author, a British First World War army officer and military theorist, went on to become a fascist activist later in his life. Straight from Wikipedia:

"Seton Hutchison became a celebrated figure in military circles for his tactical innovations during the First World War but would later become associated with a series of fringe fascist movements which failed to capture much support even by the standards of the far right in Britain in the interbellum period." He made a contribution to First World War fiction with his espionage novel, The W Plan."

The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton (1948) 

The Seven Storey Mountain tells of the growing restlessness of a brilliant and passionate young man, who at the age of twenty-six, takes vows in one of the most demanding Catholic orders—the Trappist monks. At the Abbey of Gethsemani, "the four walls of my new freedom," Thomas Merton struggles to withdraw from the world, but only after he has fully immersed himself in it. At the abbey, he wrote this extraordinary testament, a unique spiritual autobiography that has been recognized as one of the most influential religious works of our time. Translated into more than twenty languages, it has touched millions of lives.

This book requires no introduction. It's the one he keeps the Fire Island's postcard in and the one we see him re-reading in episode 8 after Hawk brings it to the hospital with him at the end of episode 7.

Just a little detail I noticed:

Apparently he liked the book so much he visited Gethsemani, which was the home of its author all the way up till 1968.

For all we know, he might have even met its author!

Sexual Behavior in the Human Male by Alfred Charles Kinsey, Wardell B. Pomeroy (1948)

When published in 1948 this volume encountered a storm of condemnation and acclaim. It is, however, a milestone on the path toward a scientific approach to the understanding of human sexual behavior. Dr. Alfred C. Kinsey and his fellow researchers sought to accumulate an objective body of facts regarding sex. They employed first hand interviews to gather this data. This volume is based upon histories of approximately 5,300 males which were collected during a fifteen year period. This text describes the methodology, sampling, coding, interviewing, statistical analyses, and then examines factors and sources of sexual outlet.

Yes, Charles Kinsey is indeed behind the Kinsey scale that has done so much for the LGBTQ+ community.

Their Finest Hour (1949), The Grand Alliance (1950), and Closing the Ring (1951) by Winston Churchill

Winston Churchill's six-volume history of the cataclysm that swept the world remains the definitive history of the Second World War. Lucid, dramatic, remarkable both for its breadth and sweep and for its sense of personal involvement, it is universally acknowledged as a magnificent reconstruction and is an enduring, compelling work that led to his being awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1953. 

The European Philosophers from Descartes to Nietzsche by Monroe C. Beardsley (1960)

In so far as we reflect upon ourselves and our world, and what we are doing in it, says the editor of this anthology, we are all philosophers. And therefore we are very much concerned with what the twelve men represented in this book--the major philosophers on the Continent of Europe--have to say to us, to help us build our own philosophy, to think things out in our own way. For the issues that we face today are partly determined by the work of thinkers of earlier generations, and no other time is more important to the development of Western thought than is the 250-year period covered by this anthology. Monroe. C. Beardsley, Professor of Philosophy at Swarthmore College, has chosen major works, or large selections from them, by each man, with supplementary passages to amplify or clarify important points. These include: Descartes - Discourse on Method (Descartes), Thoughts (Pascal), The Nature of Evil (Spinoza), The Relation Between Soul and Body (Leibniz), The Social Construct (Rousseau), Critique of Pure Reason (Kant), The Vocation of Man (Fichte), Introducciton to the Philosophy of History (Hegel), The World as Will and Idea (Schopenhauer), A General View of Positivism (Comte), The Analysis of Sensations and the Relation of the Physical to the Psychical (Mach), Beyond Good and Evil (Nietzsche).

The New Intelligent Man's Guide to Science by Isaac Asimov (1965)

Asimov tells the stories behind the science: the men and women who made the important discoveries and how they did it. Ranging from Galilei, Achimedes, Newton and Einstein, he takes the most complex concepts and explains it in such a way that a first-time reader on the subject feels confident on his/her understanding. Assists today's readers in keeping abreast of all recent discoveries and advances in physics, the biological sciences, astronomy, computer technology, artificial intelligence, robotics, and other sciences.

The Heavenly City of the 18th Philosophers by Carl L. Becker (1932) (1962 reprint)

Here a distinguished American historian challenges the belief that the eighteenth century was essentially modern in its temper. In crystalline prose Carl Becker demonstrates that the period commonly described as the Age of Reason was, in fact, very far from that; that Voltaire, Hume, Diderot, and Locke were living in a medieval world, and that these philosophers “demolished the Heavenly City of St. Augustine only to rebuild it with more up-to-date materials.” In a new foreword, Johnson Kent Wright looks at the book’s continuing relevance within the context of current discussion about the Enlightenment.

I find the particular choice of adding this book very curious and on brand, since it explores the idea that philosophers of the Enlightenment very much resembled religious dogma/faith in their structure and purpose. Just... A+ of the props department to not just add any kind of book on philosophy anthology.

Herod The Great by Michael Grant (1971)

The Herod of popular tradition is the tyrannical King of Judaea who ordered the Massacre of the Innocents and died a terrible death in 4 BC as the judgment of God. But this biography paints a much more complex picture of this contemporary of Mark Antony, Cleopatra, and the Emperor Augustus. Herod devoted his life to the task of keeping the Jews prosperous and racially intact. To judge by the two disastrous Jewish rebellions that occurred within a hundred and fifty years of his death -- those the Jews called the First and Second Roman Wars -- he was not, in the long run, completely successful. For forty years Herod walked the most precarious of political tightropes. For he had to be enough of a Jew to retain control of his Jewish subjects, and enough of a pro-Roman to preserve the confidence of Rome, within whose territory his kingdom fell. For more than a quarter of a century he was one of the chief bulwarks of Augustus' empire in the east. He made Judaea a large and prosperous country. He founded cities and built public works on a scale never seen before: of these, recently excavated Masada is a spectacular example. And he did all this in spite of a continuous undercurrent of protest and underground resistance. The numerous illustrations presents portraits and coins, buildings and articles of everyday use, landscapes and fortresses, and subsequent generations' interpretations of the more famous events, actual and mythical, of Herod's career.

Readings in the Philosophy of Art and Aesthetics compiled by Milton Charles Nahm (1975)

A college level comprehensive anthology of essays written on the arts and the field of aesthetic philosophy.

The Mustard Seed: Discourses on the Sayings of Jesus Taken from the Gospel According to Thomas by Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (1975)

This timely book explores the wisdom of the Gnostic Jesus, who challenges our preconceptions about the world and ourselves. Based on the Gospel of Thomas, the book recounts the missing years in Jesus’ life and his time in Egypt and India, learning from Egyptian secret societies, then Buddhist schools, then Hindu Vedanta. Each of Jesus' original sayings is the "seed" for a chapter of the book; each examines one aspect of life — birth, death, love, fear, anger, and more — counterpointed by Osho’s penetrating comments and responses to questions from his audience.

(You don't know how fulfilling it was to find some of these books and just sit there like "oh my god, yessss, he'd SO read that".)

A Third Testament by Malcolm Muggeridge (1976)

A modern pilgrim explores the spiritual wanderings of Augustine, Pascal, Blake, Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Bonhoeffer. A Third Testament brings to life seven men whose names are familiar enough, but whose iconoclastic spiritual wanderings make for unforgettable reading. Muggeridge's concise biographies are an accessible and manageable introduction to these spiritual giants who carried on the testament to the reality of God begun in the Old and New Testaments. - St. Augustine, a headstrong young hedonist and speechwriter who turned his back on money and prestige in order to serve Christ - Blaise Pascal, a brilliant mathematician who pursued scientific knowledge but warned people against thinking they could live without God - William Blake, a magnificent artist-poet who pled passionately for the life of the spirit and warned of the blight that materialism would usher in - Soren Kierkegaard, a renegade philosopher who spent most of his life at odds with the church, and insisted that every person must find his own way to God - Fyodor Dostoevsky, a debt-ridden writer and sometime prisoner who found, in the midst of squalor and political turmoil, the still small voice of God - Leo Tolstoy, a grand old novelist who swung between idealism and depression, loneliness and fame and a duel awareness of his sinfulness and God s grace - Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a pastor whose writings and agonized involvement in a plot to kill Hitler cost him his life, but continue to inspire millions

Portraits: The photography of Carl Van Vechten (1978)

Can't find a file but you can borrow it from archive.com in the link provided.

During his career as a photographer, Carl Van Vechten’s subjects, many of whom were his friends and social acquaintances, included dancers, actors, writers, artists, activists, singers, costumiers, photographers, social critics, educators, journalists, and aesthetes. [...] As a promoter of literary talent and a critic of dance, theater, and opera, Carl Van Vechten was as interested in the cultural margin as he was in the day’s most acclaimed and successful people. His diverse subjects give a sense of both Carl Van Vechten’s interests and his considerable role in defining the cultural landscape of the twentieth century; among his many sitters one finds the leading lights of the Harlem Renaissance, the premier actors and writers of the American stage, the world’s greatest opera stars and ballerinas, the most important and influential writers of the day, among many others.

Report of the Shroud of Turin by John H Heller (1983)

Heller, while a man of science, was nevertheless a devout man (Southern Baptist). He viewed his task concerning The Shroud with great scepticism; there have been far too many hoaxes in the world of religion. The book describes in great detail the events leading up to the team's conviction that the Shroud was genuine; last - not least - being Heller and Adler's verification of "heme" (blood) and the inexplicable "burned image" of the crucified man. Although carbon dating indicates that the image is not 2000 years old and that the cloth is from the Middle Ages, there is not enough evidence to disprove Heller's assertion that the Shroud is indeed genuine.

Context for those who may not know (though I doubt it's necessary): The shroud of Turin "is a length of linen cloth that bears a faint image of the front and back of a man. It has been venerated for centuries, especially by members of the Catholic Church, as the actual burial shroud used to wrap the body of Jesus of Nazareth after his crucifixion, and upon which Jesus's bodily image is miraculously imprinted."

It is a very controversial subject matter and I definitely don't know that from going to an Opus Dei school since the day I was born till the day I graduated high school.

Mysticism, Psychology and Oedipus by Israel Regardie (1985)

I've tried my hardest but despite many Israel Regardie books being on the world wide web, I can't find a copy of this specific one.

Mysticism, Psychology and Oedipus, from the Small Gems series is one of these mysterious alchemys which Regardie and Spiegelman crafted for the serious student of mysticism. Mysticism, Psychology and Oedipus by Dr. Israel Regardie and his friend, world renowned Jungian Psychologist, J. Marvin Spiegelman, Ph.D. was created to reach the serious student at the intersecting paths of magic, mysticism and psychology. While each area of study overlaps they also maintain their own individual paths of truth. One of Regardie’s greatest gifts was his rare ability to combine these difficult and diverse subjects and make them understandable.

Domesday Book Through Nine Centuries by Elizabeth M. Hallam (1986)

In 1086 a great survey of landholding in England was carried out on the orders of William the Conqueror, and its results were recorded in the two volumes, which, within less than a century, were to acquire the name of Domesday, or the Book of Judgment 'because its decisions, like those of the last Judgment, are unalterable'. This detailed survey of the kingdom, unprecedented at that time in its scope, gives us an extraordinarily vivid impression of the life of the eleventh century.

The following two are a fuck up on the props department part because they were published after 1987 but we'll forgive them because they were not expecting for me to do all this to figure out the titles of these books, I'm sure:

The One Who Set Out to Study Fear by Peter Redgrove (1989)

This book barely exists physically, rest assured it does not exist online... LOL.

The author of The Wise Wound presents here a re-telling of Grimm's famous fairy tales, written in a manner and spirit more suited to the present day. Each story is rooted in the original, but cast in an energetic style that is both disrespectful and humorous. 

Essential Papers on Masochism by Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Hanly (1995)

The contested psychoanalytic concept of masochism has served to open up pathways into less-explored regions of the human mind and behavior. Here, rituals of pain and sexual abusiveness prevail, and sometimes gruesome details of unconscious fantasies are constructed out of psychological pain, desperate need, and sexually excited, self- destructive violence. In this significant addition to the "Essential Papers in Psychoanalysis" series, Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Hanly presents an anthology of the most outstanding writings in the psychoanalytic study of masochism. In bringing these essays together, Dr. Fitzpatrick Hanly expertly combines classic and contemporary theories by the most respected scholars in the field to create a varied and integrated volume. This collection features papers by S. Nacht, R. Loewenstein, Victor Smirnoff, Sigmund Freud, Jacques Laplanche, Robert Bak, Leonard Shengold, K. Novick, J. Novick, S. Coen, Margaret Brenman, Esther Menaker, S. Lorand, M. Balint, Bernhard Berliner, Charles Brenner, Helene Deutsch, Annie Reich, Marie Bonaparte, Jessica Benjamin, S.L. Olinick, Arnold Modell, Betty Joseph, and Janine Chasseguet-Smirgel.

Let's not forget another book we know has been present in his shelves at some point:

Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe (1929)

It is Wolfe's first novel, and is considered a highly autobiographical American coming-of-age story. The character of Eugene Gant is generally believed to be a depiction of Wolfe himself. The novel briefly recounts Eugene's father's early life, but primarily covers the span of time from Eugene's birth in 1900 to his definitive departure from home at the age of 19. The setting is a fictionalization of his home town of Asheville, North Carolina, called Altamont in the novel.

And Ron Nyswaner mentioned in a podcast (might be this one? I'm not sure) that he scrapped from the script a line where Tim recommends this poem at some point:

He specially emphasized the line "If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me".

And lastly, if anyone wanted to know:

His copy of the bible is the Revised Standard Version by Thomas Nelson from either 1952 or 1953.

Because why the hell not figure out what specific translation of the holy bible a fictional character was basing his beliefs on — as if the set designers cared nearly as much as I do.

[tarjapearce]

Hello, it's me again! Thank you so much for replying to my last request. I'm really happy! I have another idea that I couldn't get out of my head and had to share it with you, lol.

So my idea is Gabriela having a small tiktok account where she you know post about her new toys or just do tiktok dances which is of course controlled by her parents! One day, she decided to make a tiktok dance with her whole family, miguel, reader, Benjamin, and her. The only problem was that miguel couldn't fully fit in the camera that hid his upper body since we all know he is 6'9, lol. So once she posted the video, it went viral, and the comments were full of "who is that man??" "Dad face revealed when?" "Can you see the height difference??" "If my man isn't like him, I don't want him." When Gabriela showed Reader and Miguel the comment, they couldn't help but giggle at how desperate people wanted to know him.

I'm sorry if the writing seems wrong English isn't my first language and I had to use grammarly.

I'm a very patient person, so even if you respond a bit late, I really don't mind!! Thank you so much for noticing my first request. I couldn't be happier💖

Glad you liked the first request darling 🥹❤️.

And couldn't help but think about this little Gabi and Miguel doing this 🤭

Hope you like 😊

When Gabi first asked you for a phone, you talked through her with Miguel. The duties and rights of owning a phone were set, and so far, everything was going well. Gabi was comfortable enough to show you what she was upto. Tiktok and toys.

She had explained that she had a little toys review account, but since the last trends were dancing with the family, she had asked you and Miguel if you were willing to participate in a dance challenge.

"It's been years since I've danced"

"Ever since our wedding, actually."

Miguel mumbled as he ate his dinner.

"What do you need us to do, Mija?"

Gabi just smirked.

----

With the current routine of the song, exercise wasn't needed. Laughing at Miguel's attempt to dance anything that wasn't mellow and romantic was sure a treat.

"PA! Así no!" (Not like that!)

Benjamin just clapped and laughed

"Pa pa"

"Yeah, Papa isn't that good at dancing. Just like Mama"

"Remember... that time when we got to Peter's carneada, and-" He chuckled

"I taught you how to dance bachata?" You giggled, "You were so stiff and nervous! Stepping on my foot. Ended up with sore feet"

"Good thing there wasn't any of that in our wedding"

"But you did good! I love you dancing"

"Mama! Stop, let's focus now, kiss later!" You could help but laugh at her words.

You smooched her cheek and soon, got the video rolling.

-----

After several attempts to get the dance right, you finally had recorded the video. And as silly as it was, you had noticed that Miguel's upper part, from his shoulders and upwards had been cut out from the frame. Of course, he was gigantic. He didn't fit properly in the phone's camera. Still Gabriela uploaded it.

----

"Uh, Mama?"

"Yes, cariño?"

"Look at this"

Gabi handed you her phone, shock in her face the comment section in her dance video was wild, just like the numbers of plays and likes

"Miguel, mi amor, come." You giggled, motioned for him to approach.

"Look at this. You're a star."

"What?" He adjusted his lenses as he read the comment section.

Whose that man?

Where do you find a man like this?!

Face reveal when?

Is there really people THAT tall? omg

That baby is soo cute!

Cute. But Momma's cuter.

We 👏🏻 need👏🏻 to 👏🏻see 👏🏻his 👏🏻faaaace.

His eyebrow quirked and he shook his head as he continued reading.

OMG, the size difference.

Momma's a pro.

Slaaayyy it Mama!

That baby's curls tho

Dilf on sight!

Lucky Mama, need me one of those.

"Yeah, no. That's not happening."

Gabi groaned

"Why not?!"

"Trust me. For Mama's sake."

You rolled your eyes at his smirking.

[jintaka-hane]

@quinloki This is a birthday gift for you!! A bit late, but I wanted to give you something in return for this amazing story you wrote for me.

I hope you like it!

PS: I’ve never written for Marco before (but I know you like him), and I have zero knowledge of ocular medicine (so apologies for any inaccuracies, haha), but it’s written from the heart <3.

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

Phoenix Sight

Summary: The first few times we see Marco, he isn’t wearing glasses, so at some point, he must have realized he needed them. This is the story of his visit to the optometrist, a visit that might end up with more than just a pair of glasses. Word count: 1300

As an optometrist, you see all sorts of patients, but the man who strolled into your office that morning was a whole new level of striking. Tall and robust, with short blond hair sticking up in a charmingly disheveled way, and an open shirt that hinted at a well-defined torso, clearly accustomed to enduring tough conditions.

“Mornin’, Doctor,” he said, approaching your consultation desk with an effortless nonchalance. “I think it’s time to get my eyes checked.”

He looked familiar. You could’ve sworn you’d seen him somewhere before, but you couldn’t quite place him. 

"Of course," you replied with a welcoming gesture towards the chair in front of you. "Please, take a seat, and we’ll get started."

He settled into the chair with a casual ease, as if he’d done this a thousand times before. But you could tell by the way he glanced around that he wasn’t used to being on this side of the desk.

“Have you noticed any changes in your vision recently?” you asked, pulling out a new prescription form from one of your drawers.

"Yes, I’ve always suspected I was a bit nearsighted, but it feels like it’s gotten worse. I can’t read signs or see things far away without squinting." His expression carried a hint of drowsy charm, and his calm demeanor was punctuated by a faint, ever-present smile.

“Understood,” you said, gesturing toward the eye chart hanging on the wall. “Let’s start with a few tests to see what’s going on. Please cover one eye and read the smallest line of letters you can see.”

He placed his hand over his right eye and leaned forward slightly, his unbuttoned shirt falling open a bit more, revealing an imposing cross-shaped tattoo.

"Um… I can barely make out the top line. I think it’s an E?”

"Good guess," you suppressed a smile. "How about the next line?"

“A… T?” He laughed at himself, struggling to read.

“Very good. Let’s try the other eye.”

"Still hard to see... Maybe an F?"

You nodded, writing something down on your clipboard. 

"That’s alright. It seems like your distance vision is indeed a bit blurry, which is typical for someone with myopia.” 

You grabbed a nearby stool and sat down in front of him, your knee inadvertently slipping between his slightly parted legs as you adjusted the phoropter in front of his eyes.

“Alright, I’m going to test your vision with this device,” you explained, lowering the machine. “I’ll show you a series of lenses, and I need you to tell me which one makes the letters on the chart clearer.”

You were so close that you couldn’t help but notice the defined bone of his jaw as he compared the different lenses while you flipped through them. The hint of stubble added a ruggedness to his appearance that contrasted with the almost playful energy he exuded.

"Is this one better, or this?" The metal device clinked softly as you adjusted the lenses, your body inclining slightly forward and your knee brushing against the inner part of his thigh.

"Lens two is clearer."

"Perfect”, you smiled jotting down his results. “We’re almost done. Now, if you’ll just lean forward, I’ll check your eye health with the slit lamp”.

He nodded, resting his chin and forehead against a support attached to a binocular-like apparatus. A bright beam of light swept across his eye as you examined the cornea, iris, and lens. You could feel his calm, steady breath as you tried to stay focused on the task at hand.

"So, what do you see, Doc?" he asked, half-jokingly. "Anything interesting in there?"

"Just the usual," you replied, adjusting the light. "A perfectly healthy pair of eyes that just need a little help with long distances.”

He chuckled, lifting his chin to meet your gaze. “Guess I’ll have to get used to wearing glasses.”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Oh, I’ve heard worse,” he waved his hand dismissively.

You laughed.

Why did this man make you feel so relaxed and inclined to joke around?

“Would you like to look at the frames we have? If you find a pair you like, we could have your glasses ready by the end of the day.”

He smiled again at you. 

That smile.

“That sounds good.”

You watched as he stood in front of the display, arms crossed, eyes scanning the rows of frames. He picked up a pair of square frames, holding them up to his face in the mirror, only to dismiss them moments later. He tried a rounder pair next, but those didn’t seem to convince him either. You fought back a giggle, noticing his hesitation, and finally decided to act. Taking the glasses from his hands, you reached for a pair of rectangular red frames.

“Here, try these,” you suggested, slipping the frames onto his face, your fingers brushing against his temple while you adjusted the arms. You paused, tilting your head as you tucked the earpiece behind his ear, and your smile widened as you stepped back to admire your work. 

If he was interesting without glasses, with them on, he was just captivatingly handsome. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, noticing how the frames balanced his features just right. He could feel your gaze on him, and when he turned to meet your eyes, the glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. Quickly, he used his fingers to push them back up into place—a gesture you found extremely attractive.

“I’ll take them.”

You smiled as you turned back to your desk. “If you’ve never worn glasses before, it’s normal for them to be a bit uncomfortable at first. It’ll take some time to get used to them. I’d suggest finding a distraction for the first few days so you don’t fixate on them too much—”

“Are you free tonight?”

You spun around in surprise and found him wearing a flirtatious grin, leaning seductively against the doorframe.

“My beautiful optometrist says I need a distraction,” he said, playfully fiddling with the glasses’ frame. “And if the situation calls for it, I can be quite obedient. Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?”

You blushed. He was flirting so boldly that he had completely caught you off guard. Not that you were complaining, though.

"O-oh, no one," you said with a nervous laugh, "just..."

"...just?"

"A bird."

“A bird,” he raised his eyebrows, clearly amused.

"Yes," you admitted, feeling the warmth rise in your cheeks. "Well… there's this bird that comes and goes from my balcony for food and water..."

“Do you like birds?” He straightened up from the doorframe, his eyes sparkling with interest as he looked at you.

“Oh, I’m passionate about them!” you replied, nervously gathering some papers from your desk. “Before becoming an optometrist, I actually wanted to be an ornithologist.”

“Really?” He listened intently.

“Yes, birds are the most spectacular creatures!” you responded, perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm at having someone to talk about one of your favorite topics. “Did you know they have magnificent vision?”

“Hahaha!” His laugh, bright and playful, echoed through your office. “Maybe only up to a certain age!”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, I just… like birds too,” he smiled. 

Again, that smile. 

The one that could have set the room on fire.

“What time do you finish work?”

“Between seeing the last patient and tidying up the office, around 8 p.m.” 

“Perfect. How about when I come to pick up my glasses, I wait for you, and we go out for dinner? We can… share opinions on birds since I know a bit about them too.” 

Your heart quickened at the thought of spending the evening with this attractive man, whose name you still didn’t know but with whom you already shared an undeniable spark.

“Deal”.

-----------

Taglist: @fanaticsnail <3

[kentosbabes]

Hi dear! How are you? Can you right part 2 of gojo x perfect reader? The one in which reader is intelligent and short? It's up to you to write it or not . Thank you! And your writing is great!

I'm good! I hope your doing well too <3 Part 1 here

Gojo who continues running to catch up with you as you walk down the corridor. 'come on pretty girl' he says as you finally stop at your locker and change your book 'Please'. You slam your looker and look up at him through your lenses holding your books close to your chest 'If I say yes will you leave me alone' you ask rolling your eyes. Gojo just chuckles and replies 'How about this, if you don't have fun I will leave you alone.'

Gojo who towers over you as you debate his proposal and finally let out a 'fine' making him smirk. 'okay smarty I'll pick you up at 6pm tonight' he says walking off leaving you in shock as you mumble 'How does he know where I live'. Although you'd hate to admit it you were more worried than you wanted to be about how you looked. you were using all your favorite products and making sure you looked your best. You hated how easily he had you in his grasp.

Gojo who knocks on your door exactly as the clock hits 6pm. you open the door in a skin-tight dress that barely covers your ass making his eyes go wide. 'I didn't know what to wear I don't know where you're taking me. I can go change' you say opening the door wider so he can come in. 'no no you look beautiful' he says a bit too fast. His height gives him the perfect view of your tits through the deep neck of your dress so he knows it's going to be a long night.

Gojo who leans on the doorway of your room as you grab a purse to take with you. 'Satoru' you say as you go through one of your draws looking for lip-gloss. he hums in response, 'Where are we going?' you ask. 'to the new restaurant that opened up last week' You head snaps round to meet his 'what? but it's like extremely expensive I don't-' you start but are quickly interrupted by Gojo coming towards you shaking his head 'dont you worry about your pretty little head about things like that' he says pocking your head.

Gojo who stares as you apply the tinted gloss to your lips. he can't take his eyes away, he loves the deep red color you chose and how plump your lips look as you smear on the gloss. Can you blame him for the thoughts that begin to plague his mind? he can only imagine how your lips look wrapped around his dic- 'Hey. my eyes are up here' you say your hand raising to lift up his chin so his eyes meet yours. you send him a quick wink before striding out of your room.

Gojo who links your arm in his as you enter the restaurant. he pulls out your chair and helps you sit down 'What a gentleman' you mumble as Gojo rolls his eyes in response. you both order your drinks and as you wait you feel his legs touch yours. you look up at him but he just sits there smirking at you. For the most part, the conversations were flowing and he was more fun than you expected. you found yourself laughing at his jokes and smiling when he would laugh at yours.

Gojo who's leg begins to move in between yours spreading your legs apart. 'dont even think about it' you say continuing to try cut through your steak. Gojo just lets out a chuckle before leaning over the table to help cut up your steak for you. 'thank you Satoru' you say his face now inches from yours. 'It's no problem baby'

Gojo who's leg in fact does not stop. your legs stay parted the majority of the time at the restaurant, that is until he brings out his credit card and pays for the meal 'I will pay you back' you attempt to negotiate 'Princess stop worrying about it let me spoil you' he says bringing your hand up to his lips. The action making your legs squeeze shut trapping his much longer leg in between yours. Gojo just smirks, adjusting in his chair so his knee practically reaches your heat, watching how your cheeks turn red and your hand covers your face.

Gojo who puts his jacket over your shoulders as you walk out of the restaurant 'Thank you' you say looking up at him, a sweet smile plastered on his face. He sits back on the hood of his car watching as you stand just out of his grasp. 'so did you have fun' he asks reaching out to hold your waist and pulling you between his legs. 'I don't know I'd give it a 6 out of 10' you say giggling in his touch. 'oh really now?' he says smiling at you 'you have so much attitude for someone so small'. Your eyes go wide and you shove his chest 'That was low Satoru' you mumble. 'I like when you say my name'.

Gojo who brings you impossibly closer to his chest. His hands are at your waist, and your own hands find his neck. 'you make me crazy you know that right' he mumbles as he brings his lips to your wrist and begins to kiss up your arm. 'I know' you say leaning into his touch. 'but I make you crazy too don't I' he asks his lips now meeting with your chest. you only whimper out in response hating how he was right.

Gojo who freezes when you lean over and place your hand on his thigh to balance yourself as you look up at him batting your eyelashes once you get in the car. 'If we're going to play this game I'm in charge' you say finally bringing your lips to his. His lips are soft and mould with yours perfectly. your gloss smears all over his lips as he bites and sucks on your tongue. He lets out small groans at your touch as you moan and arch in his.

Gojo who wraps his arm around your waist and brings you to straddle his lap. 'hey let's go back to my place' Gojo says between kisses. you nod bringing your lips away from his 'drive then' you shrug bringing your lips to his neck sucking on his skin. Gojo groans in response before starting the car and beginning to drive. luckily his place was not too far away so between your grinding and the road he was able to get you both home safely.

Gojo who practically carries you out of the car and into his apartment. You barely get a look around but you know it's more than twice the size of your own. You're pushed up against the door in an instant his lips all over your chest and neck leaving marks you know you'll regret in the morning. 'please' you moan out your nails digging into his back. 'not so in charge now are you pretty girl' he says smirking against your skin. 's-satoru please just f-fuck me' you let out feeling the pleasure between your legs begin to coat your thighs.

Gojo who lifts the bottom of your dress and grabs onto your ass before walking to his room. 'you gonna let me fuck you baby' he teases lowering you down onto his bed. you can only nod in response reaching out for him to bring him closer to you. 'say it '

'you ever want me to leave you alone again?'

'no Satoru please don't'

masterlist

[agent-cupcake]

Dramaturgy

Ah yes, another commission to fund my gamer lifestyle from the incredibly lovely and patient @novcaine (thank you <;3)

Pairing: Vampire! Claude von Riegan x f!Reader

Synopsis: Trying to cope with the sudden death of your eccentric father, you fall down a rabbit hole of conspiracy, curses, and your very strange (and very tragic) family history, leading you to the small town of Old Derdriu—and its darkest secret.

Warnings: explicit smut, dub/noncon, kidnap, drugged sex

Tags: horror elements, urban fantasy, blood kink, very unhealthy romantic dynamic, overstimulation, "orgasms make your blood sweeter" trope

Word Count: 27.3k

Notes: I read a few horror stories in an attempt to get the tone right for this one which, as I'm sure you'll notice, heavily influenced me while writing. I really got caught up in lore crafting for this one as well, although the real fun was matching up the serious stuff with Claude's personality.

Act 1

“Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge, 

Accursed, and in a cursed hour, he hies.”

I.

9th day of Verdant Moon 

As long as I can remember, it’s been just us two. Me and dad against the world. Explorers, adventurers, wanderers. Rogues who chase the horizon to keep the sun close, that’s what he says. Said. There’s always been somewhere new to go, we never stayed anywhere long enough to cast too long of a shadow. 

That’s, more or less, what I said over his ashes. Not that there was anyone around to hear it. A eulogy for nobody. But it was true. It is true. 

Once upon a time (that’s what people say, right?), it must have been when we spent a summer in Arundel living out of a camper trailer because we didn’t have an air conditioner and spent most of the time outside, I asked him why. I don’t know why I remember it so well, but the air smelled like bug spray and pine and campfire smoke. Not ours though, we hardly ever have fires. Dad claims it’s ‘reasonable’ caution. Claimed. 

That night, I don’t know what compelled me to ask, but I did. I asked, “Why do we move so much?” 

He said to listen carefully, and I did, because he never sounded so serious. He said that we have bad luck. He said that it was like water, that it’d pool up around us like a puddle if we stayed still. And I asked why, of course, because that was a confusing thing for him to say. 

And he said, and I’ll never ever forget this, “it’s in your blood.”

I think. Back then, the distinction between ‘your’ and ‘our’ was virtually nonexistent. And maybe, just maybe, my memory is faulty, and he didn’t switch from a collective pronoun to a singular one. I could be seeing ghosts that aren’t there, convincing myself of untruths to explain some of this. It could have been ‘your’, and it could have been ‘our’, but the point is the same no matter how I split it apart. 

I’ve got bad luck. It’s in my blood. I try not to think about that because I don’t want it to be my fault somehow, I don’t even know what I would do if it was. 

But I have to know.

II.

“Excuse me, are you Cheryll Bates?” you asked hopefully, standing at the side of a table where an older woman in a bright pink cardigan sat. Nose crinkled and mouth slightly open in the way only people of a certain age could mimic, she adjusted her blocky red glasses higher to peer up at you. The lenses magnified her small, dark eyes like a bug, not helping the discomfort you felt beneath her unwavering gaze as she scanned you from head to toe. 

“You’re the Macbeth girl?” she finally asked. It took you a moment to realize what she meant. Macbeth, your mother’s last name—a name you only learned of, along with the woman herself, a month previous.

“Uhm, yeah, that’s me,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound as immediately unsettled as you felt. “May I sit?” 

“Be a waste of time if you didn’t,” she said with a slight tinge of an accent, gesturing to the opposite seat with a plump hand. It was the wooden kind with a quilted cushion and long skirt, matching the borderline stifling cozy atmosphere of the cafe. The kind ripe with this musty, dusty, patchouli and tea leaf smell you associated with old women and antiques.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” you said as you sat down, anxiety making your movements awkward. Although Cheryll Bates wasn’t your blood relative, knowing you were related at all was surreal. Throughout your entire life, you’d never heard a single mention of family, of a mom or uncle or grandparents or even a stray cousin twice removed. You should have felt excited, and a part of you was, but you couldn’t stop messing with the cardboard sleeve on your tea, your eyes flitting around the small cafe every few seconds. 

The answers that had gotten you this far had only served to unravel the very fabric of your existence, but you sought them all the same. You had to. Dad used to say that knowing was often uncomfortable, but ignorance was an agony like no other. He said all sorts of wise things, although you learned recently that the truth was not one of them.  

Cheryll’s mouth worked like she was sucking on something, fine lines fanning out around her lips. The sluggishly swaying Tiffany lamp above cast her in an odd, unflattering light, her dark eyes that much more unnerving beneath the shadows. 

“I liked your mama, she was a sweet girl. How much did Indy tell you about her?” 

Indy, as in, your dad. The man who raised you, who cared for you. It was a nickname he had earned in school, apparently, after the titular adventurer and archeologist from an old movie.

“My dad never told me a single thing,” you said, trying not to sound too affected. If you thought about this all as some sort of research project, it was easier. If it wasn’t your life, you could view it dispassionately. So that’s what you tried to do. “I am… aware of what she did though.” 

“It was a terrible thing,” Cheryll said gravely. “Of course she’d already left you in Enbarr with Indy at that point, came home crying that she had a baby girl, that she couldn’t trust herself to even hold you. Nobody had any idea of why she was so upset, we thought she had lost her mind. And then your daddy came to try and bring her back and… well. I can’t imagine how a person could do such a thing.”

Something within you twisted in sympathy of that statement. Even reading an abstract report made your stomach churn. Self immolation as a means of murder suicide wasn’t very common, mostly because it wasn’t practical. The report had no answers for the hows and the whys, only dry facts.

“Do you think it was postpartum depression?” 

Again, Cheryll stared at you with that sour purse of her lips, almost like she was sizing you up. “It was that family of hers,” she said. “I’ll tell you straight, the Macbeths weren’t quite right. Not to say it was their fault, what happened to them, but I won’t glorify the dead, neither. I don’t believe in it. I never wanted my Liv to marry that boy, I knew only bad things would come of it.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Didn’t you read about what happened to them?” Cheryll asked, an edge of indignation in her voice. “One after another…” She didn’t finish that statement, closing her eyes to visibly, even theatrically, shudder. Then again, having seen the string of death certificates, you didn’t exactly blame her. “I went to a psychic when Liv told me she was getting married to that Macbeth boy, and do you know what they said? Don’t let it happen. But I did. I let her marry into that family, and I’ve had to live with that every day since.”  

“But none of it was on purpose, was it?” you asked cautiously. “The fire was an accident.” 

“An accident,” Cheryll scoffed. “An ‘accident’ that happened right after the two of them had a baby girl. Just like the ‘accident’ that killed your mama’s baby sister. Do you think what happened with your mama was an accident?”

“I thought,” you said slowly, trying to remain calm, wiping that thought from your head and your palms on your jean-clad thighs, “that my mother committed suicide.” 

“All that girl ever wanted was to be a mama. I’m telling you, there was something wrong with the Macbeths and she realized it too late. They were cursed, all of them and especially the girls.” Cheryll paused, contemplating her tea. “That’s why your parents met in the first place. Indy was doing research into the families involved with that tragedy in Derdriu and they were the only two he could find.” Cheryll took a sip, frowned, then continued in an even softer voice. “I s’pose your daddy must have been just as cursed as your mama, but I didn’t know him very well.”

“What tragedy?” you asked.

“The Rain of Blood, they call it.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” you said, getting out your diary to write it down. 

“Reign, not rain,” Cheryll said, peering at your notepad. “Like a king, reign.” 

You erased the word, rewriting it. “Is it a story, or something that happened?” 

“It happened,” Cheryll said. “He and your mama always had a laugh about that, said it was why they had such rotten luck.”

“Rotten luck,” you repeated under your breath, more to yourself than to her.

“They thought it was real funny,” Cheryll said, pulling you from your thoughts. “Indy scorned all the ghost stories, he said that it was a matter of history waiting to be uncovered. It seems like he changed his tune as soon as he saw what happened to them.” 

You thought about your dad who got itchy when you stayed in one place too long, looking over his shoulder like he was being chased by something you couldn’t see. You thought about the puddles of bad luck forming beneath your feet. 

“He might have,” you said, not wanting to think too hard about that. “Do you remember what he said happened? In this Reign of Blood, I mean.” 

Cheryll impatiently waved her hand. “You’d have to find a book or something, I couldn’t tell you other than that. The town burned down after. That’s why you’ve got Derdriu and Old Derdriu. They were connected before the incident, but Old Derdriu had to be completely rebuilt later.”

“So Old Derdriu is newer than Derdriu,” you said, unsure if you were understanding her correctly. 

“Oh, except for the ruins, they kept those,” she said, her head tilting as she remembered. “The castle from way back when Leicester had Kings and Dukes and the like. But I couldn’t tell you any more than that, I’ve never been.”

You wrote that down too, tapping the eraser against your lip as you contemplated all of this new information. Cheryll was drinking her tea, obviously wanting to finish this up. 

“Thank you so much for meeting with me, I really appreciate it,” you said. “Is there anything else you can think of about my dad or…?”

“I’m going to tell you what I wish I had told my daughter,” Cheryll said, looking at you head on. “Leave, now. Go spend the summer on a beach in Enbarr with other kids your age. There’s nothing for you here.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, I… Yeah. I’ll think about it, thank you.”  

III.

21st day of Verdant Moon

Being alone is worse than I thought it would be. Having to do everything by myself, figure out how to buy tickets and schedule stuff and all of that, it’s exhausting. But if I think about that too much I’ll cry and if I cry I won’t stop so all I can do is try to figure out what the hell any of this means. It has to mean something, doesn’t it? Or it’s all just insane nonsense and I’m the unfortunate product of a long line of nonsensical insanity, left to drift through this world with nothing but a payout from a trucking company and ghost stories from an old widow and some undiagnosed madness that was never treated because I had no idea I had a family history of mental illness because I was lied to, over and over again.  

I can’t think like that. 

Earlier, after I left that cafe, I remembered something. It’s weird to have all of these little memories popping up now, things that seemed so insignificant at the time. Maybe they are and I’m just trying to backfill information to explain all of the crazy things I’m learning about my dad and my family. I don’t know. I was just thinking about how during my first year of high school, my dad had a brief stint as a mechanic northwest in Elidure before working through the various little towns scattered around the old border between Adrestia and Faerghus as a construction worker—he even let me borrow the Indech branded pickup truck he’d gotten as a property manager on Lake Teutates to drive to my junior prom. The same truck where I got my first kiss playing spin the bottle with some people I was sort of friends with. I can’t even remember his name. It’s funny, almost. I remember that he tasted like the shitty booze we were all drinking and got way too slobbery and wore a purple tie and that I could see the Big Dipper right above his head but I don’t remember his name. Moving around so much, I guess, I never really bothered to remember things like that. After I graduated, dad and I left it all behind to spend a year on the Rhodos Coast. I liked it there. It was charming. But I always knew we wouldn’t be there long, dad got these twitchy sorts of tics when we stayed anywhere too long.

Anyway, the point is, I mentioned wanting to go east, to Gloucester or something because I heard they had mild summers, and he said no in a completely flat voice, nothing like I had ever heard from him. He didn’t even look me in the eye, just said no. We went to Gwenhwyvar pretty soon after that, and I didn’t bring it up again. Again, it could all be innocuous. It could all mean absolutely nothing. But I wonder.  What if it did? What if there was a reason he wouldn’t take me here? A real, true reason that didn’t have to do with the horrible things that happened to my family? If he seriously thought I was cursed, why didn’t he tell me? What was he hiding? Well, I’ll never know that.

I looked up the Reign of Blood and barely found anything, it’s all some witchy weird occult stuff and ghost stories. The castle itself is called El Dorado, and it’s this sort of icon of superstition, but especially the Reign of Blood which is used as an explanation for why so many people disappeared in the fire. People debate if it happened more than they discuss what might have actually taken place. A part of me thinks that Cheryll was just messing with me, or lying. I don’t know why she would, but it makes more sense than the alternative. Who am I to believe that somehow I’m involved with this huge conspiracy? People who are hurting make up all sorts of weird things to try and come to terms with their pain, I’m just feeding into that. 

I should leave. If dad didn’t think it was a good idea to be here, maybe it’s not. I should move on, that’s what he’d want, right? Keep on moving, never look back, chase the horizon. 

I’ll leave. There’s no point in any of this, it’ll just keep hurting. I’ll leave. Tomorrow. 

IV.

Before you left the city, destination TBD—but that was a lie, wasn’t it? You knew exactly where you were going, you just didn’t admit it because you knew it was stupid and the mark was the last person to admit they’d been conned—you stopped at your mother’s childhood home. It was a white farmhouse style place on the very edge of what used to be a suburban neighborhood but was now quickly giving into the urban sprawl. The Macbeths hadn’t lived there for over twenty years. You could see each of those years weathered onto the house. It was where your aunt died as a young girl. How? You weren’t so sure. Cheryll mentioned illness, but the official record only gave the date of her passing. That was a few years before your grandparents followed. 

If you expected to feel something upon seeing the place, you were disappointed. Not even a twinge of disquiet that’d come with seeing a place possibly haunted by the dead. 

You felt nothing other than a vague curiosity, a pang of regret, or melancholy. Never, not once in your entire life, had you lived in an actual house. The longest you had ever stayed in one place was Enbarr, where most of your earliest memories took place. And then there were a few years in Mozghuz where your dad taught history, and another few in a small Varley town where he worked as a consultant for a local museum. But those were apartments and townhouses and just you and him. No family, few friends. A life of transience, of existing ephemerally, always in a state of maybe or going or somewhere else.

A tingling sense of unease settled through you right then, although not because of the entirely benign house with which you were having an intense stare down. Why were you here? Not only at this long abandoned home, but in Leicester, in Edgaria. What were you searching for other than ghosts? Were you seriously going to believe in the superstition of an old woman who went to psychics and still grieved for her daughter? Bad things happened, sure, but that was true in a lot of families. That didn’t mean anything, you just wanted to assign meaning retroactively because of your pain.

And it did hurt. It always hurt. You lived in a state of in-between and those gaps were yours to fill all by yourself, overflowing with the pain you pretended you didn’t feel. Staring at the old house, you were acutely aware of the in-between. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine him standing next to you, filling up that empty space. 

“Are you lost, Mr. Jones?” you would tease. “I doubt you’ll find the Lost Ark all the way out here.” 

He would groan and ask who told you about that embarrassing nickname, and you would tell him that it was-

Well, you wouldn’t. Because if he hadn’t died, you would never know Mrs. Bates or that you weren’t actually his daughter or that his friends called him Indy. 

The sound of rattling plastic on concrete startled you out of your increasingly dangerous thoughts. The next door neighbor was dragging in his trash bins. He was an older man, his face wrinkled and tan like leather, his posture a little hunched. 

“Excuse me,” you called, trotting over to him. It was a long shot, but better than nothing.

“Huh?” he asked, looking at you with his thick, bushy eyebrows furrowed. 

“Sorry to bother you,” you said. “I was just wondering how long you’ve lived here?”

“How long?” he clarified, his big eyebrows shooting up. “Huh. Gotta be fifty years, give or take.” He laughed, a dry, crinkly sound. “Too long, I say.”

“Did you know the family that lived here about twenty-five or so years ago?” you asked, gesturing to the big white house. “The Macbeths.” 

As soon as you said the name, he tensed up, his friendly demeanor freezing. “Why do you want to know?” 

You raised your hands innocently, surprised by the instant reaction. “I’m their… their granddaughter,” you told him. “I don’t mean to trouble you at all, I’m only curious.” 

His cheeks puffed before he let out a big breath, that defensive posture shifting. “I hate to say that I can’t tell you much. They were always a real private family, kept to themselves mostly. It caused one heck of a scandal, the way everything ended. Don’t s’pose it sat right with anyone, not after-” He cut himself off, thin lips drawing inwards. “No, it’s not my business.”    

“Please, I just want to know,” you said, still placating. “Anything you can tell me, I’d appreciate.” 

He nodded, but his eyes were still cautious. “I’ll tell you this, the missus was very unwell,” he said. “When the youngest daughter died, people spread all kinds of nasty rumors about her involvement. Completely outrageous, what they said. But towards the end, she wasn’t quite right in the head, always talking about some curse. It was no thing ‘sides the agony of a grieving parent, but people took it as an admission of guilt.” 

“It was all an accident though, wasn’t it?” you asked. “Nobody was at fault.” 

“Exactly. If you want my honest opinion, the family had bad luck. There’s nothing more to be said, what with all those little ‘uns involved.” 

Bad luck. The sun beat down on your skin, sweat beading up on your spine and hairline, but you shivered, casting a sidelong glance at the house as if it was somehow watching you, as if talking about these things was dangerous in any way, as if there was a looming manifestation of a bad luck over your shoulder, drooling in anticipation of getting you now that you were the last Macbeth left. 

“I see,” you said, forcing a smile for the man. “Thank you so much for your time and honesty, I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course, have a good day, miss.” 

Act 2

“Who now is plotting how he may seduce Thee also from obedience, that with him, Bereav’d of happiness, thou may’st partake His punishment, eternal misery”

I.

Essar, Hanneman, “Final Look at El Dorado.” 

Excerpt from National Geographic, Vol. 162 

September, 1991

“It was with great honor that I accepted the final invitation to visit El Dorado, the famed yet forgotten home of Leicester’s Duke, and eventual king, Claude von Riegan. The massive, not to mention opulent, castle sits in the cradle between Riegan and Albrecht, kept safe by the steep basalt wall to the south and acres of privately owned forest. For all of its grandeur and majesty, these gilded halls hide dark secrets, secrets that may never be truly known. Historians quibble over the voracity surrounding the chilling Reign of Blood. Was it, as many say, a tragic plague sweeping the population? Could it have been a cult formed following a period of famine? Or, as some fear, does this golden fortress hide a terrifying past of human sacrifice and Faustian bargains? These secrets are what has led to the permanent closure of El Dorado and…

“…For my tour, and indeed, the last ever tour of El Dorado, I was given a set of very specific instructions for the sake of my safety and the conservation of the historic site. The first demanded I stay close to my guide. The second instructed me to only enter rooms filled with natural sunlight. This, I was told, was the surest method of determining which rooms were safe. Truly, health concerns are as much a part of the closure as anything else, it is simply too risky to maintain. I was…

“...Despite the stories of prowling monsters and dangerous curses, nothing came of the tour, save for these beautiful photos I was able to capture in the hopes of memorializing what was once a golden beacon of wealth, nobility, and power. As of today, El Dorado is entirely inaccessible. Trespassers will not only be gambling with their own safety should they wish to enter, they also risk severe jail time and steep fines. As I…”

II.

The Sagittarius Express left Edgaria at nine the morning, and it would arrive in Derdriu around eight that night. Named after the starry archer, it was a fairly straight shot connecting the two major cities. It would be shorter in a car, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get in one of those. After spending the night in Derdriu proper, you would take the gondola up to Old Derdriu.

Settled into your compartment with only two other people—and one of them had been passed out cold ever since you boarded—you continued your research. In general, you were poorly versed in Leicester history. You knew there had been something going on with one of their dukes wresting power away from the nobles to consolidate power and drive out the domineering Church of Seiros, going so far as to annex some of Faerghus’ land, but not necessarily any details beyond that. 

When you looked into the Reign of Blood and Old Derdriu, the castle El Dorado showed as the first result. It was the only structure that remained when the rest of Old Derdriu was razed to the ground. Those were the ruins Cheryll mentioned, the home of Claude von Riegan, duke turned king. Information about the event was sparse. Even when you did find information about El Dorado or the Reign of Blood, to say there was discourse surrounding it was an understatement. And that was assuming you could find historical facts rather than ghost stories. None of this was helped by the fact that, a hundred or so years before the Reign of Blood, King Claude von Riegan mysteriously disappeared. Such a tantalizing yet inexplicable vanishing act gave rise to stories about his occult dealings. Some people said he was cursed by the goddess Sothis for his vendetta against the Church of Seiros. Since El Dorado was his home, his story muddied the waters when it came to researching the Reign of Blood.

As the train pulled out of the station, you pulled up one of the more promising sources you had found: a Xerox of an old Life magazine article penned by some old guy named Hanneman Essar. The quality was terrible, compressed and squeezed dry of detail, but looking at the photos of the once grand castle made you more certain than ever that it was important. Something about the place drew you in, even as you glanced over your shoulder for the cold claws of whatever bad luck your father warned you of. There was no point in asking yourself why, or if you should or shouldn’t—you already knew you shouldn’t—because your course was set in stone. Carved out long before you arrived in Leicester. 

Those sorts of thoughts, the ones that toyed with the idea of fate or destiny, were entertained in the back of your head, the place where you pushed every other unpleasant or undesirable or stupid thought. 

It was better to focus on facts. 

“Are you interested in El Dorado, young lady?” the man sitting next to you asked. You slowly lowered your tablet, looking up at the speaker. A mustached blond man with blue eyes, his eyebrow quirked curiously. “It’s rare to see someone your age taking an interest in history.” 

That bristled you a bit, both his pompous tone and the implication. Even when your father worked other jobs, his fascination with history never waned, and it was the only area of your education that never faltered from constantly moving schools.  

“It’s an interesting place, don’t you think?” you asked in a measured voice. 

“Yes, it most certainly is,” he agreed. “A place most ripe with curiosity and fiction, a paradise for the easily fooled tourists they usher in.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“I should think my meaning is clear. The people in Old Derdriu spread ridiculous stories about El Dorado to stimulate their tourism, all for a place that they have shut off to the public,” he said. “As for the source of my interest, I am Acheron Phlegethon. I don’t doubt you’ve heard of me. I’ve debunked several famous hoaxes across Fodlan, including the fiction of Shambhala’s subterranean civilization. Now I have set my sights upon the legendary vampires of El Dorado.”

“Vampires?” you asked, your eyes widening. 

Acheron squinted at you suspiciously. “I thought you said you had done your research.”

“I only just started,” you said, shrugging in an attempt to hide your ignorance. “I guess that explains why it’s called the Reign of Blood.” 

“Bah, a fiction,” Acheron said, waving his hand. “There is no evidence of the cult they claim existed, let alone of the vampire they insist was the leader. Tell me, if the town or its people were truly cursed, why did retribution stop with a single fire that could easily be attributed to a natural cause? The deaths are the same, nothing more than a result of the violent beasts that are known to prowl that area. As I said, they sell these stories to bring tourists into their town. It really is the most insidious scheme, one that I will not tolerate. My next book will be the most comprehensive look at this scam to date, it’s sure to be a hit.”

“How do you know?” you asked. “Do you have any evidence that it’s a lie?” 

“Evidence?” he asked, baffled. “Why, common sense. There is no such thing as vampires or curses, need I any better evidence than that?”

“Yes.”   

Acheron’s eyes narrowed further, his mustache twitching. “It seems you are too young to be sensible. I recommend you continue to study historical facts instead of believing in superstitious bunk.” He paused, his head tilting. “If you give me your email address, I can add you to the preorder list for my next book. I’ve no doubt that you would find it most edifying.”  

“No, thank you,” you told him. 

“Hm, very well. I shan’t disturb you further,” Acheron said, pulling a pillow around his neck and a set of headphones from his bag. “Oh, and good luck with your research, young lady.” 

“Thanks, you too,” you told him, although he was already pulling on an eye mask and probably couldn’t hear you. 

You turned away from the man to look out the window, your thoughts whirling. If you believed that your family could be cursed, couldn’t you also believe in vampires? The logical side of your brain said no, emphatically rejecting the notion because it was ridiculous. Utterly insane. 

Something in your gut said otherwise. The tight lead ball of anxiety burning in your stomach, the thing drawing you towards Old Derdriu despite everything that screamed at you to stay away. You looked again at the distorted photos of El Dorado, trying to imagine it in its prime. It must have been a sight to behold, unlike anything you had ever seen before. 

It didn’t matter what you did or did not believe. It was just like you told Acheron, you needed evidence first. Rubbing a hand over your face, you returned to your reading. 

III.

24th day of Verdant Moon

I had a dream last night. Sometimes I get these wicked nightmares which I guess makes sense considering what happened but last night it wasn’t a nightmare which almost makes it worse because when I woke up crying, it wasn’t just because I was alone, but because I feel so alone that it hurts, it hurts bad. People aren’t made to be alone. I don’t know how to be anything else than a set, a pair. It was always just me and him and now that he’s gone I have a gaping hole in my chest and I think that if I chase down answers it’ll mean something but I know it won’t, I’ll wake up just as alone as I did this morning. 

My brain conjured this idea of a man just to taunt me, I think. A beautiful man who looked at me like he knew me, and I knew him even though I don’t. I woke up the second before our hands touched and just like that we (we, us) were out in the nothing of Fodlan’s great empty flatlands and there was a high wind warning and a great big semi-truck with Ernest Shipping painted on the side and a “rate my driving” sticker on the back. And then there were squealing tires and creaking metal and crunching glass and so much noise from all sides as the world closed in around me, the cab of dad’s vintage SUV giving way to make room for something else crudely forcing itself through. The wind was screaming, and so was I. But dad wasn’t, he didn’t make any noise as his body got crushed. Dead on impact, the first responders said. And yet, after I wriggled out of the mangled mess of what must have been a car—moments before it caught fire—I was relatively unharmed. A miracle, they said. Lucky, they told me. If dad hadn’t swerved the way he did, it would have been me who died. And it’s not even like I’m traumatized, right? I can write about this all I want, I told it to the police and the lawyer and everyone about it and it’s all fine, I’m perfectly fine, I’m well adjusted and alone and accursed, and I want to scream and be angry and cry until I’m all dried up but nothing, nothing is going to make it stop, all I can do is chase down this fantasy and shove all of this down because if this is what sanity feels like, I don’t want to be crazy. 

In that dream, the man I saw had beautiful eyes. Blue green, like a sea breeze or something else equally poetic and reckless, surrounded by these thick, dark eyelashes. Now that I’m awake, all I can do is ascribe meaning to the meaningless, but it was like he was inviting me to him. I’ll be in Old Derdriu tomorrow and I’m probably just losing it but I keep thinking that it's where I need to be. 

IV.

Old Derdriu was more or less what you expected. Small, quaint, and beautiful. It had the unique mixture of mountainous charm and oceanic appeal, giving the fresh air a green, salty weight. You spent the first day getting a measure of the place, glad for the mild weather. There was some displeasure when you realized one Mr. Phlegethon had checked into a room right next door to your own the day before—he even attempted to catch you in another conversation before you excused yourself—but you were quickly absorbed into your preliminary attempts at researching the small town.  

Although all of it was only a prelude to, or maybe a distraction from, what you truly wanted. After lunch, you rented a pretty metallic bicycle at a place on main street. It fit the scenery, looking a little dated with its tall handlebars and a basket. An uncomfortable reference considering why you were here. All the same, hi-yo silver away, you left town to follow the northeast highway as per the directions on the map you bought earlier. Unfortunately, you quickly realized what you had already known to be true. El Dorado was exactly as inaccessible as Mr. Hanneman explained in his old article. The dirt road turn off was gated and locked, the rusty fence adorned with a large, angry “PRIVATE PROPERTY” sign. Even the famous golden tower could not be seen through the overwhelming barricade of trees.

Standing there on the empty road, the bike propped between your legs and dust and the thick scent of pine filling your lungs, unease worked through you. It came upon you slowly, and then all at once. The world was telling you to leave. Winds quieted, birds hushed, even the sunlight dimmed a shade. But something else beckoned you, calling out so vividly you felt yourself lurch forward a step, the bicycle wheels turning a notch. A wild and insane part of your mind was prepared to abandon it right there and break past the intimidating tree line, damn the consequences or legality. You even thought you could probably find El Dorado yourself, no matter how deeply it was buried, that its call would lead you directly to it. Blood following blood, an innate tracker buried in your DNA that had gotten you this far.

To spite the heavy silence, you laughed at how ridiculous that thought was. A wild, uncomfortable laugh. The trees swallowed the sound whole. 

Turning around, you rode back into town. Only a part of you truly understood the choice you made while standing there in the stillness of the forest, although you knew absolutely that it was the only possible ending. 

V.

28th day of Verdant Moon

I looked it up. People can create false memories, it’s a symptom of trauma or mental illness, our brains are suggestable and weak and we just make stuff up by mixing real things with other information. Other information, like all of this weird shit I’ve been reading about El Dorado and Old Derdriu and the original Lady Macbeth and everything. Witch, wiccan, whatever. Vampires aren’t enough, curses aren’t enough, why not just add in a witch? Why the hell not. 

The dreams I’ve been having, I think it’s something like that. Constructed memories of El Dorado and that same guy, the one with the pretty eyes. It’s weird though, maybe normal, they’re not bad dreams. Just about the castle, and him. It’s a break from feeling like I’m going to suffocate on all of this. They don’t feel real, exactly, just…

I don’t know, there’s no point in dwelling on it, I’m probably doing more damage by thinking about it so hard because then I just remember how alone I am and start tearing up and it’s so stupid. This journal is going to be used as a case study one day. People go wild for crazy women, right? There’s a whole cast of them flowing through my veins.   

VI.

Acheron’s premise that the people in Old Derdriu hoped to make money off of the notoriety of their past was ridiculous. Questions regarding El Dorado were answered bluntly, but icily. Most people seemed like they wanted nothing to do with the dark history, especially not to make a profit off of it. You could say that you understood and respected it, but your frustration only mounted the more you realized how inaccessible the truth was. Your entire life had been built on convenient ignorance of unsavory history, and here you were.

Again.   

That was fine. Your dad faced all sorts of difficulty in his historical research, you remembered him complaining about it on more than one occasion. So you did the thing that wasn’t committing felony trespass and went to the library to gather information. Research. 

The library in Old Derdriu was easy to track down, within a short ride from the inn. What you didn’t expect was what you would find. In the front, it was fairly typical. The reading area and magazine shelves and receptionist desk, even a few computers along the wall. But, behind the front desk was what you could only describe as a tower of bookshelves. The unconventional arrangement had you craning your neck to look up, shocked at how the shelves expanded upwards for what looked like three floors with twisting stairs and platforms providing access to the collection. Every place that could store a book, had a book. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how they were organized.  

A lone girl sat behind the desk in front of the tower of books, the only other person in the front. Her name plate read Flayn, and she twirled one of her long curls around her finger as she idly flipped through a magazine. When you approached, she looked up with a big smile.

“Hello!”

“This is… the library?” you asked. 

“Yes, it is. Welcome,” Flayn responded sweetly. “If you need assistance finding anything, I would be more than happy to help.” 

“I would really appreciate that,” you said, tearing your eyes from the tower of books to look at her directly. “I’m looking for books about the history of this town, specifically El Dorado. I’m not particular, whatever seems the most informative.” 

She blinked, her smile lapsing somewhat. “Of course,” she finally said, standing up. “If you take a seat at a table over there, I will see what I can find.” 

“Thank you so much,” you said with a nod. Slowly, admiring the scope of the library, you walked over to one of the tables and sat down. While you waited, you pulled out your tablet to continue flipping through websites that had mention of El Dorado. This one was old, the kind with a black background and dark red cursive font. There was very little to actually be learned, it was a ghost story that told a risque tale of blood sacrifices and a sex cult.

It was all ridiculous, of course, but one line gave you trouble, made your stomach turn uneasily.

Why was it fire? The author wrote. Not, I think, to rid the town of some undead threat. After all, the vampire was hiding away in El Dorado. No, they chose fire to burn the witches.

“Excuse me,” somebody said, calling your attention away from the unsettling words and up to the narrowed green eyes of an older man.

“Yes?” you asked, trying not to look guilty beneath his piercing glare. You hadn’t done anything, but something about him made you feel as if you had, you just didn’t know what it was yet.  

“From your request, I can only assume you are researching El Dorado,” he said, his voice as stiff and stony as his demeanor. 

“I am.”

“And what, may I ask, is your reason for conducting such research?” 

You floundered for a moment, caught off guard and confused. Finally, you shook your head and shrugged. “Curiosity, I guess,” you said.

“Are you in any way associated with a man who calls himself Acheron Phlegethon?”

“What?” you asked, confusion replacing the discomfort. “No, not at all.” 

“Are you sure?” he pushed.

“Well, I’ve met him. He tried to sell me his books,” you said, frowning. 

“Are you sure that’s all?” 

You realized pretty quickly what this man was actually asking, what he wanted to hear. “I’m here for… personal reasons,” you explained. “This place has meaning to me. Er, it had meaning to… someone very important to me.” 

“I see,” the man said. You could practically see the calculations going on behind his stare, your words reduced down to ones and zeroes as he analyzed them.  

“Is that okay?” you asked. 

“Yes, of course. I would never withhold knowledge from the genuinely curious. I suggest you start with this one,” he told you, setting down a large book bound in green. “It offers the most comprehensive history of Old Derdriu. These,” he set down two more books, “are supplementary material. While I cannot vouch for their factual integrity, they provide further insight as to what researchers have discovered about Old Derdriu.” 

“Thank you,” you said, pulling the books towards yourself, almost afraid he would take them away. There was that feeling, that possessive need. A craving, even.  

His lips thinned out as he considered you, his icy expression locked in place. “I ask that you do not cause any trouble while you’re here. The people who live here have suffered enough harassment.”

“I understand, honestly,” you said emphatically, although his warning made your stomach clench and you weren’t lying, but was it really the truth that you weren’t going to ‘cause trouble’? Did you mean that? Could you? 

VII.

[The following text are segments taken from letters found in the attic of a Derdriu home with other antiques. Forensic analysis can date them as being contemporaneous with the burning of Old Derdriu, however much of the contents have suffered such severe decay that entire sentences and paragraphs are illegible. Due to this, it is impossible to determine the author or glean any further context. Notes have been added in an attempt to clarify certain points, but without support, all researchers can offer is speculation.]

“My dear sister...discovery, but I fear I will not…seems that my death is inevitable, all I can do is…she offered me a chance, a slim hope that is buried beneath the earth…” 

“...sister… bad news… if something good came of it, does that make it right?... better left buried lest we… believe in such stories?... truly be Claude? [this is possibly a reference to Claude von Riegan. The mysterious circumstances surrounding his disappearance have long been a point of interest for those interested in the occult—See page 127 for further information]... put my trust in legend, or… risk my soul for… shall sleep, tomorrow we will return to the site and search for…”

“…I know nothing of the truth, it is obscured by… can trust, she claims… of the Agarthans [The “Agarthans'' are another popular yet unproven occult group based upon an ancient civilization. Artifacts supposedly associated with them were found in El Dorado]... and Lady Macbeth hopes to… blood and soul, I…” 

“...forgive me… of my selfishness and hubris. I am frightened… a blight upon us… she will suffer the curse of Seiros [The goddess of the Church of Seiros, who has historically been used as an occult figure following the purge of faith from Liecester]... and yet it is too late…” 

“He is awake. The Reign of Blood has begun.” 

[This line is one of the most contested within these letters. Since it is on its own page, with this single preserved sentence written in a shaky hand, there are those who argue it was included in order to bolster the cult and supernatural narrative surrounding El Dorado and the burning of Old Derdriu. If these letters are accurate, it is the last communication documented from any of the 257 people who disappeared, likely perished in the fire that reduced the town to ash.]      

VIII.

“Hold on a moment, young lady,” a familiar voice called. You paused, turning to face Acheron as he hurried down the hall, stopping you from entering your room. 

“Yes?” you asked, more than a little suspicious. With the key in the lock to your room, at least you had a swift method of escape. 

Acheron came to a stop, dramatically swiping at his shiny forehead. “I have a proposition for you.”

Your jaw dropped a little at the blunt statement. “I-I don’t think-”

“We have the same goal here, no?” Acheron asked, steamrolling over your obvious conclusion without the slightest shred of self awareness. “To discover the truth behind the infamous El Dorado. And yet we are waylaid by these pesky townsfolk at every turn. I have had enough of it, I say. It’s time to take action.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked around the empty hallway before leaning forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I have it on good authority that the castle’s security is not as good as they would have us believe. If one knows how to circumvent it, that is.” 

You considered him for a long moment, chewing on your lip and refusing to openly indulge your immediate excitement. “What are you saying?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Acheron asked. “I would see the famed El Dorado for myself.” 

“It’s dangerous to go inside, people get sick,” you said.

“Bah. The stories about any sort of lingering sickness within its walls are wildly exaggerated. The local youths brag about having visited as a rite of passage. If those scamps can make it in and out, I see no reason to believe I should be capable of anything less. I, of course, am extending the offer to you only out of courtesy. You hunger for the truth as desperately as I, do you not?” 

You considered him for a long moment, wondering if this was some sort of setup. 

“When do you intend to go?” you finally asked.

“Tomorrow night,” Acheron told you. “I would quit this dismal town as quickly as possible. All I need is good footage and photographs of the inside.” 

“Do you have the right gear?” 

“Gear?” he asked, frowning. 

Of course it would have been too much to think that a man like him would think this through. “Yes, gear. Flashlights, a map, the right kind of clothes—”

“Is all that really necessary?” he asked, cutting you off. 

“Have you ever done something like this?” you asked, omitting the fact that you hadn’t. But, unlike Acheron, you had common sense and some experience with night hiking. “You can’t just rush in unprepared, you’ll get hurt.” 

“Hm.” Acheron’s mustache twitched and you could tell he was thinking up some way to argue with you. But, eventually, reason won out. “Very well, I shall procure whatever is necessary tomorrow.” 

“If you buy this stuff town, they’ll know what you’re planning.” 

Acheron’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then I shall make a trip into Derdriu and return in the evening, we can meet at the road leading to El Dorado upon my return.” 

You wanted to argue, to deny your interest on the basis of not wanting to break the law. The risk factor was far too high, you were a fool to go along with it.

“I found a book today that has the plans for the inside, I’ll find a way to make a copy of them,” you said, anxiety and anticipation going wild in your gut because you knew how wrong this was, but you also knew that it was what was bound to happen from the start, something you couldn’t change or control. “Let me give you money, I’ll make a list of what we’ll need.” 

Act 3

"The monstrous sight

Strook them with horror backward but far worse

Urged them behind: headlong themselves they threw

Down from the verge of Heav'n" 

I.

31st day of Verdant Moon

This will only end in the hallowed halls of El Dorado, an owed price for the folly of Lady Macbeth, damning her bloodline, bringing a curse to us all. 

Yeah. Like this is some sort of fucking movie or something. I wonder if insanity is a legal defense for criminal trespass. I don’t think I’m insane, but isn’t that what crazy people all say? Yes officer, I only broke into this blocked off historical site because I had a dream where a beautiful man told me to. Also, incidentally, I had to figure out if I’m cursed or not so I can decide if I’m the cause of my dad’s death. Oh, and you might be interested to know that my great great great great whatever grandmother was a witch and vampires might be real.

It’s foolproof. 

II.

Acheron was right that sneaking into El Dorado was easy. Too easy. Disturbingly easy. After you got past the gate, there was only a security booth to creep past which should have forced you into the view of security cameras, but a convenient hole in the fence circumvented that obstacle. If you were even slightly more worried about getting caught, or maybe slightly less desperate to see inside, you would have given up right then and there on the grounds that breaking and entering shouldn’t have been as simple as ducking through some trees and making a tense, but relatively short, trek through the woods.

All sense left you when you broke the clearing into what used to be the grand lawn of El Dorado, the vague threat of getting caught by angry landowners falling far to the wayside as you stood in front of the grand majesty of King Claude von Riegan’s personal castle, staring down the centuries old castle with equal parts trepidation and excitement. 

Other than the cicadas and frogs and slight wind, the night was very quiet. Acheron fiddled with his camera, getting ready to take footage of the inside. All you had to potentially take photos with was your phone, although you weren’t inclined to gather evidence of your crime. It was enough to watch, to look, to commit this sight to memory. 

And what a sight it was. Nothing like you had ever seen, except in dreams that were not dreams but you didn’t dare call memories. Overgrown with thick, possessive greenery and fallen into a state of dull disrepair, the castle was truly a breathtaking spectacle, the years of ruin only added to the sense of tragic mystery. It was nothing like the stout fortresses of the west, or the elaborate Imperial complexes in the south. Terrible with its jagged maw of an entrance, the intimidating golden tower looming above. Beautiful, the result of long lost artistry. Foreboding and alluring. 

No longer were you looking over your shoulder out of paranoia, but staring down each window and shadow of the castle’s aged, inscrutable countenance for some sign of the life you could practically feel thrumming from within. But, even suffering from the hyperactive state of distress, you knew you couldn’t leave. It wasn’t interest or curiosity, it was a fixation, an urge, a compulsion. 

You had to go inside. 

You had to get away.

“Wait, before I forget-” You pulled out the set of walkie talkies you had brought. They were the ones you and your dad used when you went hiking. You didn’t want to think of that. “Testing, testing, one two three.” Your voice, crinkling through the static, exited the other walkie talkie. 

“What is that?” Acheron asked, raising a thin eyebrow. 

“Walkie talkies,” you said, handing him the second. “In case we get separated somehow. There’s no cell service out here.” 

“Do you intend on making a private excursion?” he asked.

“No, but…” you looked at El Dorado, uneasiness once again sinking through your gut. It was as if the castle itself was watching you, the eyeless windows winking in the moonlight. “Just in case.” 

“Hm.” Acheron clipped the walkie talkie onto his belt, and so you did you. It was too bulky for your little sling bag. “Well then, after you.” 

“What?”

“You have had more time to familiarize yourself with the layout, it’s only natural that you should lead the way.” 

You wondered if Acheron was scared. It was difficult to tell if he was any more pale than usual, and he wore the same blustery confidence as usual. It didn’t matter. If he got scared and bolted, you would do this alone. You were getting used to that, right?  

“Okay,” you said. You weren’t scared. Maybe you felt a little nervous. But you weren’t scared. 

Staying vigilant for any strange movement or sounds, you ascended the cracked, overgrown steps, telling yourself over and over that you were not afraid. There were no such things as vampires, ghosts, or curses. And if there were, you would know for yourself. Answers. You would get answers. 

The large door was mostly intact, but it was stuck in a perpetual state of half-open. Almost like an invitation. A horror cliche. There was a pinch in your bladder and your heart thudded too heavily in your chest and the animal part of your brain didn’t want to breach the shadows and go inside. You were propelled not of your own free will, but of some existential force that tugged you forward. Step by step by step until you were inside the breezeway, the central entrance hall of El Dorado. 

The general plan that the two of you had discussed before sneaking into the private estate was to get into the Golden Hall, the three story vaulted ballroom off of the northern wing. It had been the jewel of the gilded paradise of El Dorado, but nobody had seen it for decades because of the infection that supposedly filled the inside of the castle. The path there would take you through the breezeway, the atrium, the courtyard, the pleasure plaza, and the dining room. Not into the heart of El Dorado, but deep into its rotted guts. 

A very quiet, but incredibly persistent, part of your mind pushed you there with the hushed notion that it was where your dreams took place. You had to confirm for yourself that it was completely different in real life, that your mind was making things up. Even if you gleaned no further insight from this misguided exertion, settling that fact would go a long way in convincing you once and for all that you weren’t cursed, just a little mad. At least one of those problems could be solved with medication.  

Broken glass littered the breezeway, hidden like little jewels within piles of leaves and refuse and the broken bits of castle that had wilted to the ground. You tried to imagine El Dorado’s beauty in its prime, shining gold and inviting, sunshine filtering in through the dome ceiling and high windows, wind playfully teasing the long curtains. But you couldn’t, it was too dark. Darker than you might have thought, darker than the thickest section of the woods, so dark that the places outside of the range of your ThruNite seemed to be physically encroaching shadows rather than void of light. 

Hanneman had been told to only go into rooms where the light touched, that it was the only way to stay safe, but that didn’t seem factually sound, did it? Surely that wasn’t the most accurate method of determining which areas were safe. The only thing that actually feared sunlight, if myths and legends were to be believed, were vampires. There was no sunlight now, and you doubted vampires feared LED’s. 

Gripping your light in a sweaty fist, you forced yourself forward, the ground crunching beneath your boots. The terrible, heavy dread got worse with each step. It sat like a weight right behind your sternum, beating behind your eye. The other part of the feeling, the insidious part, was the familiarity. 

Bad. Bad. Bad. 

You wanted to explain the feeling as nothing more than animalistic paranoia and some malignant fear of the dark, but it made the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, your breathing picking up. All across the breezeway—throughout most of the castle, really—balconies lined the halls and rooms. You couldn’t see what was above, there was no light coming in, not even diffused moonlight. Somebody could have been watching from above and you’d never know. 

Keep going. It was fine. Everything was fine. 

“I told you that this place was safe,” Acheron said, startling you. “If it weren’t, this level of upkeep would be impossible. I have little doubt that they hire people to ensure the roof doesn’t cave in for occasions just like this.”

 You exhaled, looking around with that thought in mind. He had a point, the place did seem a little too well maintained for the number of years that had passed. Then again, maybe it was just good construction. Or maybe something that still lived here. Something ancient, something immortal.  

The two of you left the breezeway, entering the main atrium hall. Hanneman had featured many many photos of this room in his article; he had been fascinated by the intricately carved stonework. It was too dark to see much of that now. In fact, you very badly wanted to get out of the atrium as soon as you entered it because of how unnervingly dark it was. Two tiers of balcony circled around the ground floor, shadows lurking ominously right behind what was left of the railing. Every little sound echoed, rippling through the motionless air. High above, a chandelier caught the shine of your flashlights, moving with some breeze you couldn’t feel.  

Something made a sound, a scuffling. To your right, on the stairs. You flicked your flashlight to it quickly, your hands shaking with adrenaline. 

“Did you hear that?” you asked breathlessly, nervously holding the light on the steps as if to keep them from moving. But there was nothing, just the large stone staircase and decaying walls and long-abandoned artistry memorialized and forgotten in some old Life magazine article.   

“Hear what?” Acheron asked. 

You exhaled harshly, looking away from the empty stairs and kicking yourself for being so jumpy. It could just be a stray animal. That’s what you told yourself. Rats, racoons, birds, any number of things could have made El Dorado their new home. 

“Nothing.” 

There was some relief when you entered the courtyard, even if the scent of overbearing foliage and vivid green rot was nearly suffocating. At least there was more air, and you could see the stars twinkling above. Full, or almost full, the moon draped the open space in silvery light. Ignoring the overgrown shrubbery, flowers, and grass, you looked around at the balconies wrapping around the second floor. The construction of El Dorado was almost made for someone wanting to spy on guests. Or intruders. Acheron was talking to the camera but you weren’t really listening, too busy focusing to hear any sign of movement, trying to find what was making you so uneasy.

Vampires in El Dorado. Lurking in the dark, in the moonlight, waiting for ignorant fools to wander in. A missing king, a goddess’s curse, a burning witch. The Reign of Blood. You could almost smell it, the tangy iron of blood and the thick smoke of a town burning to the ground.

“Are you coming?” Acheron called. 

You shook your head in an attempt to cast out those thoughts before scurrying to catch up, passing the large stone fountain that had once been the featured centerpiece of the courtyard before the ripe overgrowth took over. The standout piece was a large, intricately carved deer. Once, it must have been a magnificent beast, but now its head was cracked in half, the prongs of one set of antlers sticking out of a murky film covering the stagnant water settled in the basin. Something dark grew over the broken statue, starting on its fragmented head and dripping down to give the gruesome illusion of blood. It watched you pass with the remaining stone eye, forever frozen in a proud, alert stance.

A breeze trembled throughout the courtyard. The castle taking in a breath. You shivered, pointedly forcing your gaze forward.  

Acheron lagged behind to force you to take the lead under the pretense of messing with his camera, leaving you to enter the so-called pleasure plaza first. Careful to not get caught by the jagged row of broken glass and wooden teeth attempting to bar your entrance, you stepped into the decaying mouth of El Dorado’s recreation wing. This was the place where Leicester’s elite once came to enjoy themselves, a yawning space that time had seen to shambles. Because of the many doorways and hiding spots, this room was even more unnerving than the atrium. You would have to cross it to get where you needed to go. 

If you were being entirely honest, you weren’t sure you had any desire to see the Golden Hall anymore. Rather, you weren’t sure it was worth the stress of getting there. Considering the unreasonable fear you felt going through areas you knew to be safe, you worried what you might find in a place nobody had seen for so long, worried about what secrets were better left to die. And that pulsing, pounding, beating of familiarity just kept getting worse, harder, closer. Louder. 

You needed to get out.

You needed to know. 

Inhaling the sweet scent of rot and age, you continued onward, your footsteps hollow against the sinking floor. Each sweep of your flashlight caused the shadows to move, to crawl away from you as if to hide. It hit each object without any subtlety, erasing details and making the darkness that much darker.

You forced yourself to carry on. Carefully, cautiously, unafraid. That’s what you kept telling yourself. Show no fear and all that. Although, that began with the presumption that there was something around to see your fear. 

Your skin erupted in painful prickling chills almost as soon as that thought came to you. And then, in the same moment or before or after or so close you couldn’t tell the difference, you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. You flashed your light quickly around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of a rat or some other disgusting but inoffensive animal to reassure yourself that you were safe because you still had hope that this was all innocent, that you were the crazy one for believing in ridiculous stories of the supernatural. 

Something retreated behind the doorway. 

Your stomach sank with freezing cold ice and panic. That was no rat. 

A person? It certainly seemed human sized. Those were footsteps too, weren’t they? Disguised beneath the sound of your own? And if it were somebody with authority, somebody who wanted you to leave because you were trespassing, they wouldn’t be lurking around watching you. So that meant it was somebody doing the same thing that you were. But, somehow, you didn’t feel as if it were another trespassing explorer. You felt it in your gut.

“Acheron, hold on,” you said quietly, stopping. 

“Yes? What is it?” he asked loudly. Too loud, bumbling around with his footsteps echoing against the walls as he turned to face you. You winced, holding up a hand to shade your eyes from the glare of his light. 

“We need to leave,” you told him, speaking softly and calmly. “Now.” 

“But we’ve hardly seen anything,” he said. You couldn’t see his frown, but you could hear it. 

“I’m telling you, we need to leave,” you said softly, desperately trying to remain calm. “We’re not alone.” 

“Someone is here?” he asked loudly, shining his light in a large circle, catching it all on camera. “Show yourself!”

“Acheron!” you hissed. 

“Don’t you want a head start?” an unfamiliar voice asked. No. Not unfamiliar. Jarring though, because you didn’t recognize why you would know it. What memory was attached to that disembodied sound. 

Acheron let out a high pitched sound of terror which scared you nearly as bad as the voice, almost causing you to fall over.

“Who is that? Show yourself!” he demanded. No answer. Of course there was no answer. No sound, not even the faint echo of footsteps. 

“We have to leave,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Acheron, your voice an octave too high with stress. “We have to get out of here.”

“It’s nothing. I told you that the local youths often come here, did I not?” he asked, maintaining that feigned sense of control. “I demand you show yourself!” 

“Acheron, please,” you begged, tugging at his jacket. He kept his camera fixed on where the voice had come from. It was from the hall branching off of the entrance out of the pleasure plaza and into the courtyard, essentially barring your most direct route of escape.

“You really ought to listen to the lady,” the voice said, just as casual, just as playful, just as recognizable. You hadn’t really been aware of a distinct echo beforehand, but the room was large enough to cause the voice to bounce around, to obscure the speaker’s location. Not only disembodied, omniscient. And you were stupid and crazy but you were acutely aware of how dangerous this was, it was a primal instinct to recognize danger. 

Freeze finally ran its course, returning some semblance of sensation to your numb limbs to take flight. You didn’t think, you ran, turning away from the voice to bolt in the opposite direction. Right then, you didn’t care whether or not Acheron decided to follow. Since you couldn’t leave the way you came in, you picked the nearest door. Terror thundered in your chest, a compliment to the sound of your footsteps on the rotting floor. You, with Acheron right on your heels, entered into a music room or another sitting room, or some other area where the wealthy and powerful whiled away their hours of excess. You shouldn’t have looked behind yourself, but you did and you could see, silhouetted in the moonlight from the courtyard, the unmistakable form of another person. And then you were pushing Acheron further into the dark with a fistful of his jacket, driven only by the need to get away. The door was intact enough for you to throw it closed behind you, and the sound rattled through the air.

The scent of wet rot was stronger back here, but you didn’t even think about stopping. The door didn’t open as you both scrambled through the room and into the hall, but you knew from the plans that there were other ways in and out of most rooms in the castle. If not directly, then from above, or even from below. 

“This is the wrong way,” Acheron told you crossly, although his control was fraying with his labored breathing. 

“Just run,” you told him, pushing at his back. You could have let go and run past him, but you were too scared of being alone, of having to navigate this dark, creepy place by yourself. 

He didn’t argue. Or maybe he did, you didn’t even know, couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of your heart and harsh breathing, your body synthesizing musty air into iron-tanged rasps that cut up in the inside of your throat. You had no idea where the hallway you ran into led, but it didn’t really matter. Away, that was what mattered. The hallway was narrow and stank of humid rot, entirely dark save for your flashlights, but the room at the end had windows, filling it with blessed moonlight. Slamming the door behind yourself again, you continued forward, stumbling to keep up with Acheron. 

Until you were yelping in surprise, the floor giving out beneath your feet. There was a brief moment where gravity hooked beneath your bellybutton and yanked, and then the floor hit, and it hit hard. Although you instinctively tried to fall in a slightly upright position, the momentum dragged you into an awkward roll, your body curling so as to protect your head. For a miniature eternity, there was no air, there was no thought in your head, there was no light save for the blinding radiance as impact blazed white hot agony through your head. Gasping, writhing on the cold, hard floor, you blinked teary eyes, staring at the hole that had just eaten you with some vague idea that you were dreaming, that this was all a made up fantasy. It was unreal, and it was painful.  

A moment later, a beam of light hit your face. So bright, like a little sun. You sucked in a lungful of air, tasting blood. Then, almost unconsciously, you jerked sideways and lurched around onto your knees. The pain enveloped you in a mad rush all once, your empty body dry heaving with nausea. Only, there wasn’t enough air to expel the sour bile in your stomach, leaving you to choke and suffocate on nothing instead. That tapered off into a few pathetic coughs a moment later, your entire body shaking and clammy. 

“Oh dear,” Acheron said, his voice thin with fear. “Are you hurt?”

All you could manage in response was a groan, and then a broken sob. But fear was a good motivator to get moving, and adrenaline shocked your system enough to force you upright. Now that you could remember, more or less, how to breathe, the worst of the damage was where you had initially landed on your hip, your shoulder hitting nearly as hard a second later. It sent violent, lurid pain straight down your arm and leg, the entire left side of your body alight as if from a branding iron.

“I’m fine,” you croaked out, not knowing if it was true but knowing that it needed to be true. 

“Thank goodness,” Acheron said, his voice heavy with relief. “I don’t suppose you see any way to climb back up?” 

You couldn’t see anything outside of the hot spotlight from above, your ThruNite had gone dark and skittered away somewhere into the shadows. At first, you only felt panic at the realization, terror that you were stuck in the darkness. It took you a long moment to think past the pain and the dark and the fear to remember that you had a backup light. After a few tries of fumbling with the zipper on your sling bag, you got your sweaty fingers around the yellow plastic base of your second flashlight. It was nothing so good as the hefty ThruNite, emitting a buttery yellow glow, but it was something. You waved it around, although you knew it was a lost cause before looking. The hole you had fallen into was rotted all the way through, leaving a few jagged boards around the edges, some of which you had brought with you on the way down, and parts of which were embedded in your hands and knees. There was no way back up. 

“No,” you said, painfully staggering to your feet and brushing yourself off as best you could. “I’ll have to find the stairs, I think… I think there’s some in the southern wing. Meet me there and we can—” 

“And stay here?” he demanded. “Are you mad? No, no, I simply cannot. I shall… I shall run and send help. Yes, that is the best course of action.”

You squinted against the blinding beam of his flashlight, mute with confused shock for a long, silent moment. 

“Acheron, you can’t do that,” you said softly, more bewildered than afraid. 

“You cannot expect me to retrieve you myself,” he said defensively. 

“No, no. You can’t just… just leave me here,” you said weakly, panic closing in around your heart, ice fizzling out like bubbles in your head. 

“I will not put myself at risk for your own carelessness,” he told you harshly. “If you remain there, the rescuers should find you quickly.” 

And that was it. His light disappeared, leaving you blind and blinking up at the hole in the desperate hopes of seeing his face, of seeing some sign that you weren’t actually alone. 

“Acheron,” you called, unable to keep your ragged voice soft. “Please don’t leave me here.” Nothing. You called out again, and nothing. No footsteps, not even the sound of doors opening or closing, although the violent rush of blood could have covered noises like that. And then there was only your heavy breathing and the sour bite of vomit in your throat and the creaking sound of the castle’s breathing in time with your own. 

With shaking hands, you got out the walkie talkie. It took you two tries to find the button, and then the sound of static. “Acheron?” you asked. “Do you copy, Acheron?”  

You didn’t get an answer. At least, not from the walkie talkie. You heard something. From far away, up above, you heard this howling, like an animal, but very distinctly human. Your guts lurched, a shiver slithering down your sweaty back, all the way through your body. 

You quickly pressed the button down again. “Ah-Acheron?” you asked, looking around the empty room. The shadows of decaying furniture followed your yellowy light, almost mockingly avoiding it. “Acheron, are you alright?” 

The speaker let out a little burst of static, startling you. “Sorry, he’s pretty busy right now,” a crinkled voice on the other side said. “Can I take a message?” 

You paused, your chest clenching. “Who is this?” But you knew. You knew very well, you just didn’t know. 

“Your guilty conscience. Trespassing is a serious crime.” 

“Where is Acheron?” you asked. “What did you do to him?” 

“Do to him?” the man asked, sounding like he was offended by the question. “Nothing. He ran off as soon as he saw me, so now we’re playing a little game of hide and seek. Sorry, no girls allowed this round. You and I can have a match when I win, okay? Okay, so you’d better start looking for a really good spot.”

Your mouth was open, gaping with no sound coming out. You felt nearly as winded by this as you did from the fall, unable to think, to formulate any rational reaction. “I-I don’t understand.”

“You’ve never played hide and seek? Oof, your childhood must have been a real bummer. The point of the game is that you hide and I seek. Simple, right?” 

“I’m not… not playing,” you said. “I just want to leave. Please… Whatever this is, I… Please stop.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of sportsmanship? Even this coward is giving it a chance.” He paused, and then raised his voice, calling out to someone else. “Isn’t that right? Why don’t you tell her what a good time we’re having?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... We’re sorry, so please don’t… don’t hurt him,” you begged, your voice wobbling with tears and panic.  

“I’m not sure I get why you’d defend a guy who was willing to abandon you here. I mean, who knows what could happen to a girl like you in a scary place like this. It’s practically falling apart. Not to mention all of the creepy and dangerous things that could be lurking around.” 

You shook your head, blinking back tears. “Please,” you said, although you weren’t sure what you were pleading for. 

“I’m in a good mood tonight, so I’ll give you some advice. First of all, the basement is no good. There aren’t very many escape routes, you’ll definitely get cornered. And, I don’t know if this is true or not, but I’ve heard that it's haunted.” 

“Please stop,” you begged. “I’ll leave, I’ll leave and-”

“Hey, hey, don’t panic,” he said soothingly. “You’ll need to save up all that energy for running. Oh, and you might wanna ditch the walkie talkie, it’s a dead giveaway.” 

All this time, you had worried about vampires. But it made more sense that some lunatic would use this place as hunting grounds. Preying on the stupid and reckless and your delusions that you were somehow cursed and connected to this place. You were cursed alright. It was the worst curse of all—blind naivety. 

“Please stop,” you begged again. It wasn’t that you wanted to talk more with the potential lunatic, but hearing his voice was better than not hearing it because at least it meant you weren’t entirely alone down here in the dark. But there was no answer, just some static. “Hello?” You asked, your voice even weaker. “Hello?”

No answer, over. Over and out. Ten-four. 

You stood there for a long moment, sore and sweaty and trembling, your body all at once wrung out and over energized, your heart beating way too fast. The light didn’t reach far enough, it was like the shadows were gnawing at the edges of it, attempting to retake their territory. A little part of your brain understood that you weren’t capable of thinking rationally, the part that recognized the insanity of all of the actions that led you here. But knowing that and overcoming blind, animal panic were two different beasts entirely. 

Escape. That was all you could do. At first you thought about searching for your fallen ThruNite, but you were afraid to linger in here too long. You had no idea where it had ended up, there were too many places in the room it could have been hiding. That left you with the weaker incandescent light and, if that failed, your phone’s flashlight. 

Your past self was a lot smarter than your current one, thinking to bring some water. That cured the rancid tang of metal in your mouth, settling you somewhat as you considered your options. Rather than abandon the walkie talkie, you shut it off. It was stupid, but you couldn’t just abandon your sole source of connection to any living beings. You checked your phone as well, but the same NO SERVICE bar sat at the top. 

There was no other way than forward. The room that you fell into didn’t have doors, only dark, decaying holes where doors might have once been. The one on your left was the source of the dank, rotting scent. It was completely flooded, the water covered with an inky, oily film, your light reflecting off of it unnervingly. When you steeled yourself to venture forward, you realized that the hall was slightly flooded as well. Not more than an inch or so, but enough to make your boots wet, and enough to make each footstep splash and squish, rendering stealth impossible. Then again, the light made that impossible anyway. Shining your light both ways, you debated which way to go, trying to remember the castle plans. The trouble was that you had no idea where you might have fallen. Everything was dark and creepy and awful and you just wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. To close your eyes and imagine your way out of the situation, to stay right there without ever moving and escape. 

After a second of despair and terrified self pity, you went right. 

If you followed the hallway, you would find a way upstairs. That made sense, there had to be some practicality to the design of this forsaken place. Or, that was all you could hope for. In reality, the dark and uncertainty threatened to turn your guts inside out, vomit biting your throat as you skirted along the wall. It was so quiet, unnaturally so. In the silence in the absolute void of light, your mind conjured noises. Extra footsteps, the sound of breathing. Echoes where there shouldn’t have been. 

You were afraid to blink, that when you opened your eyes something would appear in the beam of your flashlight. But you didn’t want to see anything, either, it would be better to face death ignorant to its face. You wanted to shield yourself from whatever horrors might exist. 

Staying in place was a death sentence, going any further was uncertain terror. The man said the basement was haunted. By what? Ghosts? Witches? Vampires? Murderers? 

Did it even matter?

Each open doorway you passed came with the anticipation that something would jump out at you. Or, worse, that you’d look in and see the dark silhouette of something inside. Somehow, that thought was almost as terrifying as being assaulted. Animals attacked on sight, true predators were the ones who were patient enough to lurk, to wait, to watch, to toy with the fear of their prey. And that’s what you were. Prey.  

On and on. Down the deep dark hall, your footsteps squelching on the damp floor, down down down to the corner where you turned, your light terrifyingly weak, nothing more than a pathetic glow against the all consuming darkness. The moment you saw a set of stairs, you could have wept with relief. Maybe it was stupid because it wasn’t as if they would lead you anywhere good, but those stairs were the best thing you’d ever seen. You gave into the spine tingling fear and ignored the pain of your body to run to them, splashing out of the water and taking the steps two at a time. 

There was no door at the top, just a sharp bend leading into a wider hall, the stairs tucked away and likely used by the servants. You didn’t care. This hallway wasn’t flooded, and the scent of death and decay wasn’t nearly as strong. It left you with the same problem though. Where did you go from here? Where were you? 

Relief soured into dread. Now that you were upstairs, the game had begun. 

It would have been smarter to shut off your light, but without any source of ambient illumination, you would be completely surrounded by the darkness. You stayed very, very still, straining your ears in an attempt to hear any stray sound, anything out of the ordinary. But there was nothing. The castle creaked and groaned, and your heart raced, and your ears rung faintly. 

Indecision and fear nearly paralyzed you. Like drowning, you had no idea of which way was up, you were merely thrashing in the blind darkness, hastening your own demise in your desperation to live. 

You found yourself walking without thinking about it, clinging to the wall with some idea that it would protect you. Just keep going. There was a sharp turn and then you realized that there was a light ahead. At first you thought it was a trick of your imagination, but you switched off your flashlight and blinked fast to adjust to the darkness, eventually making out that it was light. Soft, pale moonlight. That meant outside, that meant escape. 

Continuing to cling to the wall, you hurried towards the opening, eventually turning to the corner and finding yourself within your originally stated destination. At least you knew where you were. Nowhere near the exit. 

What rotten, twisted irony. You could almost laugh if you weren’t so close to tears. The Golden Hall, now flooded with thin silver moonlight, was exactly as beautiful as the name suggested. You knew it not from the second hand descriptions—they didn’t even begin to accurately describe the sweeping, luxurious ballroom—but because you had seen it before.

Far above, the cold moon observed you through panes of broken glass. So close, yet impossibly far. Taunting, tempting, representing an unreachable whisper of freedom. Your knees almost buckled, giving into the pain and exhaustion as you considered having to brave even more of the castle if you were ever going to get out alive. The Golden Hall echoed your own personal despair, a decaying corpse of what it once was, its profoundly decadent construction fallen to ruin. But you could imagine—remember, it was a memory, constructed or otherwise—how it looked in its prime. Shining, lustrous gold. And a man, one with entrancing eyes and a sly smile. His hands had been cold but the feeling was so warm, your own heat igniting you both. 

“The point of the game is to hide, you know,” someone said from behind you. In your despairing trance, you had gone further into the ballroom. Now you whirled around, clutching your chest in terror. “Although I am impressed you found your way up. Even I get the creeps going down there. Somebody really ought to do something about the flooding.” 

Shaking hard, you flicked your flashlight on, illuminating the man in its weak, yellow glow. He didn’t shy away, looking at you head on. His footsteps were slow and measured, impossibly graceful. Yes, yes of course. So obvious, so brutally, painfully blatantly obvious that it would be him. In the dim glow of your light, the most you could make out was the gold wink of his earring, but you knew without seeing that his eyes were that lovely shade of green, tinged with the romantic oceanic blue, so striking against his tan skin and black eyelashes. You knew that as surely as you knew the creases of your palm, or the constellations in the sky. 

“I admit,” he said, breezing past your silence, “I do have a slight advantage. You hurt yourself when you fell, right? I could smell your blood all the way from the catwalk. I’ll let you know if it tastes as good as it smells.”

“Stay away from me,” you demanded, surprised at how clear the words sounded despite the saliva pooling on your tongue. 

“I mean it, you smell really good,” he said, ignoring you and continuing forward. “Hey, why don’t you make this easy for me and put down that light? Nobody likes a sore loser.” 

“I told you-”

“Yeah, yeah, stay away,” he said flippantly. But he did stop, tilting his head in consideration. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you? Fine. If you’re going to run,” he gestured behind himself at the exit into the dark hall, “now’s your chance.”  

You didn’t think about the cheeky smile he wore, or the mocking tenor of the offer, or the reason he might let you run in the first place. You just did it, just ran, not looking back. There was blood in your throat and your entire body ached and you weren’t entirely sure you knew where you were going, but you didn’t pause. 

Step after pounding step, your heart racing, your breath coming out in sharp little gasps. Through the hall, which spanned miles and miles and miles, into the dining hall with its dust and cobwebs and ruined finery. You hit your bruised hip on the doorway which nearly sent you tumbling onto the ground. The red hot pain was so intense you had to stop and lean on the wall, your body physically refusing to go forward. 

Could you hear him? Were those his footsteps coming down the hall or your own telltale heart with its madness inducing beat? 

There was no time for your pain. If you couldn’t get away from here, you would die. That was a fact. Rubbing your sweaty palm on your hip as if to soothe it and sobbing dryly with all the pitiful disgrace of a child, you took off again. 

When you burst out into the pleasure plaza, the place of that first confrontation, hope reignited in your heart. It didn’t matter that there was still a significant dash to the exit, at least you knew where you were. Ignoring all else, you retraced your original ill-fated steps out into the courtyard. The moon was hidden behind the golden tower, peering into the front of the castle and leaving the courtyard nearly as dark as the halls. It didn’t matter. You raced across, blindly passing the one eyed deer in his long night vigil.

Until your toe caught on a loose rock, and you launched forward onto your elbows and knees, skittering forward across the ground. Once more, your flashlight was flung from your grip and landed somewhere ahead in the dense foliage. A harsh yelp left your mouth and you collapsed, completely boneless and exhausted and in genuine, insistent agony. Everything ached and the terror was relentless, pain consuming every panicked thought and infecting every inch of your body. You were doomed. Damned. Dead. 

Footsteps approached from behind. Easy, casual, measured. You flipped onto your back, wincing at the weight it put on your bruised hip. Your pursuer didn’t look dangerous. The outline of his messy curls gave him an innocent silhouette, and his hands were empty of any weapon. 

“Ouch, that must have hurt,” he said. “You should be careful, you could injure yourself if you don’t watch where you’re going.” 

“Stay away from me,” you got out between gasping breaths. 

“I bet you’re tired from all that running, huh? That’s fine, I think we’ve had enough fun for the night.” Without pausing, he dropped down onto his knees, one between your legs and the other astride your hip. You cried out in protest, getting your trembling arms beneath yourself to crawl backwards, but he caught you by the strap of your sling bag, and then with a fistful of your shirt to keep you in place, caging you in with his body. You couldn’t see the color of his eyes, they were only dark as he leaned down over you. 

“Stop it, please,” you begged, weak and trembling, tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, mixing with the sweat. “Just let me go, please.” 

“I’m sure you get this all the time, but you smell unbelievably delicious,” he said, his nose brushing your sweaty neck. You could feel your pulse jump against the thin skin there and you held completely still, a million thoughts slamming into each other all at once in your head. Vampires, murderers, insanity—anything and everything but most of all was just the mindless, irrational terror and despair. You were going to die. In a final spasm of rebellion, your back arched and legs kicked, but your body was caught between the jagged ground beneath and the firm press of his body above, pinned flat. And your hands weakly pushed at his chest, but it was a lost cause, and he wasn’t listening to your constant mumbling pleas to stop. 

Another pathetic sob hiccupped in your chest. You wanted your dad, you missed him. You needed him. And then you went limp because, now and forevermore, you were alone. 

“Come on, you don’t need to cry,” he murmured sweetly, a smile in his voice. You didn’t respond, staring up at the starry sky above. They were cold and without shape or form. Indifferent to your pain. 

The touch of his lips on your neck was shockingly cool, you almost wouldn’t have believed it was a mouth until you felt the needle-like puncture of fangs. That made you jump, squealing, but he held you in place which was probably a good thing because he was biting your neck and that could get dangerous fast. The pain sharply worked down through the rest of your body, the unnatural intrusion of something beneath the skin sending you right back into high alert. And then his lips closed around the created wound to suck.

A little whimper left your mouth, almost confused because even with the unambiguous pain of being bitten, there was something more. The wet release of sensation that followed the bite bloomed out from the point where his fangs pierced your neck in a flizzling wave. He sucked hard for a moment, but then went stiff against you, pulling back with a sharp intake of breath to stare into your eyes. 

He looked shocked, almost innocent if it weren’t for your blood smeared across his mouth. “You’re…” He breathed out that word faintly, reverently. There was meaning there, a meaning that you understood. Letting out a little laugh, a bubble of genuine exuberance, he released your shirt so that hand could delve into your hair, so he could pull you into a kiss. 

His skin was impossibly cold, unalive, and you could taste your own blood as he licked between your lips to part them. While his eyes were squeezed shut, dark eyelashes resting on his cheekbones, yours were wide open.

The kiss wasn’t violent, it was amorous. And familiar. He held you, practically cradled you against him. He felt it too, he understood what you had known from the moment you saw him.  

There was no way to escape the violently seated weight of your own body, of every sensation and feeling he inspired within you. Although, in another situation, the kiss might have seemed sensual, it was only grotesque and terrible. A display of affection in a moment of horror. You didn’t want it, your body thrummed with fear and pain, but you also felt yourself giving into the overwhelming wave of defeat. Even with all that was unnatural and terrible, this man’s kiss was imbued with some sort of cosmic sense of belonging. 

If the pain weren’t so sharp, you probably would have relented. 

Instead, you used it as an opening, as your final chance to reject this twisted insanity. Your hand scrambled out to the side, blunt nails scraping the ground and open wounds packing with dirt. But you found what you were looking for. Stray rubble, forced up and broken by the relentless roots of new growth, nature overcoming manmade structure. You wrapped your bloodied fingers around the chunk of displaced stone and swung at his head, thrashing against his grip at the same moment. 

It was enough to displace his body from on top of yours, maybe out of surprise because you certainly didn’t feel any human give of flesh and bone beneath the weight of the rock. You didn’t stop to consider that, or anything. He grabbed the strap of your sling bag as you scrambled away and you unclipped it without thought, refusing to let it catch you, to keep you trapped. It didn’t matter, you didn’t need it. You needed to escape. You were little more than a wild animal, the taste of your own blood on your lips, blood dripping down your neck, fear infecting every cell of your being. 

“Wait a second,” he called. Disgruntled, not pained. 

The first few steps, you were practically crawling, your back hunched like a beast as you used pure momentum to carry you into the atrium. And from the atrium to the breezeway, your back painfully straightening out, hip screaming in agony. You didn’t think about it, you just continued forward. Ran out into the night, ran through the woods, sticks and foliage catching your clothes and skin, ran down the dirt path to the road. There wasn’t a single thought in your head to get help, just to get away. And then you were flying through the night on your silver bike, your body pushed past the point of weary, into some territory where you weren’t even sure you were actually alive anymore, just acting because you had to act. Although it seemed to take hours of cycling down the dark road, there was this vague impression that no time at all passed before you were coming up to the inn, the bicycle’s wheels crunching across the gravel alley before you ditched it. 

Your room’s window was still open, the way you left it so you didn’t have to sneak in and out the front. The lights were on and they were warm and bright, inviting. You scrambled in, bloody and filthy and sweaty and shaking, and slammed the glass pane shut so hard it rattled, pulling the blinds shut to protect you from the night. 

And then you wept, and you retched, and you waited for sunrise.  

Act 4

“Die he or justice must; unless for him Some other able, and as willing, pay The rigid satisfaction, death for death.”

I.

1st day of Horsebow Moon

It’s all real. There is something living in El Dorado. He got Acheron, I waited all night and he never came back and they’re saying that he left yesterday but I know he didn’t. I left him there. I abandoned him there. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. 

If you find this, it means he came for me too. 

II.

A woman sat in the waiting room of the police station when you entered, her legs crossed as she casually read the paper. There was nobody else around, not even at the desk. A lazy fan swiveled in the corner, whirring loudly but not doing anything to cool the room so much as it just pushed around the warm air. It made the high necked shirt you were wearing that much more uncomfortable. Trying very hard to hide your limp—your hip wasn’t seriously injured, but you’d have a hell of a bruise for weeks—you walked up to the desk, peering into the back to check if anyone was there. No luck. It was almost eerily quiet. 

“Are you here to talk to the police?” the woman asked, looking at you over the top of her paper. 

You opened your mouth to respond before settling on nodding instead. 

She turned to the next page, her attention drawn back down. “What about?”

You hesitated, not knowing how to answer, or even if you should. Before leaving the inn, you hadn’t thought very hard about how you would present your story. The only evidence you had was your sore body, but you had to do something for Acheron. Even if he was annoying and rude and unpleasant, that didn’t mean he deserved to be dead and forgotten. 

“I know all of the folks on the force,” she explained. “I’m sure I could help you out.”  

“I… I’m here to give a statement, that's all,” you told her, aware of how hoarse your voice was. You sounded and looked rough, there was no hiding it.  

“Well, they’re at lunch right now,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down and wait with me?”

You looked at the empty desk, and then at her, and then sat down, once again trying not to wince at the way your hip complained. Really, your entire body complained. You used practically half a bottle of Bactine trying to clean up the mess of shredded skin on your hands, elbows, and knees. Not to mention the bruising. 

“I’m Judith, by the way,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. 

“I take it you don’t know who I am,” Judith said, a hint of amusement in her eyes. That perked you up, just a bit. Not in a good way. So lost in your own miserable anxiety and fear, you hadn’t really considered how off putting her demeanor was before now. 

“Should I?” you asked. 

“You might be interested, at least. I’m the owner of El Dorado and the surrounding property.”  

You felt the blood fade from your face, your empty stomach twisting with guilt and fear, the sore muscles clenching uncomfortably.

“Don’t make that face,” she said, folding up her paper. “I’m not here to report you.”

“I-”

“That’s not to say I couldn’t,” she said, cutting you off, “but I figured I’d give you a chance to do the smart thing first. It’ll save both of us a lot of trouble if we agree that nothing happened last night and move on with our lives.” 

You froze. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Do you know the punishment for felony trespass?” she asked. 

“Acheron’s still in there,” you whispered, adjusting your high necked shirt again. “They have to save him. Somebody has to do something.”

“I heard your friend left town,” Judith said. 

“No, I saw him. He was real, and he got Acheron,” you insisted, tears welling up in your eyes. The words didn’t make any sense, even you weren’t entirely sure how much of it you meant. What you thought, what you felt, what you believed. Your head pounded with a violent headache, your entire body sore and clammy. 

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but hallucinations are a side effect of things like black mold,” Judith said, her eyebrow arching. “It’s dangerous. There’s a reason that place stays locked up.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. Could that be true? Maybe Acheron had left after all, you weren’t exactly in the clearest of mental states. He could have escaped, it was what he intended. And the rest of it, the man who stalked, taunted, and attacked you, maybe there was some other explanation for that. Maybe you really were losing it.

“You can go ahead and make a report, if you want,” Judith said. “It won’t matter. All of the evidence points to your friend packing up and leaving. Without a body, the only crime here is yours. They’ll bury you in whatever charges they can make stick.” She paused, giving you a sideways glance to make sure you were listening. “None of that has to happen. No report, no paperwork, no crime. You go back to your inn, pack your bags, and leave town. Everybody’s happy.” 

A couple of answers came to mind, and then a couple of complaints. Eventually, you just nodded. 

“See? I knew we could handle this peacefully.”

“I’m scared,” you said softly, the pitiful admission leaving your mouth without thought. 

Judith sighed, looking at you with a disapproving mixture of compassion and pity. “Don’t worry. Even if there was something there, I promise you that it’s not getting out any time soon,” she said, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. That passed quickly and Judith stood up, tucking her paper under her arm. “I have to go. It was nice meeting you. I’d say that I hope to see you later, but-”

“I’m leaving soon. Tonight if I can,” you said quickly, getting to your feet as well. 

“I thought that might be the case. Well, then. Have a safe trip.” 

III.

1st day of Horsebow Moon

I took a nap earlier, while the sun was still out, and dreamed of him. He wants me to go back. Maybe I should, maybe it’d be better if I did. When he kissed me I… I don’t know. I think about it and I’m not scared, I just want to cry. My heart hurts. Why? 

I wish it had been me too. I really do. We could have gone out together in a blaze of glory, us rogues. At least I wouldn’t be alone, I wouldn’t be thinking that when he touched me, I didn’t want anyone or anything else, and I felt-

I can’t think like that. 

The past is written in ink and stone and blood and ash.  

I’m leaving tomorrow morning, it was the earliest time I could find to get out of here. I’ll have to get back in a car. Thinking about it makes me sick, but there’s no choice. She says it’s not real and I know that’s a lie. The bite on my neck is real, I couldn’t have made that up. She’s lying. They’re all covering up for this, that’s all I can think.  Earlier when I ordered food, the delivery guy acted so strange, like he knew. It’s insane to think, but I swear, everybody in this awful little town is in on it. 

I put the note from earlier under my mattress, just in case something happens tonight. For some reason, I keep thinking that it will, jumping at every little sound. The walkie talkie keeps bursting out static, like it’s connected to the other one, but that’s impossible because Acheron had the other one and the range isn’t that long. I could have sworn I heard a voice from it while I showered too. Maybe it’s connected to another channel. Maybe I’m insane. Maybe I’m going to die. Maybe he’ll come for me. 

Death doesn’t scare me, not really, but I don’t want to die alone.

Act 5

"And should I at your harmless innocence

Melt, as I do" 

I.

Fiercely clawing your way out of the heavy shackles of sleep, you shouted yourself fully awake, thrashing in an attempt to escape an unknown threat, sickness churning violently in your stomach. Being awake hurt. Why had you been asleep? Everything hurt. Fear was more potent than pain and you forced yourself to breathe, to focus on your confusion and make sense of the world around you. Unfamiliar, although that in and of itself wasn’t dangerous. You had always existed in a state of ever-shifting unfamiliarity. What was wrong, what was dangerous, was that you knew where you were. Rather, you had a feeling. 

“Woah, woah, easy,” he said, backing away with his hands up. You blinked rapidly, panting, trying to fight your way out of the haze. The tide of unconsciousness threatened to consume you once more, lapping at your heavy head, urging you back down. It was nearly more than you could take to keep your eyes open, but you fought it. Something was wrong, you needed to be awake. As your vision brightened bit by bit, you met a pair of green eyes, and your blood turned to ice.

“It’s you,” you said, your voice soft and close to breaking, mushy in your mouth. Nearly inaudible. Everything was sore and stiff and painful, and it was so unbelievably hard to keep yourself from drifting again. It had to be a drug in your system, but you couldn’t think properly to know how or why. “You… You’re-”

“I usually go by Claude,” he told you with a winning grin. And it was a smile you knew. Intimately, honestly, a smile so familiar you ached. 

You blinked hard, shaking your dizzy, heavy head in frustration, unable to accept what you were seeing and hearing. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t remember the last thing you’d been doing before you woke up here, the squishy bit of brain behind your eyes pounded at the effort. And that name. You knew it, you had long attached it to the man in your dreams no matter how little sense it really made.

Or maybe it all made perfect sense, and that was why you were so scared. Claude von Riegan, resident vampire of El Dorado. 

“I… What happened?” you asked weakly, tearfully. “Why do I…? Dizzy…” 

“Don’t worry, that’s from the little concoction I slipped into your food before that kid dropped it off,” Claude said. “It’s not poisonous or anything and, trust me, I would normally never use such underhanded tactics, but I couldn’t have you ruining things by making a big fuss. It’ll wear off soon.”

“No no no,” you muttered, your words bordering on incomprehensible with the effort they took to get out, “this can’t be happening. This can’t…” 

“Would you feel any better if I told you it wasn’t?” he asked nonchalantly, sitting on the sofa across from the bed, his arms spanning the back in a casual position. 

With blurry vision, your eyes took in the room around you. It seemed normal enough, if lavish. Big bed, large furniture. The smell though, that was distinct. Not rot, but old. Aged. 

“You have been having an awful lot of weird dreams lately,” he continued thoughtfully. 

You exhaled harshly, going still. Then, slowly, you met those playful green-blue eyes. They danced with candlelight and mirth. Enticing, exactly like in your dreams.

“I hope you don’t mind, I got bored while you were asleep and had a little peek at your diary,” he told you. “I’d love to hear more about that strange, beautiful man who haunts you in the night. He sounds intriguing.”  

Had you written about those dreams? You couldn’t remember what you might have put down, usually you just went in and dumped as many thoughts onto the page as possible. The invasion of privacy was like a knife to the bone, but you couldn’t think of what you should do about it, the world was too abrasively heavy to know what to do with anything. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. Tears! Like you were going to cry! It seemed impossible to fight, like you were just as helpless to yourself as you were to what was going on.  

“It was fascinating to see how much you pieced together. I’m glad you’re smart, I really am. It’ll make this a lot more fun.”

You shook your head again, which didn’t help the dizziness. “I want to leave,” you said, “I don't want to be here, I can't…" Your voice slurred a little, like you weren’t in complete control of your body. Your thoughts too, they kept getting away from you, slipping out from your grasp. 

"Out of curiosity, where would you go?" Claude asked. 

You sniffed pathetically, your thoughts falling to an abrupt halt against the question. "What?"

"If you left town right now,” he said, “where would you go?"

You stared at him, unable to figure out what he meant. 

"You don't know, do you?" Claude asked, but his tone was all-knowing and smug. "I thought as much."

"I do, I just…" you said. But you didn't. You had no idea about anything. What you would do, what you were doing, everything was a confused mess and you just needed to get out of here, get away. Your breathing was picking up, your heavy head spinning with it. 

“Shh, calm down,” Claude said gently, switching from the couch to the bed. It dipped with his weight and you didn’t think to move away, just stayed where you were and looked at him, attempting strength but only managing desperation as you tried not to break down completely. “I can tell you’re scared, but I’m not going to hurt you.” He paused, smiling non-threateningly. “And, you know, I wouldn’t have had to do any of this if you didn’t play hard to get last night. So why don’t we agree we were both in the wrong and move on? Forgive and forget, no harm done.” 

“I-I want to-to leave,” you insisted, taking inventory of yourself to figure out if you were even capable. Everything was so foggy, disoriented, your body unbelievably heavy. It was getting better, but slowly. You weren’t sure you could leave the room, let alone escape. 

"Sorry, but that's not gonna happen," Claude said, and it wasn’t a threat but the casual way he spoke made the statement that much worse. He was simply telling you something that was. A fact, a forgone conclusion. 

"Someone will… will come looking for me," you said with more confidence than you actually felt, grasping at straws to make your case because you didn't have anything else. 

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Claude said. "They still think that I'm too weak to leave, seeing as the Macbeth bloodline has completely died out and all." He smiled at that, meeting your eye knowingly, unflinchingly. "Without the blood that roused me from my accursed slumber, there's no way I'd have the strength to steal somebody all the way from town and back."

Pieces began to shift into place. Slowly moving, scraping together as your fogged brain did its best to comprehend what he was telling you. The vague outline existed, but you couldn't quite pin it down, couldn't quite see the whole. 

"My blood…" you mumbled, pressing your hand to the puncture wounds on your neck.

"But," Claude continued, ignoring you, "let's say that they know you're here. It's not impossible. Are you really going to place a bet on complete strangers risking their lives for you when they can't even be sure you're still alive? Personally, I wouldn't."

Your breathing, already unsteady, was only getting more out of hand the longer this conversation went on, the pressure behind your eyes mixing a headache with the threat of tears. A hot flush worked its way through your body, a sure sign of genuine panic, some potent mixture of terror and the effect of whatever drug he'd given you. 

“Hey, calm down. I'm not trying to scare you,” Claude said, “but I'm not gonna lie to you either. So let’s get to know each other a little. I’m sure I’ll surprise you.” 

Surprise you? The enormity of what was happening finally settled somewhat. He had kidnapped you, presumably by drugging you. He had killed somebody. Many people, maybe.

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked, your voice trembling and small.

Claude huffed, slight irritation wrinkling his brow. “No,” he said. “Frankly, I’m offended you’d even ask.”

“You’re crazy,” you said. “You… you killed Acheron, you…” You put a hand to your neck again. The needle-like punctures had bruised, the skin tender and sore. 

“Okay, okay,” Claude said, trying to placate you. “I know I might have gone too far, and I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do that again. I was just a little excited, you know? I’ve been stuck in this place for centuries all on my own, too weak to leave and haunted by the ghost of my terrible, yet sympathetically tragic past.” 

He paused, eyebrows up as if expecting you to say something, prompting you to say something. How could you possibly respond to that? He spoke so fluidly that you could almost miss the way he casually threw around the word ‘centuries’ as if it were normal, as if it made perfect sense.

“Doesn’t that make you sad?” Claude pushed. “Doesn’t your heart just ache for the pain I must have been feeling all this time?”

“You’re crazy…” you whispered again, unsteadily sitting up against the headboard, drawing your legs closer to yourself to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. You couldn’t ignore the evidence that there was something weird going on here, but you couldn’t ignore reason either. A crazy guy with razor sharp teeth living in a castle famous for its vampiric and occult ties hunting and killing trespassers was more reasonable than the alternative, wasn't it? You couldn’t just give up and submit to the fantasy, not entirely. You needed to make this make sense, to find a valid explanation other than the impossible. 

“You already tried that one,” Claude told you. “And, for the record, I’m not crazy. If you think about it, and I know you have, this is meant to be. Who are we to deny fate?"

“Fate?” you repeated. “No, that’s…” Crazy. It was crazy. Everything about this was insane.

“Then why are you here?” Claude asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, actually, don’t answer that. I already know. Oh! Speaking of which…” He stood up to find something, pawing through the mess haphazardly left on one of the tables before straightening up with a phone in hand. 

“That’s mine,” you said, tensing up.  

“Yeah, you left it here. Aren’t you glad I took care of it for you?” he asked, waving it around as if to taunt you into lunging for it. 

“Give it back.” 

“What’s the magic word?” 

“Give it back.”

“Ooo, how very charming,” Claude said, oozing sarcasm. But he gave it to you anyway, tossing it onto your lap casually before sitting back down. “You know, if you’re going to break into creepy forbidden castles, you probably shouldn’t take something so important. Especially the thing that has all of the information about where you’re staying, what you’re doing, who might care if you go missing suddenly… Or, actually? You should do that, it makes things easier for me.” 

You clicked the home button, greeted with your familiar background, a flower your dad found for you on the lake. That was last year. Not so long ago, but it felt like a lifetime. You weren’t sure what you were looking for as you swiped the screen to unlock it. There was no service here, you already knew that. The phone may as well have been an expensive brick for all the good it did you. 

“I’m astonished by how much information can be crammed into such a tiny little device,” Claude said. “Although, in your case, there wasn’t very much to find. No friends, no family, no home… I’m sorry about your dad, by the way.” His voice lacked all levity when he said that, almost like he meant it. 

“Don’t,” you said, stiffening. But it was a weak kind of anger. Whatever he had used to drug you sent your emotions way out of whack, fear and anger and sadness getting all knotted up and leaving a lump in your throat.

“Nobody to worry that you’ve gone missing. Nobody for you to miss,” Claude continued to muse. “Nothing for you to leave behind. If I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if you weren’t waiting for this exact thing.” 

“That’s… You’re wrong.” 

“Of course, I do know better,” Claude said, ignoring you, “I know why you risked life, limb, and the law to break into my humble abode. Rather, I know why you think you did. You want to know why you’re cursed, and why all of these terrible things happened to you. You think that when the truth is laid bare, it won’t hurt anymore. Once everything makes sense, you won’t feel so alone and scared. You and I are pretty much the same in that regard. I can’t stand not knowing things.” 

You shook your head quickly, refusing to hear his words. He wasn’t right anyway, he was just assuming, just pretending like he knew you for the sake of some twisted power trip. Then again, he was right, wasn’t he? Your brain wasn’t so focused that you could simply deny the truth, deny that you thought answers would make the pain stop. 

“Amateur prose aside, you’re right about almost everything—the curse, Lady Macbeth, Old Derdriu, me. You are cursed, Lady Macbeth was a witch, I am a vampire, and so on and so forth,” he said flippantly, disregarding the supernatural as if they were matters of tired fact. “But I have to say ‘almost’ because you’ve misunderstood something very important. Honestly, your little tirades border on willful ignorance sometimes. I can’t tell if you’re intentionally missing the point or if you’re just that obtuse… Er, no offense. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

“No,” you said. 

Claude huffed, frowning. “You’re probably the only girl in the world to come face to face with the literal man of her dreams and still insist that you don’t believe in fate. I’m actually a little amazed right now.” 

“You’re lying,” you said. “You’re lying so I… Because I’m…” 

“You’re not insane, if that’s what you’re going to say,” he told you bluntly. “You’re not weak either. No, you just want a way out, don’t you? There’s nothing for you out there, you know that. You’ve been searching desperately for someone to swoop in and give you direction again.” 

“No,” you said again, refusing to hear those words or to believe them.

“Careful,” he said, “if you lie too much, I might just feel compelled to do something about it.” 

Your breath caught, your body freezing in place. “You’re crazy,” you whispered, tears burning your eyes. 

“Aaaand back to square one,” Claude said, rolling his eyes. “Okay, I see we’re not going to get anywhere like this. Time to move on to Plan B.” He twisted up onto his knees, like he was going to crawl towards you.

“Don’t come near me,” you said with wide eyes, clumsily scooting away, covering your neck defensively. Your body wasn’t moving correctly, your limbs awkward and ungainly. Although, if you were honest, he didn’t look that intimidating in the warm light. No, he looked beautiful. That was the point, wasn’t it? Those green eyes, the soft hair with one little curl flopped over his forehead, the pretty face, the little gold earring, all of it was meant to entice. Vampires were beautiful on purpose, they were both bait and trap. 

“I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you. All I want is to get to know you a little better,” Claude said innocently. “Thing is, I’m a hands-on kind of learner.” 

“Stay away from me,” you told him as firmly as you could manage, watching him distrustfully with this terrible tingling sense of anticipation. Like you wanted him to do something.

“I mean it. Fear and pain makes your blood all sour. Pleasure, on the other hand…” He trailed off with a grin, letting the implication speak for itself. “Well, we’ll get there.”

“No,” you said, winding up your arm to throw your phone at him. It was hard to keep your arm lifted, the muscles were so heavy that they trembled with the strain. Claude’s eyes widened, and then narrowed, his irritation obvious. 

“Oh, come on. There’s no need for that.”

“Stay away from me,” you said again, your voice coming out more like a whine. At this point, your thighs were clamped so tightly together that the muscles ached, your arm wavering from the weight of your phone. Claude reached for your wrist, but you dropped the phone before he could do anything, deciding to make your escape instead. 

There was no surprise that you, unsteady and dizzy and drugged, nearly fell off of the bed when you tried to jump onto the floor. You definitely would have face-planted if a set of cold hands didn’t catch you.  

“I know this is happening pretty fast,” Claude said, gently pulling you against him. You couldn’t do much to stop him, your head spinning, your mind on the fraying edge of sense from the sudden shake up of blood. He was inhumanly cold, but the fabric of his buttoned shirt was soft. The smell was wonderful, clove and orange and something lower, masculine. “Believe me, if I could give you more time, I would. But we have to make do with what we’ve got, right? And I’m…” His arms tightened around you, not that you were at risk of escaping. When you nervously peered up at him, Claude caught your eye hungrily. His throat worked hard as he swallowed. “Honestly, I’m starving.”

“Stop,” was the most you could offer, slurring the word. You realized that there was no heartbeat in his chest. Of course there wasn’t, he wasn’t alive. His cold hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing along the warm, sensitive flesh of your back, to your ribs. “No,” you protested, squirming. His body was unyielding and firm against your own in the most intimate of ways. You had never been this physically close with another person, not like this. 

“It’s okay,” he told you, his nose brushing the crown of your head. 

“It’s not.” 

“It is,” Claude affirmed, unendingly gentle. He was tracing little patterns on your back that made you shiver. You should have been fighting to get away, but the scent of him was intoxicating, and you felt… Not peaceful, there was too much about all of this that was uncomfortable and scary to be peaceful, but you didn’t feel displaced. “You don’t want to be alone anymore, do you?”

Your composure finally collapsed, tears welling up in your eyes. You hid them against Claude’s cold, empty chest, clinging to him because you had nothing else. 

“It’s okay to let it all go,” Claude told you, continuing to pet your skin sweetly. “I’ll make you forget, at least for a while. I don’t want to brag, but I’m the best you’ll ever have. I’ve had a few years of practice to really hone my technique, you know? You won’t remember a thing by the time I’m done with you.” 

Your heart pounded heavy and hard once, twice. 

“What do you mean?” you finally asked, mumbling the words against him to hide your red face because you had a feeling you knew what he meant, the price he’d demand to cure your loneliness. In a way, it made sense. Another piece of a puzzle that would fit in just as it was meant to, as it had been destined to. 

“Wait…” Claude pried you away from his chest, gripping your chin to force you to meet his eye. You tried to avert your gaze, but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go, anywhere to hide. “What do you think I mean?” 

Your thighs squeezed together, heat rising to your face.

“I dunno,” you said, trying to squirm away, overly aware not only that you were in his arms, but practically cradled in his lap. 

“I can’t tell if you’re being coy or not,” he said. “I guess it doesn’t matter either way.” 

“What doesn’t?” you asked. 

“I’m talking matters of the heart,” Claude said, letting go of your face to wrap an arm around your waist, his grip impossible to fight even if you weren’t still dizzy and leaden from the drug. “And matters of the body. More specifically, your body.” His other hand delved down, slipping beneath the elastic waistband of your sweatpants to press against you through your panties. You hissed out through your teeth, thighs clamping down around his hand like a vice. Claude only groaned, his palm grinding against you. “I’ve gotta say, it’s awfully cute. You’re so warm and soft.” 

“Stop,” you protested, your voice thin and your face hotter than ever. 

“Pleasure makes your blood sweeter,” he said, the air of his words brushing against your ear. “The more, the better.” 

You shook your head, hiding your face against his chest. “I… I don’t…” 

“It’s a fair deal, don’t you think?” Claude asked, his fingers teasing you through the thin fabric, curling to press between your folds, skimming over the sensitive flesh beneath. You squirmed, your hands weakly tugging at his wrist. “We both get something out of it.”

“I… don’t…” you stammered out again, not sure where you were going with it. 

“And it’s much more respectable than a messy quickie out in the courtyard. Blood as precious as yours deserves to be savored in its finest form,” Claude said, dragging his finger over your clit, the extra friction of the fabric adding to the sensation. You shuddered hard, heat sinking low in your gut. “I think we’ll start with three and go from there.” 

“Three?” you asked breathlessly, your head spinning so hard you had to rest it against his chest.  

“Yeah, I’m going to make you come three times,” Claude said, his tone more than a little indulgently condescending. “To start with, at least. You know, to sweeten you up. It’ll soothe your nerves too. As for what happens from there…” He shrugged, the movement impeded by the way he was cradling you. “I like the spontaneity of figuring it out as I go. It’s more romantic, don’t you think?” 

“Nn…no…” you said, your stomach sinking, sickness and something else—something that was decidedly interested in the proposal—swirling dangerously low within you. Claude hadn’t stopped teasing you through your panties, and you weren’t really pulling at his wrist anymore so much as just holding on.  

“What, are you thinking more along the lines of four? Five?” he teased. “We’ve got more than enough time to kill.” 

“That’s not…” You whimpered, holding tighter against him when he wedged the fabric between your pussy’s outer lips to grind even harder against your clit. It bordered on too rough, but it was working as intended, your clit swelling hot and needy, your hips jumping forward in an unintentional chase for more. “I can’t… do that.” 

“Did I mention how good I am at this?” Claude asked. “Not that I get the impression you’ll be too terribly difficult.” 

You whined in objection, squirming in a half-hearted attempt to escape. 

“That’s not a bad thing. The opposite, actually. Like I said, the more, the better,” Claude said, his other arm wrapping around your waist to adjust you, to make it easier for his other hand to work between your legs. You were too sensitive and you didn’t know how much of it was natural and how much of it was from the drug, only that pleasure was pooling up quickly in your core. 

You swallowed against the excess saliva pooling on your tongue, past the lump in your throat. “I… I don’t…” 

“What?” he asked. “You don’t… something. Sorry, I didn’t catch the last bit.” 

“I…” 

“You weren’t going to lie and say you don’t want this, were you?” Claude asked, his cold lips brushing the shell of your ear. Your hips jerked, your mouth falling open. You could feel the way your body was coiling up tense, desperate to come. It would be a quick flash of pleasure, hidden and tight beneath your clothes, but it was still pleasure, it was still good. 

“I’m—mmm…” You pressed your lips together to stifle yourself, holding even tighter against him. The wave of heat was building too fast, too frantically. Exhaustion, drugs, your general mental degradation, you could pin the blame on any number of external factors so you didn’t have to take responsibility for what you felt. The result was the same though, and it was you and you alone who chased the tantalizing build of pleasure.

“Do you feel that? That’s the sweet, sweet feeling of me being right yet again,” Claude said, saccharine and smug. “Feels good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”  

It was the pet name that really did it. Nobody had ever said something like that to you, and the heavy weight of it in his voice pushed you over the edge with an anxious little jerk of pleasure and a choked noise in the back of your throat, with a hot flash that made your clothes feel too tight, that made your clit pulse beneath his touch, rubbed raw with the friction of fabric. It was awkward and cramped and thin and it was everything, you clung onto him as the fizzles of heat sparkled out, your muscles contracting, your mouth open and silent. 

When it was over, when Claude quit rubbing those evil little patterns over your sensitive clit, you let out a shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself down. Without the distraction of pleasure keeping you on edge, you felt the bite of nausea in your throat. The recognition that this was wrong, and that you had no idea what to do to fix it, or even if that was possible. 

“The thing is that when you come, your body releases all sorts of hormones. It’s a fun little cocktail that behaves in basically the same way as sugar. For me, at least,” Claude explained, unceremoniously dumping you onto your back in a boneless splay. “A couple of orgasms is… It’s like the difference between gnawing on a day-old biscuit and savoring a cinnamon bun with icing.”

“What are you doing?” you asked. You tried to hold onto him, but Claude easily knocked your arms away so he could pull your sweatpants off. They were cast somewhere to the side before he hooked a cold hand under your knee, lowering himself between your legs. “What-”

“I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth,” Claude explained, looking up at you with bright eyes. He looked so innocent, so sweet. So mischievous. “You don’t mind, right?” 

“Mind what?” you asked, trying to close your legs, to hide yourself from him. The panties you were wearing were old and plain, far from anything even approaching sexy. But the idea of removing them was worse, you couldn’t stand thinking of him looking so forwardly at your bare pussy. The humiliation would kill you. “Please stop,” you said, your voice pinched and small. 

“Oh, wow, would you look at that?” Claude asked, his finger tracing the wet spot soaking through your panties. Your hips twitched, the muscles in your thighs tensing. “It looks like you don’t want me to stop.”

“Don’t look,” you said, squirming in an attempt to get free. 

“Don’t look?” Claude repeated, feigning guilelessness. “So it’s okay if I touch, but only so long as I keep my eyes closed? Good to know.” 

“No, that’s not-” 

He cut you off, his tongue replacing his fingers, dragging over the wet spot with a depraved sort of intensity. And his eyes, as he said, were closed. Already, the sane thoughts of sickness and doubt were beginning to scatter anew, your body responding to the promise of new pleasure. Claude exploited that, continuing to lickyou through the damp fabric of your panties while you squirmed, settling for covering your face in place of fighting him off. Not that he was looking. 

“You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?” Claude asked, hooking his fingers beneath your panties to slowly peel them off. You fought that, but it wasn’t hard for him to wrench the cotton from your grasp, the elastic tearing before he got them all the way down and off. When he ghosted his cool fingertips over the bruise on your hip, you shivered. “I’ve barely done anything and you already came once. Every time I touch you, it makes you twitch. I thought you were just discrete, not writing about any boys in your diary, but the truth is that you’ve had nothing to write about, right? Well, until now, that is.” 

“What are you doing?” you hissed down at him, finally panicking enough to grab his hair, trying to pull his head out from between your legs, shame raging a horrible storm within you. Claude groaned, flashing a grin up at you as he casually tossed one of your bare thighs over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, you can pull my hair all you want. I don’t mind,” he said, his cold lips brushing your inner thigh. You thought of his fangs and how easily they had pierced your neck, falling still as he passed the artery there. But that wasn’t his destination, you realized. Claude separated your outer lips, staring at your bare pussy for a long moment before his head dropped forward. 

You yelped when his cold tongue began to draw relentless patterns over your swollen clit. His fingers kept you spread open for him and you couldn’t breathe, every single muscle in your body pulled taut in preparation for the orgasm you were being enticed into. Disgust and humiliation remained constant, sure, but it wasn’t enough to dissuade your body from the pleasure. 

Even when your thighs closed around his head, certainly suffocating him, Claude didn’t falter. Even when you pulled at his hair, even when your hips jumped against his face, he just groaned, doubling down. He had to have been putting on a performance, considering how loud he was, eating you out as sloppily as possible so you had no choice but to revel in the depraved noises. The rest of it was all you. Your moaning, your whimpering, your gasping. Your body didn’t belong to you, you couldn’t force yourself to stay still, couldn’t stop the noises from leaving your mouth, couldn’t stop the hot coil of pleasure from building and building and building. 

“I c-can’t,” you got out breathlessly, “I-I… I can’t.” 

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Claude said, looking up at you from beneath thick, dark eyelashes. “It’ll make this a fun surprise. For you.” 

Forcing your hips flat against the bed, his wicked tongue continued to push you even closer to the precipice. You whimpered, tossing your head back because there was nothing else you could do. It was embarrassing and awful and you hated it, but you knew you weren’t far off. Heat ballooned up in your core, all of your blood seemingly rising to the surface and making your entire body too hot, too tight, too tense. 

Claude’s lips closed around your clit and sucked and you came with a helpless cry straight out of some trashy porno, your entire body tensing and shuddering and completely overcome with nothing except for the raw sensation of pleasure. By the time you were spent, your fingers were twitching, the rest of your body limp and sweaty. 

“See what a difference a can-do attitude makes?” Claude asked, looking up at you with a big smile. You shook your head, breathing too hard, too fast. Unable to meet his eye. “As in, I can make you do anything I want. Funny how that works out.”

“I-I need… a moment.” 

“No you don’t,” Claude said. Messily, hungrily, he moved up from between your legs, his lips tracing your abdomen, your stomach, your ribs, pushing your shirt up to gain access to more and more of your bare flesh. When you realized he was trying to remove your shirt and bra, you fought it, desperate to retain some modesty. 

“I don’t want-” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Claude scolded. “Remember what I said?” 

With his supposed can-do attitude, it wasn’t difficult for him to get your shirt and bra up and off, shoved past your shoulders and arms until the knotted wad of fabric dropped onto the floor. You tried to cover your bare tits, but Claude barely paused, simply slapping your arms away so he could map your chest with his mouth too. Palming one breast, pinching the aching nipple between cold fingers, he wrapped his lips around the other. 

“Claude, I don’t-”

He effectively shut you up by biting your nipple. Not with his fangs, and not hard, just enough to make you squirm, writhe against him like you had last night, stuck between his unyielding body and the mattress. Sweaty and hot and desperate, but now for completely different reasons. 

You made another sound that was intended to be his name but didn’t come out that way, it was barely language, and far from comprehensible. 

Claude groaned, the fingers of his other hand pushing into your pussy at the same moment, driving right past the tense muscles of your entrance and deep into you. The weight was enough to make you really moan, the feeling of him stretching out your inner walls electrifying your entire body. You could hear how wet you were for him, feel how easily his fingers curled and scissored inside of you, reigniting the little ember of need low in your core. His mouth switched to your other nipple, leaving the first red and aching, and all you could do was hide your face, one hand threaded through his hair as if looking for an anchor point. You thought you needed a break, but already you were back in it, already wanting to come again.

His fingers fucked into you with a sloppy sound. In and out, curling and scissoring and not at all gentle. Not that it mattered. Your body was entirely pliant, moving with him. More than that, responding to each swipe gleefully, needfully, pulsing around his cold fingers and sucking them deeper, your back arching to press your chest harder against his mouth, your thighs squeezing his hand to keep him in place.  

“You’re tight,” Claude said, pulling off your nipple with a slick pop. “Is it possible that you’ve been saving yourself for that special someone?”

You shook your head, more than a little aware of the way his taunt made you tighten around his fingers. So close. Just a little more and you were going to come for him, the heat having gone from a smolder to hellfire beneath your blushing skin, your entire body wound up.

“Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t been suffering all by yourself, waiting for your prince to show up and take care of you?” Claude asked, making his point with each hard thrust. “Cause, I’ll be honest, that’s what this feels like to me. Sensitive, tight, needy… Those are all classic symptoms of neglect.”

It was difficult to breathe. Difficult to think.  

“Please,” you breathed out and you weren’t sure how he heard you, you could barely hear yourself over the crushing thrum of blood in your ears, but Claude responded with a groan. 

“By the way, that is the magic word,” he said. Despite the quip, he fingerfucked you roughly and carelessly. His mouth on your tits was beyond pleasurable. It was exquisite, terrible. You came again, your entire mind clearing out as pleasure shuddered through you, stoked by each thrust of his fingers. They kept on curling, teasing, grinding against your g-spot, going as deep as they could each time. Your orgasm felt like it lasted too long, leaving you wrung out, shaking and almost confused. Maybe that was just because of how hard you were breathing, your brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen.  

Sweat slicked your skin and tears had dripped down your cheeks into your hair and everything glowed when you managed to blink your eyes open.

“You don’t mind, right?” Claude asked, his mouth moving up from your sore nipple to your neck. His hand hadn’t stopped moving, fucking into you. He pulled his fingers out only to add a third, to add that much more impact to each thrust. 

And he. Didn’t. Stop. Claude didn’t so much as pause when he bit into your neck, pushing you past numb overstimulation, past the discomfort, and right back into the cruel build of yet another orgasm. Unlike last night, the piercing sting of his fangs into your flesh was only good, hazy bright red and sharp, followed by the sweet, cool release of his mouth fixing around the wound to suck. It hurt, but the pain was only an aspect of pleasure. And when Claude groaned happily, his tongue lapping at your blood with the same desperation you felt beneath the assault of his fingers, you moaned openly. 

You came again when he bit into your neck a second time, his fangs digging into your flesh mercilessly. The needling sting made you writhe, but his fingertips curled at the same time to press against your g-spot and you couldn’t help it. At this point you were so wet it was dripping past his fingers, slicking your thighs and the bed. Claude sucked even harder at your neck, enough to make you lightheaded. 

Whining, you pulled halfheartedly at his hair. Not for him to stop, but because you wanted him to fuck you. Actually fuck you. At this point you probably were insane, but you didn’t care, all you could imagine was how full you’d feel, pierced by both his fangs and his cock. 

“You want another?” Claude asked, pulling away from your neck. When he pulled back, his lips were wet with your blood, his green eyes alight. “Some girls would be begging for a break right about now.”

“I…” 

“No, no. It’s okay to be a little greedy sometimes,” he said, grinning, the picture of poise and control despite the lunacy swirling within his gaze. 

“Nn-no, I want you-you to—��� You let out a high pitched mewl when his other hand dropped to touch your clit in time with his fingers inside of you, writhing desperately, helplessly. This wasn’t what you wanted, you didn’t think, but already sense had flown from your mind, replaced by the intense dread and need that had reduced you to a babbling, mindless thing.  

He had to have known what he was doing to you, how far your mind had degraded, but that didn’t seem to matter to Claude at all. Torturing you with the dual assault of his fingers, he moved back down your body, muttering for you to hold still before his fangs punctured your inner thigh. Biting the sensitive, giving skin hurt in a different way than your neck, but you were already on your way to coming against and when he sucked hard on the wound, you just whined, gripping his hair in a desperate attempt to stop yourself from falling apart completely.  

Claude moaned, sucking hard as you sobbed and moaned and trembled through another orgasm, dripping and squeezing his fingers, twitching with overstimulation and pain and pleasure and the raw rush of ecstasy. He finally let up when you whined, his mouth releasing your thigh and pulling his fingers out of you with a final little press against your g-spot that made your legs jerk. What little sense you might have had before was long gone. 

“Now… What was it you wanted me to do?” asked as he sat back. “You were mumbling, I couldn’t quite understand.”

You turned your face away from him in embarrassment, still trying just to breathe, let alone speak. Claude laughed indulgently. Warm, sweet, even affectionate. He leaned over you to press a kiss to your neck, lapping at the beads of blood that had welled up. Even as you burned, he was cold.

“Look at me,” Claude told you softly, sweetly. 

And you did, meeting his eyes again because you were beyond refusing. What you didn’t expect was for him to take advantage of the way you were gasping for air and shove his fingers in your mouth. They tasted like you and maybe a distant part of your mind was disgusted by that, but it was so much easier to do what came naturally and suck on them, your tongue cleaning his skin of your wet arousal. The reaction seemed to amuse him, and, curiously, he pushed his fingers a little deeper. Predictably, you choked. Claude pulled them out with a spill of saliva. Filthy, but everything was already so wet, the added mess made little difference. 

“Oop, sorry,” he said without the slightest shred of repentance, sitting up and unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it aside. You could barely remember what had happened to your own clothes. “I’d hate to put words into your mouth, so why don’t you tell me what it is you want.” 

You shook your head, closing your eyes in an attempt to collect yourself. More than ever, reality loomed as a detached concept, floating above you and below you but not quite stable. There were reasons that was probably dangerous, but you couldn’t think hard enough to know. Every time you tried, it was just the heavy thump thump thump of your heart, and sweat, and your heavy, heavy head. 

“How about I tell you what I want, and you can let me know if it's agreeable to Her Highness?” Claude asked playfully. You peeked at him from beneath your eyelashes, barely coherent enough to be surprised that he was naked. Beautiful, the warm tan of his skin belying the bloodless cold beneath. Vampire biology, as it turned out, was comparable enough to human biology. “I want to see how many times I can make you come on my cock before you either beg me to stop or pass out. Preferably while enjoying a little more of your blood.” 

You blinked, some sense returning to your head as your eyes followed the trail of dark hair down his abdomen to his cock. A bit of fear because the sight of his hand stroking it made you very aware of what was about to happen, and then his words registered and you froze up entirely. 

“Oh, don’t make that face, that was a joke,” Claude said, scooping you up. The world rolled, your head heavy and limbs limp. “I won’t let you pass out, you’d miss all the fun.” 

“Dizzy,” you muttered, trying to hold onto him for stability, everything he just said fleeing your head as the reality rolled and twisted and shifted incomprehensibly. You couldn’t be afraid of what was happening when you didn’t even know what was happening, although that was distressing in and of itself. 

“You’re okay,” Claude said sweetly, brushing a lock of hair from your face, capturing your attention back onto him. Something to hold onto. “I’ve got you. Just relax, let me take care of you.” 

Amidst the blurry, disorienting world, his eyes were familiar and clear. Beautiful. You must have muttered something in the affirmative because it made him laugh, the sound rumbling in his bare chest. Claude kissed your lips, your cheek. Then you were turned around and falling forward. It was difficult to balance on your hands and knees. He had to settle for your knees and elbows, your arms were trembling too much to hold you. 

“You really are gorgeous, you know that?” Claude said, his hands tracing over your waist, down your hips. He didn’t put any pressure on the hurt one, simply tracing the very tips of his fingers across the ugly bruise. With how sensitive the skin was, it actually felt good, tugging a harsh shiver down your spine. “I’m serious. I mean… Look at you. Not that you can. I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”

Shame made a brief reappearance as Claude groped your ass, playing with your body a moment before spreading your cheeks, exposing you enough to run the tip of his cock through your slick folds. That made you shiver even harder, your body tensing up, your pussy squeezing around nothing, dripping a little more in anticipation. 

“A meaner man would make you beg,” Claude said, nudging the blunt head against your hole. You exhaled shakily, desperate and nervous and filled with red hot lust. 

“Claude,” you said.

“You’re lucky I’m so nice.” With that as your only warning, he nudged his hips forward. Once the head was in, you were more than wet enough for him to slide in smoothly. 

But Claude still took his time, holding you tightly against him to fill you with little rolling thrusts, his cock dragging against your fluttering inner walls bit by bit so you could feel everything. He held onto the headboard with one strong arm, the other holding your back flush against him which was good because, especially now that you were so full, you had no control over your body. In contrast to your feverish, sweaty skin, Claude was cold and smooth, his flesh unyielding and hollow. Your pussy worked around his cock, adjusting to his size. Any discomfort was easily smoothed out by how right it felt. How perfect.  

“Scratch that, you’re going to be lucky if I ever let you leave my bed,” Claude said, his voice a bit harsher, more affected, his arm tightening around you. 

You whimpered, your body unintentionally responding to what should have been a threat but only registered as a delicious promise. Claude still hadn’t moved. Every little movement made you tighten and flutter around him, a new reminder of how deep he went, how completely full you were. Claude groaned in turn, the sound muffled against your neck. 

When he bit you again, you could feel the way your cunt clamped down around him, your hips desperately twitching in an attempt to make him move. The piercing ache of his fangs spread through your skull, your spine, and then his lips latched onto the wound as if to soothe it. The sound of Claude sucking against your skin was beyond lewd, sloppy and wet and needful. 

“Please,” you whimpered. Not to make him stop, but to make him move, to fuck you properly. He pulled off of your neck with a slick pop. 

“I thought you’d want me to be gentle,” Claude teased, pulling out of you slowly. He didn’t take on the sensual tone of a lover, remaining playful despite what he was doing. “But that’s not true at all, is it? You want to be used. You want me to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk, let alone escape from my devious schemes. Then you’ll have no choice but to be a pretty little blood bag for the mean, mean vampire of El Dorado. Am I right, or am I right?”

The words made your cunt tighten despite yourself. “I-” When he thrust back into you, his hips smacking loudly against your ass, you could feel everything. Every ridge, every vein, it was rough and rocked you forward. Only, he held you in place, leaving you with no escape. 

“Exactly, I’m right,” Claude said, repeating the motion, making you cry out pathetically. “Of course, I almost always am. You’d think I’d get sick of it at some point and say something wrong just for a change of pace, but…”

You weren’t really listening to him. How could you? Each thrust was hard enough to practically throw you forward, but the cage of his arm kept you in place so he could keep up the rough pace, fucking into you like you were little more than a doll. You wanted to meet him halfway, wanted to participate, but you were too far gone to possibly keep up. Luckily, Claude didn’t seem to mind either way. 

His fangs buried into your neck directly on top of the wound from last night and it should have hurt horribly, but instead it threw you over the edge, your pussy tightening around his cock and your body trembling as you came. The sensation was hard and rough and completely physical, pleasure blooming out from the place where his cock slammed into you and spreading outwards in wonderfully sensitive sparks of heat. 

Claude growled. You could feel the vibrations in his chest, his throat. The iron tang of your blood mingled with the filthy scent of sex, and the sound of him slurping at the skin of your neck was nearly as lewd as when he ate you out, like the sex was the same as the blood drinking, the two acts intrinsically linked.

The inside part of your consciousness remained in the heavy, hot confines of your body, desperate for a break so you could come down from the orgasm but unable to deny some hot, painful desire for more. The outside part of your mind floated above, like a balloon, disconnected and distantly interested in what was happening, almost like this was a dream. The two parts warred. One mind focused only on Claude and the pure physicality of it all, the other in a state of disbelief that any of this was happening at all. 

Neither mattered, really. Within your chest, your heart raged in a double time beat, racing against the blood loss and the syrupy thick pressure of exertion. Superficial pleasure raced over your skin like electricity. Claude bit into your neck again, drinking even more of your sweetened blood with desperate fervor. You tensed up, realizing that you were going to come again with a twinge of panic. Your body rebelled at the idea, but it would be more painful to deny the pleasure, it would leave you shaking and wanting and desperate and it would hurt. 

“You just can’t get enough, can you?” Claude asked. You moaned wetly, pathetically. He licked a wide stripe up the side of your neck. Even now, his tongue was impossibly cool against the bleeding wounds. 

He let you fall down, pushing your torso into the mattress. You went without protest, boneless and limp. Claude held you up by the waist, his thrusts slowing down as he experimented a few times. You didn’t really realize the point until your body jerked with intense, almost aggressive, pleasure. 

“That’s it, right?” Claude asked, a smile in his voice. You weren’t sure why he asked in the first place, your body’s reaction to him hitting your g-spot was more than telling. It felt good, beyond good, but it was in an electrified, panicked sort of way because at this point you were overstimulated and dizzy and every time he fucked into you it was unbelievably pleasurable, so much that it hurt. It didn’t help that Claude was being so rough, his thrusts losing tempo. And you just took it, jerking each time, spasming around him, moaning helplessly, that coil of heat building with too much intensity, with too much raw-nerve pressure. 

“C-aa-n’t,” you gasped out between thrusts, your voice heavy and wet.  

“Can too,” Claude told you, twisting your hips a little, enough to add that little bit of extra sensation. You pressed your face against the sheets as you came, your moans coming out practically as sobs because of how utterly overstimulating it felt as your pussy unintentionally clamped down around Claude’s cock, forcing more pressure on your g-spot, cruelly dragging out your own orgasm. He was muttering something, praise maybe, but you couldn’t hear it above the roaring of blood in your ears. 

Pretty soon Claude moaned loudly, layering your name with the heavy sound of pleasure. You realized that he was coming too, slamming into you roughly before his hips stuttered, flush with your ass. You shook and gasped and whined, your pussy fluttering and squeezing him, accepting the torment. Inviting it even, dripping around him even as he buried himself too deep inside of you, finishing with a few heavy thrusts. 

Claude laughed lightly after a few moments, although it sounded more like a sound of exhilarated joy than humor. You hoped he wasn’t laughing at you, although you couldn’t do anything even if he was.

He kneaded your ass, spreading your cheeks to watch himself pull out of you with a rush of wetness. Shame had burrowed deep into your gut, but you felt enough to pull away, to press your thighs together as soon as you had the chance.  

“I may have gotten a teensy bit carried away,” Claude admitted. 

You didn’t open your eyes or respond, not even when he threw himself down onto his side and gathered you against him. He was cool and smooth, his flesh inhuman against your own. You were the feverishly sweaty one, although you realized as he held you how cold you felt on the inside. Cold and sore and empty. 

“I know you’re not asleep,” Claude said, nuzzling against the side of your neck, lapping up the blood before sucking lightly at the freshest wound, groaning at the taste. 

You didn’t move. If you did, if you acknowledged the cold or him or the discomfort or anything, you would have to deal with how awful you felt. Blood loss felt a bit like altitude sickness, at least insofar as it left you lightheaded and nauseous. The sore overstimulation was different, but you definitely didn’t want to deal with that. Mostly, you just wanted to stop existing and shirk the discomfort and pretend that none of this was real. 

Claude pulled away from your neck, smacking his lips contentedly. 

You continued not to move as he adjusted himself, his arm leaving your waist to reach for something off to the side. “Can you sit up a little?” Claude asked. Your head spun as he pulled you upward regardless of your answer, the world lurching. Your pussy leaked uncomfortably, coating your thighs and the damp sheets. Every inch of your body either ached or felt clammy and sour. Your head pounded with a headache. Your skin was too tight, sweat dripping into the scrapes and bitemarks. A straw appeared at your lips, urging you to finally open your eyes. “Here—drink this.” 

You looked at him from beneath fluttering eyelashes, meeting those pretty green-blue eyes before looking at the bottle he held. 

“Whassit?” you asked, your voice slurred and barely recognizable. Your stomach protested at the thought of taking anything, but your mouth was bone dry and tasted like blood. 

“Water,” Claude said, pushing the straw past your lips. You just accepted it. Maybe you shouldn’t have, he already admitted to drugging you, but you weren’t thinking clearly and it was easier to just do what he said. “Humans need a lot of water. Especially after losing so much fluid.” He paused, smiling playfully. “Do you always get that wet or am I special?”

You blinked at him, taking in a few more mouthfuls of water before dropping the straw. Claude set the cup aside, wiping the excess water from the corner of your lips, and then smoothing over your hair, pulling you against his chest happily. It was easiest to let it happen. He really did smell good, spice and citrus and musk and Claude. The man of your dreams, he called himself.   

“They thought they could trap me here forever. After their massacre and the fire, they…” Claude didn’t finish that thought, his voice troubled. There was no heartbeat in his hard, muscled chest, but you could feel the rumble of his voice. “She had family, sure, but her blood was cursed. No Macbeth woman would be able to release me from this place ever again. And then you came.” He paused, petting your hair again. “More than once, if I recall.” 

You groaned softly, eliciting a laugh from him. 

“Yeah, that was in poor taste. Unlike you, who tastes excellent,” Claude said affectionately. A moment later, he sighed, returning to a somewhat serious tone. “Anyway, the point is that, vampire or no, I’m man enough to admit that I needed saving just as badly as you. That’s enough, isn’t it? We really should stick together, us accursed outcasts.”

You didn’t say anything, you weren’t sure what you were meant to say. Your thoughts, still, were little more than confused slush. And, more than that, you weren’t sure that was the sort of thing that needed a response. 

Claude accepted your silence and kissed the top of your head. And then he just held you. Not like he was afraid you would leave him, but like he was afraid you would cease to exist altogether, his arms nearly desperately keeping you pressed against his chest, his hands brushing your back or nose ruffling your hair as he reminded himself that you were still there.

And maybe those thoughts were just projections, but you didn’t think they were. 

II.

1st Day of Ethereal Moon

Now it’s just us two. Me and Claude ruling the world. Explorers, adventurers, wanderers. Rogues who hide behind the horizon to keep the night close. I told him that the other day and it made Claude laugh. It didn’t hurt even a bit to say, either. Dad would like him, I think. Claude likes discovering things and chasing mysteries and all that too. There’s always somewhere new to go, we never stay anywhere long enough for people to notice our shadow. It can be hard sometimes, but I’m not alone. It’s as good an ending as any. 

Happily ever after. 

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee nervously waited for the doctor to do the eye check for their appointment. They hadn't told Caretaker yet, but they desperately needed new glasses. Whumper broke their other pair during their captivity.

They had made it this long without telling Caretaker, but it was getting terribly difficult to see and hide the squinting.

"Uh doctor", Whumpee sighed, "I can save you some time if you like. I'm not going to be able to read those letters."

"Let's try anyways, it's part of you checkup", the doctor started the test.

"Yes. You failed that", the doctor sighed, "is this something that came about during your time with Whumper?"

"No doctor, I've always had glasses for a while, Whumper broke my other pair", Whumpee looked down shyly, "I've been too nervous to bother Caretaker with it though. They've been so busy with me already."

"I understand that, but it's not good or fair for you to go about with bad vision", the doctor smiled, "I know Caretaker very well, they will be happy to know their is something they can help you with."

The doctor finished the rest of the exam, "given the circumstances, you are in fairly good health, just a few things. You need to get your weight up, and new glasses. You'll also find rest to be your best friend while you heal."

Whumpee nodded.

"Let's bring Caretaker in. We can tell them the news together", the doctor patted Whumpee's shoulder, then left.

Whumpee sighed, 'something else they have to deal with.'

Caretaker came in and winked at Whumpee, "so you are blind", they smiled, "I was kind of figuring, but didn't want to say anything in case you just couldn't read."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to bother you with it. My other pair got broken by Whumper", Whumpee looked at the doctor.

"It's not a bother at all, I'm sorry you've gone so long without seeing", Caretaker sighed, "you've been with me a week and a half, plus however long it's been since those were broke. You definitely need them. Anything else you want to tell me."

"No besides what the doctor said, I seem healthy", Whumpee watched Caretaker pull out their phone.

"I'll get the appointment scheduled. Hopefully they're not booking way out", Caretaker looked, "please don't keep secrets from me. Your care is my top priority right now, and I need to know stuff like this to get you back to health. Don't worry about bothering me, I'd rather know, then find out."

Whumpee nodded.

Caretaker managed to get Whumpee in the next day for the eye appointment.

"Okay right in here", Caretaker led, "don't want the blind one to get lost", they teased.

That's was the running joke, and Whumpee enjoyed every bit of the humor.

The doctor clicked away with the lenses, and made the adjustment just right.

"Okay, you can pick your frames. You'll have to deal with this for about a week or so while the glasses are made", the doctor led them to the room.

Caretaker and Whumpee went through several glasses.

"These are just like my old pair", Whumpee held up a pair, "I kind of liked how they looked."

"Try them on and see if you still like them", Caretaker smiled.

"Okay", Whumpee slid them on and looked at Caretaker.

"I like them, what do you think", Caretaker held up a mirror.

Whumpee looked for a second, then felt their lips quiver.

"Are you okay?", Caretaker worried.

"Uh yes, just, overwhelmed", Whumpee smiled, "this is what I remember myself looking like, and when my glasses broke, I lost that, and I lost my sight. Now I'm seeing myself again, and I'll have my vision soon. I'm overwhelmed with excitement."

"I'm happy I am able to do things like this, these moments are the best. I'm able to watch someone be built back up", Caretaker smiled, "this is my favorite part of the job."

Whumpee pulled off the glasses and wiped a away a tear.

"Are these the glasses?", Caretaker questioned.

"Yes Caretaker", Whumpee wiped another tear away, and smiled. They took a deep breath, "these are the ones."

After they finished the order, Caretaker and Whumpee waited for the call for new glasses.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened

[aquilathefighter]

Fluffbruary 16: Glasses

Find all my @fluffbruary ficlets on AO3 here!

Fandom: The Sandman (2022)

Relationship: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream has started coming around more often. Their meetings have turned weekly rather than centennial, much to Hob’s surprise. Perhaps whatever happened during his mysterious disappearance changed him more than Dream lets on. Hob is trying his best to keep his pining to himself. It’s much harder now that their meetings are not only more frequent but go on for hours, talking well into the night until the New Inn closes.

About a month and a half into their new routine, Hob has his yearly visit to the optometrist. The accessibility of glasses over the past century and a half has greatly improved his ability to see up close, after centuries of wandering around a blurry world. He’s been wearing contacts for many years, helping him appear younger. But now, he’s decided it’s time to switch over to glasses, where the transition in styles can make him age. It’s funny how easy it is to trick mortals with a few accessories. He ordered a more stylish pair to start, rounded lenses and thick tortoiseshell rims.

A couple of weeks later, the glasses come in. They frame his face well, making him appear distinguished but not too old. He immediately puts them on, eager to get the adjustment period that inevitably happens with a new prescription over with. He goes through his day, lecture in the morning, office hours, endless hours of answering emails, until he heads back to the Inn for his weekly meeting with Dream.

While he waits, he decides to grade some papers. This course doesn’t have a TA, not enough students to warrant an extra hand. He doesn’t mind, he loves giving feedback on papers, but it does eat up a lot of his time. Better to do it while he waits for Dream to arrive. He hears the door creak open but doesn’t look up from his work.

He hears a chair being pulled out and a cloud of black appears in his peripheral vision. He looks up and grins.

“Hello, Dream.”

“Hello, Hob.” His eyes are wide open, studying Hob. There’s a look in his eye that oddly reminds Hob of their meeting in 1789.

“Er, I got new glasses. Helps me with faking the process of aging?” Hob says, trying to explain the appearance change.

“I see,” Dream mumbles, leaning forward and nearly knocking Hob’s pint glass over. “They become you.”

Hob feels his face heat. He thought that he looked handsome in the glasses, but he hadn’t expected Dream to say anything.

“Th-thank you,” he’s able to stutter. Hob stares at the papers in front of him. Has Dream figured him out? Is he toying with his affection? If only his oldest friend wasn’t so damn inscrutable sometimes.

Dream, still leaning across the table, reaches a hand out to grab his jaw, thumb brushing the dimple of his chin.

“I had not known you needed an aid to see. Had you mentioned this, I could have provided you with this tool much earlier. Although, I did not wish to interfere in your life.”

“That’s… that’s not necessary, Dream. What’s done is done ‘n I got by fine for most of my life.”

“I do not doubt that. However…” Dream trails off, staring at Hob with an intensity that is not doing anything to lessen the redness in his face. Hob stares back, noticing when Dream’s eyes flick to his lips. He swallows, trying to keep his shit together while Dream is touching his face.

“However?” Hob repeats.

“However, I find myself unable to resist my own affections any longer.” Hob hears the chair scooting back on the wooden floor and then Dream’s mouth is on his own. He doesn’t have time to even process what’s happening before he’s rising from the booth and kissing Dream back. The pile of papers falls to the floor with a thump as Hob steadies himself, deepening the kiss. Dream tastes indescribable, like the first frost of winter, a soft summer breeze laden with pollen, the heaviness of your eyes as you drift off to sleep.

Hob hears a wolf-whistle from another patron, dragging him back to reality and reminding him that they were in public. Reluctantly, he pulls back and sits back down. He ducks down to grab the fallen essays, setting them back on the table.

“Dream… what? Had I known you were that into glasses I’d have worn them much sooner.” Hob chuckles. “Do you want to talk? I’ve got a flat upstairs, little more private than, uh, what we just did.” He starts stuffing his work back into his satchel, feeling the stares of everyone else in the pub around them.

“I have been trying to resist. I did not want to expose you to unwanted affection. When I saw you and sensed your daydream, I found my ability to withhold my passions faltering.”

Hob stands and grabs Dream’s wrist, dragging him through the “Employees Only” door that led to his flat. He unlocks the door and gestures to Dream to enter, following him and shutting the door. He leads him to the couch where Dream presses himself to Hob’s side as soon as he has sat down.

“You mean, you didn’t know until now? How I feel?”

“I did not consider it until now. I do not look at your dreams. For your privacy.”

“You silly, impossible creature,” Hob shakes his head. “I’ve felt this way since the 19th century. That’s what I was trying to tell you back then. Had I known all it’d take was a pair of glasses and a daydream, we could’ve been doing this years ago.”

Dream rests his head on Hob’s shoulder, glancing up to get another look at Hob’s profile with the glasses.

“You are resplendent. I must warn you—”

“No, dove, none of that. I know what I’m getting into and I want you. Warts ‘n all. Now, kiss me again before you start self-flagellating again.”

Hob pulls Dream’s head off his shoulder and leans in, one hand on his cheek and the other around his waist. Touching Dream. It’s perfect: Dream’s scent filling his nose, his lips soft as rose petals, his deep voice transforming into needy little whines as Hob kisses him deeper. As their tongues wrap around each other, it’s like Hob has never been kissed before. Dream’s hands in his hair, pulling on the long strands as he throws a leg over Hob’s lap. Hob holds his waist as they kiss and kiss and kiss until he has to pull back for air.

“I’m keeping you, love. No matter what,” Hob says, chest rising and falling rapidly. He hugs Dream to him, rocking side to side as Dream groans with the pressure.

“I love you, Robert Gadling,” Dream whispers into his ear.

“I love you too. I’ll shout it from the rooftops. ‘I love Dream! And all it took for him to finally kiss me was a pair of glasses!’”

Dream kisses him again, only partially to stop Hob’s teasing.

[adampalharine-art]

(ALERT BONUS IMAGEM - have mention of stabbing, blood and perhaps general triggers.)

Dia 025

L: Eu percebi que você estreita os olhos quando a gente luta... e achei que seriam úteis. - de canto de olho ele analisa o irmão, que permanece em silêncio admirando os óculos semi novos e suas lentes vermelhas chamativas. Não sabia dizer se ele havia gostado se havia odiado, não sabia decifrar Donnie e tudo ficava mais difícil por ele não falar ainda. - Não precisa usar se não quiser... Eu nem sei se o grau está certo, mas...

D: Eu prefiro roxo. - Leo tem um pequeno sobresalto e encara o irmão. Ele havia falado? Donnie realmente havia falado. Ele vê o soft shell põe os óculos por cima das ataduras e sorrir animadamente enquanto olhava em volta, analisando o mundo com as novas cores. - Melhorou.

Um forte nó aperta a garganta da pequena tartaruga de orelhas vermelhas.

L: Desculpa Dee! Eu deveria... Eu... Eu não queria te machucar. - foi tudo tão rápido, eles estavam apenas treinando sem Draxun os repreendedo a cada movimento a cada gesto que considerava errado ou desnecessário, era para ser apenas um momento para espairecer a mente e agora...

D: Tudo bem... foi minha culpa. - ele encara o irmão, seus dedos brincando com as fivelas do óculos, as ajustando, os ombros caidos, o sorriso completamente minguado de suas feições. - Eu... Sou fraco e lento...

L: Não! Você não é! - Leo diz com a voz esganiçada. - Você é forte e esperto! Você está sempre ajudando o papai com aquelas coisas doidas de alquimista.

D: Mas... Eu sempre me machuco. - seus olhos ficam marejados.

L: Não foi culpa sua! Eu te machuquei! Eu... - ele aperta os lábios. - Eu te prometo, não vai acontecer de novo.

D: Promete?

L: Sim! - não importava o que o pai deles dizesse ou fizesse. Ele estende a mão para o irmão oferecendo o mindinho. - É uma promessa.

...

Day 025

L: I noticed that you narrow your eyes when we fight... and I thought they would be useful. - Out of the corner of his eye he analyzes his brother, who remains silent admiring his semi-new glasses and his flashy red lenses. I couldn't tell if he liked it or hated it, I didn't know how to decipher Donnie and everything was more difficult because he didn't speak yet. - You don't have to use it if you don't want to... I don't even know if the grade is right, but...

D: I prefer purple. - Leo has a little start and faces his brother. Had he spoken? Donnie had actually spoken. He sees the soft shell put the glasses over the bandages and smile excitedly as he looked around, taking in the world in new colors. - Improved.

A tight knot squeezes the little red-eared turtle's throat.

L: Sorry Dee! I should... I... I didn't mean to hurt you. - it was all so fast, they were just training without Draxun scolding them at every move every gesture he considered wrong or unnecessary, it was supposed to be just a moment to clear the mind and now...

D: It's okay... it was my fault. - he stares at his brother, his fingers playing with the buckles on his glasses, adjusting them, shoulders slumped, the smile completely fading from his features. - I... I'm weak and slow...

L: No! You are not! - Leo says in a squeaky voice. - You are strong and smart! You're always helping Dad with his crazy alchemist stuff.

D: But... I always get hurt. - her eyes get teary.

L: It wasn't your fault! I hurt you! I... - he purses his lips. - I promise you, it won't happen again.

D: Promise?

L: Yes! - no matter what their father said or did. He extends his hand to his brother offering his pinky. - It's a promise.

BÔNUS

I was going to do one more degree, but I'm dying of sleep...

But Raph hears Donnie crying and goes to the infirmary and stays with his brother until he can sleep again.

[tickle-bugs]

Lil idea for the 3 Peter Parkers!

Peter 1, the youngest, often gets snarky with the older two "brothers". They both eventually decide theyve had enough of his jabs about their age, and team up on him, working together to tickle him to bits and teach him to respect his elders

Attitude Adjustment

Okay so if you’re like me and literally can’t keep the numbers straight: peter one (referred to just as Peter here) is tom holland’s spidey, peter two is tobey maguire’s, and peter three is andrew garfield’s. I felt SO silly writing in the numbers but there really is no other way LOL

Also, au where they’re in sort of a Spiderverse situation and the other spideys are trying to figure out how to get back to their dimensions. Absolutely no canon, just vibes. 

“Hey Pete? How do you work this thing?” Peter Two huffs and flails his hands around through the holographic energy core in front of him. It spins listlessly, unsure how to interpret his gestures, and beeps at him. 

“Comin’.” Peter rolls off the couch, chucking his phone onto the rickety coffee table. His new place was small, achingly so, but it was starting to come together nicely. He had pictures on the walls, a rug on the worst spot of the floor, and a bedframe. All progress was good progress. 

“Show me how you’re doing it?” Peter squishes beside Two, who sort of swats at the hologram like an irritating bug. 

“Oh, okay. So, uh, the hologram maps its movements according to your fingertips. If it can’t get a good read, it’s not gonna respond. Here, like this.” Peter pulls his hands into the projected image, twitching his fingertips and twirling his wrists. The simulated core spins and zooms at his whim. Eventually, the image flashes green, and a small loading bar picks up at the bottom. 

“Neat.” Peter Two watches in awe as the computer begins to synthesize his formula. He idly spins the image around. “We didn’t have anything like this growing up. It’s crazy.”

“Glad I could help, grandpa.” Peter grins, giving Two’s shoulder a good-natured squeeze. Two rolls his eyes and shoos him away. 

“What a nice young man, helping the elderly,” Peter Three hums from the ceiling, typing away at his laptop as if his life depends on it. He looks a bit like a goblin, or maybe a vampire, hunched over all of them. 

“I do my part.” Peter salutes, flips back over the couch, and pulls his phone back into his hand with a web. He’d lost his place in the Fantastic Four interview he was reading. He sighs. 

“You both are hilarious,” Peter Two grumbles, watching a holographic array of complex mathematics spin in front of him. 

Peter sinks down into the couch, into the quiet buzz of technology and Peter Three’s terrifying typing. It’s not silence, not quite, but it still gnaws into his bones in a way he doesn’t like. He’s been avoiding being Peter as much as he can lately, instead staying out on patrol as late as his body can handle. Collapsing on a rooftop as Spider-Man is easier than coming back to Peter Parker’s shithole apartment. 

Spending time with people like him, people who get it, it’s…nice. Steadying. He knows it’s going to crush him when they leave, but having them now is more than he could ever ask for. He has no one, but he has them. 

“Hey.” Peter leans over the back of the couch and waves at Three. “Need help?”

“Hm? No, I’m good. Still compiling that list of compatible metals. Hoping to keep this matter projector the size of a rubix cube. Or, worst case scenario, like a suitcase.” Peter Three gnaws at his lip, then squints at his screen. He flings out a web and snags his glasses, catching them out of midair. He puts them on with care, pinning the laptop to his upside-down lap with his free hand. After fiddling with the lenses, he gets them to balance properly. 

“You’re still squinting.” Peter chuckles. 

“It’s part of the creative process.” Three waves an idle hand, then squints more aggressively. “I, uh--I’ve got shit eyesight. It’s fine.”

“The spider bite didn’t fix your vision?” Peter furrows his brow. 

“It did, but I wrecked it again. Too much blue light, too many flashbangs to the face--it all takes a toll, y’know? You should be grateful your eyes still work. Take care of them while you have them.” Peter Three nods sagely. He grabs his mug of long-cold coffee with a web and brings it carefully to his hands. He sips, gags, then comes back for more. 

“Okay, dad.” Peter huffs with no venom. He tries not to be jealous that Three can drink upside down. He’s tried. Repeatedly. 

“You have a remarkable amount of attitude for someone so tiny.” Three stares at him over the rim of his glasses, which shouldn’t be as funny as it is. Peter snorts. 

“Right? It’s his tone,” Peter Two hums. The computer chirps at him that his equation is only sixty percent viable, would you like to try again? He thunks his head into the desk. Three’s mug slowly lowers itself down beside him. Two takes a sip, gags, and deposits the mug in the sink. Three balls up a piece of paper and throws it at his head. 

“Alright, I’m starting to go a little stir crazy. How about we take a break?” Peter Two stretches, popping something in his back. He does the ‘keys, wallet, phone’ patdown on himself, turning in circles to make sure he’s set. 

“Like a patrol break?” Peter perks up. 

“No, a dinner break. I’m starving, and God knows when you two last ate. Or slept.” Two hazards a glance towards Three. 

“Oh, I’m good. Go without me.” Peter Three keeps typing. Two’s glare chills the room a few degrees. He pointedly clears his throat. 

“Y’know what, actually? A break sounds great. Super on board with the, uh, the break time.” Peter Three closes his laptop and flips down off the ceiling. He stumbles as he lands, hissing in pain. The laptop goes flying, but Peter just manages to snag it with a web. He cradles it to his chest. 

“Thanks.” Three nods. Peter nods back. The room collectively sighs in relief. 

“Is it your, uh--” Two maneuvers to support Three as best he can. They limp over to the corner of the kitchen together. 

“My back, yeah. Shitshitshit.” Peter Three inhales tightly and leans up against the counter. He tips his head back against the cabinets and focuses on breathing. 

“It just, uh--well, it locks up sometimes. No clue why.” Three shrugs, then winces. 

“I think I have some painkillers. If it’ll help.” Peter sets the laptop down. Three smiles thinly at him. 

“I’ll take you up on that. I’m usually fine after a few minutes. Just gotta wait it out.” Three winces again, gripping the countertop hard. The cheap vinyl cracks with the force of it. Peter tries not to wonder if he’ll have to pay for that--instead, he fishes out the pitifully empty bottle from his coffin-sized bathroom. 

“Gimme your hands.” Peter Two crowds in front of Three and starts helping him stretch, slow and steady. After a heart-wrenching cry of pain, Three hums appreciatively. He twists side to side, working out as many sore spots as he can. Peter shakes the bottle at him and tosses it. He catches it and dry swallows the pills. 

“Hm.” Peter leans against the wall. 

“What?” Two huffs.

“Nothing.” Peter shakes his head with a smile. Fondness blooms warm in his chest. May used to tell him that he’s the only person who knows how to take care of himself best, what he needs. He wonders if she ever thought it would manifest this way. 

“Alright, c’mon. What old man joke are you sitting on right now?” Two crosses his arms. His amusement is contagious. 

“I wasn’t going to make fun of you!” Peter laughs.

“One day you’re gonna be a twenty-something with a bad back. You’re gonna be like ‘oh wise and mysterious Peter, please help me with my ailing spine’. Then you’ll get it.” Three grunts. He loudly cracks something in his back and all of them wince. 

“What am I gonna do? Do a backbend over your walker?” Peter snickers. Three gasps and splutters, sending both of them into actual laughter. They’re terrible influences on each other. 

“You are such a brat.” Two chuckles, mostly in disbelief. Peter sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Were you like this?” Two jerks a thumb toward Peter. Three quirks a smile and regards Peter for a bit--the defiant jut of his chin and the fire in his eyes are heartwarming. 

“I mean…yeah. Kinda. Just tall.” Three smirks.

“I’m not short.” Peter scoffs. Two and Three exchange a glance. Three leans on Peter’s head. Peter swats his arm away. 

“You’re barely taller than me!” Peter huffs, throwing his hands in the air. 

“First step is acceptance, buddy.” Two pats his shoulder. “Let’s get our shawarma on.”

Peter Three stifles his laughter into his fist, squinting in mirth through crooked glasses. Peter groans, smacking his face into his palm. He’s hiding a smile, though, and it makes Two smile in turn. 

“What?”

“Let’s get our shawarma on?” Peter snickers, his shoulders shaking. 

“Yeah, I can’t defend you. That was corny.” Three leans into Peter and soon they’re both giggling, set off by each other’s goofiness. 

“You sound like a dad!” Peter giggles. 

“Scratch that. We’re not going anywhere until we cure you of this attitude.” Two raises an eyebrow. Peter giggles at him which, while adorable, Two cannot stand for. 

“You gonna send me to my room? Ground me? Oooh, I’m so scared--” Peter snorts, then he’s upside down. Peter Two’s got him around the waist like a sack of potatoes. He lets out an affronted squeak and tries to reach for the floor. 

“Whatareyoudoing--” All the breath leaves Peter in a hefty woosh as Two worms his fingers into his sides. He squeals, his legs flailing wildly. He tries to pry Two’s hands away but gravity isn’t his friend at the moment. 

“Spider deterrent,” Two says, deathly serious, but Peter can hear him smiling. Bastard. 

“Nononohoho! Tickling is cheating!” Peter cackles, all hope of playing tough long gone with his breath. No matter which way he tilts, Two’s fingers are waiting to torment him--and he seems to have quickly figured out just how deathly ticklish his stomach is. Almost like he knew already. 

“I didn’t know there were rules--” Peter Two ducks out of the way of an accidental kick-- “Hey! Violence is not the answer!”

“Gonna v-violence your stuhupid fahahace! Lemme go!” Peter growls, prying at Two’s wrists again. Two tuts at him and vibrates his fingers into Peter’s stomach. He shrieks and kicks his legs, all pent-up energy with nowhere to go. 

“Aren’t you gonna help?” Peter gasps at Three, his voice way higher pitched than he’d like. His face is redder than his suit, little giggles still slipping free. He’s (mostly) deathly serious about murdering Two if he can just get out of this. 

“Yeah, come help!” Two grins, beckoning Three over with a tilt of the head. Peter Three disappears out of Peter’s line of sight and he allows himself an evil grin. 

“We’re gonna kick your--” Peter loses the last half of his threat to a yelp, then frenetic giggling as Three claws at his ribs. Peter screeches in betrayal and tries to swat at him, but he’s far from coordinated and it tickles, oh my god--

“Sorry. More afraid of him than I am of you.” Peter Three grins sheepishly, but his eyes shine with mischief. He walks his fingers up under Peter’s arms and he screeches loud enough to make a dog down the hall start barking. He lets out a snort and desperate syllables tumble out to follow. He manages to elbow Two in the gut and nearly gets dropped on his head for the trouble.

“S-Sorry! Tickles!” Peter hiccups and clamps his arms to his sides. 

“You are so squirmy!” Two tosses him over the back of the shitty couch. Peter squeals at the sudden change in gravity, but then he’s squealing because they both follow him over the couch. 

“I-I’m gonna get a noise complaint! Guys!” Peter throws his head back against the armrest and cackles, shoving at the two of them. He’s not sure where the ceiling is anymore, everything’s sort of spinning, but the slight burn in his chest is grounding. 

“Alright, alright.” Two lays off and Three follows suit. Peter flings his arm over his face and tries to remember the sweet embrace of oxygen.

“Oho man. You guys suck.” Peter peeks at them with a goofy smile. 

“Spider deterrent. Works like a charm.” Two puts his hands on his hips. Three leans up behind him and goes to poke his side, but Two catches his hand. 

“Don’t. Do not.” Two points at Three threateningly. Three holds his hands up in surrender, but his grin is anything but innocent. He and Peter lock eyes.

“Spider deterrent, huh?” Peter leans up on his elbows with a cocky grin. “Every experiment needs multiple trials, right?”

“You’re both menaces.” Two grapples with Three, occasionally twitching but still putting up a fight. Peter manages to poke him a few times and get his arm caught, but Two can’t fight both of them.

A hush befalls the room as Peter Two visibly weighs his options, trying not to crack from Three’s pinching at his ribs. 

Two throws himself over the couch, followed by Three, and Peter eggs them on from the safety of the couch. It’s like watching cats wrestle, really--there’s an indistinguishable tangle of limbs and shouting before Peter Three’s shocked cackle emerges from the pile. 

“P-Peter! Help!” Three wheezes, holding his hand out for rescue.

“Oh, you want my help? Yeah, sure, I’ll help.” Peter cackles evilly, kicking off the couch and launching himself at Three.

“Wait, hold on--”

…

“98 percent viable. We did it,” Peter Two breathes, holding the hologram in his hands. The simulated core spins lazily. After hours of calibration and recalibration, the algorithm finally holds steady. Three squeezes his shoulder and laughs quietly, happily. They’re going home. 

“Should we tell him?” Three casts a glance over to the couch. Peter’s out cold, curled up under a threadbare blanket that refuses to let go of its musty smell. Despite the bags under his eyes, he looks peaceful. 

“Tomorrow. You both still owe me shawarma.” Two smiles, knocking their shoulders together. 

[pinkiepiebones]

Renfield prompt: Rebecca helps Robert celebrate his first post-Dracula Halloween

The day before Halloween, Robert is home. He's finally mending the damaged arm of his arm chair, affixing a fabric sunflower he had cobbled together from remnant scraps to the torn upholstery like a cheery bandage. Rebecca texts "yo open up" and as Robert crosses the living room to get to the door she's already knocking.

Rebecca gestures to his door. "You're really not decorating for Halloween? Not even a little ghost or somethin'?" Robert shrugs and steps aside so she can come in and sit on the sofa in what was unofficially her spot. He moves back to keep working on his chair.

"I just don't see the appeal of Halloween, Beck," he explains. "I've seen enough in my lifetime that nothing can scare me, which I have gathered is the big draw of this holiday for adults." He pauses to thread his needled onto a new piece of embroidery floss. "That and dressing up in, um. Not much."

Rebecca purses her lips in thought. "Really? None of that appeals to you?"

"Not really, no."

"What if I tell you that part of being human is doing stupid shit like dressing up and getting wasted with your friends while 'Monster Mash' and 'Thriller' get played on repeat?"

Robert stops to admire his mending work. And to think.

"I spent the last week at work decorating cakes for Halloween parties, and my free time's been here, sewing patches for my furniture." He looks at her, then, a kind of mischief lighting his eyes. "What sort of costume can one find at the last minute?"

Rebecca grins.

--

The Spirt Halloween Store is a strange thing, Robert thinks. Rebecca had told him how the stores set up inside the decayed husks of former businesses. "Much like a real spirit," Robert had commented without further elaboration. Robert is unphased by the animatronics and the sacks of bones and body parts. He mentions something about the offering of zombie costumes being 'bad stereotypes,' whatever that means, and expresses genuine perplexion over whatever the fuck a Fortnight is.

Rebecca hesitates when she sees Robert stop at a display of vampire costumes and accessories. The display featured capes ranging from cheap polyester to high collared velvet lined silk, red and black suits and gowns, fake fangs from saliva-pooling plastic dentures to unnervingly realistic enamels, chewable blood capsules, contact lenses, press-on claws and black nail polish, gaudy bat-themed jewelry, walking sticks and parasols, top hats, wigs with pronounced widows peaks, red-tinted glasses, pallid face powder, latex appliqués of bite wounds, and a stack of black T-shirts with the slogan I VANT TO SUCK YOUR DICK printed on them in a dripping red font. Rebecca is about to touch Robert's arm, ground him, see if he's okay, when he laughs. He picks up one of the shirts and holds it against his chest and turns for Rebecca to see.

"This is so, so crass, but I kind of want one? Maybe for a sleep shirt. It's just- fuck it, I'm getting it."

Rebecca chuckles. "So you don't want a vampire costume?" Robert makes a face.

"Fuck, no. Vampires are pricks, the lot of 'em." He starts to head towards a wall of masks when something else catches his eye and he wanders over like a moth to a flame.

"That. I want that one."

Rebecca looks up to see what he's been transfixed by and blinks in disbelief.

"Rob. You're a fucking weirdo" Rebecca teases.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm in similar company, isn't it" Robert teases back. He reaches up and starts looking for something in his size.

Rebecca sighs and and goes to find herself a costume that will not look like it's associated with Robert's at all.

--

Halloween night, a flapper girl and a tiger walk into a bar. Rebecca stops to adjust her wig and motions for Robert to bend so she can adjust his ear headband.

"How're my whiskers?"

"Purr-fect. How's my dress?"

"It's the bee's knees."

Rebecca nods and gestures with her cigarette holder.

"Happy Halloween, Rob. Let's go get drunk."

[fecklessgreebobastard]

all I can recall from my first manic episode: a post therapy session catharsis

CW: brutal honesty about bipolar disorder, depression, mania and psychosis. think prozac nation.

the hardest question to answer is ‘describe your manic episodes’. it’s not that everything has faded into obscurity, i can remember the sequence of events just well enough to recount it. but it wasn’t me who noticed the abnormalities, more those around me. like all of the mania that followed. the first was my dad, he noticed that something was off, that my eyes dilated and that i talked with a sense of reassurance unknown to my personality. to me, it just felt like things slowly warped and shifted ever so slightly until fantasy was the new normal. the frame tilting over time. like a swimming pool that’s freezing when you jump in but you slowly adjust to the temperature.

the timeline changed in 2016. something that i feel like happened to the whole world and not just myself, although i’m not a reliable narrator. we collectively became more polarised. the US election. cringe compilations. rise of the alt right. an arms race of words on apps that we used to post our coffee on. pokémon go. dat boi. regardless, something definitely shifted for me, and things have never felt quite the same since. grappling with new lenses that weren’t rose coloured.

i was already on the camhs waiting list. that spring, a girl in my class who i’d known since childhood asked me ‘are you depressed?’ she had recently taken a year out because she was. i said i didn’t know. my grandpa had just died and the melancholy that had silently consumed me for years was getting harder to conceal. i came home and told my mum, my lips were still too sealed for the whole truth but it seemed to do the job at opening up.

summer 2016. fire island. it was a family trip. i would spend most nights scribbling disordered thoughts into my journal. it felt like my only friend that summer was that little black leather notebook and the late amy winehouse. i would stay up all night watching her on youtube and feeling like we had some parasocial connection. i addressed my diary to her for a while. i remember squeezing a stone to the point it drew blood in the palm of my hand most days. because nothing felt real and i needed something to feel real. to bring me back. a splash of cool water. i’d walk down beaches in the blazing american summer which should’ve made a brit like me sweat. but i did not feel the heat. completely disconnected from the outside world. all i would be thinking about was converting to judaism so my life would have some meaning. ruminating. obsessing. obsessing again and again. an erratic grasp to pull myself out the trench.

things came to a head in september. one night i completely broke down, malfunctioned to my parents about how much i had come to resent the life i lived. my dad played me lou reed’s berlin. after that night, i only left my bed to get four teeth removed, they said i was brave, something i was getting too used to. i stopped going to school. catatonic for months. the first of many. camhs weren’t much help, i told the psychiatrist that i only lived for fear of disappointing people. she looked like i had grown devil horns and left the room in terror. i think she thought i was beyond her level of expertise.

eventually i got a script of fluoxetine so i would leave my bed. i felt relieved. like it was gonna make things better. but i was so so wrong. around that time i had bought a typewriter in camden market. the writing i did in my depression was disturbing, but coherent. i remember a detailed and morbid description of everyone’s individual reactions if i died. after i took the pills, these pieces of writing would become less and less coherent. random letters smashed in. a pastiche of beat poetry with zero intention.

my band had a gig. i was playing bass. dad took a photo that made my nerdy fourteen year old self look a little like sid vicious. i think it was the dead eyes, the indignant scowl on my face. ‘one day, i’ll be up on stage on glastonbury, headlining, and they’ll all regret how they treated me’. this statement seemed so blasé in the moment i said it but i came to find out that the newfound arrogance was a red flag. i thought i was the reincarnation of ziggy stardust. someone who never even existed. bought bird skeletons off the internet. stopped sleeping.

in my mind, nothing was real. i crashed into solipsism. believing the world was nothing more than an illusion. a development from squeezing rocks. i remember seeing tears run down my dad’s face as he tried to convince me of reality. i thought that i was invincible but i didn’t know for sure and assumed the only way to prove it was to jump in front of a car or cut a body part off like van gogh. ‘something isn’t right’. and i couldn’t even tell.

one morning, my parents found me after a night of no sleep. in the kitchen at 5am. i was hunched over the stove, attempting to make a lava lamp using oil. some weird scheme i immediately needed to follow through on. they bundled me in the car and drove to camhs. i have zero recollection of what i said in the appointment but i remember the psychiatrist telling me ‘we think you have bipolar disorder, we’re going to start you on an anti psychotic’. i burst into tears, screaming that this was the most creative i had ever been and they were gonna take that away from me, unaware that i would go on to write better songs. she told me that i was not these people i idolised. i was not brain jones. i was not amy winehouse. that i could live longer than both combined if i got the right help. i kicked and screamed, yet three days later i was fainting in the shower after my first dose of aripiprazole. i had to miss the pierce the veil gig that night.

the year is 2024. i am 21 years old. i have just finished telling the bits and pieces that i can recall to my shrink. i come back to the room but i am not all there. ‘can you feel your feet? the way they’re touching the ground. are they hot or cold?’ she says. whiteboard. light switch. computer monitor. clock. and a green chair. five things i can see. the dissociation is still there but not thumping. it is no longer the pirate that controls the helm. she tells me ‘say out loud that you are safe here’. ‘i am safe here’. and today i choose to believe i am. i want to believe i am.

[j0kers-light]

I just know Joker would be so fed up with a reader who needs glasses

Like no J, I didn't see you the other day when you were stalking me while I was shopping, sorry for not going over and say hi.

SORRY my visits to the ophthalmologist are that expensive, I'm just a girl who needs her eyes checked!!

"Bunny... what da ya mean you need... contact lenses...? Like lentils for t'eyes?"

omg I can't he is just so dumb when he wants to😭

Woah anon this one hits too close to home. I went to the ophthalmologist last Thursday and for the first time in my life, I need glasses. I am not adjusting well 😣

Let's get into it! I do hope you enjoy beloved! 🖤✨

Joker instantly makes fun of you. For starters, Frost had to help you back home since they dilated your eyes at the office and urged you not to drive. So you came through the door, looking like a lost cause clinging onto Frost.

For months you've been complaining about headaches and double vision, all on deaf ears. You had to take matters into your own hands and find a specialist to perform an eye exam.

Now you're finally getting help to correct your vision! Not like Joker cares. He picks on you by waving his hands in front of your face. You snap at him because you can still see.

"J move out the way! I'm not legally blind, this is only temporary." You grope at the air to prevent yourself from bumping into anything. You still run head first into a potted plant, knocking it over.

Joker thinks your protective glasses, he dubbed them "Ray Charles" are absolutely hilarious. They help with bright lights until your pupils return to normal but it does make you look, well, like a visually impaired person. "All you need is a cane, doll!"

Its days like this where you question why you love Joker. He's such a jerk.

Any support or help you wish to get from Joker is non existent. He is blissfully unaware about how serious your situation is. Thankfully the drops wear off but you have to endure Joker for the upcoming days until your glasses come in the mail.

Joker says the most insensitive things to you like, "Bunny what do ya mean you need uh, contact lenses? Like lentils for your eyes?" or "My Bunny is blind. Maybe I should call ya mouse instead?"

You groan for the umpteenth time and ignore him. You're not legally blind, just.. [insert level of impairment] His jokes aren't funny.

Finally your prescriptions arrive in the mail and you hastily put them on. Its like seeing the world anew. You smile and glance around the room and your eyes land on Joker, who has his jaw on the floor.

"Wow.. I uh.. ahem. You look... B-Bunny.. ya look nerdy. Did they not have a err better selection?" He looked away, hiding his blush.

And your happiness is squashed. Great. You're not his goddess anymore. You sulk around the apartment as you adjust to your new eyes feeling completely miserable. Along with the expected headaches, and discomfort, your mood is in the sewer.

It brings about.. let's say problems. Key word: Joker is the problem. He plays too much and your poor frames is his brand new toy. He bends them, loses them, and even worse? He completely breaks them all 'on accident'. Yeah right.

He just laughs each time saying, "I'll uhh buy ya a new pair."

Joker is a man of his word but your ophthalmologist gives you a disapproving look when you order your sixth pair of glasses in a two month period. Insurance has since stopped footing the bill, they're fed up too.

Your doctor suggests contacts which you think would be a better fit. It is not. Joker manages to ruin them too.

He misplaces your contact case. He uses your contact fluid for a new laughing gas compound, he distracts you and much to your horror-- you sleep with your contacts still in.

Along with the stress of new glasses, the sudden change in your life, and Joker's lack of concern, you're bound to break down and it happens one day when you're working on your laptop in the living room.

Joker sneaks up behind you and steals your new (seventh pair) of glasses right off your face. You react accordingly but with the loss of your visual aid, the room is blurry and you can't focus.

"Joker give me back my glasses! I can't see without them!"

You hear his signature laugh a little to your left and turn that way. You can barely see his figure holding your glasses up to his face. He whistles low.

"Geez, Bunny! I knew ya couldn't, ah see, but this? This is pathetic!" His words sting and make you falter reaching his side.

The one person you need the most to be supportive, and on your side during such a life changing event, is your bully. Why can't Joker be more understanding? You don't know you're crying until Joker is standing before you. He's close enough for you to see him clearly.

And he doesn't look happy. "What's gotten into you?"

He doesn't even know?!! That just makes you cry even harder. Your tears are Joker's kryptonite and he groans to himself before yanking you into your arms.

"Bunny..... stop that.. You know I haTe it when you cry." He rocks the two of you back and forth but you aren't moved by his weak attempt at an apology.

"Then why are you being so mean to me?! You keep breaking my glasses, I can't see without them, I'm... I'm so tired and—"

Joker shuts you up with a kiss and your body betrays you by kissing him back. He pulled away so he could see your e/c sparkling up at him.

“You've been soooo stressed lately. I thoughT my jokes would help ease your mind! I just wanted you to smile."

"You made fun of me and called me a nerd!" You pout.

He sighed and placed your glasses where they belong. The way he was looking at you made you adopt a slight flush to your cheeks.

"I didn't mean to be mean, Princess. These make ya look hot, very hoT. Like the sexy author I know ya are."

You looked away, mumbling. "You... you think I look hot?"

Joker laughed and spun you around in his arms. He then attacked your face with sloppy kisses while his eager hands roamed your body.

"Think? Oh I know my goddess is stunning with or without glasses. You. Are. Beaut-Tee-full and the day I say otherwise, be a dear and uh.. stab me with a knife."

He smirked hearing your joyful laughter ringing out. Oh how he missed it.

[tatumeyecare5]

How to Properly Care for Your New Glasses

Introduction

Embarking on the journey of caring for your new glasses is crucial to ensure their longevity and maintain optimal vision. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the nuances of caring for your eyewear, providing insights and tips that go beyond the ordinary.

The Importance of Proper Care

Your glasses are more than just a visual aid; they're an investment in your daily comfort and clarity. Proper care not only ensures their durability but also guarantees a clear vision, free from smudges and scratches.

Choosing the Right Cleaning Materials

To maintain the pristine condition of your glasses, start by choosing the right cleaning materials. Microfiber cloths and lens cleaning solutions specifically designed for eyewear are your best allies in the battle against dirt and grime.

Cleaning Your Glasses Effectively

Gently wipe your glasses in a circular motion, paying extra attention to the nose pads and hinges. Avoid using excessive force, as it may damage the lenses or frame. Regular, gentle cleaning is the key to crystal-clear vision.

Storing Your Glasses Safely

When not in use, always store your glasses in a protective case. This shields them from potential scratches and prevents accidents that could lead to misalignment or breakage.

Handling Your Glasses with Care

Handle your glasses with clean, dry hands. Avoid placing them face down, as this exposes the lenses to potential scratches. Additionally, refrain from using your shirttail to clean them—opt for the proper materials.

Avoiding Common Mistakes

One common mistake is using regular household cleaners, which may contain harsh chemicals detrimental to lens coatings. Stick to recommended cleaning solutions to protect both your lenses and your eyes.

When and How to Adjust Your Glasses

Regularly check for any discomfort or slippage. If needed, make minor adjustments by gently bending the temples. For major adjustments, consult your optician to avoid causing damage.

Dealing with Scratches

Despite precautions, scratches can occur. If minor, try toothpaste or baking soda as a gentle abrasive. For deeper scratches, seek professional advice.

Protecting Your Glasses from the Elements

Rain, heat, and dust can pose challenges. Use lens coatings for added protection and always shield your glasses during adverse weather conditions.

Knowing When to Replace Your Glasses

If you notice a decline in vision despite proper care, it might be time for a new prescription. Regular eye check-ups ensure your glasses always complement your visual needs.

How to Properly Care for Your New Glasses: A Step-by-Step Guide

Start with the Right Cleaning Materials Begin by gathering a microfiber cloth and specialized lens cleaning solution.

Inspect Your Glasses Examine your glasses for any loose screws, misalignments, or scratches.

Gentle Cleaning Motion Using the microfiber cloth, clean the lenses in a circular motion, paying attention to edges and corners.

Nose Pads and Hinges Ensure thorough cleaning around nose pads and hinges, where dirt tends to accumulate.

Storing in a Protective Case When not in use, place your glasses in a sturdy case to prevent damage.

Handle with Care Always handle your glasses with clean, dry hands, avoiding unnecessary pressure on the lenses.

Avoid Face-Down Placement Never place your glasses face down to prevent scratches on the lenses.

Regular Adjustment Checks Periodically check for any discomfort or misalignment, making minor adjustments if necessary.

Dealing with Scratches For minor scratches, try toothpaste or baking soda. Seek professional help for deeper scratches.

Weather Protection Shield your glasses during rain or extreme heat to maintain their quality.

Regular Eye Check-ups Schedule regular eye check-ups to ensure your prescription is up-to-date.

FAQs about Caring for Your Glasses

Can I clean my glasses with regular household cleaners?

It's advisable to stick to specialized lens cleaning solutions, as household cleaners may contain harsh chemicals that can damage lens coatings.

How often should I clean my glasses?

Cleaning your glasses daily with a microfiber cloth and lens solution helps maintain clarity and prevents the buildup of dirt.

Is it okay to use tissues or paper towels to clean my glasses?

Avoid using tissues or paper towels, as they can leave behind fibers that may scratch your lenses. Stick to microfiber cloths for optimal cleaning.

Can I wear my glasses while cooking or near heat sources?

It's best to avoid wearing glasses near intense heat sources, as this can damage coatings and affect the frame. Consider protective eyewear in such situations.

What should I do if my glasses get wet in the rain?

Use a dry, clean cloth to gently wipe off any water droplets. Avoid using clothing, as it may contain abrasive particles.

Can I adjust my glasses at home?

Minor adjustments, like gently bending the temples, can be done at home. However, for major adjustments, consult your optician to prevent damage.

Conclusion

Caring for your new glasses is an essential aspect of maintaining both their longevity and the clarity of your vision. By following these guidelines, you not only ensure the durability of your eyewear but also contribute to a consistently clear and comfortable visual experience.

Tatum Eyecare is North Phoenix’s premier family eye care center. We’ve spared no expense to create the most pleasant, comfortable patient experience… including the finest furnishings, the best selection of prescription eyeglass frames, the most cutting-edge technology, and the most outstanding team of industry professionals. Come see why the choice for family eye care in the Valley has never been clearer.

[lets-talk-spirituality]

Hello. I was wondering if i could get a message from my sm please? Thank you ❤️‍🩹

I can see what wants to reveal itself!

❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹

Soulmate, what message do you have?

Belief makes things real, why? Because it puts you in the energy as if you already have it. Believing it is yours and achievable is the first hurtle to overcome. This applies to so many areas of life, not just spiritual connections but also life purpose, soul purpose. Believing is seeing because when you truly believe, then you have cleared the fear and toxic conditioning from your eyes, allowing you to see what is truly able to happen, what is truly capable of being. Our human minds cloud our judgement, cloud our eyes, but if you can adjust your sight and look through different lenses, rose colored, pitch black, white light, you will find you get closer to the truth. Experiment. Try cutting off some senses to strengthen others. Close your eyes and feel with your heart, see with your intuition. Smell spirit. Do you see what you’re capable of channeling? A full life you’ve never imagined. Best of luck, my darling. I love you!

Card Pull— Oracle of the Fairies

New Beginnings— This fairy godmother heralds the joyous news of a new baby—or the birth of a cherished idea. Protect and nurture your ideas as you would a baby.

Interesting! I’m getting that when you start to believe and to see things differently, you will birth new ideas and dream new beginning for yourself. This lack of confidence, belief is what is blocking you and holding you back from achieving what you’re trying to accomplish.

Hope this helps! Would appreciate knowing how it connects.