#space chirrup

[aeolids-zenith]

i hate posts that are supposed to be positivity for people who lack friends or that say that social connections are like unexpectedly inevitable/straightforward to make or something, but then like. don't elaborate on how that is possible. it always just makes me feel more hopeless

[artemis-zinc]

i'm always thinking "oh i'm not much of a music person" meanwhile i have 88 items in my bandcamp collection (not a huge number but not small either) and a custom-written music player so that i can precisely control how i listen to my 33 GB of music files of various origins

i think the main thing is just that i consume music differently from. well probably most people. but notably people who i observe talking about music

ummmm idk where i'm going with this and i should probably go to bed. but i feel compelled to add that i guess i already knew this stuff to a degree bc like i think that part of what makes me feel excluded by music talk is that i feel like i *ought* to be able to relate to it. but idk it just really struck me while looking at bandcamp that it's silly to act like music is insignificant to me

[frogchiro]

aghh alpha Simon makes my heart melt.

but like what about alpha Simon and you nesting?

it starts slowly. you taking a hoodie here or there. ones that haven’t been washed in weeks or ones he wore after working out.

he doesn’t notice right away because he has tons of dark clothing that lays around in the hamper waiting to be washed.

he notices when you snatch up the blanket he’s been using earlier this afternoon. having a cup of tea with a book in his large, calloused hands.

finally it becomes painfully obvious when he cannot find any of his long sleeve shirts. not in the laundry. not in the wash. nowhere.

he had a sneaking suspicion watching you scamper around the house with a slightly nervous expression on your face. but he wasn’t able to prove it until now.

and boy oh boy does it make his heart melt.

his omega curled up in a large nest full of his musky, strong scent. the whole room smells of you and him intertwined like a knot.

you’re purring away, rubbing your face into the blanket you had stolen from his room. the one he uses when it gets colder.

his alpha chirps and rumbles, happiness welling up in his chest as he stares with a soft smile.

your small chirps and trills alert him to your presence as you sleepily beckon him closer, patting the spot near you.

a silent invitation.

deep rumbles escape his lips as he slots himself perfectly against your body. watching with a fond expression as you snuggle your face against his scent gland.

his alpha beams with pride once he feels you relax like a pile of goo against his hold as he wraps his arms around your waist.

Simon silently notes in the future to buy more blankets and pillows for you to nest in.

because even if you’re absolutely fucking adorable in this nest. he still needs his clothes back.

🐙 anon

YES YES OH MY GOD ALPHA SI AND NESTING

As I mentioned in a previous post, alpha!Simon's nesting instincts are through the roof with you. Growing up he never really got to nest because he never felt safe enough to do so, and now that he has you, his omega, he can nest with you all he wants :>

He's so weirdly proud of himself when he sees you lying in the center of the well-made nest of his clothes, blankets and pillows; let's out a pleased rumble and feels himself getting warm with a sudden flood of hormones chanting at him:

"pleased. pleased. omega is happy. safe enough to nest. nest. pups?"

Simon would literally puff his chest up with delight and pride, unlike his poor mother who never nested with that motherfucker of a father out of fear, now he feels a weird sense of accomplishment like, he did it. He broke the cycle. His omega is safe.

He's suddenly ripped from his thoughts as you let out a small noise; a quiet chirp laced with sleep and happiness, inviting your alpha into your intimate space. Si can only let out another pleased rumble as he climbs into the neat circle of his clothes and more-or-less knowingly he rubs his head and neck against you and the 'walls' of the nest further scenting it and judging by the pleasured noise you let out and how you rub yourself against the bed like a happy cat he knows you like it. The various clothes and blankets are basically soaked in his strong musky scent, undeniably masculine and alpha.

Not wanting to disturb you further, Simon just plasters himself to your back, strong arms wrapped like vices around your middle and legs tangling with yours as you exchange chirps, chirrups, purrs and other pleased noises like happy mates as you two slowly drift off to sleep.

[writeforfandoms]

Homeward Bound 1

Find the series masterlist

Welcome to my newest wip, because dragons are my absolute favorite fantasy creature. Also, please leave canon at the door, this is a full on fantasy AU we're now entering.

Seriously. I have so much world building already done for this. Come ask me questions.

We've got a bit of a slow burn, dragons, baby dragons, and drama. What more could you want?

Eventual Simon Riley x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, fantasy au rules, literal dragons.

Word count: 1k

You huffed as, yet again, Kyle and John invaded the nesting area. They had gotten more polite over the last weeks, but still. 

Truly, though, you couldn't entirely blame them. They were both in the group for this upcoming Hatching, and were very eager. John had been passed over last time, and Kyle was new this time. 

You would never tell them, but you had a good feeling for them, for this season. 

“Quiet down,” you told them, stern and no-nonsense, refusing to smile at their silliness. 

“Aw, we jus’ wanted te see,” John wheedled, his northern accent still strong despite his time in the capital. 

You rolled your eyes. “Quietly, then,” you stressed, taking a quick look round. Most of the dragons were still calm, only one or two first timers fidgety and anxious. Good enough. Nothing to fuss over. 

Kyle nodded eagerly, making a face at John. But the two were quick to look around the nests, whispering to each other. 

You just closed your eyes and leaned back in your seat. They'd be fine. And if they weren't, they'd get hissed at. 

Good enough. 

Yawning briefly, you blinked lazily up at the ceiling of the cave, which stretched far above your head. Strategic perches had been hewn into the rock over generations of dragons, giving plenty of spaces above the hatching grounds for the dragons to observe. The seating had been added for humans to observe, long before you. 

In a matter of weeks, the seats would be filled, and the cave would be the site of great joy once again. 

Kyle cleared his throat softly, prompting you to look at him instead of the ceiling. You raised one eyebrow in silent question. 

“You know best,” he murmured with a little smile. “How are they looking?”

“Healthy,” you murmured. “No issues that I can see. It's a good clutch this year.” 

“Good.” Kyle smiled, clearly pleased. “That's good to hear.” 

“You don't have long to wait now,” you encouraged gently, taking pity on the young man. 

He nodded, looking at the nests and the mothers with something akin to awe in his eyes. “Not long,” he agreed in a murmur. 

Your lips twitched in a smile, a little against your will. You had appearances to maintain, after all. “Go on,” you murmured. “Either go say hi to some of them, or go elsewhere.”

He shot you a look, a little startled and a little betrayed, but he nodded. He made the smart choice and went to the silver near you, greeting her. He'd be fine. 

You, instead, looked for John to make sure he wasn't getting into trouble. It took you a moment to spot him, way out by Ilsbet. Rather to your surprise, she had tucked him into her nest. 

Could be first-timer instincts, although most first-time mothers went the other way and drove everyone away from their nests… 

You meandered your way over there, smiling when Ilsbet chirruped at you in greeting, stretching her head out to gently nudge your shoulder. “Hi, sweetheart,” you murmured, scratching under her chin. “You seem to have a pest in your nest.” 

“Oi!” John's indignation was muffled somewhat. 

Ilsbet purred, trying to encourage you closer. Probably so she could tuck you into her nest along with John. 

“No, sweetheart.” You patted her nose. “I can't. We've talked about this, remember?” 

She drooped, massive green body only squishing John a little. He oofed. 

“Oh come now,” you scolded gently. “None of that, hm? Or your rider will insist I'm tormenting you.” 

“Are you not?” The dry question came from behind you. 

You didn't jump, but you did slowly turn to look. Ilsbet's rider was big and broad, blonde hair kept short, the usual fabric covering the lower half of his face. Brown eyes stared at you, impassive and unimpressed. 

“No, Simon. I am not tormenting your dragon.” You kept your tone flat as you spoke to him, none of the teasing warmth you had for Ilsbet coming through. 

Simon grunted once and stepped around you, staring down at John in his dragon's nest. “Out.” 

“But–” John started to protest. 

“Out,” Simon repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. 

John sighed but got out of the nest carefully. Ilsbet didn't even notice, busy purring and chirping at her rider. You did catch a glimpse of four eggs, shells still soft beige flecked with gold. Good. 

You were quick to back off and leave Simon alone. He was notorious for being difficult to get close to, even among the riders. And since this was Ilsbet's first time nesting… Well. You expected him to be extra grumpy. 

But the hatching wasn't that far away now, thankfully. 

You made your way back over to your seat, settling down again. In a little while, you'd check on the mothers, see if they needed anything. See if you could get another count on the eggs. 

But that would be in a little bit. For now, you found Kyle and John, watching them talk quietly. Your gaze wandered back to Simon, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the way his body language had softened as he spoke to his dragon. 

He did have a heart. You'd known that, of course. You'd been at the hatching when he'd been selected. Dragons didn't select people who were heartless. 

Although how such a sweet dragon had selected someone as reserved as Simon… You would never understand. 

John and Kyle left, and Simon left not long after them. Your domain returned to quiet, the sand warm even through your shoes. All was as it should be. 

You breathed out slowly, eyes drooping half-closed again. This was better. 

Not too much longer until the hatching. 

Not that you went a single day without seeing Simon, as he came in to check on Ilsbet often. It was almost like he didn't trust you. 

Honestly, you weren't sure if it was just you, or if he was just like that in general. After several days of dealing with him, you were inclined to think he was just like that. 

Well. The hatching would be over soon, and then it was unlikely you'd see much of him for three more years.

[jpitha]

Whatever Happened to Lauren Ingram

This is a continuation of Voiding the Warranty. I thought I posted it here, but I guess I didn't.

"Who?" The human at the window barely looks up from her pad.

"Her name was - is - Lauren Ingram."

The person behind the counter at the embassy looks bored. She sighs. "Missing people cases are to be sent to the local station authorities."

"No, you don't understand, she's not missing, she's gone."

Over all this, Shimmer was getting much better at reading Human facial expressions. This civil servant was bored and annoyed. They had to be careful. One more snarky answer from her and she was going to close the window, and they would not be able to tell the embassy what happened to her. They tried another tack.

"I'm terribly sorry. Maybe there is an error with my translator, you know how they are with complex languages full of nuance, like yours. Lauren Ingram is a human I hired on to my ship - the Star Leaf - as an engineer first class. She was... tinkering with the FlashWarp engines and when she was finished and we warped, not only did we move through space nearly five thousand times faster than we expect but... she disappeared after." Shimmer breathed in shakily. This part was always the hardest to admit. "And I'm seemingly the only one who remembers her."

The woman behind the counter looks out at Shimmer and narrows her eyes. It appeared to Shimmer that she was reaching under her desk - "to push the window close button no doubt", they thought with despair - when instead a scanner pops out of a door above the window. Shimmer was bathed in a warm, yellow light for just a moment.

The door to the embassy hisses open.

The woman gestures, "This way please, sapient."

Shimmer was seated in a room. The walls were white, the ceiling was uniformly lit in white light. The floor was a slightly different shade of white. They sat upon a white chair - built for their frame surprising Shimmer - it was actually comfortable. After a moment, a human entered the room, dressed almost entirely in black. The contrast to the human and the room made them look like they had no color. They sat in a chair opposite Shimmer and took out a thick pad.

"From now on, this conversation is being recorded in full sensorium. All known and recordable senses are being recorded in this conversation so that in the future it can be replayed as completely as possible. State your consent."

"I consent."

The human relaxes slightly. "State your legal name."

"I am-" Shimmer makes a sound with a trilling rising melody "-but my name in Belanic is Shimmering Heat."

"Please describe what happened to Lauren as best as you can."

Shimmer took the next cycle demi explaining to the human what they saw and what happened. The Human had them stop multiple times for more detail, or to explain a part again. Eventually, they reached the story as far as Shimmer knew it.

"So you hired Lauren?"

"Yes, I was the one who signed her on."

"Do you remember her HIND number?" Her Human IdentificatioN Designation.

"Um" Shimmer had not been asked this before by the others when they were trying to find out what happened to Lauren. "7757890 I believe."

The human made an entry into his pad. It chirruped at him, and he narrows his eyes slightly. He sighs and looks up at Shimmer. "Sapient known in Belanic as Shimmering Heat, what you are about to learn is designated as 'Secret, Not To Be Shared'. This means that if we learn that someone else knows it, we will assume you spoke it - even if you didn't - and you will suffer the consequences for the data breach. At this point, you may refuse consent, and this conversation will end, and you are free to leave without learning what I am about to say. What say you?

Shimmer's eye membranes flicked. Unconsciously they turned their head slightly - an old instinct to try and get a better look at something in front of them - it was a gesture that meant consideration. "I can't sleep at night. I keep seeing her. I know she was real, I know she existed. Nobody else says she does. I feel like I am losing my grip on reality. I consent to learn. I will keep your secret."

The human smiles a small smile, folds their pad, and puts it away. He makes a complex gesture into the air and the room changes. The white even light was replaced with the spot and directed light of an office, the white walls become tan, and even art appears on the walls. He stands and holds out his hand. "My name is Agent Victor Henrik, Human InterDimensional Authority. I'm with HIDA"

Shimmer takes his hand and stands. Many of the sapients in the Coalition had their own forms of government and agencies and ministries within their government, but few had as many and as... granular as the humans. Shimmer didn't know HIDA, but had no problem believing they were a real human authority. "Nice to meet you Agent Henrik."

Victor smiled warmly. "Let's go to my office, we can talk there."

Victor leads Shimmer further into the offices, until they reached a door at the end of a long hall. When Victor opens the door for Shimmer, they gasp.

Agent Henrik had a window.

"You have a window!" Shimmer couldn't hide their surprise.

Victor beamed. "I do. It was completely by luck, I didn't do anything to earn it, this is just the office I was assigned." He sounded proud. "I have the only window in the whole embassy. Even the human ambassador doesn't have one."

Once Shimmer enters the office, they could see why the ambassador didn't take the room from Victor, it was cramped. Shimmer shuffles past boxes and sits on the only chair opposite Victor's desk. He also shuffles in sideways and sits down. "Sorry about how cramped the room is."

"It's all right. My quarters on Star Leaf aren't much larger," Shimmer lied.

"Okay. So Lauren."

"Agent Henrik. Am I going insane? Did Lauren exist?"

"Yes. She was real." He takes out his pad and glances at it again. "She died 12 years ago. Groundcar accident, according to the local police report."

"She what?" Shimmer's voice is an unbelieving whisper.

Victor holds up his hands. "That's how she died now. You are also correct that she was an engineer first class on Star Leaf."

"I don't understand."

Victor sighs and puts down the pad. "Shimmer, Lauren accidentally edited herself out of reality."

Shimmer's eye membranes flicked.

Victor raises his eyebrow but continues. "It's not the first time we came across this. She was messing with your FlashWarp engine right?"

Shimmer nods.

"And you were the last one to speak to her before you warped?"

Shimmer nods again.

"That's why you remember her and nobody else does. We're not sure about the science behind it - everyone who keeps experimenting gets edited out of reality - but there's something... unusual about FlashWarp technology. We don't use it much, but since humans sign on with Coalition ships all the time and humans are... well, human about things, humans have tinkered with it." He moves his shoulders in a shrug. "I have to say though, Lauren's work is the first successful mod to a FlashWarp field I've seen. Most of the others either did nothing, or destroyed the drive. Everyone disappeared after the drive was activated though and only the last person to talk to them before the warp remembers them."

"Why?"

Victor snorted a laugh. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be sitting here. Shimmer we have no idea."

Shimmer looks out of the window. It showed a crescent of the planet below, and while they were looking, they see the prismatic flash of a FlashWarp drive activating far in the distance. "How often has this happened?"

"That's Classified."

"Even though, right now we're discussing something 'Secret, Not To Be Shared'?"

"Classified is two levels higher in secrecy."

Shimmer leans forward. "Please. Give me a hint. Is it 10? is it 100? Is it 1000?"

Victor narrows his eyes. "This is all I will say. You explained to Polly - the girl at the front desk - what happened, and she immediately pushed a button summoning me. She wasn't disbelieving and she didn't think you were making something up. What does that tell you?"

Shimmer reels at the realization that if they reacted this quickly and not once accused Shimmer of making things up or misremembering that it happened quite a lot.

Victor looks at Shimmer's expression and nodded. "You understand then."

"What are you doing about it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing??"

Shimmer, what can we do? We can't tell all humans to stop messing with FlashWarp drives, it wouldn't do anything. What if we said "if you mess with a FlashWarp drive you might get edited out of reality"? Do you think that wouldn't cause some kind of economic crash at least? What would happen then? Everyone would dump their FlashWarp drives and buy our Flip drives. What would everyone think then?"

Shimmer understands what Victor was saying. If they came forward with this information, everyone would call it fake. A ploy to sell Flip drives.

"All we can do is record the incidents as they happen, and reassure those afflicted that you're not losing your mind. You have just a... unique memory. You clearly remember someone that doesn't exist."

Victor stands. "Shimmering Heat, I wish you the best. Do take care of your FlashWarp drive. It's unique. I recommend taking it back to Flash Incorporated and have them examine it. I imagine you'll get a bonus if it's determined to be safe enough to upgrade everyone's drive."

Shimmer stands and sputtered. "B-But, who will I say did the upgrade?"

Victor's eyes sparkles. "Just tell them the truth. A human did it."

[mothiir]

eyes full of stars

the reader is a diplomat working with roboute guilliman to try and broker peace with the local craftworld, and she has a somewhat strange moment with one of her aeldari counterparts.

cw: finger sucking and lewd thoughts.

—

“Hush,” Taleath says, fingertips coming up to rest on your mouth, and you lapse into silence at once, completely thrown by the unexpected contact. “The actions of Cato Sicarius have no bearing on your life, nor on mine. His tumultuous emotions are his own storm to bear, and their rain will only chill you if you get too close — which, as you are uncommonly intelligent for your kind, you will not.”

He keeps his gauntleted fingers resting on your lips, the metal chilly against your skin, smoother than silk. You are very rarely lost for words — it is, after all, an integral part of your job as diplomat — but the physical contact has shaken you. Aeldari do not touch humans, unless at war, or under considerable duress; Taleath’s actions, to another Aeldari, would be obscene as a human bearing his genitalia at a conference table.

The corners of his smile curl up into a smile, and your cheeks burn: in your confusion, you momentarily forgot that your companion can read minds. And then, you recall that Aeldari are at great pains to state how they must shield themselves from the ‘brutish, ugly, loud wailing animal thoughts’ that humans emit almost constantly. And then you realise that if he read your thoughts, it was because he did so deliberately, and —

“It is far more complicated than that,” Taleath says mildly. “A mind is not a book to be opened at leisure and perused. And yet I understand your meaning — you cannot help the limitations of your language, after all.”

You are in one of the many libraries aboard the Macragge’s Honour: this is one of the smaller ones, designed to house books on cartography that are more works of art than useful tomes. It is rarely visited, because despite Roboute Guilliman’s best efforts to encourage a variety of interests in his sons, most Astartes prefer to study strategy or to read great historical epics, rather than study stylised images of long-vanished constellations. You, however, adore it here. It is a circular room, the shelves coveringthe walls, the ceiling painted deep rich navy blue, with stars picked out in shining gold. There is one window, circular and high, that shows the endless void of space beyond. It feels like a fairytale room, something plucked fresh from a different, gentler time, when space was full of promise, and the shadows held nothing more sinister than cobwebs.

“I appreciate that my language is limited to your ears but —“ You are normally very good at countering Taleath’s arrogant asides with a witty riposte. Sometimes, you wonder if he riles you up intentionally, simply because it amuses him to see you frustrated — certainly his teasing has led to some serious issues of your own, long nights practicing hiding your thoughts, wondering if that would even work. Your a celebrated diplomat, pride of the Ultramarines, reporting to the Primarch himself — and yet a pointy-faced smirking knife-ear has you thinking things. Heretical, shameful things.

Taleath lifts the gauntlet to his own face, and — tentatively, delicately, like a cat trying a new food it is unsure of — runs the tip of his tongue along the tips of his fingers.

He makes a strange, bird like chirrup. You’ve studied Aeldari vocalisations, but in that moment everything you have ever learned about them seems to have exited your head via your ears. With the same effortless, leisurely grace that he does everything, Taleath shucks his gauntlets off, setting them down on the desk beside him. Then, with a tremendous amount of care, he removes the silk gloves beneath, revealing a pair of pale, spidery hands.

Imperial propaganda describes all Aeldari as scrawny anaemic mutants, with limbs stretched to ridiculous disproportionate lengths. The decidedly heretical texts you studied as part of your diplomatic education waxed lyrical about their ethereal inhuman beauty and grace. The truth is somewhere in the middle. Some bits of Taleath are disconcerting to say the least: he moves too swiftly for your eyes to track, giving him the uncanny appearance of a glitching cartoon come to life. His expressions are almost-human-but-not-quite; something about his smile seems to suggest that he knows exactly when the world will end. His hands remind you of knives. And yet there is an uncanny beauty to him, like a glacier viewed under moonlight, or a distant star burning in the black flank of night.

“Come here please,” he says, and you — knowing better, knowing so much better — obey. It has been months of negotiation with Iyanden, in which you have built up a civil relationship with Taleath (not friendship; you have to remember that; it is what your training drilled into you. Aeldari are not to be trusted; they play games with human lives, and even the kindest knife-ear will gut you like a fish if it is to their advantage).

You are allies only because of the mutual peril you face, from a galaxy that would see you burn, from factions who care little for the petty squabbles of xenos and human — what is the point of humanity’s supremacy, or Aeldari arrogance, if Chaos eats you all?

And yet. And yet. You stop one pace from Taleath, heart thrumming like the wings of a held bird, and the Aeldari reaches for you. His palm presses against the small of your back, urging you forwards that last little bit, so his robes brush against your bare arms. He’s so much taller than you; you have to crane your neck to look him in the face, even as he bends over.

His thumb runs across your lower lip. You always thought Aeldari would be colder than humans, their skin as chilly and perfect as ceramic, but his flesh is fever-hot. He rubs the digit back and forth until you open your mouth, your eyes fixed on him the whole time. His breathing is still slow and calm, and part of you resents him for that — so you rebel in what small way you can. You part your lips, but you don’t chase after his thumb with your tongue like a dog begging for a treat. Instead, you wait — wait so long that it starts to feel vaguely ridiculous, that you are just starting there open-mouthed and panting — and then — oh —

He slips two fingers into your mouth, sliding them first along the blunt edges of your teeth, then onto your tongue. He’s curious, explorative, stroking over the slick muscle, before prodding delicately at the roof of your mouth, where textured skin gives way to your soft palette. You try very hard not to gag as he pushes deeper, rubbing at the velvety insides of your cheeks, bulging them outwards. He utters that bird like chirrup again, and you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. He looks utterly transfixed on you.

It’s just a trick, you tell yourself, it’s what they do, it’s what they do —

“Do not insult me,” he says, his voice lower. Rougher. “I would not need to resort to such — such base measures to trick you, if I wanted to, if —“

You hollow your cheeks and suck, drool starting to gather at the corner of your mouth. Taleath’s breath catches, and you feel an absurd swell of power.

“Don’t read my mind,” you say, the words coming out in a slurry of sound and drool around his fingers. “Jush — keep doing this —“

You start to move your head, keeping your hands loose at your sides despite the overwhelming desire to grab his wrist, to encourage him to keep going, to fuck your throat with his fingers, to prepare you to take —

Taleath chirrups again; this time the sound fades into a constant burbling coo. He pulls you closer, hand splayed on the small of your back, pulling his fingers out of your mouth — and this time you do chase after them, saliva strung between his fingers and your lips.

“I should not be doing this,” he says, half to himself, the words blurred and distorted by the constant vibrato coo. You lick at his knuckles, dopey with passion. All that time fighting down your absurd schoolgirl crush — all that time wasted. “You are human,” he continues, his voice strained. You kiss his palm.

“Yes. And you want me,” you sing-song — only for the world to blur as Taleath moves with a warrior’s swiftness, his hand sliding down to cup your thighs, lifting you up and pressing you into the wall. Bookshelves dig into your spine as he wrenches your head to the side, your hair pulled taut, your scalp singing pain. His teeth graze your jugular, his body presses between your eagerly spreading thighs and —

Then he’s gone. You collapse to the ground in a heap, panting for breath, reeling. Taleath stands on the other side of the library, clinging to his gauntlets like a safety blanket as he stares at you with open, flagrant hunger. Prey-animal fear sparks up your spine, even as your cunt slicks with arousal.

“Taleath —“

“No. Stay there.”

His mouth is red. Why is his mouth red? You suddenly become aware of an ache in your neck, of warmth on your collarbone. You reach up, and your fingers brush a deep bite mark. Taleath licks his lips clean as you probe the damage carefully.

“I — I hope this is not a diplomatic incident,” you say, attempting levity, and he offers you a thin smile. It sits oddly on his face; at odds with the ravenous look in his dark eyes.

“No. But it could be. My kind do not engage in carnal pleasures casually — “

“—and not with mon-keigh,” you say, wondering if this is when Taleath will treat you to yet another lecture on the shortcomings of your species.

“Not often. Not usually. I do not want you to be hurt,” he says.

“I’m fine. It barely stings — it will heal up soon enough,” you say, holding up your bloodied fingers. Taleath licks his lips.

“You do not understand. I do not want you to be hurt by anyone who is not me.”

You know you should retreat; every instinct screams at you too. But even if Taleath was not standing in the only exit, you wouldn’t attempt to flee.

”You…you want to hurt me?”

“Typical human — reducing complex feelings to such banal sentiments,” he says, like you weren’t just parroting his own words back. “I want to consume you. I want to own you. I want every cell in your body to remember my name.”

You — you should not find this attractive. You really should not. And yet all your life you have been told that you serve a greater purpose; that your duty is to others. You have never had anyone look at you with such naked desire and tell you that it is you they want — you alone.

Aeldari lie, you tell yourself. Aeldari lie.

“I would not lie to you, you stupid little prey-thing,” he snaps, and this time it isn’t just his voice; his accent changes, sliding from the polished vowels of an Aeldari into something more jagged, something that you don’t recognise. He visibly gathers himself, and when he speaks again it’s with the voice you are used to: “I mean — human. Girl-child.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You are more than five hundred years my junior — hush. I — I need to go. And meditate. And — and think on things. And meditate. And you need to go and stop bleeding before I do something that we both regret.”

With that, he vanishes, leaving nothing but the throb of arousal between your thighs, and his teeth marks carved into your throat.

[acerathia]

teeth against skin || Fushiguro Toji

Summary:

Something is breathing down your neck, and it won't leave you.

Wordcount: 2.0k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Fushiguro Toji / Reader

Tags/CW:

inspired by 'The Little Red Riding Hood', predator/prey, anxiety, paranoia, elements of a/b/o, cannibalism, as a metaphor to sexual intimacy, dubcon/noncon, violence (a barely described bite lol), descriptions of blood,

Note:

I came up with this before going to sleep and i couldn't rest until i wrote it, lol

The basket bumps against your hip with every step, its handle digging groves into the crook of your arm. Leaves of trees give you enough shade to be spared from the sear of the sun. But there’s nothing to protect you against the heat spreading through your insides. All you could do is distract yourself, make yourself walk through the forest over the overgrown paths. 

You’ve walked this way countless times, almost like the path only exists for you only. The walk helps you cool off, but also, your obligations make you walk down these paths, delivering the bounty filling the basket to the same little cottage, to the same grandmother, one you’ve started to be acquainted with, enjoying her little stories and the tea she usually serves you. 

As you meander between the trees, you wonder if some tea might be the right thing to help against the surging heat, as it does help against the summer heat, even if the two aren’t quite comparable. But a try would be worth it. You would be getting the tea either way. 

The forest is cool, soothing your flushed skin to a small degree. But it’s not cool enough to warrant the way your skin on your neck prickles, slowly spreading over your shoulders, and you slightly hunch them. You can’t help yourself but to slow your steps and to glance back. But there is nothing lurking behind you, just the usual shrubbery, shaking with the wind, with the life hidden underneath it. 

So, you turn around, and the realization grabs you by the neck, your ears filled with cotton. But not because of your random bout of paranoia, but rather because there is no noise anymore. Not movements in the bushes, in the grass, no chirrups above you, no rustling of the chase of animals. Nothing but your own breath echoing in your skull, resounding over your skin, too loud. 

You keep your gaze to the path in front of you, and you take a slow breath, trying to collect yourself as you slowly begin to speed up your steps. Still walking, but with more force, less meandering and wandering. But no matter how far you try to get away from that particular spot, the chilliness, the silence continues to follow you, to nip at your heels. 

That is, until there’s something breathing, but unexpectedly, it doesn’t come from behind you, but rather from directly in front of you. With a grunt, you’re barely able to stop mere centimeters in front of whoever is filling the path, saving yourself from running into him. 

A swallow, and you raise your gaze, only to see a shadow looming over you. His stature is much bigger than you, practically blocking the already too small path, leaving you no space to bypass him. Your eyes travel further up, not being able to ignore the definition of his tense muscles, feeling the once forgotten heat accumulate once again. 

Quickly, you take a step back, but it’s too late, his scent is already in your nose, running down your throat, coating your tongue, making you swallow in an attempt to calm down your breath. But you know, that no matter how much you try to act collected, you’re aware that he must have already inhaled your scent, too. Making him all-too aware about the ruminating heat, making you squirm and pant in silence. 

You clench your teeth, trying to meet his eyes behind the small curtain of his dark hair, only to discover a much darker gaze already focused on you. You lick your lips, suddenly feeling parched, as you try to come up with something to say. 

But before you’re able to collect the right words in the right order, his hand thrusts forward. A shiny red apple sitting between his fingers, one so similar to the ones in your basket. 

“This little thing seems to have slipped out of your grasp,” he simply says, his voice low, scratchy, like the gravel and tumbling rocks, like the shivers slipping down the base of your back. 

You swallow, before uttering a small ‘thank you’, snatching the apple from this palm, trying to ignore the way your fingers graze his skin, jolts of heat driving through your skin. 

After this small exchange, you expect him to step away immediately, but for a moment, he just keeps standing in your way, his eyes traveling over your face, your throat, bobbing with another swallow, and while you watch him analyze you, every detail of your body, the one trashing against your skin, increasing with each breath filled with his scent, you notice how a grin begins to tug at his mouth. 

The breath inside your lungs feels suffocating under his eyes, and you feel your legs tense, ready to bolt into the other direction, the one you came from, if only to get farther away from him, until his scent, like smoke and rain, gets cleared off your skin. 

But it doesn’t come that far, as he takes a step to the side, his heels brushing against the leaves of the bushes. There’s still barely any space left on the small path, but because of the grin on his face, you don’t feel like turning back, rather like you want to prove something to him, what exactly, you aren’t quite sure. 

Holding your breath, you step closer to him, trying to slide between him and the edge of the forest around you. Your own heels meet the end of the path, but it doesn’t seem to have been enough. As your face brushes against his chest, you silently wonder if it was on purpose, if it would have never been enough, if he had been aware of this possibility, even willfully fabricated it. 

But it shouldn’t matter, as the moment you step away from this proximity, your veins filled with fire and its smoke, you immediately turn around and walk in a brisk pace away, continuing your way as if nothing had happened. 

After some good distance, you couldn’t help yourself but to glance back, to see if he’s still there, if he has moved on on his own. And you’re glad to see the stretch behind you void of anyone else, even if your blood is still running hot, trying to convince you to run back to him, to ask him… something you can’t even think about without the risk of panting with the rush getting to your head. 

Swirling back to your own way, you continue. Trying to cool off after that meeting, trying to get his smell out of your system as soon as possible, the smell promising you so much, yet with a certain edge. Rather, you put your focus on putting one foot after the other, distracting yourself by humming a random, senseless tune. 

You almost forget the lack of naturalness the forest around you has taken, draped around you. Until you feel something akin to a puff of air against the skin of your neck, something much more similar to the warm breath of a living being than the breeze of the wind. 

With your own breath stuck in your throat, you forcefully turn around, taking a couple of steps away. Yet, everything behind you is empty, empty of any form of life. Even the rustling of the leaves has halted with the lack of wind. 

Your insides quiver with the breath now finally lodging itself free of your clasp. And while you take your time to enjoy the air, to calm down until the tips of your fingers cease to tremble. That’s a way to cool yourself down, that’s for sure. 

Licking your lips with one last look, you turn back once again. This time with some hurry in your soles, your anxiety setting the pace. With each huff prickling against your neck, your feet get a little faster. Until you’re running along the small path, trying to get as fast as possible to your destination, one suddenly too far away. 

Your eyes are already laid onto the exit of the forest, a simple pinprick in the distance, so you barely notice what is directly in front of you, until it’s too late. Your ankle twists, the pain shooting up your leg, spreading over your torso as it meets the ground with the force of your speed. Stones dig into your arms and your bones, leaving imprints behind. 

With a huffed groan, you try to stem yourself up, to at least sit up in some way instead of laying there, all vulnerable. But your arms shake, your muscles protesting, and all you are able to do is turn yourself around, putting your back to the ground instead. 

This position isn’t much better, your body still open to anything, and the fear is still coursing through you, making you jittery and ready to continue bolting the rest of the way. So, you try again. 

But before you could even get your hands into a proper position to get yourself up, something pushes you against the ground, grabbing your wrists, trapping you underneath this shadow of a being. You immediately try to kick out, to trash around. But nothing seems to affect whatever is keeping you bound. 

The run has left you worn out, your defenses slowly coming to halt, as your body begins refusing cooperation due to the pain and the exhaustion. All there is left to do is look up, look into the face of whatever has restrained you. 

It was him. The one who has blocked your way off earlier. Looming over you, his scent penetrates everything, and you can’t help but gasp. A gasp mixed with different emotions, all too indiscernible for you to truly describe. But your body could very well do so. Your fingertips trembling, yet your legs relax, waiting, expecting. Your insides churn, soft, and then lash out in sheer violence. And you wonder how that might look to him. 

His grin tells you everything you need to know. His teeth sharp, glistening, like a predator, like a wolf seeing his prey. He takes his time simply looking at you, taking you in, almost like he knows what’s going on inside you. 

And then, while watching your chest rise and fall, he takes both of your wrists into one hand, and one tug of yours tells you he still has a strong grip around you, so you don’t continue resisting any longer. Watching him study you made you still, made you consider your options. And maybe, this is for the best, maybe this is what you truly want, why else would you allow him to do this to you. Maybe you’ll be free from this surging heat inside of you, at least for a while. 

The clacking of teeth echoes loudly in the too silent forest as he lowers his head closer to you, his mouth meeting your skin. But instead of something soft and vulnerable, there’s a sting, a sharp pain tugging at the edges of your skin. His teeth penetrating your flesh, penetrating you. 

And as you feel the blood collect over the clavicle, your neck, you can’t help but moan, pain and pleasure mixing, leaving nothing left but the teeth inside of you, pulling at you, burying inside of you. You don’t know if you want to move away, to run away or if you want to get closer, even closer, to feel more and more. 

It doesn’t stop with this simple bite, his teeth form a trail, deeper and deeper into you, and you feel the heat converging on some point inside of you, building up more and more. 

There’s nothing you could do while your red cape soaks in your own redness, all you could do is follow your body, whatever it wanted from you. Because even if you wanted to bite back, to show any kind of resistance, there’s something about the way he feels on top of you, caging you in, paralyzing you, keeping you satisfied. 

Your vision blurs, as his teeth bite and take, bite and take, never satiated. And the last thing you feel is the heat exploding inside of you, leaving you wilted, empty and cold before exhaustion and loss, relief lead you to a darkness far away. 

[flaneur001]

Silent Confessions

[CW- themes of self hate, cursing/swearing, it’s sfw but mildly suggestive] Boyfriend Whitney x GN PC

His eyes opened by a fraction, blue orbs adjusting to the street light filtering in through the window in the small, stuffy room. He blinked rapidly, as if only now remembering how he ended up here. Whitney gently shifted in the small creaky bed, the worse for wear sheets covering your half naked body rode down with his movements.

You whined a little, flailing your arms around in an attempt to pull the boy closer, further entangling your limbs, under the sheets.

“Stop moving” you mumbled nosing along the crook of his neck. The sound of his steady pulse against your face gave you a sense of security, and a feeling of familiarity. A feeling that you were growing dangerously attached to, “l’m cold” you managed to whisper. Even half asleep you could practically see, no, feel him roll his eyes.

“You’re getting way too comfortable with me, aren’t you little one… ordering me around now, huh?” he murmured as he shifted in the cramped space, easily scooping you up and placing you atop him, as he pulled the old blanket over both of your forms. Despite his rough tone, his hands were gentle, like always. His chin came to rest on your head, strong arms holding your waist like a lifeline, and you found yourself unconsciously matching your breathing with his, secretly loving the way both of your chests touched when they rose and fell in tandem.

A beat of silence passed. Both of you said nothing, just listened to the sound of your combined breathing dancing in the dark. Whitney rubbed soothing circles on your back, slender fingers inching down to find the words written in black permanent marker near your left hip.

A small frown creased his forehead. His blue eyes caught the words emblazoned on your skin, reflected into the mirror of the dilapidated armoire. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he kept staring at the reflection transfixed.

He saw the way your legs wrapped around his waist, how your head rested on his chest, and those damned words that he himself wrote, sat there on your body, mocking him.It was all too intimate, and suddenly he regretted letting his guard down. Regretted letting you drag him to this dump of a place.

It was somewhere he had sworn not to enter. He had been here with his lackeys before. But he never stayed long. Those fleeting glimpses into your life were enough to sate his curiosity. Of this weird fixation he held about you. He hated that he was almost obsessed about knowing what you did after school, where you lived, whom you hung out with.

But when you finally humored his stupid request and took him to your crusty old orphanage, that small shy smile you wore when you showed him your bedroom, tore at his heart in a way that he simply couldn’t comprehend. He felt nauseated at the idea of defiling you in a place you felt safe in. Promising to himself that he will not ruin this little haven that you called home.

Yet here he was bathing in the after effects of his selfish decisions. No he wasn’t selfish. He was downright greedy. Eagerly taking everything that you so naively offered. That’s how your relationship had always been. Him taking incessantly and you giving immeasurably.

He heaved out a shuddering breath, willing his eyes to move from the reflection. He looked around the small quarters in a desperate attempt to divert his thoughts away from the dangerous chasm that they were leading him to.

You will never be enough for them

He clenched his eyes shut trying to drown out the annoying voice.

They are too kind for a pathetic human like you. You will simply drag them down.

“Shut.Up” he ground out, his grip tightening unconsciously around you. You winced in your sleep and Whitney blanched. He instantly loosened his grip and pressed a soft kiss to your hair as a silent apology.

He could hear the birds chirrup in the distance. Cold air found its way through a draft in the window to tickle his skin. The dawn was approaching. He gently rolled over and placed you in the centre of the bed, carefully tucking you in as he slipped out of the covers silently.

Despite his solemn mood, a small smile crept up his face at the beautifully disheveled state you presented. Hair all mussed up, lips swollen legs sticking out from underneath his white shirt that covered your chest. Unable to stop himself he leaned down and caught your lips in a soft kiss, tasting those feathery dreams that he dared not see with open eyes.

He roved a hand though his blond hair, moving the fringe aside to get a good look at your face.

“So trusting. Letting your guard down around me” he laughed bitterly. Unbidden his eyes flitted to the words on your left hip and he looked away quickly before he started thinking too deeply about it.

It was an impulse. Yes. That’s exactly what it was. You both were intoxicated and he was so lost in the way you pleasured him, that he simply didn’t think before he wrote.

He stood to his full height and walked towards the door of the small room. He better slip out before that shady bitch Bailey found him.

Hovering a little by the door, he hesitated before stalking to your desk and grabbing a sheet of paper. “Screw it” he whispered taking a pen and quickly scribbling a note before he could talk himself out of it.

“You can keep the shirt. It looks better on you ;)”

He folded the small note and placed it beside your head, proudly sauntering outside your room shirtless. He didn’t look back, as he left you slumbering. Leaving nothing but his shirt and the words behind that he was too afraid to say to you.

And surely, you were in for a surprise when you would wake up and see “I love you” resting on your hip in his messy penmanship instead of the usual “Whitney’s toy”

[galebrainrot2024]

Gale Seeking Godhood Part IV

Oh boy. This was a doozy to write and I hurt my own feelings. Anyway, here is Part IV of Gale seeking godhood. Enjoy folks.

You stand on the bustling streets of Waterdeep, the sounds of merchants and passers by echoing in the chambers of your mind. Tara had summoned you here, on a matter most urgent - Gale had retrieved all three of the Nether Stones. 

You stayed away, although he tried to follow after you that fateful morning, although he offered words of solace and adoration. He fell to your feet, begging you not to leave, to remain by his side. 

“Please,” he had whispered, clutching your legs as he kissed your ankles and calves in repentance, “I love you, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything. Please, don’t do this… you don’t know what you’re saying…” It was the first time you saw him drop all of his defenses and hubris, his ego dissolving as he pooled at your feet begging for your love. The love you once had, that was once a formidable force was now tightly locked away. You left him then despite your heart shattering and ripping to shreds, every fiber in your being beseeching you to change your mind as you heard his quiet, fierce yell behind you. You did not turn around. You could not. You could not forget yourself, no matter how much you loved him.  

Even so despite your best interests, here you are at the threshold of his domain in Waterdeep. When you received Tara’s note, you sensed the panic in the few words. 

Come at once. -T 

You inhale deeply, allowing the salty air to fill your lungs with courage. Your heart beat feels like a drumming song, the lump in your throat feeling like a knotted pine as you cross the precipice and into Gale’s home.

The tower is looming, the insides painted with fauna and flora of all kinds, shelves stacked with tomes and magical items fill the walls and the picture windows allow the natural light of day to waft through, kissing your skin. Although Gale had conjured this space for you before the illusion almost did no justice. It smells faintly of sandalwood and oak, along with a tincture you are unfamiliar with. You see Tara outstretched in a particularly pleasant looking beam of sunlight. She turns to you, blinking her slender eyes in acknowledgment. “It’s about time. He’s in his study, pouring over the texts as we speak. Don’t dawdle. I’ve been avoiding him, as is to be expected. He’s been downright incorrigible and rude. I hope you know what you’re doing seeing as how you enabled this wretched behavior.” Tara yawned, stretching her body.  

Although it guts you as Tara speaks in this way, you know this to be true. You should have done more, could have done more. But the past was the past and it cannot be changed. That was your only certainty. You rummage in your bag to retrieve a potion of ‘detect thoughts’ and ‘invisibility,’ both of which you bartered for at Bonecloak’s Apothecary. You shake them and tap your temple, grinning. “Nothing if not prepared,” you say and Tara chirrups and goes back to sleep. 

You timidly creep up the winding staircase that leads to Gale’s study. You drink the two potions and feel woozy, the taste burning a bit as it slithers down your throat and down your gullet. Wincing, you see the door is cracked and see Gale pouring over the Netherese tomes. You inhale, unprepared to see him for the first time since the day you left. Seeing him feels you with both warmth and despair, grieving the man he was and yearning for his touch once more. 

That is not your purpose right now, though so you push the thoughts away and focus your mind in order to peak around through the folds of Gale’s brain. It takes you a moment and you part the folds gingerly and all at once you are within the enclaves of his mind. 

The images and words are muddled at first as you try to make sense of them before the hazy edges of memory come into focus. You hear Gale’s voice in your mind, It shouldn’t be this bloody difficult, focus Gale, focus! He tries to murmur the unfamiliar words in his mind and he audibly shouts, burying his face in his hands and soundless sob wracks his body. His vulnerability in this moment tugs at your heart and you want nothing more than to step forward and wrap your arms around him and feel the warmth of his body against yours, to soothe him and bask him in comfort. It’s as if your anger and hurt falls away to give way to the root of your love and adoration you still feel for him, despite how he’s treated you, despite everything. You see that there is still time, as he has only begun to decipher the ancient texts that are almost incomprehensible. Most of the words have been rubbed away, difficult to make sense of. You see Gale berate himself. Incompetent. Unworthy. Mystra was right. You are unworthy of godhood. You are nothing. You can’t even make sense of this. Pull yourself together you wretched thing, you were once a Wizard of considerable acclaim.. you cannot stop now, not after all you’ve lost. 

You had, prior to this moment, respected Gale’s privacy - he made it clear early on that he would rather one ask him outright than subversively explore his mind without his consent. Now, she understood why. The way he spoke to himself was so… disheartening and as his thoughts shifted, you feel your resolve weaken. 

His thoughts shift to you. You feel his heart swell with both pain and a love that feels almost terrifying. The moment you shared in the Weave, the first night your bodies became one and when Gale said he loved you, images of you during battle, flushed and gleaming. You see more flashes of yourself, your smile, your laugh, and you feel the depth of Gale’s emotion right then, the regret and loss drowning you and him simultaneously. It broke your heart and it made you angry. Why couldn’t he share this with you? Why couldn’t he put aside his pride and just admit he was wrong, admit that the goal was nothing but simple, petty vanity. What have I done… oh, Tav, I’m so sorry. You see then the mist begin to form in his eyes and the silent, hot tears begin to stream down his cheeks which he wipes away quickly. You see the drops fall onto the text and Gale groans, standing to go to the picture window and gazes out to the dock. 

Abruptly, Gale turned on his heel and began to move his hands in short fire bursts. You hold your breath and you realize he’s casting detect magic. You go to leave and the door slams shut behind you and despite trying the lock, he’s enchanted it. Shit, you think to yourself. 

“I didn’t appreciate it as a child and I certainly don’t appreciate it now, mother. If you have something to say or have a question, don’t hide behind these trivial potions and ask me outright.” Gale flicks his wrist and now, you are visible to him and his mouth hangs open in surprise before snapping shut and he mutes the expressions that dance across his features. “Oh.. it’s you.” His voice is quiet and his eyes narrow. “Were you - did Tara put you up to this? Have you been spying on me the entire time?” His voice blackens and he steps towards you, grasping your wrists in his hands. “What did you see?” He murmurs, his voice is both strained and unreadable. 

“I didn’t… I-” You stumble over your words, your mind emptying as you feel his fingers on your wrists. His touch.. oh, you forgot how your body craves his touch. 

“How dare you,” He says through gritted teeth and releases your wrists, running his hand through his hair and the other rests on his hip. He shoots you a withering glance and takes another step away from you. “You withhold yourself, vanish into the ether without so much as a word for months and now here you are, using a vulgar potion to breech my privacy?” He snorted, his emotions clouding his judgement. As his emotions grew in volatility, so did yours. “I suppose I don’t really know you at all.” 

“That’s rich,” you bristle, a sardonic laugh falling from your lips and your arms begin to follow the explosive emotions that flowed from you like a hurricane, “That’s absolutely rich. You put your desire for the crown over my life, Gale. I came here out of respect for Tara, out of the love that I so stupidly still feel for you,” you see Gale’s eyes flash for a moment with longing before clouding again. You hear the sound of claws at the door and Gale furiously undoes his arcane lock to allow Tara in. 

She slinks and jumps onto Gale’s desk, her tone biting. “If you want to head down the road to ruin, this will be the end for me too, Gale. I won’t stay here to watch. If you do this, this will be goodbye. After all, what use has a God for the wisdom of a Tressyum.” 

Gale groans and his anger rises until he says, “Fine. If you both insist on being such hinderances I suppose this is goodbye, then. It’s a shame that not even my oldest friend, not even the one I love accepts my aspirations. Perhaps you both have more in common with Mystra than I previously realized. Rather short sighted. So, fine, go if you wish. I will not stop you.” 

Your clench your teeth together, even Tara starting at the tone and intensity of your voice. “Do you remember one of the first things you said to me, when you told me about the orb? About your need of magical artifacts?” 

“If your intention is to lecture me -“ 

Gale begins but you hold up your finger and say icily, “You will listen to me, or I will take the stones from your corpse.” The threat dumbfounds him, taking the wind from his sails enough for you to continue, “You told me about a great Wizard, one that once, a very long time ago constructed a city in the skies. How he sought to usurp the Goddess of magic to become a God himself. How he almost managed, yet when he tried his entire empire came crashing down around him as he turned to stone, that his greed for power resulted in Mystra herself becoming undone. That magic itself was lost for a time, the cosmos roiling chaotically until the day Mystra was reborn. You told me of your own folly, your own hubris, your own lust for power cursing you with the orb to begin with - believing you knew better than a God. Gale’s folly, you called it. And yet, here we are, at the precipice of repeating history. How can you not see that?” 

“I am not the man I was. I am not Karsus. I will not fail,” Gale says steely, “I will do what Karsus never could.” 

You feel yourself deflate, you hoped this last effort to appeal to his sensibility would be fruitful and instead, Gale digs his heels in. You turn to leave and Gale scoffs, “Leaving so soon? Done with your lecturing? Believing you know best?” His tone was biting and you feel the sting of tears at the corner of your eyes. 

Tara interjects and hisses, swapping her claws that catch Gale’s sleeve and he cries out for a moment as his robe splits and blood pricks from his skin, “Gale. You are being monstrous.” He glares at her and you turn for a moment, your gaze and tone empty. There is nothing left for you here. 

“I never want to see you again.” 

“You don’t mean that.” Gale’s bravado drops and his expression softens, his wide, brown eyes desperate for you to stay. He barely whispers the next words, “You’ll come around, you’ll see.” He reaches out a hand to you and you recoil as if it’s poison. 

“No, Gale. No, I won’t. You want to be a God? Who am I, then, a worthless mortal, to stop you.” With that, you slam the door behind you as the tears of defeat, of unimaginable pain fall all at once. 

[blinddreams24]

Cave

A Mermay Prompt

Masterlist

Prev / Next

“Killer.” Nightmare’s voice rumbled through the water. You stirred from your rock at the noise. Had you dozed off? You rubbed your eyes and looked up to see Nightmare had stretched his tentacles out to surround you and the boys. For the others, they either sat on top of or under a tentacle. But the tentacle Nightmare had stretched to you only wrapped around the boulder you sat on, not quite touching you.

Wait.

Where did Horror go? You could have sworn he was there before you’d closed your eyes.

“Yes, boss~?” Killer chirruped.

Killer’s tentacle pinned him to the sea floor. Nightmare smirked as he struggled. “Be still. You’re being disruptive.” The cyan eye glanced at you. He almost sounded as tired as you.

Oh. Oh, it was because you were passing out wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry.” You yawned. “I don’t know why I’m so tired. I can go back to Cross’s den if I’m bothering you.” You stretched and lifted off your rock.

Cross shook his head at you. “Don’t go in my den, y/n. It’s not your den anymore.”

…

What?

You froze and stared at Cross’s blank expression. Was… Was Cross kicking you out? Did you do something wrong? Was it because you’d talked to Dream and Ink? Did he think you’d betray them to their enemies? You hadn’t even talked about the boys! Dream didn’t even know you were part of the group until after Killer attacked him. There wasn’t anything you could have done!

You’d only just met Dream and Ink outside of the pod and you didn’t really want to see them again. Where would you go? Where could you go?

Cross’s tentacle slapped his head. “You’re scaring them, idiot.” Nightmare scolded. “Either explain or choose your words wisely.”

Cross blushed under the appendage but didn’t push it off his face. “Sorry. Y/n, we have a surprise for you.”

Your nerves were only slightly calmed at Boss’s actions but you were still anxious. Did he just change the subject? “You do?”

“Yep. If you wait here until Horror gets back, we’ll get straight to it.” Cross yawned and the tentacle left his face, resting under his arms. “Just, wait a little bit. I promise it’s a good surprise.”

“…Okay…” You drifted back to your rock, no longer tired. He hadn’t corrected himself, so there was a chance he was actually planning on kicking you out. You didn’t have anywhere to go, even if you could go back to the land. There was nothing left for you.

You hugged yourself.

Nightmare started humming. A lullaby you weren’t familiar with. It caught your attention and you glanced up to see Nightmare’s tentacle in front of you. You glanced at the Boss but he wasn’t looking at you. The tentacle gestured at the rock you sat on, as if asking to sit next to you. Maybe his tentacles felt more comfortable off the sandy floor.

You scooted over to give it space. Without hesitation, the tentacle filled the space you just emptied, flipping suckers-up next to you like an open invitation. You looked over at where Dust and Cross laid across or hugged their offered tentacles. It seemed to be a comfort thing.

Cautious, you reached out and grabbed the tentacle similarly to how you would hold someone’s hand. It didn’t sting you or shock you or drag you away. It just wrapped around your hand in a gentle squeeze and didn’t move again.

Huh.

You shifted into a more comfortable position and yawned. This wasn’t so bad. You were safe. You were surrounded by sirens that cared. And Nightmare, despite what Dream and Ink might have said, was one of the nicest people you knew.

You hummed softly as Nightmare’s lullaby lulled you to sleep.

“Y/n?” Someone whispered. “Hey… Wake up.”

“Mmh?” You mumbled, looking up from where you were curled up. Horror’s blurry face appeared as your vision cleared. Stars, you must have slept really well if it was taking this long to wake up. “Whazzit?”

Horror grinned. “I don’t think… you should sleep… here.”

You snuggled back into the pillows. “Nooooo. And Cross kicked me out. I don’t have a den.”

“Not if… you keep hugging… Boss.”

What? Hugging-?

…

Your eyes shot open and you heard Nightmare chuckling behind Horror. You had snuggled your face into the tentacle that you had apparently started hugging some time after falling asleep.

The tentacle was immediately released. It curled playfully and drifted back to you, opening up for you to hold again.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You blushed, keeping your hands away from the appendage in favor of covering your face.

“It is quite alright. You needed it more than I did.” He chuckled, still behind a smiling Horror. “Also, you do not need to call me sir or boss. Those are nicknames, not titles. Call me what you want.”

“Yes, sir.” Where was everyone?

He chuckled as Horror reached forward to touch the rock you were on. “You… ready?”

Ready? “For what?”

His grin split his face. “Surprise~.”

Oh, yeah. Cross said something about a surprise.

“Oh! Uh… do I need to… get ready?” You asked, uncertain. Did they want to kick you out? Were they throwing a party? What was going on?

Horror shook his head. “We can… go see it now.”

‘See it.’ Okay. So it was a gift or something.

“Okay. Um. Let’s go then, I guess.” You weren’t the most enthusiastic, but Horror seemed happy, so you would follow him.

He happily led you into the trench, past everyone else’s dens and in the darkness. The darkness of the trench was weird. You should logically be able to see in the depths(you’d gained night vision when you converted) but you could never make anything out unless Nightmare told you to look at something. It never felt malicious though. You just avoided swimming into the darkness without a guide.

Speaking of guides, Horror offered you a hand to hold as he guided you into the deep. You obviously accepted. You weren’t about to follow him on sight alone.

“Horror, where are we going?” You asked, testing the waters.

“Almost… there.” Was all Horror offered in response. He continued to pull you in a firm but gentle grip. So gentle, that you knew you could break away if you wanted to. He wasn’t forcing you to follow him and was giving you every opportunity to back out.

You followed, encouraged by that fact.

“Watch… your head.” He gently guided you into what felt vaguely like a cave. You weren’t sure. “We’re here.”

“Ok.” Came Cross’s voice from in front of you, making you flinch. “Boss?”

The darkness suddenly vanished and you blinked. You were in a cave, not quite as big as Cross’s den but definitely spacious. Cross had stuffed himself in the space that was small for him and Killer vibrated next to him. When you turned to Horror, you saw Dust halfway in the cave and Nightmare’s glowing eye and grin outside.

The cave was decorated. Little bits of coral, shells, and nets were strewn about in the corners and cubbies of the cave, giving it all the homey feeling of a seaside house. What stood out to you though was the red ringing frisbee tucked against a bed of sea weed.

“Surprise!” Killer cheered.

You blinked again slowly. “Oh. Uh. I… I don’t understand…” You admitted, embarrassed.

Dust and Nightmare chuckled softly as Cross spoke up. “This is all yours. We figured you might want your own den so we tried to make it as comfortable as possible. Feel free to move things around, get rid of whatever, and add stuff. It’s all up to you.” The orca siren smiled at you.

Did you hear that right? “I- You- This is for me?”

Killer’s expression turned sarcastic. “Nah, it’s for the frisbee.”

“Yes, it’s for you.” Cross shot Killer a dirty look. “If you don’t like it, we can-.”

“I love it.” You grinned. “Oh my stars! I love it! Thank you!” You shot forward and hugged Cross. Cross, shocked for a moment, laughed and returned the hug.

“Hey! …whataboutme?” Killer whimpered.

You laughed and broke away from Cross to hug Killer. Killer grinned and immediately squeezed you, laughing when you squeezed back.

“…So are we all getting hugs or…?” Dust asked. Horror looked like a kicked puppy as he watched you hug the shark siren.

And so everyone got hugs. Because you knew Dust was fine with waiting, you hugged Horror next. He was very careful, keeping his grip loose and his tentacles suckered firmly to the cave floor so he wouldn’t grab at you.

Dust gave you a normal looking hug, as if you were passing friends that saw each other all the time. But you could feel how his strength twitched to squeeze you. From what you could tell, he was probably stronger physically than any of the other boys.

It was a good thing he acted the most mature and self controlled. Oh my stars, he could crush you with his hands.

Before anyone could figure out what you were doing, you shot out of the cave and collided with a leviathan’s shoulder, hugging Nightmare too.

“Thank you! All of you!” You whistled excitedly. “I thought you were kicking me out of the pod!”

Killer burst into laughter.

“No! Y/n, we would never!” Cross gasped, clearly not realizing how he’d phrased his words earlier.

Strong yet gentle pressure pressed against your back as Nightmare hugged you with his hand. “You’re very welcome, little one. Though, it was Horror’s idea.” Nightmare’s chest vibrated deeply as he spoke.

“Thank you, Horror!” You called, still hugging Nightmare. He was too big! You had to give him a hug to do his size justice!

“Mm… you’re welcome, y/n.” Horror said proudly.

The rest of the next hour was spent constantly thanking everyone and fawning over every little detail in the den. Your den.

You swam full force into the bed at one point and stopped moving.

Cross, worried, peeked back into the cave. “Y/n?”

You didn’t answer and Nightmare chuckled.

“They have spent their energy. Let them sleep.”

“Oh.” Cross whispered as you melted into the seaweed, already unconscious. “Okay.” He slowly turned and swam away so he wouldn’t move the water enough to disturb you.

Dust and Horror followed Cross out of the den and back to their own dens.

Nightmare turned back to your new den.

“…Killer.”

“Coming!” Killer shot away from the nets in the corner and down the trench.

[aeolids-zenith]

i really don't like when people equate lack of social skills with rudeness

i would consider myself to be severely lacking in social skills and i can't say this for sure ofc but i don't think it causes me to be disproportionately rude. and it probably hurts me much more than any other hypothetical people.

[artemis-zinc]

wait idk why i thought it was possible to change which blog is your primary one. i guess if i end up making a new blog it'll have to be a sideblog

[theblackestnight-ffxiv]

[ffxivwrite2024] prompt 5: stamp

A chocobo stable wasn’t really a quiet place. Perhaps if it was empty, or it was the dead of night and all the birds were sleeping, but an occupied stable in daylight was full of sounds. Chocobos were talkative creatures, frequently making little whistles, peeps, and clucks as they went about their birdly business. They made sounds as they moved, the leather of their tack squeaking, the metalwork clinking, even the sound of their feathers sliding against each other was a low rustle. 

They were big, so they were heavy, each step bringing a squeak of floorboards, or the susurrus of straw shifting. They rarely stood still, either, even in the narrow stalls, frequently shifting their weight, or preening their feathers, or chirruping about the state of their food trough.

So no, not a quiet place. It was, however, a familiar place, this stable specifically; the one attached to the Mended Sail, hosting the birds of travelers who were themselves hosted at the inn. As a daughter of the proprietors, D’zinhla had grown up here, and was very familiar with the environs. From the time she was a small child she had gravitated toward the stables, because she adored the inn’s own draught hen, and found it delightful to see all the visiting birds. She had waited impatiently to be considered old enough to work around such large, strong-legged animals, who certainly wouldn’t try to hurt a child, but were still animals prone to reacting when startled; once that day came, she considered the cling of chocobo smell to be a small price to pay for getting to be around the birds, and no longer being assigned to the dishes. 

(Besides, they didn’t smell that bad on their own. If their stalls didn’t get mucked out very well and the fouling was allowed to stick, then certainly it would get unpleasant, but that was the point: keep them clean so that they would smell clean.)

The familiarity of the chocobo stable came from those years of working around them. As a younger child she’d been limited in what she could do, mostly things like checking all the latches on the doors, or getting into tight squeezes to help clean. As she grew older, she was able to carry buckets of feed, or push the wheelbarrow. The day she’d been deemed old enough to receive travelers’ birds and lead them into the stable on her own had been one she’d dreamed of, and if the reality hadn’t been quite so magical as she’d imagined, it was still deeply satisfying.

The stablehands had all known her well; Falkbryda was her favorite, the ex-pirate happy to tell her tales about her life before living on land, despite the thinly disapproving look on her moms’ faces when the stories got too exciting. And she’d even slept in the stable at times, specifically in the hay loft. That was when she had known for sure that it wasn’t a quiet place. Even in the dead of night, there was the squeak of mice in the straw, the inquisitive chirp of a bird that woke up in unfamiliar surroundings, the sudden loud rustle of a bird rousing up all its feathers in a solid shake before changing position to sleep again. They became part of the landscape for her, normal sounds, the sort of sounds that told her all was well.

A sound that put her on immediate alert was the sound of a chocobo stamping its foot. It was the sort of sound a bird would use to indicate that something in its environment was making it unhappy. D’zinhla knew that if a bird stamped, she should give it space and step back to determine what was causing the displeasure. She knew if it stamped again, it meant the cause was still there, and if it stamped a third time, it was getting very upset. The best way to figure it out was to do two things: study the environment, and study the bird. Study the environment was easy, because it just meant looking for the cause. Sometimes that was as simple as a rag tied to a fence that had suddenly become ominous to the bird, and sometimes that was as dangerous as a jackal coming too close to the building (though that hadn’t happened in years and years). The other thing was to study the birds: Were their crests raised aggressively or feathers slicked back in fear, were their wings held out at their sides as if they were ready to take action or pressed close to make a smaller target? How were they vocalizing? How were other birds reacting?

A bird as large as a chocobo, with such big claws attached to their powerful legs, needed to be respected when it indicated its stress by stamping its feet. A kick could easily be fatal, and no one wanted to be on the receiving end.

[writeforfandoms]

Hooray for blurbs! My request is for the protective list, number 4 - "when I say run, don't wait or look back just run" - I figure this would work either with Price/Mama Bear or Gaz/Cat. Your choice as to if it's the human or the shifter who's making a break for it.

I went with Gaz/Kitty because it felt right at the time. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: threat of violence, minor character deaths, 141 are all protective of kitty.

--

You weren't sure how these people had found out you were a shifter, or how they'd followed you, or how they'd managed to catch you shifted.

But they had.

Your gaze darted between the five of them, all armed, all prepared. One had a fucking net ready to toss at you.

In other words... you were fucked. Well and truly fucked.

You wished you'd been able to say goodbye to Gaz, leave him some kind of note, something so that he had some closure. But you were rapidly running out of time as one of them edged forward, testing you. You hissed, all of your fur already floofed on end, back arched.

But they'd trapped you in a corner and you all knew it. There was no way out for you. Even if you shifted, you didn't stand a chance.

"Make it easy on all of us," one of them said, even as the one with the net lifted it. "Give up now."

You hissed your answer. It wasn't in your nature to give up so easily.

There was a soft crackle from above you, almost like a radio. Your ears flickered in that direction. Maybe you'd misheard? But no, there it was again. Another deliberate crackle.

Your heart leapt.

"When I say run, don't wait or look back," Gaz said quietly from above you. So quietly, in fact, that you thought maybe the men hadn't heard him. They certainly didn't seem to have. "Just run."

You flicked your ears deliberately back at him, tail twitching. He knew you well enough by now to know that was agreement.

The man who'd spoken stepped forward, one hand stretching out towards you.

"Run." That was all the warning you got before there was a muffled gunshot, and the man dropped, a hole in his head.

You didn't wait to see what the others did. You booked it, leaping into the open space left by the dead man and running hard. The shouting behind you barely registered, but the gunshots did.

The net that managed to catch your back half definitely caught your attention. You yowled, momentarily caught, struggling to free yourself.

"Blue," came a familiar rumble, and you jerked to find Price kneeling down to rip the net away from you. You jumped up onto his shoulder, headbutting the side of his head in greeting. "Alright?"

You chirruped a soft reply. Sure, you were still a bit panicky, but your pack was here. Your person had saved your life.

You were much better than you would have been otherwise.

"Gaz," Price called. "Soap and Ghost are on the way for cleanup."

"Rog." Gaz dropped carefully from his sniper point, passing by the bodies without a second look. He'd killed all of them. For you. "You alright, love?"

You chirruped at him too, slow-blinking too for good measure. As soon as he was close enough, you abandoned Price for Gaz, headbutting him and purring.

"I'm sorry, love," he murmured, one hand rising to steady you. "Dunno how they knew about you, but I'll find out."

"We'll find out," Price corrected, eyes stormy as he walked past to check the nearest body. "It'll be handled. Keep close to one of us in the meantime. I will make that an order if I have to."

You mrrped, more then agreeable after this little misadventure. You headbutted Gaz again, licking his ear.

"Did we miss the fun?" Soap asked as he sauntered up to the little group of you, Ghost steps behind him.

"Oh no," Price said with a little grin. "Fun starts now."

Soap groaned, way more dramatic than he actually felt, and you watched as they worked on cleanup. It was nice to know that they'd come for you, as you would for them.

You'd be bringing back gifts for them for days, and you didn't mind in the least.

[l33lz]

Sigma Fanteractions!

Send requests for fanteractions! All written by me. Sigma is my muffin and I will eat him whole

———

Junkrat: Oi, spaceman! Are there any space things that explode up there?

Sigma: What a brilliant query! An exploding star is called a supernova. Are you interested in expanding your knowledge?

Junkrat: Awh, I am now!

———

Brigitte: I want to write music, but I don’t wanna be judged…

Sigma: In the span of the infinite cosmos, our time means very little. I would delight in hearing your music.

Brigitte: Oh! (pause) Thank you!

———

Sigma: I met your father, a few years ago. He was a wonderful, caring man.

Winston: He really was.

Sigma: He’s still in the stars, Winston. He watches from the orbit of the moon.

Winston: Thank you, doctor. I think he is too.

———

Moira: You’ve got a rather menacing lump there, De Kuiper. Gravity accidents again?

Sigma: I woke up hanging upside down, and my bed was stuck sideways on my left wall. Peculiar incident.

Moira: Maybe we need to do some more checks to get that sorted out.

Sigma: Yes, doctor.

———

Lucio: Yo, Sigma! You ever gotten some headphones to cover up that ‘melody’ you’ve been hearing?

Sigma: …headphones? No, I can’t recall…

Lucio: You know, they play the music right into your ears. I figured you might like a pair, so I brought you some!

Sigma: How delightful! Thank you, Lucio! This is a wonderful gift!

———

(in a team with Sigma, Wrecking Ball and Winston)

Sigma: Both of you were residents on the moon! Was it educational?

Wrecking Ball: (weak chirrup)

Winston: Hmm. Something like that.

———

Send requests for fanteractions!

[doks-aux]

Fic Repost: In the Wee Small Hours

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death

Characters: Izzy Hands, Sam Bellamy, original cat character

Relationships: Sam Bellamy/Izzy Hands

Rating: PG-13/Teen

Contents/Warnings: Domestic fluff (with a brief and vague allusion to the Toe Incident and other Acts of Ed)

Summary: Izzy woke up alone.

Notes: Originally intended for No Angst November 2022 (prompt: warm drink) but not completed in time. Set in a post-canon, everyone-went-to-pirate-school-together-style AU; all you really need to know is Sam is Izzy's childhood friend, now-lover and Izzy has a cat. Post-Season 2 I've made edits to the original text to incorporate some elements of the updated canon.

Word Count: 1235

Read on AO3

--

Izzy woke up alone.

This wasn’t exactly unusual. He’d slept and woken alone most nights and their subsequent mornings since being appointed Blackbeard’s first mate and gaining the associated perks--namely, his own cabin and a berth he didn’t have to share with two other crewmates at minimum. Even accounting for the night’s when he’d opted for company, squeezing in next to Fang and Ivan belowdecks on the Queen Anne or more recently above deck on the Revenge, and for the bed-hogging mouser that had claimed a portion of his space for herself the past year, that was still the majority of the last decade or two that he’d spent waking alone. So, no, it wasn’t out of the ordinary at all.

It just wasn’t expected. He’d woken the past three mornings to Sam wrapped around him like a boa constrictor and drooling in his hair, and he’d had every presumption of doing so again today and each following day for the foreseeable future. The Revenge was currently sailing with the Whydah Gally en route to another of Edward and Bonnet’s harebrained “adventures,” giving Sam the excuse to hop over to the formers’ ship and stitch himself to Izzy’s side twenty-four hours a day (probably half the reason he’d been so encouraging of this little detour in the first place). It had become routine already: Izzy rising early and sliding himself out from under Sam’s comforting weight, leaving his lover to sleep another hour or so while he began the day, brewing himself coffee in the galley, and then stepping out on deck to relieve the night watch and enjoy the quiet break of dawn with only the cat at his heels for company.

It was downright domestic, and he’d quite gotten to like it. But today he was alone. No Sam at his side, no cat across his ankle, and only the blue-gray twilight outside his tiny window to let him know he hadn’t overslept.

He didn’t have time to be more than curious about it before the door to his cabin creaked open, years of conditioning (and more recent happenings) having him fully alert and clutching the knife under his pillow within the instant. A figure loomed tall in the doorway, staggering to a stop and clutching something close to its chest. It lifted its head to peer at Izzy through a tangle of long, black hair.

“...Sam.” Izzy sagged in relief, relaxing his grip on his knife and dropping his cheek against his pillow. “Fuck are you doing up?”

Sam, swaying listlessly, gave a full-body grunt at being addressed and shuffled stiff-legged into the room, escorted by Izzy’s errant feline. The Bell Witch chirruped merrily as she darted between Sam’s unsteady feet a few times just for the sport of it before leaping onto the bed and bumping her face insistently against Izzy’s.

“Right, alright, you little monster. Good morning.” Gently shoving the cat back, Izzy squirmed upright, kicking free of the blanket and swinging his thighs over the edge of the mattress to meet Sam as he reached the bedside, absently rubbing the stiffness from his residual leg. “And you. Did the Witch get you up? Never seen you conscious at this hour.” His gaze fell to the thing Sam held, unable to make it out by the still dim light. “What you got there?”

A softer grunt answered him this time, and Sam pressed forward, passing his prize into Izzy’s hands.

“C’rf’l,” he slurred, patting Izzy’s fingers as he wrapped them around the tin cup. “S’hot.”

The smell of fresh, strong coffee wafted up from their hands, and Izzy’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Getting a better look at Sam’s face, it seemed “conscious” had been a generous assumption. His lover’s eyes were bleary and barely open, and he still wavered dangerously on his feet, half-awake at best. How he’d managed to make his way to the galley and back in this state, much less successfully make coffee, Izzy hadn’t the foggiest. Sam had never been an early bird. He’d acclimated to a sailor’s schedule by necessity and with no shortage of mulishness. Izzy recalled at least three separate mornings in their shared youth when the bosun had stormed in to personally flip Sam out of his hammock. Briefly reprieved of captainly duties while aboard the Revenge, he’d been reveling in sleeping in just that little bit more than he’d been able to in years.

But not today. Today he had woken up before even Izzy and dragged himself barely coherent down to the galley to make coffee. For Izzy. So that he wouldn’t have to.

Izzy looked down at the cup wrapped in his hands, at Sam’s hands wrapped around those, and swallowed against the sudden tightness of his throat.

“...Thanks.”

It was all he could think to say in the moment, but it seemed enough for Sam.

“Mmm...” He bumped his face against Izzy’s much like the cat had and gave him a pleased smile. “...G’night.”

And then he turned and collapsed face-first into bed, asleep before he hit the pillow. The Bell Witch leapt out of the way with a yowl, turning in an indignant circle before hopping onto his bare back to begin pointedly kneading.

Izzy remained sitting at the edge of the bed, the heat from the coffee seeping steadily into his hands and up his arms, warming him to his chest. Or maybe it was staring at Sam that was doing it: dead to the world, hair caught in his half-open mouth, and the most beautiful man Izzy had ever seen.

The Izzy of a year ago would have been embarrassed (and the Izzy of later today might be as well) by how badly he was tempted to crawl back into bed with Sam, to tuck himself securely into the cradle of his body and sleep just a little more, indulge in his presence as long as he could. There was only so often they could be together, only so many excuses they could reasonably find for their ships to meet, so many detours they could make. And Izzy would need every moment he could steal with Sam to tide him over until the next one.

But work was work, and Buttons was expecting to be relieved. He’d be needing some sleep himself after a full night of whatever the fuck it was he and the moon got up to. Izzy was needed.

Maybe next time.

Taking a gulp of the still quite hot coffee, Izzy let it scald his mouth just enough to rouse him from his woolgathering and to his feet--one in the traditional place and the other set with care in easy reach. He dressed in the dark so as not to disturb Sam and lingered once more by the bed before leaving. The cat had made herself comfortable on Sam’s back, curled up and purring loudly as she blinked her one green eye at Izzy.

“Keep him warm for me, Bell,” Izzy said, smiling as she stretched up to meet the knuckles he gently ground against her scalp. He used the same hand to tug the hair from Sam’s mouth and bent to brush a kiss to his temple.

“See you after sunrise, Sammy.”

Closing the cabin door quietly behind him, Izzy took a slow, savoring drink of his coffee and headed above deck to watch the morning come in.