#The sky closest to the moon and sun was dark

[queen0funova]

I don't know how to describe the moment of totality starting. All of the lights around us, including the ones lighting the statue I rested against, had turned on 60 seconds beforehand. The sun still, still shined down on us, but it was dark out, like an ending sunset with the ball of fire still hanging above us instead of falling behind the trees.

And then the thin strip of orange I viewed through my eclipse glasses vanished. Yet I still could not look to the sky without them. For a few seconds, the rays still shined down around the gluttonous moon and upon us. But as I glanced up and away and up and away, I glimpsed the outline of the moon beside the dim, blinding sun as it moved the last few miles through space to reveal the sky's splendor.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Hello! How have you been? I hope all is well on your side of the world! I was wondering if we could get some more of knightmare? J-just a thought... please🥺🌹

"there you are,"

You jumped, tearing your eyes away from the aurora above you. When you moved your arms and stood up straight, a little snow was disturbed from the smooth stone of the balcony; shooting a glance over your shoulder, you saw Nightmare, silhouetted by the torchlight from within the castle.

"what are you doing out here? you aren't wearing nearly enough to be outside." He closed the door behind him. Immediately, he too was bathed in the green aurora glow that felt like it filled the whole world. The glittering snow crunched gently under the soles of his leather shoes - as he walked toward you, he started to toy with the collar of his large fur-trimmed midnight cloak, unclasping a metal moon charm that took on an emerald glint every time it shifted.

"I'm watching the sky," you replied, meekly, breath escaping in a shimmering cloud.

He came to your side at the balcony, eyelight peering curiously down at you. He tugged loose a fabric knot at his throat. "for how long? i expected you'd be long asleep by now."

"I-I don't know." Now that he had snapped you out of your trance, you were starting to really feel the cold through your simple woollen dress. "It's hard to keep track of time,"

Nightmare sighed. With the knot undone, he drew the great cloak off his shoulders. You watched, mutedly confused - you could hear its silver embroidered ends sweeping over the flagstones.

... He stepped up to you... and brought the cloak around your shoulders.

You blinked up at him, flustered by the proximity once again, as the heavy thing suddenly weighed down upon you. Warmth-imbued soft fabric suddenly soothed your skin, fur tickling your cheeks and nose. He looked so different without the cloak - he wore a lovely long-sleeved dark tunic beneath, the neck and wrists lined with real silver. He looked so handsome, the aurora's glow suited his complexion far more than sun; you liked being able to see his face, less obscured by layers of fur.

You wanted to ask many questions - Are you really sure I can wear this? Is this ok with you? Isn't this precious to you, you wear it all the time? Isn't it expensive? Are you certain?

... Yet... the questions didn't come. Instead, a tiny tired "Thank you," fell out of your mouth.

His eyelight got wider, for a moment. And you could not tell if the aurora had merely brightened, or there was colour on his face. But his expression quickly returned to normal.

Seemingly subconsciously, he touched the fur of the cloak, very near to your face. "i choose to not hear that," he said, gently.

You exhaled. Ah, right. You couldn't thank the fae, could you? Nor apologise. There was implication of debt. "Oh."

He sounded sympathetic. "you've got to be more careful than that. this is no place for slips of the tongue."

"I know. I just... when I'm comfortable, I forget."

He got a strange look on his face.

"could i ask why you are staring at the sky?" He shifted, standing beside you, mimicking your position of elbows rested on the balcony edge. The subject change was not lost on you, but you chose not to speak on it. "with not nearly enough clothes on, i might add."

You stared at him. "Why am I staring? Is that a genuine question?"

His brow creased. "yes?"

You looked back up again. At the sea of stars - but equally, the silent river of green and pink fire that flowed across the open sky.

You had never seen it this strong in the human world, never. There were no words that could fully make sense of it. It was gentle, silent, like smoke, like water, like fire. Like magic.

"I mean..." you were breathless. "... Just look at it."

"it signals morning, for us. a high aurora and a full moon is the closest we get to daylight." His dark, soft voice was perfect for the setting. "some days it is strong, some days it is weak. but it always comes."

"It's really, really beautiful."

... He hummed.

"... yes. it is."

You glanced at him. He looked away from you, up to the sky.

"You weren't even looking,"

"i must admit, i have long struggled to see any beauty in my realm." He relaxed his whole weight onto his forearms. "i see only darkness and cold. shadows of what the summer realm has."

Your eyes were getting heavy. "If it was hot, you could never have given me your cloak. And if it was bright, I could not see the stars."

Nightmare hummed. His hand shifted, as if to move toward yours, but instead he knitted his fingers together.

"perhaps we should make a deal."

You turned, shooting a withering look up at him. "Nothing binding."

He grinned. It was hard to believe that face belonged to the very man that had unhorsed a dozen knights to win your hand. "yes, yes, nothing binding, i swear. a human sort of deal."

"Hm. Go on, then."

"you remain here, at the palace. you live as you wish to, under my complete protection." He played with a silver ring on his index finger. "and in return... you will tell me when you find my realm beautiful. metaphorically lend me your eyes. perhaps then, i'll finally start to see what you like so much about all this snow and stone."

Ah, you couldn't help but smile. "Alright, I agree to that. You'll realise it's far, far more than 'snow and stone'."

He chuckled. "i hope so."

"We'll start with this. I find the aurora very, very beautiful." You looked back up to it. "Look at the shapes. The patterns. But just... look at the colours. Aren't they breathtaking?"

Nightmare settled in beside you, his upper arm brushing your shoulder.

...

"... i think i'm starting to see it." He murmured.

You could tell, from the direction of his voice, that he was still looking at you.

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

the last bit of us (chapter one)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Estranged Wife OC (Harding Daughter)

Word Count: 2441

Playlist Song: Snap by Rosa Linn

A/N: This is a hefty intro to Eleanor but really wanted to establish her before we get angsty!

prologue / one / two / three

______________________________________________________________

The sky was still dark when my alarm clock went off. My hand slides along the mattress, slapping the snooze button. It can’t be time already. There’s no way. I snuggle deeper into the mattress and peel one eye open to squint at the cracked window. The big moon is lower in the horizon but the sun hasn’t made its known yet. 

My phone starts to go off, across the room atop my bureau. “Fuck.” 

I try to get the kink out of my neck when I get up. The wooden floorboards of the farmhouse creak as I shuffle past the bureau into the bathroom and shut off the alarm. The bulbs above the mirror are too bright and I have to shut my eyes for a minute to adjust. I wash my face, toss my hair into a quick braid and pull up the weather app on my phone before heading downstairs. 

The coffeemaker in the kitchen is ancient but after a few taps and fiddling with the cord of the plug, it starts to gurgle. It’s a satisfying sound. While it brews, I check the living room through the archway for Carter. He’s still curled up under a small crocheted blanket on her couch where I left him last night. He’s too tall and most of his calves dangle over the arm of the couch. 

“Carter, time to get up,” I call and pull my thermostat off the drying rack to fill with fresh coffee. He doesn’t move. I sigh and look down at my watch. The long spider web of cracks in the glass doesn’t distract from the face. It’s 3:19 AM. We gotta get on the road. The wind chimes are loud out on the porch. The rain should be starting soon. 

“Carter,” I say again. I walk through the archway and grab the closest thing I can find and chuck the pillow at his face. 

Carter startles immediately, shouting “I’m up,” in the process. He grabs for his glasses, dropped onto the coffee table. 

“No you weren’t,” I say, stepping back into the kitchen to fill his thermostat. “We gotta go, the storm should be rolling in any time now and Birdie will murder us if we’re late.” When I turn to look at him, he’s sliding his rain boots back on. 

“I’m so sorry, I forgot. I thought you were Birdie’s boss,” he says, hand on his chest to fey surprise. 

“It’s too early for your sarcasm. C’mon.” The entryway into the house is cluttered with a few pairs of boots and sneakers, my raincoat and denim jacket along with a variety of hats hanging from the hooks. I stare at the wooden loveseat under the coat hooks while sliding on my boots. I can only see the bottom half of the painted heart on the backing. 

“El, anytime you want to get moving,” Carter says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. 

I blink a little, standing up and grabbing my own backpack. “Fuck you.” 

The farmhouse sits out in the middle of an open field in Guthrie, Oklahoma. The barn doors shudder a little from the wind and I can see my dad’s red beat up Dodge Ram on the lawn. I smile a little, pushing the screen door open. It squeals as I unlock the door to my truck and slide in. The engine stutters a little when it comes to life and we whip out onto the road. 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks me, taking a sip of his coffee. A bump in the road causes the truck to jump and a little splatters on him. “Ah jeez.” He tries to wipe at it and I can’t help but chuckle. 

“Not really,” I shake my head. I reach for the radio, turning the dial so I can hear the morning station. There’s a new Luke Combs song playing and I tap my fingers a little to the beat. “Too much on the brain with this project.” 

“I don’t know if you’re aware El but you always have too much on the brain,” he says.

“Well someone has to do work on this team,” I joke, smirking at him. 

It’s not a lie. Ever since Charlie and I had gotten our first big contract with FEMA, I had been in nonstop work mode. Throwing myself into each project a little deeper than the last. It was probably worrisome how much time I spent at the warehouse, elbow deep in some new tech but I couldn’t help myself. It was a safe and mindless space, fixing and tinkering. 

We drive down the long stretch of dirt through the fields and I peer up at the sky again. There’s a loud ringing in the cab of the truck and I glance over at Carter, peering down at his phone. “It’s Birdie,” he says. “She says we’re late.” 

I grin a little, shaking my head as the warehouse comes into view. The freshly painted sign on the building reads TempestEdge Innovations. I push the button on the callbox and the military grade barrier raises to allow me to drive through. I swing around the side of the building to the open garage door. It’s just about 3:46 AM. 

I slide out of the truck as the door to the garage closes behind me. “You’re late,” Birdie’s voice echoes across the warehouse. 

“Birdie, give me a break, I had to make four repairs last night before we left,” I say, walking toward the tall blonde woman. Her hair is pulled snug up into a ballerina bun, a clipboard held to the fleece of her vest. “Not all of us go for a run a 2 AM to start our day.” 

She scoffs and shoves me playfully. “Maybe you should give it a try.” 

We grin, making our way deeper into the warehouse where all of our desks are crowded together with a few computers. Tables of spare parts, design blueprints and drawings and our small kitchen are scattered throughout the space. Beyond that, my engineering floor houses large models and mock ups that sit large and wide. 

I drop my bag at my desk and smile at the photo frame on the corner. It’s from graduation at OSU. We’re all making funny faces at the camera, hugging each other tightly. I tap on my keyboard to wake the screen, noticing my phone buzzing in my pocket. I ignore it and look up, “How’s everyone doing this morning?” I ask.

“Morning E,” Palmer, our Meteorologist says when she looks up over her computer screen. She gnaws on her lip, auburn brows raised. “I don’t think this classifies as morning quite yet.” 

“I mean, dawn, maybe?” Sean says, walking up from behind me with a coffee mug in hand. It’s white with rope lettering that spells out This ain’t my first rodeo! Sean walks over to Birdie who is looking over her clipboard, comparing it to the large chalkboard we wheeled over to her corner of the office. She’s talking to herself as he kisses her head on the way to his desk. 

“Dawn is defined by a sun rising in the sky,” Carter remarks, tapping away on his computer. “Definitely not dawn yet.” 

We’re interrupted by Charlie, stepping into the office space with her phone pressed to her ear. “Alright, yes. I can definitely get out there next week. Thank you so much, have a wonderful day,” Charlie says. She smiles at everyone. “Alright team, let’s get this test going.” 

Everyone slides up from their desk chairs, grabs their tablets and walkies and heads to the back of the warehouse. We slide on our swanky mesh neon vests, easily identifiable out in the storm. Sean slides the back door open and we step out onto the ramp. The rain has started and it’s coming down sideways, like a thick curtain across the landscape. A few hundred feet from the warehouse, a row of buildings line up on either side. 

“Alright, we all remember safety procedures?” Birdie asks, looking over her clipboard. There’s a chorus of noise and Birdie grumbles. “C’mon people, we’re all about to bunker separately for the tornado. Do we all remember safety procedures?” 

“Birdie, we’ve done these bunkering tests a few times now, c’mon,” I say. 

With our current contact, we started trying to build new infrastructures on different buildings to withstand a tornado in the hopes to help families and businesses not fall into a pit of financial burden from having to rebuild. It was the biggest project yet and took us nearly six months just to build the fake town with different materials and different methods. The only way to collect data around the structural integrity of the buildings was to bunker into each of the different variations.

Palmer had tracked cells moving toward the area and we were certain an EF2 was heading straight for us. Which was a perfect opportunity to split up again and see how well the buildings held up. It would be our third test trial. It’s not the smartest move but growing up with two crazy famous storm chasers? Kind of breeds crazy. 

The winds start to pick up and I look up at the debris and dust kicking up in the air. “Alright guys, let’s head out,” I say, turning on my radio. We take off in different directions, saying goodbyes and waving each other off through the harsh winds. While Charlie stays safe inside the warehouse, Birdie takes to the gas station, Sean the grocery store. Palmer heads to the farm house tucked behind everything and Carter yells “Stay safe” as he turns into the doctor’s office. I head the furthest down the road to the bar & grille. 

I look up the doors behind me, moving to the safety corner where all the monitors are. I slide into my space and settle in, logging into our tracking system on the tablet to type in my notes. I can barely hear the wind outside and pull my walkie talkie from my waist. “Alright, I am settled and am clear. See you guys on the other side.” 

I wait, anxiously tapping my foot as I watch the footage off the street for the incoming destruction. But ten minutes passed with no noise whatsoever. I glance up and toward the door, confused. I tap the storm tracker, noticing the pattern of movement for the storm diminishing. I click the button of the walkie with my thumb. “P, am I reading right that the storm choked itself out? Over,” I say, watching the monitor again. 

“The winds are dying down, I think it missed us,” Palmer calls back.

“Let’s hold for another five minutes to be cautious,” Birdie’s voice crackles. But five minutes pass with no movement. Birdie calls that we’re clear and I head out of the building. The sun is starting to rise, illuminating the fields with a golden glow as if there hadn’t been 40 to 60 mile an hour winds and rain only a little while ago. 

“We woke up at the ass crack of dawn for this?” Carter groans. 

“Not dawn,” Palmer corrects, walking in step with us back to the warehouse. Birdie wraps her arm around Sean’s waist as they step ahead of us. 

“The conditions seemed perfect,” Birdie says, shrugging. “All we can really hope for.” 

The door slides open to the warehouse to reveal Charlie. She’s got this fixed look on her face as if she just stepped in dog shit. “We’ll get the next one Charlie, no need to fuss. They know that we can’t control the conditions of the storms,” I point to the sky and pat her on the shoulder. 

“That’s not what soured my mood,” she says. She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs. 

My eyebrows knit together in confusion as the team steps passed us, back to our desks. “What is it?”

“Someone’s out at the gate,” she says, nodding to the opposite end of the warehouse. “Someone’s here? No one comes here.”

“Oh, if only,” Charlie says. She turns on her heel, heading to the door on the other side of the building. I rack my brain for people who know the warehouse. We had some rich investors who would stop by trying to buy us out, our clients and FEMA reps that would come our way to see new tech and some family but, Mom and Dad would’ve called me before showing up. Curiosity kills the team and I hear their chairs scrap against the floor. Loud footsteps follow us as Charlie shoves the door open with a knowing look.

I step around her and peer out at the gated entrance to see a suped up red Dodge rumbling idle. The engine turns off after a moment and the driver side door swings open. I see his cowboy boots before I see him. He’s wearing a stupid flannel and his stupid backwards baseball cap. Tyler. He takes off his sunglasses, expression is hard to read. He’s not showing his normally beaming pearl whites that I caught a few times while passing Carter’s viewing of their YouTube videos. His face is stiff, uncomfortable as he rests his hands on his hips. What takes me by surprise is the young woman who steps out of the passenger side. 

I don’t notice my feet are moving until I realize how far away Birdie’s “Son of a bitch” is. I don’t even realize how fast I’m moving or how close Tyler is. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask when I’m close enough that I could throw a rock if I wanted to. And I wanted to. 

He looks down, trying to collect his thoughts. I can see the gears turning in his brain, trying to figure out what to say to me. He rubs at his jaw, nearly smiling and leaning up against the door of the truck. His eyes sparkled a little. “Hi El.” Bold to go with charm. 

“That’s all you have to say? Hi El?” I cross my arms across my chest, staring him down. He’s insane.

Tyler purses his lips, gaze softening as he takes me in. He turns to look at the woman, now having moved in front of the hood of the car. “Kate,” his drawl is still thick with an enthusiasm that can’t be rivaled. “Meet Eleanor. Eleanor Owens.” 

“I prefer to go by Harding these days,” I retort. 

“Owens…you mean–,” the woman – Kate – stutters a little. 

“Wife,” I state, turning to look at her. “He means wife.”

Thank you for reading! Want to be added to the tagged list or share feedback? Click here :)

[shogunish]

𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻.

satoru x f! reader, tooth-rotting fluff, satoru and reader explore their relationship, space talk bc i'm a sucker for that

970 words

“the moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?’’ said satoru with cerulean eyes hidden behind sunnies that were as dark as the space in-between the seemingly infinite stars. his face was pale as the moonlight, hair white as snow in the middle of december and those eyes..oh, they held the skies and everything holy in them.

little dots sparkled in the dark of the night sky which was illuminated by the moon which merely reflected the sun’s own light. craters and their shadows were visible to the naked eye - no six eyes were needed for that. dew lay atop blades of green grass like countless little crystals just waiting to disappear once the sun would kiss them with its first rays. gently, the grass tickled satoru’s ankles as he sat down right next to you.

his gaze drifted from the moon towards your awestruck face scrutinizing the moon and trying to read constellations that you had never been able to find. too many stars, you always said and gave up with a pout. it was cute, satoru thought. even though he knew nothing about the night sky and its celestial wonders, he did know about you.

a chuckle vibrated in the back of his throat, deep like the ocean yet soft like the waves kissing the shore. he shrugged his shoulders almost nonchalantly as if amused. “she looks a little lonely, but maybe that’s why i consider her beautiful.”

“the moon isn’t that lonely. all these little dots of stars are her company and yet..the sun is the star closest to her and lights her up.” your voice came out as nothing but a murmur that was as gentle as the caress of the night breeze caressing the leaves of a tree above.

a hum of understanding. satoru didn’t know why he was next to you, shoulder to shoulder and having this sort of conversation with you, yet his heart seemed to know the answer and spoke before his brain could approve. “do you think the moon is the sun’s favorite companion?”

“who can say what the sun truly thinks of the moon? he’s big and complex and pulls everyone in his orbit like magic.” leaning back, you supported your weight on your palms. then, your eyes drifted over to satoru. the night cast gentle shadows upon his defined yet soft features that would always distract you during yaga’s classes. a little unfair how the gods crafted satoru with such care and the fingertips of a mother. “what i can say is that the sun is the moon’s favorite companion.”

a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. going on missions with satoru was a walk in the park. it was always him who exorcized the curse and treated you to a bowl of ramen in the hidden streets of tokyo. you envied him. if only you could show him your strength for once, but he always insisted on keeping you safe.

satoru tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow furrowed before he came to face you with a curious expression on his face. “what would happen to the moon if she strays too far?”

for a moment, you had no words. was this not..about the moon and space and everything lingering in-between? a blush dusted the apples of your cheeks, your tone a little wistful. “i think the moon would feel lonely and roam the emptiness of space forever.”

dissatisfaction was painted all over satoru’s face and a huff left his lips; his breath came out in a little white cloud of smoke. “that fate is too depressing,” he stated, “then what if the moon came closer to the sun?”

to sit next to satoru with the inside of the universe bared to your eyes was probably the closest thing to bliss you’d ever experience. perhaps, this was a little taste of paradise just behind the dormitories, hidden behind trees and bushes and atop a small hill where the grass was still dewy. “the things that get too close to the sun burn to ash. but if the sun truly loves the moon, i hope he’ll let her come close enough to spend an eternity together.”

underneath satoru’s ribs, his heart was suddenly pounding. he liked to believe that the moon reciprocated the feelings the sun had for her, but..he still tested the waters and only dipped a toe into the waters. “i think the sun would appreciate if the moon came a little closer.”

there was no infinity when you scooted a little closer to satoru and your shoulder gently bumped against his. nowadays, it was rare to see satoru without infinity surrounding him. you couldn’t possibly blame him for that decision and yet, you appreciated this little gesture more than any “good morning”, than any hug and any bowl of ramen he’d treat you to.

he trusted you.

he didn’t burn you.

instead, he carefully lured you into his orbit and refused to let you leave his space.

“like this?” you giggled, eyes crinkling at the edges.

for some reason, satoru was still dissatisfied. sure, you were quite a bit closer than before, but his heart yearned for more. “mh, no. more like this.”

and before the words on the tip of your tongue could fall, satoru cradled the back of your neck with a warm palm and pulled you in until his lips were upon yours in a sweet kiss. his lips tasted like those strawberry lollipops he always sucked on and his breath warmed the apples of your cheeks.

when satoru broke the kiss, his lips hovering just above yours, you asked, “how close do you want us to be?”

gentle fingers tugged a strand of hair behind your ear and caressed your warm cheeks. “close enough to taste you.”

taglist. @torusmochi

(if you wanna get added to my taglist, hmu 🧚🏻‍♀️✨)

[khaire-traveler]

They say we are all born with a fire inside of us - a flame that burns brightly with a passion for life. They say that this flame can never be fully extinguished, even under the harshest conditions. They say that the fire keeps burning until the end of our lives.

There's a lot of things they seem to say.

I must've died many times throughout my life, for my flame seemed to go out often. Over and over again, since childhood, my flame would repeat this cycle of life then death, then life again. It was a tortuous journey that never seemed to end.

Until one day, it was snuffed out. Completely.

In a dark place, I wandered, lost, for a long time. There was no light, no sun, no morning. It was a forever night with a starless sky and an empty moon. Despite the fear and misery, I began to find comfort in the darkness. It became my only company and my closest friend. It's funny how poison can begin tasting like honey after long enough. I thought myself hopeless. I found no reason to try anymore.

But there was a glimmer of hope still left - one that I couldn't immediately see. A match lying next to an unlit candle. It only needed someone to light it.

The god Hermes. I began having strange dreams - ones that featured a mythology I knew nothing about. Hermes? I think I saw him in that Disney movie one time. I always liked him. The match had been struck, attempting to relight the candle. I looked him up online. I only found one source that I liked. Theoi.com, or something like that. He had a funny myth that made me laugh. It was the first genuine laugh I had in a while. I told myself that if I were to ever worship a god again, it would be him. The candle took to the match and, slowly, a flame began to form. More signs kept coming and coming. It was getting harder to ignore. I just kept telling myself that it was a coincidence...but what if it wasn't? A harsh, howling wind began to blow. The flame sputtered for a moment, fighting to stay alight. But why? Why would any higher being want to contact me? What could I possibly be worth to a god? I was barely worth anything to myself. The flame threatened to go out. It was hanging on by a thread, and the darkness slowly crept in again. Hope was a dangerous thing. What if I was turned away? What if he turned his back on me in my darkest moment? It was better to keep to myself. Even if he was out there, he probably wasn't trying to get my attention. At the last second, a hand shielded it from the bitter cold winds. It was given another chance to burn. Maybe I could just try it. I was receiving all these weird signs that I had never noticed before. What if there really was someone reaching out to me? Someone who cared or wanted to help. Maybe I'm not alone. A tiny, but stable, flame began to burn.

This time, it would stay lit.

[sentientgolfball]

Like the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars in the Sky

I'm absolutely sick for these two being soft for each other you have no idea

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Stardew

Word Count: 2735

Tags: self-deprecating Phantom, Dew is so very soft, mirror sex, teeny tiny twinge of body horror but that's only because Phantom is exaggerating their scars

Summary: Dew can see himself in Phantom for all the wrong reasons. He tries to get them to see what he sees.

Dew wasn’t always the confident ghoul who loved to flaunt and show himself to the world. He wasn’t always one to dress up in a tight little outfit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. To someone on the outside, it would seem like Dew is one of the most vain ghouls in the Ministry but those closest to him know it’s quite the opposite. He clawed his way through fire to get to where he was. 

When he was a water ghoul he knew what he had. He knew just how pretty he was, everyone was always telling me so. He could bat his eyes and have Ifrit on his knees. If he flipped his long silver hair over his shoulder Mountain would be there with his lips glued to his gills. He’d stretch after a good nap, a little bit of his shirt riding up and Aether would be on him before he finished yawning. He would be completely focused on his music and Zephyr would wrap an arm around his waist and pull him into their side with a growl. 

He was a pretty, sweet, delicate little thing. 

He forgot this after his transition to fire. Oh, he had wanted the change sure, but some dark part in his mind would whisper to him. It told him he made a mistake, he wasn’t the same how could any of them love him anymore? He compared himself to Alpha and Ifrit, convinced he’d never look as gorgeous as two real fire ghouls. He saw the horrid scars that used to be his gills, his matte black limbs, and the sharp spines that used to be his fins. He knew he was being lied to when his pack still called him beautiful. Dew refused to look in a mirror for weeks after the ritual. When he finally did, it only made these feelings worse. He shattered the mirror when he saw one of his horns had broken when he realized even his curtain of now blonde hair couldn’t hide the gashes in his neck. He had wholly devoted himself to the Morning Star and what did it get him but a broken, mangled body? 

When Rain came along it was like something in Dew clicked into place. At first Dew had hated him, he was nothing more than a reminder of everything he had given up. That had changed the first time Rain saw him without a shirt. He had been going to the laundry room, fresh out of every hoodie and jacket he bundled himself in to hide. He didn’t think anyone was in the den. They had stared at each other like two frightened deer before Rain breathlessly muttered the word that altered Dew’s brain chemistry. 

Beautiful. 

Dew’s path was long, but it only got better from that moment on. He stopped constantly wearing layers upon layers of clothing to hide his scars. He finally let other ghouls take him to bed who weren’t Aether or Mountain. He finally allowed those two to fully undress him. When Ifrit kissed the fire symbol that had been carved onto his chest with the same reverence normally reserved for sacred objects Dew nearly wept. He finally felt like he belonged in his body. He finally felt like Dewdrop again. 

This is why it was so easy for him to spot it in the new ghoul. He’s not sure if he’s the only one who noticed, but he wouldn’t be surprised with how well they hide it. At first Dew thought he was reading too much into things, silently searching for something that wasn’t there. But the moment Phantom used their glamour for the first time Dew knew he was right. It was subtle but unmistakable the way their eyes fell when they saw their scars still covering their face. 

Dew had wanted to do something. He couldn’t let those feelings fester in the little bug. Unfortunately, Dew is not the best when it comes to these deep rooted feelings. He did his best to make Phantom feel appreciated, changing the strings on their guitar, giving them his extra pillow on the bus, and accompanying them to the mall that was near one of their venues. He had hoped Phantom would confide in him or at the very least make some off-handed self-deprecating joke that Dew could argue against, but it never came. Still, he noticed the way they avoided looking in the mirror for too long, the way they’d run their hands over the Lichtenberg figure scars every single time they had their glamour in place. 

Dew really couldn’t do anything about it until they were home from tour. Everything was too chaotic on the road for them to have any real heartfelt moments. That didn’t stop Dew from trying to figure something out. He had something planned, a moment where he’d steal Phantom away to go stargazing or maybe watch a thunderstorm roll in and Dew would whisper his adoration to them. 

That plan was thrown out the window though when Dew came into the kitchen for dinner this evening and Phantom wasn’t there. Dew immediately questioned the rest of the pack. 

“They said they were taking a quick shower before dinner” Cirrus supplies. 

“Yea quick” Aurora giggles “It’s been like thirty minutes.” 

“If we compare that to Rain technically it is quick” Swiss flicks the water ghoul with the end of his tail who hisses in return. 

Dew hums in acknowledgment before walking to his own room to get changed into something more comfortable. He stops though outside of Phantom’s door. He doesn’t know why, but something deep within was telling him he needed to check on them. He tried to ignore it, telling himself they’re just showering for Satan’s sake, but he already had the lock popped before he could stop himself. 

The scent of melted plastic nearly made him fall over with how strong it was. All the lights were off. The shower wasn’t running. The bed was empty. Dew peered into the bathroom to see if maybe they were hiding in there, but he came up empty-handed. That’s when he heard a small sniff from his right. He looked over only to see Phantom huddled up under their desk, knees drawn up to their chest and their face hidden. 

“Bug?” Dew crouches down to their level. 

“I’m sorry” they sob. 

“What? Why are you sorry?” 

“I know you’re only here to bring me out. I’m sorry I didn’t…I was going to take a shower honestly but then I just…I just—“ another sob wrecks their body and the space is momentarily filled with purple light as quintessence jumps from her Lichtenberg figure scars. 

Dew shakes his head, tentatively reaching out to place a hand on their arm. When they don’t pull away he scoots closer. 

“No Phantom, buggy, I came to check on you.” 

“Why?” 

“Just had a feeling” Dew shrugs “what happened?” 

It’s quiet for a moment as Phantom takes the time to find their voice. They slowly look up, eyes shining and puffy. 

“I’m disgusting.” 

“What?” 

“Oh come on Dew look at me I’m covered in scars that I can’t hide no matter how hard I try! I’m shattered! Hells even if I could hide the scars there’s no way to get rid of this!” They let the tips of their fingers slip into the empty void that should’ve been their left eye. 

Dew gasps and grabs their wrist quickly, stopping them from going any further. They let him guide their fingers away from their face as more tears start to fall. 

“Phantom…” but Dew doesn’t know what to say. 

He knows words won’t do anything. He could call them beautiful until his vocal chords gave out and it still wouldn’t clear the fog from their mind. Maybe that’s a blessing, Dew has never been one with words. He does his best with his body, so that’s what he does. He gently pulls Phantom out from under their desk. They thankfully don’t resist, allowing Dew to drag them out and into his lap. He holds them there, pressing their ear to his chest and wrapping his tail around them. He lets them cry for as long as they need to, gently rubbing their back. 

When their shoulders stop shaking Dew cups their face, softly guiding them to look at him. He brushes his thumb across the underside of their eyes, wiping the stray tears away. Dew pressed his forehead to theirs and sighs. 

“You’re beautiful to me Phantom.”

“Liar” they let out a halfhearted whine. 

“Trust me…” Dew whispers before gently pressing a kiss to their forehead. 

He travels down, kissing the corners of their eyes, then their nose, their cheeks, and the corners of their mouth. He pulls away only for a moment to stare into Phantom’s eyes, hoping to the Lords Below they’ll be able to see every word that gets caught in his throat. He leans back in slowly, giving them plenty of time to stop him, before capturing them in a kiss. 

It's soft for only a moment before Dew is pressing more insistently against their lips like this kiss alone could get them to see what Dew sees. To feel what Dew feels when he looks at them. He’d give them the breath from his lungs if it meant they would know how radiant they look. 

Even when they part they still close, lips ghosting over each other’s when Dew speaks. 

“Please believe me when I say you’re beautiful.” 

“I can’t…” 

“Let me show you what I see then.” 

Dew scoots back until he’s pressed against the end of Phantom’s bed. He turns them so they’re both facing the floor-length mirror in the corner of their room. Phantom keeps their face tucked into Dew’s neck. 

“Look” Dew gently urges. 

“Come on love bug look.” 

They hesitantly lift their head and turn towards the mirror. They put all their focus on Dew’s glowing eyes. He smiles in the reflection before pressing a kiss right below their ear. He peels their shirt off with no real hurry, dragging the tips of his claws over their skin to make them shudder. He kisses over every inch of skin that’s exposed to him, sucking lightly on their neck and nipping at their shoulders. They sigh and lean their head back against Dew’s shoulders. 

“Keeping watching Phantom. You have to watch me.” Dew whispers into their ear before softly rolling the lobe between his teeth. 

Dew doesn’t continue until he sees Phantom lift their head and make eye contact with him in the mirror. When he does, Dew laves over the branches of the scars on their neck, sucking deep marks over them as evidence of his love. He doesn’t stop until he feels a small spark of quintessence ripple through his body. 

“Sorry” Phantom tries to look away again but Dew doesn’t let them. 

“No more apologies.” 

They open their mouth like they’re going to protest before closing it and nodding rapidly a few times. 

“Good boy” Dew whispers before slowly trailing his claws down their body to hover over their hips. 

He goes slow, making sure they’re watching as he pops the button on their pants. He whispers sweetness into their ear as they pull their pants and underwear off, leaving them bare before the mirror. Dew takes only a moment to rip his own shirt off, exposing the worst of him. He grabs Phantom’s hand and rests them against the scars where his gills used to be on his abdomen. 

“Do you think I’m ugly?” 

“What!” Phantom tries to turn to meet Dew’s eyes. He holds them still. 

“Just look, it's okay. 

Phantom nods and swallows. 

“Good. Do you think I’m ugly Phantom?” 

“Of course I don’t! You’re one of the prettiest ghouls I’ve ever seen” they thumb over Dew’s scars absentmindedly as they talk. 

“Even though I’m covered in scars like you? Covered in the burnt remnants of what I used to be.” 

“I…well that’s different you can hide yours.” 

“Even if I couldn't, would you still call me pretty?” 

Phantom sighs “Of course I would. You’re you.” 

“Then do the same for yourself.” 

When Phantom doesn’t respond Dew removes one hand from their hips to slowly stroke their half-hard cock. Phantom gasps when those warm, lithe fingers wrap around him. He drags his fist over their length, squeezing gently with every pass over the head. Dew holds their hip still to stop them from bucking into his hand.  

“You’re beautiful Phantom” Dew kisses over their shoulder, minutely speeding up his hand over their cock. 

Phantom whimpers and shakes their head, yet his eyes fall to where Dew’s hand is working them. 

“Say it.” 

“Dew I can’t…please.” 

“Say it.” 

They gulp and shake their head with a whine. 

Dew lets go of their dick, letting it drop to sit heavy against their thigh. Their eyes shoot up to search for Dew’s in the mirror, concern and confusion written all over their face. Dew meets their gaze with intensity, determination set over every sharp angle. Phantom feels their resolve whither under those burning eyes. 

They mumble something and Dew wraps his hand around their cock, holding but not moving. 

“I didn’t hear you.” 

“Dew come on.” 

He waits, not dropping his gaze from Phantom’s reflection. 

“I’m…I’m beautiful.”

“Damn right you are” Dew starts stroking his cock again, thumbing at the tip to collect the pre beading there. 

“You’re gorgeous Phantom and I mean that. I can’t get enough of you. I would spend every moment tracing the paths of your lightning if you’d let me.” 

Phantom keens when Dew sucks another mark over their shoulder. They don’t want to believe him, they don’t want to accept what Dew says is true. But the conviction that he says it with makes it impossible to keep out. Their cock kicks in his hand, blurting a thick glob of pre over his knuckles as Dew continues his whispering of devotion. 

“Gorgeous. My gorgeous ghoul.” 

“Dew oh fuck Dew I’m gonna cum.” 

Dew hums in acknowledgment, setting a more steady pace. 

“Watch Phantom. I want you to watch and see how pretty you are. I need you to see it.” 

They couldn’t look now if they tried, eyes glued to the way the tip of their dick disappears and reappears in Dew’s hand. They glance away only for a moment to try to find his eyes in the reflection, but their gaze accidentally lands on themselves. They gasp a moan at the sight of their flushed cheeks and the small glow coming from their scars. When Dew notices he laughs and licks up the column of their throat to whisper directly into their ear. 

“I told you. Just look at how fucking pretty you are.” 

Phantom moans and bucks into his fist, spilling over his knuckles and onto the floor. Dew jacks them through it, muttering praise as he milks every last drop from them. He doesn’t stop until Phantom whines from the overstimulation, cock spent and sensitive. 

Dew buries his face into the side of their neck, kissing over their skin. They sit like that for what feels like an eternity until Phantom wiggles in his grasp. Dew loosens his arms enough to let them turn around to face him. They kiss him before curling up and burying their head in his chest, ear pressed right over the fire symbol. 

“Promise you won’t tell the others? I don’t want pity.” 

“Only if you promise that you’ll find me when things get too loud” Dew pokes the side of their head. 

“You’re really not gonna let this go huh?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

There’s a pause.

“Thank you” they mumble against his skin. 

Dew closes his eyes and buries his nose into their hair. His heart clenches thinking about what must’ve been running through their head before they finally broke. He hopes that maybe just maybe he’ll be able to break through to them. He knows that feeling. Knows what it’s like to look in the mirror and not recognize yourself. Phantom doesn’t deserve that. He just hopes that whatever Rain was able to do for him, he was able to do for Phantom. Phantom deserves someone as soft as Rain and if Dew has to douse the fire in his veins to that then he will without question. 

He always will.

[gallusrostromegalus]

For the OC ask I'd like to ask: betrayal or midnight (whichever you want, or both if you have the time/ energy)

Midnight: What keeps them up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

--- It well past Midnight.

It was hard to tell in Las Noches, because the natural sun outside was just as dark as the sky, and the artificial sun Aizen installed under the dome never set. But the air was cooler, and marginally more humid.

Coyote Starrk was up, roaming the halls- he slept all day so Lilynette has the energy to play with their new friends. She liked to follow the older girls around, especially Ulquiorra's underlings, Cici and Vivi, and sometimes Charlotte, if the woman offered to play makeup with her.

Besides, it felt... normal to him, to roam at night. When things cooled off and quieted down and the other nocturnes came out to play. Hallibel, for one- Coyote wasn't actually sure when she slept, or if she did. The closest he'd ever seen is her folded in a corner somewhere, breathing deeply but as soon as he approached, she would open one eye and at least grunt her half of a conversation. Ulquiorra was usually out on the roof somewhere and he made for decent if somewhat gloomy stargazing company. Grimmjow was often stalking the lower levels, Aaroniero/Arruruerie emerged from their shadowy sanctuary to scuttle about the kitchen, and Szaylel kept not so much irregular as outright chaotic hours.

He was in the outer halls that go around the dome, artificial sunlight streaming in one side, silvery moonlight in the other, and all the noises of the night echoing between them. It wasn't actually being sociable, per se, but it soothed the lonliness to hear everyone about or not.

"AAAAOOUGH!!"

Mostly.

Coyote sighed, rolling his eyes and sped up to meet the howling.

"HAAAUGH! AAAAUG!" Wonderweiss cried, scrabbling awkwardly up a set of stairs and bouncing off the walls as he sprinted for Coyote, eyes wide and terrified.

"Hey, hey, calm d-OOF!" Coyote tried to soothe as the small hollow slammed into his middle, bawling. "OW! Dammit Kid! What's the big idea, howling like it's the full moon out- Oh. Fuck."

Weiss was sobbing, paler than usual, and going a bit funny at the edges. It happened sometimes when he was particularly upset- a third eye sprouting in the middle of his forehead, too many fingers on his hands, and two extra mouths splitting open on the sides of his throat- the ears had gone long and floppy again too.

"Okay, okay, take it easy-" Coyote kept his voice low, hands on the boy's shoulders, trying to calm him down. "-What's wrong, eh?"

"HOUSA! HOUSA ICK!" Weiss yelped, scrambling to his feet and trying to pull Coyote after him.

"Yeah, I don't know what Housa is- Alright, show me." Coyote sighed, getting up and allowing himself to be pulled along. Inarticulate as the boy was, he wasn't stupid, or prone to hysteria. The last time he'd had a howling fit like this, one of Szaylel's creations had gotten loose in the Menos Pits and grown to a nearly unmanageable scale in under and hour.

Weiss dragged him down the stairs and along one of the other external hallways, then deeper into the city, past the hall where Aizen held his interminable meetings-

"HOUSA! HOUSA!" Weiss called as they skidded down a little dogleg hall where one of the Shinigami lords was housed-

"Weiss!" Coyote hissed. "You're going to wake Tousen!"

"YAH! HOUSA!!" Weiss nodded, yanking open the door to the Shinigami's room and running in.

"Shit! I- I'm sorry sir, Weiss was worried about- Oh. Oh, fuck." Coyote realized with horror.

Tousen's room was a small, spare place- little more than a narrow bed, wash basin and desk before the heavily-barred windows. Coyote had never seen the inside of it before, but the pale strips of moonlight through the bars made Coyote realize Tousen wasn't here by choice.

The man himself was sitting on the floor, back against the wall next to the washbasin, the scent of vomit still fresh in the room. He looked awful; gaunt, and the wrong color- almost a dull gray rather than the warm brown when Coyote had first met him. His eyes were closed tightly, he was panting heavily, gripping his abdomen, and not responding to Weiss's calls and shaking his arm.

"Shit." Coyote hissed, kneeling beside the Shinigami- he was sweating and very hot to the touch, but moaned faintly. "Weiss- Weiss! Listen, I need you to find- fuck, um- Find me Paramia or Rudborne, okay? One of them might know what to do."

Weiss whimpered, looking between Coyote and Tousen.

"Go! I'll take care of him, okay?" Coyote urged, and with a final worried look at the shinigami, Weiss sprinted off.

"...Because I definitely know how to do that." Coyote sighed, looking down at the man. "Uh, um. Pulse? He should have one of those, right? Hey, um, Lord Tousen? I'm just gonna. Grab your throat. Yeah that's totally nonthreatening..." He muttered, looking around the room and finding his Zanpakuto on the bed.

Instead of biting him like Coyote would have done if someone had started poking his throat while he was barely conscious, Tousen instead rolled his head weakly in Coyote's direction, pale eyes cracked open.

"...Sssjn?" Tousen mumbled.

"What?" Coyote blinked. "Um, oh, there's your pulse... Yeah, I- I don't think it's supposed to be doing that." Coyote winced, the human's pulse not so much beating as rapidly vibrating under his fingers.

"...Sajin?" He asked again, reaching up for Coyote's face with a shaking hand. "Sajin? Is that you?"

"Who?" Coyote blinked. "Tousen? Can you hear me? What's wrong with you? Something you ate?"

"Sajin, I- I'm so sorry...." He wheezed, voice weak, hand dropping away before he could reach Coyote's face. "I- I need to get you up. Find a doctor- Do we have a doctor? Paramia knows how to do a good stitch-up, but... Fuck. Alright, come on, on your feet-" Coyote grunted, pulling Tousen's arm over his shoulder.

"AUGH!" Tousen shrieked with pain as he was pulled up. "Please! Please, don't- just let me be..."

"No way, you're the only guy here with half a brain and I'd really like to live through this whole war with the shinigami thing so I'm really countin' on you to pull through-" Coyote explained, getting one arm under Tousen's shoulders and pulling him away from the wall-

-there was an unpleasantly wet peeling sound as he stood.

Coyote looked over the shoulder of the man slumped against him to see a bright stripe of blood running down the man's spine and against the wall he'd been propped against.

"I'm so, so sorry..." Tousen whimpered. "I never- I never meant to hurt you..."

"Hurt ME? What the hell, you couldn't hurt a mouse like this, nevermind me!" Coyote yelped, scooping the small man into his arms and then nearly dropping him as he over-corrected. Tousen was much lighter than he should be.

LILYNETTE!! Coyote howled over their bond. WAKE THE FUCK UP!ITS AN EMERGENCY!

WHAT?! She snarled back as Coyote sprinted out of the little cell of a room, looking for someone, anyone-

Tousen's on death's door, we need to find a- a doctor, someone! He panted, searching the halls.

Do we even HAVE a doctor? Lilynette wondered back.

That's what I wanted to know! He grumbled, sprinting up the stairs toward the meeting room.

WHY WOULD I KNOW? WE SHARE A BRAIN, MORON!! she cried back. Fuck, Uh- Not Szaylel- I dunno, Charlotte? She knows a lot about skincare and diets?

Yeah, we're a bit past skincare- look, I told Weiss to go find Paramia, go help him? Coyote skidded into the meeting room to find the light on down the hall in the throne room. He turned the corner to find a tall figure walking towards there as well.

"Ulquiorra's back with the girl Lord Aizen wanted." Hallibel muttered through her mask and high collar. "...Humans aren't supposed to be gray, right?" She frowned down at Tousen.

"No they're not!" Coyote grinned up at her. "Please tell me I've slept through a staff meeting and that we've got an actual doctor, not just a mad scientist and a stitch witch?"

"Oh? What seems to be the matter with- oh. That's. Bad." Szaylelapporo oozed over, then grimaced at the man. "Well, get him on the table, I'll see what I can do-"

"Not you! A REAL Doctor!" Coyote spat, jerking away from him.

"EXCUSE ME?" The mad scientist squawked, aghast.

"Welcome, Miss Inoue-" Aizen's voice rippled down the hall from the throne room. Tousen whimpered, curling into Coyote's chest, shaking. Fuck, if Aizen locked him in that cell of a room, he could have poisoned him too-

"-to my kingdom of- What the hell are you wearing?" Aizen sputtered.

"Yes!" an unfamiliar voice replied.

"Oh, come on, how often do we get a chance to dissect- I mean- surgically assist a Shinigami?" Szaylel pouted, reaching for the shivering man.

---

"Mr. Cifer didn't give me a lot of details about the conditions here, so I tried to prepare for every eventuality I could!" Chirped the small mountain of clothes and camping gear that apparently contained Orihime Inoue.

"I- well. If one cannot be forewarned, one should be forearmed, I suppose..." Aizen muttered, thrown completely off script. "But as I was saying, please allow me to extend the full hospitality of Las-"

There was a brief flicker of bright light and sharp withdrawal of reiatsu in the hall behind him.

"That better not be a cero-" Aizen frowned.

BLAM!

"My dick!" Wailed Szaylel from some distance away, having been blown through several walls as well as castrated.

"Quitcher bitchin', it'll grow back!" Snarled Coyote.

Aizen closed his eyes, rubbing his temples with his middle and ring fingers, struggling to maintain some composure. "What are you doing Mr. Starrk?" He snarled, turning on his heel to confront the First Espada and instead walking face-first into the spectacular underboob cleavage of the Third.

"Are you the Kurosaki kid's medic?" Hallibel called, unperturbed by the fact she was lightly smothering her commander.

"Uhh... I mean I'm trained in first aid and I'm pretty good at healing?" Miss Inoue muttered as Aizen extracted himself from Hallibel's bosom.

"What the hell is going on?" Aizen hissed up at her.

"Great! Lord Tousen's dying." Hallibel explained to Miss Inoue, before looking down at Aizen. "Also, Lord Tousen's dying." She said pointing down the smoking hall where Starrk was emerging with a weak and pallid Tousen in his arms.

"Oh, come on Kaname, pull yourself togeth- oh." Aizen recoiled at the sight of his compatriot, and the way his spine had bled all down the front of Starrk's uniform. "Miss Inoue? Your skills are requi-" He spoke up only for the girl to brush past him without so much as a sideways glance, shed of her excess garmentry.

"Mr. Tousen?" She asked, eyes wide and already on the verge of tears. "Can you hear me?"

"I-Inoue?" he groaned, turning his ear towards her. "Where? Where's Sajin..?"

"He's fine, but you're not. Can you tell me what's wrong?" She said, taking his wrist and touching his face.

"S-stomachache. Started... I- I don't know. Can't sleep." he mumbled, head dropping back onto Coyote's chest.

"He- he also threw up, his whole back is bleedin' and he keeps apologizing to this Sajin guy?" Coyote added.

"When was the last time you ate or drank anything?" She said, pinching the skin on the back of his hand and grimacing.

"I- I don't know. Not for a while. Not... not worth it." he muttered, listless.

"Is the stomachache concentrated anywhere? and is it more like nausea or pain?" She asked.

"P-pain. Very painful." He hissed. "It's- lower right side."

Miss Inoue inhaled slowly, jaw set. "Is it better or worse if you put pressure on it?"

"Hurts- hurts if I take pressure off it?" He whimpered. "I- I can't- Where's Sajin? He, he was just here-"

"Well, Miss Inoue?" Aizen asked, strolling up and putting a hand on her shoulder. "Care to prove your worth?"

The girl was completely still and silent for a moment. Fear? Or some sort of delayed reaction? Aizen watched her for a moment, the girl's face expressionless.

"I need a sterile room, surgical equipment- scalpels, sponges, gloves sutures, the works- and the means to sanitize it, and at least two people to hold him still." she said, voice flat.

"Surgical equipment?" Aizen scoffed. "You misunderstand- I want to see what the Shun Shun Rikka is capable of."

"It's capable of restoring a hell of a lot when it comes to traumatic injury and blood loss but it doesn't work on infections or organ failure, so if you want Mr. Tousen to live through the night, you'll have to settle for my capacity as Surgeon." She said, voice quiet and clipped. "Sterile room, Surgical equipment, sanitary gear, assistants, please, before his condition gets worse."

"...What condition?" Aizen puzzled, and she sighed with exasperation.

"You! White hair and horn! Find me a room that is or can be rendered sterile!" She barked, pointing over Coyote's shoulder.

"What? Who died and made you queen?" Lilynette yelped.

"DO IT!" Coyote barked.

"Fuck! Okay!" She flinched. "There's- uh, Paramia's office. She's got most of the stuff you were yelling about. I think."

"Good. Mr. Starrk, right? Do you know where that is?" She said, gray eyes snapping up to the Primera Espada's own, and he actually startled a bit.

"Uh- yes, and yes?" he muttered, arching his neck away from her.

"Take Mr. Tousen there ASAP, get him on a bed and if there's any means of restraining him, I need him lying on his left side, everything on his right side from his hip-bone to the middle of his ribcage exposed. Understand?" She said, gesturing to Tousen's side.

"Uh, yeah, Yes, I'll go-" Stark muttered, backing up a few steps and vanishing in a burst of Sondido.

"Maybe I didn't make myself cle-" Aizen started with Orihime spun out of his grip and turned to face the rest of the throne room.

"Mr. Cifer! I presume you know where the kitchens are! I need drinkable water, any electrolyte beverages you have or failing that, anything with a decent amount of salt in it, and anything with caffeine."

"I don't take orders from you." he growled.

Miss Inoue stopped from where she'd been turning to Hallibel and glared back at Ulqiorra. "You said that if I followed you through that portal, I'd be joining Aizen's cause, body and soul."

"What?" Aizen mouthed at Ulquiorra behind her.

"Yes? And?" Ulquiorra agreed, glaring back.

"Mr. Aizen, may I then act in an emergency capacity under your authority for the purposes of keeping a member of this organization alive?" She asked, rounding on him.

What had been sad, soft gray eyes in Ulquiorra's recollection of events had darkened into the color of an oncoming stormed and sharpened around the edges in a way that reminded Aizen uncomfortably of how Unohana's disapproval could feel like a knife at his throat.

"...You have hidden depths, Miss Inoue." he smirked, pretending to be at ease if he couldn't pretend to be in control. "-And since you're being such a good team player, I will happily grant you temporary authority to see to Kaname's welfare."

"Thank you sir." She bowed her head. "Cifer! Kitchen!"

Ulquiorra sputtered for a moment and then skulked off.

"...This good favor of mine is entirely dependent on Kaname's survival and recovery, of course." He said, leaning down into her personal space, lips almost at her ear.

"Of course, Mr. Aizen. I would consider failure to save Mr. Tousen just cause for suicide as it is." she said, and then failed to elaborate as she turned to Hallibel. "Ma'am with the blonde hair! What's your name?"

"...Hallibel." She said, slowly cocking her head at the girl

"Thank you Miss Hallibel." Inoue bowed. "Do you have a good grip, and can you stand the sight of blood?"

"...Yes?" Hallibel puzzled.

"Please escort me to Mr. Starrk, I'll need your help." Inoue asked, pointing down the smoking hallway.

"Miss Inoue, what cond-" Aizen started to ask again, but the girl was gone in a blur as Hallibel promptly carried out her orders and followed Starrk's sondido with her own. "-ition are you talking about?"

"Fever? Vomiting? Severe pain in lower right abdomen? C'mon boss, even you know what's up!" Laughed Gin.

---

"So... have you ever done a surgery before?" Hallibel asked when they stopped at the door in front of Paramia's room.

"Ugh-" Orihime staggered for a moment, disoriented. "What? Oh, no- I've seen this one done before. Well, a video of it." She winced.

"Oh." Hallibel muttered. "Well. I've never seen a video of anything, so I guess you're qualified." She shrugged, opening the door.

"Miss Inoue?" a soft voice asked inside. "I'm Roka Paramia, I act as Medic here." She was a small, almost human-looking hollow with half her face covered by a humanlike skull, almost like the phantom of the opera. She also wore a green, cable-knit sweater, which was strange because it had to be at least eighty degrees in here.

"Oh thank god!" Sighed Orihime. "Have you ever done surgery before?"

"No!" Smiled Paramia. "I look forward to learning the process."

"Cool, I'm promoting you to Assistant Surgeon. Can you get the relevant tools out and sanitized?" Orihime nodded.

"I have already done so, as well as secured Lord Tousen to the operating table!" Paramia smiled, gesturing inside to where the shinigami had been strapped down to the stainless steel table. A small, childlike hollow curled up and whimpering beside him. Behind them, Starrk and Lilynette were standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do. There was a quiet sob from the table, and Orihime stepped into the room.

"Hey- I met you down at the river yesterday! Weiss, right?" Orihime asked, touching the boy's shoulder. He looked up at her, large purple eyes blinking slowly in recognition.

"Ohhimay?" he tried.

"That's right! I'm Orihime!" She smiled, patting his head.

"Augh!" Weiss sobbed, grabbing her shoulder and pointing to Tousen.

"OW! Easy, I'm not very strong- Thanks." She winced and Weiss relaxed his grip. "It'll be okay, I promise. I'm going to make Mr. Tousen better, but it's going to really, really suck for a bit but then he'll be all better, I promise!" She soothed, brushing a thick lock of blonde hair away from his face.

Weiss mumbled, looking between her and tousen for a moment.

"It's okay Weiss. I'll be alright." Tousen spoke up, voice little more than whimper. "Can you go guard the hall for me?"

"...kay." Weiss mumbled, shuffling off the table and out the door, crouching beside it, still peering back into the room.

"Thank you. And I'm really sorry for what's about to happen." Orihime bowed, hands holding Tousen's. He grimaced, but nodded and squeezed her hand in acknowledgement.

Orihime looked back at Paramia."What do you have by way of painkillers?"

"Oh, we don't believe in those here!" Paramia smiled.

Orihime blinked at her a few times, and decided to think laterally. "...What do you have in terms of alcoholic beverages or other recreational drugs here?"

"Oh! There's Tequila in the commissary!" Paramia nodded with excitement.

"Nnoitra's got Ketamine." Said Hallibel.

"He has WHAT?" Yelped Starrk.

"Ketamine. Yylfordt snitches it out of Szaylel's lab and they get high on the roof when Aizen's away." Hallibel shrugged.

"Ketamine would be very helpful, actually!" Orihime chirped, slightly manic. "Alright, Miss Lilynette? Go help Ulquiorra in the kitchen-"

"UUUUUGH." Groaned Lilynette.

"I know, he's a jerk." Orihime waved. "But he's also stupid, and probably forgot what I sent him for already."

Lilynette snorted with laughter and Orihime smirked. "I'll write you a list, make sure he comes back with everything, okay?"

"Yeah, I can babysit batboy." Lilynette giggled.

"Miss Hallibel? Do you think you can persuade... I'm sorry, I didn't catch their names-" Orihime waved.

"Yeah I can shake down Nnoitra for his stash." Hallibel nodded.

"Great! You both go do that and come back ASAP while we scrub up?" Orihime asked, giving them each a thumbs up, and the responded in kind before vanishing out the door.

"I must say, I'm very impressed with your capability for organization and command!" Paramia beamed as the two medics washed up and Coyote tried to figure out the best way to keep Tousen pinned to the table. "There was some discussion between Lord Aizen and Lord Ichimaru of abducting someone from soul society to fill in the role of chief medic, but I think you're the superior option so far."

"...Who were they going to take from Soul Society?" Orihime frowned.

"Oh... I can't remember her name. Lady Usagi or something?"

"LADY UNOHANA??" Orihime shouted.

"Yes! Lord Ichimaru suggested that abducting Lady Unohana would be more tactically sound, but Aizen dismissed the idea rather quickly- I'm sorry, have I said something humorous?" Paramia asked as Orihime crumpled to the floor laughing, and there was an amused wheeze from Tousen.

"We'd all be better off if Aizen had attempted to abduct Lady Unohana." Tousen laughed darkly.

"Yeah!" Orihime didn't so much grin as bare her teeth at the absurdity of her circumstances. "She would have reduced them both to bright red streaks on the wall and I wouldn't be here doing an unanesthetized appendectomy at one in the goddamn morning!"

[lindentree]

Thinking about the helscape not having a sky. It's like the nether, so the closest they have is the cavernous netherrack ceilings. The only weather they have is ashy smog and the occasional rain in warped forests if you're lucky. All anyone knows about the sky is rumors passed down from the few people who have made it out and back again.

Imagine getting out. You'd heard of the sky, of course. Everyone had. You knew it was blue in the day, and black with white specks at night. You knew about the sun and the moon, about clouds and weather and storms.

What you see still completely stuns you.

You've seen blue before, in warped trees and the occasional lapis vein. This is completely different. It's so many different shades of blue at once, and so vast it goes on forever. Clouds float lazily across, fluffy white and welcoming. The sun is bright and warm, and you have to stop yourself from staring at it. It's all so vibrant you can hardly believe it's real.

Oh, and sunsets! The sky is pained with every color at once! Red to orange to yellow, a thin line of green, then blue to purple to black. The colors stretch for miles, and if you didn't know better, you would've thought it was one of those rainbows you had heard about. And as the sun sinks deeper, pinks and golds dance across the clouds and cast shadows above them. You stare and watch for hours, until the sky is completely dark.

The description of the night sky was the most lacking, you think. The stars - white dots was no where near a good enough comparison - dash all across the sky. If you look close enough, some are even different colors. Some make pictures, you remember vaguely. You don't know which ones. You make up your own, and it's endlessly fun. Where stars cluster closer, the sky turns different colors. Indigos and purples and navy blues. You wonder how such colors can even be made. It seems magical.

And as you sit and stare, you know that none of this was meant for you. This sky belongs to a loving universe, and to the people that it loves. You do not belong here. Your home is a hateful universe, where pain and death are ever looming. Where the closest thing you have to a sky is the far away ceiling and the closest thing to clouds are the ghasts that float by.

This sky will never be for you.

[communicationthroughlyrics]

Easy to Love

Your wife finally comes home from a month long mission, and tooth-rotting fluff ensues. Presumably poorly translated Russian/Serbian.

Just a little drabble that popped into my mind. Mentions of injuries, really no TW outside of that.

It felt like it had been forever. Forever for everything. Both you and your wife had been so busy of late that the only interaction you had was shuffling around the bathroom in the morning as one of you was brushing your teeth, and the other was hopping into the shower to get ready for work. Even the weekends were fleeting, as the late weeknights and early mornings meant you slept in on the weekend and saw each other for maybe an hour unless Wanda was on a mission, which had been happening a lot of late. 

You had been sure to give Steve a piece of your mind, as it seemed that Wands was the only one being sent out, and when you saw her- she was drained- purely exhausted. The dark rings under her eyes, dragging her feet, and her borderline disheveled appearance made your heart ache. She had currently been on a mission for the last three weeks, and Steve and Tony both assured you she was ok and would be home this week. 

So, you decided to take a step back and take some time off work so you could be here whenever she came home. You just wanted your girl back- back in your arms, and to be able to have a few nights, or a weekend, to yourselves. You felt the strong urge to need a reconnection. While you both worked well in tandem, you both had spent so much time apart to this point, that you were both on different poles. 

You stood on your back porch, a cup of coffee warming your hands, a hoodie and sweatpants adorning your body as you watched the sunrise. Wanda always told you that no matter where she was, the sun and the moon rose, and she would always be under the same sky, watching it with you. You always took solace that she was always under the same moon or the same sun, and it was highly likely that she was watching the same sunrise as you. Looking down at your cup of coffee, you swirled the liquid around, becoming enamored at the appearance of it moving in your cup. Who knows how long you had been staring into the cup- what brought you out of it was a pair of arms, wrapping themselves around your waist from behind. 

“Good morning, moy lyubovnik.” You can hear the exhaustion laced through her words. You set the cup down, turning around in her arms, before wrapping yours around her. 

“Good morning, baby.” She lets out a deep sigh, burying her face into your chest. 

“It’s good to be home.” She whispers into your hoodie, grabbing a tight hold of it as if trying to bring her face impossibly closer to you. 

“Nedostajala si mi, ljubavi” You whispered into the top of her head. You feel her pull away, looking up at your face. Even in her dressiest, tallest heels, you still stood over her by a couple of inches. 

“When did you learn?” She had the smallest, brightest smile on her face.

“I’ve had some time without my favorite girl here. Figured I should learn the closest thing to her native language. Or both.” You smiled down at her, taking in her worn features. She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks, the faintest trace of a bruise leaving her high cheekbones and a decent cut over her left eyebrow. “Mnogo te volim, lepa devojko. Nedostajao si mi.”

“I’ve missed you too, darling. So much. It’s been so lonely on the road. I wanted to come home, so, so many times.” she whispered, a pained expression crossing her face.

“Shhh, it’s ok. You’re here now, baby girl.” You squeezed her tighter, before picking her up by the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up to wrap her legs around your waist. “Lets get you some rest, after a hot bath, hmm?”

“Mmmm hot water sounds amazing, but so does the bed.” She moaned, and you laughed at her reaction. 

“Well, moya lyubov, as much as I love you, you aren’t getting into our nice, comfy, clean bed until you rinse all the work grime off. Plus, it’ll help you relax.” You speak quietly into her ear before she nestles herself into the crook of your neck, another deep sigh leaving her body, the hot breath tickling your neck. You felt her yawn against your neck, as you climbed the stairs to your ensuite. You slid her exhausted body down yours, sitting her down on the toilet before reaching for the dial in the shower to turn on the hot water. As the water began to pour out of the tap, and you waited for it to reach its near-scalding levels, you turned to your exhausted partner, reaching down and slowly pulling up her tattered shirt. 

“Looks like it was a rough one, babe.” You comment, the torn and dirty shirt tossed to the side as you looked over her torso, some gashes, cuts, and bruises all over her. You sighed, knowing this was a part of her line of work. You just hated to see that someone would do this to her. She was your girl, since the first time you had met her- the redheaded assassin with whom you had become best friends, had introduced you to the Sokovian witch at one of Stark’s tower galas. You were terrified at first, her gaze seemed to cut through you, but it was still so gentle that you wanted to melt into her. She had always been easy for you to love. 

Despite her history, she never made you climb an uphill battle alone and never held anything against you. Her smile was so genuine and bright, so much like the smile she had given you on the patio a mere minutes ago. You had never (thankfully) been on the receiving end of her infamous head tilt, but Nat certainly had. You vowed to never be at the receiving end of that tilt- that would mean weeks of groveling, apologies, and kissing ass. You weren’t above showing your wife affection and apologizing, but begging wasn’t typically your thing. So you found it best to avoid reasons for her to become so upset at you. Happy wife, happy life. And you were happiest with her in your arms. 

“You in there, lyubov?” She asked, a slight smirk on her lips as she watched you closely. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” She asked, her hand tracing down the side of your face, as your hands found their home on her hips. 

“Yeah baby, I’m here. Sorry,” you ducked your head sheepishly into her neck, a rosy tint on your cheeks as she had caught you in your little dream of the first time you had met, and by her choice of nickname. “Just thinkin’ is all.” You heard her hum in response.

“Bout what, honey?” She asked, placing her hands on your cheeks, and pulling your face away from her shoulder. 

“About when Nat first introduced us.” You smiled, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. You could feel her smile against your lips, and you pulled away, smiling down at her. “I love you. So much, Wands.” You looked into her eyes, they wrinkled slightly when her smile grew. 

“I love you, Y/N. So much.” She said back, smiling as you leaned down, kissing her again. This kiss was deeper, had more feeling, and conveyed everything you had felt in the time that she had been gone. Her arms crossed behind your neck, pulling you into her even more. Your body resisted, but you knew you had to pull away, or you would never get her rinsed off, relaxed, with wounds tended to. You rested your forehead on hers, relishing in the feeling of her here, once again. 

“Let's get you rinsed up, baby girl. I know you’re exhausted.” She just hummed in response, shimmying out of her pants as you checked the water, knowing she liked to “roast like a Thanksgiving turkey” as you so lovingly told her time and time again. She groaned as she eased herself down into the bath, and you took the hand shower, running water through her chestnut locks, so you can help her rinse out her hair and wash it. You began to take inventory of the various cuts and scrapes, deeming a few worthy of a bandage before turning to wash her hair with her lavender and vanilla shampoo. It felt like she was going to fall asleep in the tub, her body had relaxed into the heat, and that coupled with her soap and your touch was easily rinsing away any of the stressors she had from this last mission. The various grunts and groans she would emit as you worked your hands over the places you knew she held her tension or ran your hands up and down her back, or through her conditioned hair. Finally, her viridescent eyes fluttered open, giving you a soft smile. 

“Thank you, baby. This has helped.” She looked down at your arms that now hung over the edge of the jetted tub, hands skimming the surface of the water. Her eye caught on a new tattoo, one that had become more visible now that your sleeves were pushed up around your elbows, that you had gotten while she was gone on this mission. “That’s new…” she grasped your hand, pulling your arm closer to inspect. It wasn’t a hard tattoo to miss- it was covering the entirety of your forearm. It depicted two separate places- a bustling cityscape and a desolate vista, both drenched in darkness under the same sky. Just as Wanda had always said. If you look closely, you can see the constellations buried into the details- your zodiac on the barren side, hers on the city side. Her initials now adorned your thumb, middle finger, and pinky- her vow to you from your wedding on the back of your hand. You watched as she took in the details, the silhouettes, the vista being one of your favorite paintings she had made, and the house that looked like yours, lit up in the night if she needed to come home back late. Her eyes began to water, she sniffled and wiped a stray tear away from her cheek as she looked up at you with a misty expression. 

“You like it, Wands?” You asked as she continued to watch your face.

“Baby, I…I love it. It’s beautiful.” She sniffled. “You remember my vows?” She asked, tracing her thumb over the back of your hand. 

“How could I forget them?” You asked, a slight smile on your features as you stared into the very eyes that you used to avert your gaze from, for fear she could see how you felt. As if that never made it obvious. Now, they were your source of comfort, what you pictured when you needed some solace through a rough day. The ghost of her touch would give you a sense of repose, but it was always her eyes that made you feel at home. You grabbed her hand, gently tugging her towards you, kissing her once more. “I know I say it often, but I love you. You, my love, are my kraj sve budi sve. Ti si to za mene. Moja jedina, prava ljubav.” You smiled at her, kissing her hand, standing as you helped her get up from the cool water. 

“Ne znam čime sam te zaslužio, ljubavi.” 

“Nonsense, Wands, You deserve the world. I'll do everything I can to give it to you.”

“I love you, baby.” She smiled, standing on her tiptoes, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “What brought on all this, my love?”

“Nothing. I just have missed you, and don’t feel like I make it clear to you how much you mean to me when you’re here. You’re always away, on missions, or doing something for Tony or Steve. I feel like I haven’t had a wife for the last year. They’re running you ragged, and I worry.” A somber smile flashed across her face, she stepped into you and placed her hand on your face. 

“Baby, there’s a reason they’ve been sending me on a bunch of missions lately.” A look of confusion flashes across your face.

“But…I yelled at Steve… Why?” You ask.

“Because baby. I’m stepping back. I’ll still be an Avenger, but no more missions. Turns out I need you just as much, Y/N.” A look of disbelief appeared on your face, as you processed what she just said.

"Wh...what?"

"I need more Y/N in my life, baby. I don't want to worry you anymore. A little more predictability, and I can be with you daily. I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you, I wanted to surprise you. But this last mission was a doozy. I never want you to worry about me again."

"Wands, I'll always worry about you."

"That's okay, baby, now it won't have to be a worry of me coming back." You let out a large sigh of relief, one you had no idea you were holding in. 

"Let's get you to bed, babe. We can discuss this tomorrow." you smile, guiding her back to your massive bed. 

"I can't wait to do this every night and morning, moy lyubovnik."

"Me either, Wands. Me either."

______________________________________________________________

Nedostajala si mi, ljubavi - I missed you, my love. 

Mnogo te volim, lepa devojko. Nedostajao si mi - I love you so much, beautiful girl. I've missed you

kraj sve budi sve. Ti si to za mene. Moja jedina, prava ljubav- end all be all. You're it for me. My one, true love. 

Ne znam čime sam te zaslužio, ljubavi - I don’t know what I did to deserve you

moy lyubovnik - my lover

Lyubov - love

[poisonf0rest]

Waxing Gibbous

Tonight the nightmare is different.

It is dark and the forest path before you is doused in red, the full moon soaked in inky crimson that bleeds into a deep purple, the twisted branches clawing into the sky like fractures. Despite the blood moon looming closer and closer, you continue to run, feet hitting the cold earth as thorny brambles and grasping hands claw at your legs. 

No, not running. You are chasing something. Someone. 

But with each step you are left further and further behind, breathing in ragged huffs before you trip against the undergrowth, falling, your screams muffled against the dirt that fills your mouth and clogs your throat. 

A blink, and you are standing. 

The moon is no longer a bleeding red, and you think this was what the world looked like before the sun died— light filters in between the rustling leaves, coloring the sweeping grasses in a golden hue, flowers dotting the landscape with a kaleidoscope of colors now incomprehensible to you. It was beautiful, and you wanted to cry. 

Standing in the midst of the sea of grass was a man. A beacon of fire as the sunlight kisses his crimson curls, and when he turns he makes a sort of face you don’t completely understand, expression foreign and suffocating. You think it looks a lot like peace. 

You begin towards him on instinct, walking, then breaking into a run. 

But you aren’t fast enough. 

Halfway through the field the ground gives way beneath you, grass growing taller and taller— or perhaps you are falling further and further— as the earth swallows you whole once again. 

And before you no longer stands a man. But a Beast. 

A snowstorm howls against the castle walls, and the ancient stone does little to protect the grand hall from the sheer cold. The Beast curls in upon itself against the center of the room, dark fur and contorted muscles a blight against the vibrant red carpet that trails from the arched doorway to the stairs at your feet. You’re sitting on a throne, you realize. 

“Closest of kin, last bearer of Our blood. Kneel afore Us, or get thee gone.”

The voice echoes down the throne room, and only when your mouth closes do you realize those words were yours. 

But neither the Beast nor the hundreds of statues that litter the hall respond. They remain frozen, like long-forgotten gods of old that time had finally reclaimed. For a moment, you think you are the only living thing left in the castle. And then the Beast moves. Its jaws open, wretched howls leaving in what would seem to be words, although the language is not one you understand. 

You feel your head nod regardless. 

“Moon-scented Hunter, thou'rt dear to Us. Gods and men have cursed Us so, and yet thy remain at Our side till the bitter end. What is it that binds thy so?”

Finally, the Beast raises its head, and you feel something crack inside you as you gaze into those familiar crimson eyes, eyes that hold the flames of the sun and the chill of the winter storm. He speaks again, howling as he moves into a kneel, twisted bones and excess limbs nearly making the pose nearly indistinguishable. 

“Ah,” you laugh, a cold, bitter sound. “We know this path well. For there is none other that leads to such deplorable ruin of men and gods alike. There is no curse more twisted than love.”

This time when the Beast speaks, it sounds a lot like pleas. And yet you know there is nothing you can do for him, for history moves in vicious cycles, and not even the stars can defy destiny. 

And yet his insolence amuses you. Few dare to defy fate, and fewer still dare to fight it through all their lifetimes. Such a powerful love. Such a tragic story. 

You stand from the throne, body weightless as you descend the stairs and stand before the Beast. With every breath he seems to turn more and more human, fur receding and bones snapping back into natural shapes. 

Kneeling, you mirror his pose before placing your palms in his. Slowly, the claws retract into hands, each ridge and scar so hauntingly familiar that you would have recognized them even with your eyes closed. “We await thy return. For the honour of Cainhurst.”

Which is to say, give me every reason not to stay, and I will love your monsters regardless.

Which is to say, I still dream of kissing your claws and teeth.

Which is to say, I love you. 

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

You wake up. 

You don’t remember a thing, but you swore you dreamt of ashes. 

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

There are thirteen days of hellish silence until you hear the rhythmic knock from the clinic window. 

You resume the current experiment you were in the midst of running- analyzing a sample from Vicar Amelia’s corpse- in a vain attempt not to show just how relieved you were at Diluc’s return. If you saw his face again, filled with fire and renewed snark, you're not sure you could keep yourself from running straight into his arms. So you keep your back turned even as the window slams shut. 

Turning the knob of a microscope, you clear your throat. “I’ll admit I was beginning to get worried when—”

A crash, something shatters. 

Jumping, you turn in time to see Diluc stumble forward, knocking over another set of vials before his knees give out, blood trailing from the window, across the floor.

“Saints.”

You barely catch him in time to stop his head from slamming into the table. 

He reeks of gore and death, just as he had when he died in your arms. He’s dying. He’s dying again.

Hauling Diluc on your back, you’re cursing in heaves as you drag him towards a rusted tub in the corner of the clinic. His larger frame crushes yours as you struggle to push him into the bath, water sloshing around the both of you as he slips under, massive arms and legs hardly contained in the metal keg. The lack of heating in the dregs of winter means the water is freezing, and your teeth chatter as you fight to keep his head raised. And yet, even after being dunked in the numbing temperature, the Hunter hardly gives more than a low groan of discomfort. 

Are these all remaining wounds from the Vicar Amelia fight? 

Straining, one arm keeps Diluc from submerging entirely as the other begins frantically stripping away layers of bloodied clothes, revealing more and more wounds. Once you’ve secured his head and arms on either side of the tub you stand, scrambling together stitches and blood vials. 

No. These ones are new. 

Forcing his mouth open, Diluc is barely conscious enough to swallow the blood, movements sloppy as red mixes with the crusting black trailing down his chin and neck. By the time you’ve gotten rid of all his clothes, the tub was filled with a brown, rusted slosh and numerous rounds of dressing.

Diluc’s head rolls to the side, hitting the metal rim of the tub with a thud as he attempts to speak, only for a hoarse groan to leave instead. You hush him, whispering into his temple as you pad his head onto a makeshift pillow, leaving for a moment to collect alcohol and more cloth for his wounds. His fangs were out. You pretend not to notice. 

“This might sting.” You shake away the tremor in your hands, kneeling behind him as you begin scrubbing off crusted blood.  “I don’t understand, how did you leave the Dream with these wounds?”

With complete honesty, you don’t understand much about the Hunter’s Dream. Even less about how it came to be, or how it was even possible to begin with. But with your previous involvement with church Hunters, you understood it was where Hunters returned to once they died, a sort of temporary limbo before they returned to their hunt in Yharnam, healed as though Death had never touched them in the first place. 

But you suppose Death took a piece of them each time, for they never really returned whole. Not in the ways that mattered. 

Whipping the cloth down Diluc’s back, your hands pause as they rub over two new scars, each one etched in a raised gnarled growth from shoulder to ribcage. Claw marks, you realize. From Vicar Amelia.

And right under them were several newer scratches and stabs, still bleeding as you pressed the cloth to them. 

Pushing Diluc up gently, the Hunter goes easy, pliant against your touch. “How long?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

You grit your teeth, accidentally scrubbing harsher against his fresh wounds. Diluc lets out a muffled hiss. “How long have you been back from the Dream?”

For a moment the only sound is the drip of the faucet as it leaks into the tub. He’s not answering. Your hands fall to your sides, fists clenched around the rag.

“Nine,” he whispers. ” Nine days.”

“Nine days.” 

Nine whole fucking days that you thought you might never see him again. You hurl the cloth into the water and walk around to face him, palms ramming onto the edge of the tub. “Why?”

You stare down at him and Diluc stares right back, brows furrowing as he leans closer, water sloshing around him as his hand lifts to your face. Without thinking you’ve already leaned into his touch, biting back a sob as the warmth from his palm rests against your cheek. His touch burns, even with the freezing water now dripping down both your bodies. 

Calluses decorate his palm, scorched skin rough against your jaw. Your eyes trace down in silence. His arms are laced with scars raw and deep enough to look as though they were still bleeding, his shoulders and chest are filled with old wounds cutting through curly patches of red hair in a history even his semi-immortal body couldn’t re-write, and in the corner of your eye you see his left thigh encircled with a gnarled line that takes you a moment to recognize— it’s where he tore his own leg off.  

Living proof of every death he has died. Of every death denied to him. 

You had thought the first time you would see Diluc naked you would have thrown a joke or two, made some sort of innuendo or inappropriate joke just to watch the tips of his ears turn redder than his hair. You had imaged it a hundred times, playing out in a hundred different ways. 

But never like this. Not while you map every wound on his body like a coroner trying to figure out which finally sounded his death knell. 

Lifting your hand to his, you brush his knuckles against your lips. 

“Kiss me.”

He does. 

Water splashes onto bloody tiles, Diluc’s body surging forward as his hand cups your jaw, pulling you into him as you nearly fall into the tub too, barely catching yourself against his broad chest. You try very hard not to think about the rest of him, wet and bare, underneath you. It’s not working. 

Your free hand snakes around his neck, fingers knotting themselves into the unruly mane of his hair as it sticks to his back and shoulders in crimson curls. Unlike every other time you’ve enticed his affection, Diluc quickly demands more, his tongue already pressing against your lips as he coaxes your head further back to grant himself easier access.

“Wait don’t,” you begin, cut off by Diluc’s lips. “Your stitches might come un–” He kisses you again. And again. Your words turn to ash, burned away by the passion you’re suddenly overcome by. 

He’s consuming you, igniting you in your entirety and you can only welcome the flames. 

Somewhere against your dwindling sanity you know this display was little more than a calculated performance. Perhaps this was just to curve your anger. Perhaps it was simply meant to distract you. Perhaps it was to distract himself.

But with each insistent press of Diluc’s tongue against your own, each ghosting prick of his fangs against your bottom lip, you find it increasingly harder to care.

Another rough tug drags you closer to the Hunter, and your hand slips against the wet metal rim of the tub, a sharp hiss caught against your throat as you yank your arm back. A thin line of red drips from your palm, swirling into the bath.

The scent of blood stabs the air, the flood of rust and copper rushing through Diluc’s skull, into his lungs, and lower still. 

Superhuman strength wrenches you backward as he reels away, one hand restraining your bleeding hand and the other wrenching over his face as he looks away, stifling both his nose and mouth. His chest heaves, each breath coming out in ragged huffs visible in the cold air. 

You can still see the glint of his fangs through the gaps in his fingers. 

You frown. “Tell me, Hunter, do you wish to drink?” 

Diluc tenses beneath you, refusing to meet your gaze. You swear he’s leaning as far away from you as he can without quite literally shoving you onto the floor. His hand muffles his words, and you can hardly make them out against his palm. “It’s hardly about what I want.”

Always being the goddamn martyr. 

“Why?” You tense against his grip, fighting to meet Diluc’s eyes. “Why must you keep doing this?” 

“I do not know what you’re referring to.”

You thrust your chin towards his body, towards the new wounds that mutilate him, anger cracking your voice. “This! All of this! Why, when I’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m capable of helping?” His grip turns harsher. You pretend not to feel it. “Let me help you.”

Before you release it you’re standing, Diluc forcing you to your feet as he places more distance between the both of you. He released you at arm's length, but gods does he feel so much further away? 

“Again, I fail to see what it is you’re referring to.”

“Do you?” A sharp laugh, and you catch his wrists, thumbing at his scars as your eyes trail the rest of them. “You think this fixes it? You think forcing yourself to suffer will alleviate you from your guilt?”

“And what do you know of guilt,” a growl, “Doctor?”

“Do you truly think there’s anyone who has failed more people than a doctor? As though I don’t have the blood of more innocents on my hands than you do.” 

You swallow, daring to step closer and raise a hand, only for Diluc to flinch away from your still-bleeding palm. He refuses to look at you. Why won’t he ever look at you?

“Our suffering will not bring them back, Diluc.” He still keeps you at a distance, and you relent, leaning your head against his bloodied knuckles as you exhale slowly, deeply. He doesn’t let you come any closer. You don’t force it. You simply stay put, forever at arm’s length, bracing yourself against his palm as if just to remind him that you are here, you are with him, and hoping that, for now, that alone will be enough.

You know this type of self-destruction well. The violence- the pain- it silences the voices. 

You can’t remember their screams if all you can hear is your own.

“It will not give them peace, it will not make them forgive you, and it will never give you freedom from the memories.” If it did, the nightmares would have ceased years ago. 

But that’s the funny thing about grief. Sometimes, it’s the only thing left when all the anger has finally burned and died out. Diluc knows this, being alive for centuries has taught him well, as he is doomed to repeat that same spiral of anger and violence and suffering until it finally kills him. 

What does he know, if not grief? What is he, if not this rotten husk of anger and rage? What is left?

Just a beast and a boy fighting for control over a broken body.

But then he feels the warmth of your breath, every exhale shaky and heartbreaking as your lips quiver against his palm, and he cannot help but want to hold you. 

“Today was my birthday.” 

The burning pressure against your wrists disappears, and Diluc sinks to the floor, falling back into the tub as his arms and leg hang out. Head knocking against the metal rim, you watch his throat bob in silence before you kneel down beside him. His hand finds yours, and, ever so slowly, his pinkie finger intertwines with yours. 

When Diluc continues, his words come out in a rasp, each one lodged against his unbeating heart before they spill out. “I try not to remember. One year I attempted not counting the days, hoping I’d simply forget,” a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Come early spring frost and I still could tell it was the morning of my birthday. The world won’t let me forget.” 

After all, he killed his mother the day he was born and killed his father the day he became a man. 

He had lost all the family he’d ever known on this day. 

He was so young back then. 

“Every year I visit them, far west from Hemwick Charnel, on a cliffside overlooking the castle and the sea.” Diluc’s words come easy now, and you begin disinfecting his wounds again as he talks, the slow rumble of his chest comforting as his body begins stitching itself back together. “I was picking lamp grass when I was ambushed by a horde. I didn’t know where else to go but here.”

A hum, and you let go of the cloth. “For what it’s worth, I am glad.”

Diluc turns to look at you with a raised brow. “Glad?” He’s about to continue when you gently shove his head, correcting yourself with a snort. 

“I’m glad you were born. I’m glad I got to meet you. After all, who else could I blackmail into my service with a rifle and a vile of blood?” He laughs, the sound rough and warm. You can’t help but laugh too. 

Leaning forward, you brush aside the long, wet strands of hair from his shoulders and place a kiss to the nape of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of smoke and ashes. 

“Happy birthday, mon chéri.”

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

Yharnam seems to be cursed with late winter storms, and this April is no different. 

You once swore you’d take snow over the typical rain or hail, but the relentless blizzard outside has you second-guessing that now. For the entire day now it has been impossible to see even three feet beyond the windows, a foggy white blanketing the city. 

The children had fallen asleep hours ago, all seven of them huddled close as you tucked them under layer upon layer of blankets, Diluc and you taking turns to make sure they were warm and secured.  

Now you and the Hunter retreated back to your own quarters, a small room nestled above the orphanage and the clinic. It sufficed though, and between the library set up in the corner of the room and the fireplace crackling before the seating area, the two of you easily fell into a comfortable routine. 

Despite having read and reread many of your books– the majority being medical, philosophical, or the guilty pleasure novels that you‘ve expertly hidden throughout the shelf– you choose a new romance book to take back to your armchair and instantly curl up in it. 

You’re only fifty pages in when you’re disturbed by an amused huff from your Hunter. 

“May I inquire as to what is so amusing?” You peek over the pages, glaring slightly. He just had to interrupt you as soon as it was getting good. 

Diluc hums. “Nothing in particular. It’s just that whatever you’re reading is causing you to make a rather strange sort of face.” He mimics you, brows scrunched before a smirk cracks across his lips at your scowl. He tilts his head, smile never dropping. “Your heart rate spiked.” 

There is no way you’re admitting to reading pure filth in front of him, so instead you clear your throat, shifting your fingers so they cover as much of the title as they could. “Yes, well, this requires a lot of concentration so excuse me.”

"Of course. Concentration." 

Diluc chuckles, the sound low and smooth and utterly horrible for the purity of your thoughts.

Crimson eyes flicker to the small crook where your neck and shoulder meet, just barely covered by the silk of your nightgown, and his tongue drags over his fangs as he forces in a deep breath. All your shifting in your seat allowed the billowing neckline to slip past your shoulder, exposing the delicate skin, and you could practically feel the Hunter’s gaze burning into you. 

You know he can hear your heart flutter in tandem with that treacherous twisting of your stomach— a sort of unholy anticipation when you spot the brief flash of hunger across Diluc’s face.

Logically, you knew this was akin to tempting the Devil with sin. And yet that damnation tasted so sweet. 

Your poor Hunter was already so far on edge from being unable to go out to hunt due to the heavy snowstorm. Early spring, and yet the winter was relentless in its hold over the city. You only managed to keep Diluc inside by assuring him that the Beasts would despise the cold just as much as anyone else would, and if there were one night where he could rest easy, it would be tonight. 

And yet it seemed as though both the words rest and easy were completely foreign to your Hunter. 

All the more fun for you, really.

Uncrossing and recrossing your legs, you allow your nightgown to hike further up your thighs, letting out a sigh as the fire crackles and snaps. Diluc’s grip tightens against the armrest of his chair, the leather upholstery cracking under his knuckles. The Hunter can’t stop the slow glide of his eyes over your body, catching himself wondering if you had even bothered to wear anything beneath the flimsy slip of clothing, banishing the thought instantly with a flushed face. 

But not before you catch it.

“Oh? What’s wrong, my dear Hunter?” You snap your book closed, setting it on the nightstand before stalking across the room. “Now you’re the one that seems rather… distracted.” 

He swallows, hard. “And you seem rather intent on tempting me, even after I remember advising you against doing so. Specifically on a night such as this when I haven’t hunted nor fed.”

“I’m right here. You need not ask.”

A strained grunt. Diluc’s eyes burn into yours as you find your way to his chair, almost predatory in the way they catch your every movement. It excites you even more. Leaning down, you brace your hands against the armrest, caging him beneath you. 

The fireplace is alight at your back, silhouetting your every curve, mimicking the desire burning both in your gaze and lower still. Saints, you can’t tell what you want more— to devour him or let him devour you. 

Both. 

Both would be acceptable.

You fall forward, thighs slipping atop Diluc’s own as you lower yourself onto him in one slow motion. His hands come up, and you guide them to your waist, each palm large enough to cup the entirety of your hips. It sends another trill of wicked excitement through you. 

The glint of the fire catches against his fangs. Perhaps it’s the lingering effect of the dreamroot you smoked earlier, but you can’t help yourself, thumbing at his lip as you tilt Diluc’s jaw up. He goes easy, opening his mouth as you gently prod at the razor-sharp teeth. Behind those twin fangs his gums swell slightly at the top, a large cavity trailing down into the root of his teeth. 

Thumbing it gently, you retract your fingers just long enough for Diluc to say, “Venom glands.”

A hum, both your hands now lifting to his jaw as Diluc’s arms meet you halfway, urging you to slow despite your excitement. Whether for your sake or his you did not know.

Diluc’s hands remain at your wrists as you gently push his lip up, sliding your thumb along his fangs, pressing against the gland until a steady stream of venom trickles down the long tooth. 

It’s mostly clear, an unassuming amber in color, and yet the moment it drips onto your skin you feel the dizzying effect of the venom takes hold. Your eyes follow the trail, certain it must be a type of neurotoxin by the way it’s numbing your fingers and wrist as it trickles further and further, muscles relaxing involuntarily as they fall victim to the venom. If it was this powerful at mere contact, you shiver to think at what it might be capable of at injection. 

“Does all Vileblood venom act the same?”

“Not,” Diluc grunts as your grip against his jaw shifts. “Not quite. Every individual’s toxin varies, and the effect depends on both participants.”

Gliding your fingers down his neck, the Hunter beneath you shivers. “How so?” Dropping your hands, you let them rest upon his shoulders. 

“Different lineages hold different properties: paralysis, hemorrhage, coagulopathy, necrosis. But the chemical effect differs between partners, it’s impossible to tell how any one individual would react.” 

You snort. “Partners? Seems a little too consensual of a term for what your kind does. Perhaps,” You lean forward, “Preying?” Rock your hips into his as your lips brush his neck, “Hunting?” A gasp, and you pounce, “Devouring?” You bite. 

The sweet sound of Diluc’s moan rewards you, and you pull back in time to watch the bruise fade back into the pale column of his neck. His throat bobs, eyes flickering back to your own neck. 

He’s so obvious sometimes. 

“I’ve been wondering, do Vampires have favorite spots to bite? I’d assume major arteries, makes for easier…” You guide his hands further down, allowing them to roam until they thumb at the dimples against your lower back. “Access?”

Diluc’s mouth opens, dry, his mind failing him at every turn when it comes to you. You laugh under your breath, dragging your fingers up your body, allowing the thin silk of your robe to slip off both of your shoulders, exposing inches of soft, delicate skin. “Don’t tell me you’re a clichè and just go for the neck? Or perhaps this frustrating gentlemanly façade is to hide even more perverse tendencies? Well? Are you hiding something from me, mon petit monstre?”

“No.”

You lean in, teasing. His gaze drops lower. “No?”

“Avoid arteries. They—” Your hands fall from your chest, one grabbing Diluc’s jaw, forcing him to look at you, as the other begins toying with the lace of his blouse. A beautiful blush clings to his face, dusty red from the firelight as it burns at his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Saints, he’s so warm under your touch. “They’re too messy. It’s a balance between force and mercy.”

By the time he’s done talking you’ve finished opening his shirt, hands greedily exploring the newly unveiled skin as you hum in response. Hard planes of muscle are ridged with curls of thick red hair, cut only by singes and scars, and you bend to kiss each one, nestling yourself further onto Diluc’s lap as your lips continue to worship him. 

“Force and mercy, hm?”

You once offered to heal them, to stitch up loose gashes and dress older wounds in ointments. But Diluc refused. Now, as your tongue traces a scar from his chest to his sternum, you begin to understand why he collects these reminders of failures long ago. He believes it to be an atonement, his physical proof to pay for every sin he’s convinced he’s committed. So be it. You’d love them regardless. 

A kiss to the gnarled skin before you move further, lips brushing over another patch of burns before you sit up, taking in the view before you. 

There is something horridly addicting in bringing the apex predator of the world to your mercy. Diluc was doused by firelight, bare chest tinted with blush and the slick aftermath of your ministrations, skin matching the crimson of his unruly mane of hair now cascading down the couch and sticking to his sweat-slicked muscles. His eyes meet yours for only a moment before they dart from your lips to your neck and back again. 

Everything about him was blinding, so furiously red it burned. 

You shiver. 

That moment of weakness was enough, however, and Diluc lifts you easily. His powerful grip forces your hips flush against his, body towering over your own as your chests brush with every ragged inhale, head dipping to rest his forehead against your own. 

He’s trembling. Elongated fangs have sunk deep into his bottom lip, blood trickling down his chin, dripping onto your breasts. Every muscle in the Hunter’s body is tensing and yielding again and again, fighting every instinct with the control he so piously boasts. 

Ever the fucking gentleman. 

You grumble, pushing yourself forward, deliberately shifting your hips against his own, smirking at the low gasp he makes against your ear. It is as your dear Hunter said: force and mercy. 

One hand palms at the hard planes of muscle down his torso, nails digging into his abs, watching as the red lines disappear as soon as you make them. It only tempts you to try harder. Maybe use something sharper. The other hand works to lift Diluc’s face to your own, drinking in the heavy blush that coats his cheeks, eyes hooded with a bleary fog, unable to look away from your neck as his own black blood stains his lips and chin. And yet he still refuses to bite you. 

You have half a thought to force the Vampyr’s fangs into your skin on your own when the man finally moves. You don’t register it at first. One moment his forehead is braced against yours as you perch atop him, and the next you’re pinned against the arm of the couch, Diluc looming over you as he kneels between your thighs. The fire snaps in the background. 

Diluc lowers his face an inch, grazing the tip of his nose along your neck. Beneath your hand, his chest heaves upward as he inhales a slow, greedy breath of your scent. Breathe. You scream at yourself to remember to breathe. 

“You’ve yet to answer my question. Where, Diluc,” another brush along your neck, this time with his lips. Your voice trembles. “Where would you bite me?”

Too far. You knew this question was pushing him too far, you knew the fool you played to even dare press his limits, to tempt him with forces you couldn’t begin to understand or control. But gods old and new be damned, you were tired of constantly trying to figure things out. 

It was its own kind of discovery, the surrender to instinct. 

And so you do nothing except tilt your neck further, allowing him to brush his lips over your neck again and again. With each movement you arch further into his lap, feeling that heat and hardness grind up into you, mere friction enough to override every rational thought. 

Finally, Diluc stops. A heavy breath fans the lower crook of your neck, stopping just above the curve of your shoulder. “Here.” 

It’s a command as much as it’s an answer. Diluc dares to kiss you there, finally, opening his mouth as you feel the warm nudge of his tongue, fixating on that spot until something seizes him, a deep growl reverberating through his chest. 

Diluc shudders and parts his lips, lingering just above the damp spot, every exhale a cold gust against the hyper-sensitive skin of your neck. You don’t dare move, either in fear of scaring him away or luring him further you do not know. Instead, you shift your hand once resting upon his shoulder into his hair, coaxing him to press harder. His tongue traces a circle on your skin as he obeys. 

You stifle a moan. The devoted mix of kisses and nips was going to leave more than a mark, and that thought alone rid you of any remaining control. Deliberately, you grind harder against his thigh, the firm pressure of his muscles sending your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. Yet you continue, meeting the painfully hard strain against his trousers with every soft roll of your hips.

Diluc groans. Fisting your nightgown in his hand, he forces the two of you together, bending you backward with the force of it as his mouth opens wide against your throat. 

"Please," you whisper. 

You feel the twin pricks of his fangs, hovering just above your skin, just enough to feel them. Ripples of fear and desire and terror and anticipation shutter down your spine. Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of every place Diluc touches you, his nearly bare chest heaving against your own, the heat of his breath on your neck, the weight of his hand on your waist. The roar of your blood in your ears. The pounding of your heart. 

Right as you feel the pressure begin to sink into your throat, you lose your balance, the force of Diluc’s hold pushing you back as you slip off the couch and hit the table. 

The cracking of wood breaks the both of you from the trance.

Diluc is breathing heavily, bangs shielding his face as he cages you against the table with his arms, one hand protecting the back of your head from the impact that would have otherwise rattled your skull as the other braces your back. He’s straining though, as if he himself is trapped between standing up and descending upon you once more. 

“…Temptation.”

Your head snaps back, falling against the table with a thump as you try to meet his gaze. Raising a hand, Diluc laces his fingers between your own before bringing it against his jaw, nuzzling into your touch. 

Finally looking at you, you stifle a gasp at the sight. His pupils are bleeding, turning the whites of his eyes into an inky red, so deep they are nearly black, pupils themselves dilating and constricting like a beast’s. 

“You are temptation.”

You manage a wry smile despite the lust and fear burning throughout your body. “Your temptation.”

A smile. “My temptation.”

And with that you tug his face down to your own, ramming your lips together. Diluc protests against you, words muffled into the sloppy kiss, his resistance half-hearted as his tongue already works to meet you halfway, trying ever so desperately to steer you away from his fangs. That won’t do. 

You prop yourself up with one elbow, feeling the weight of Diluc’s body drop onto your own, pinning you to the table as his lips claim yours this time. It’s more tongue and teeth than anything else on your part, nipping his bottom lip as your eyes catch on his fangs once again. The taste of his own blood lingers from where he bit himself, and you moan before pushing your tongue forward, allowing it to push up against his teeth, feeling two clean gashes trail down the muscle as it drags along the length of his fangs. 

The taste of your blood fills Diluc’s mouth. He flinches, pupils blown wide. 

You pull just far enough to say, “Drink.”

He does. 

There’s a low growl, a sound more beast than man, and Diluc consumes you with the savagery of a wild animal. His lips chase yours, sucking your tongue into his mouth as he feeds. It’s twisted, the sounds you’re both making and the web of blood and saliva that drips between the both of you, the very act of him feeding off your tongue enough to be considered sacrilege. 

But, Saints above and gods below, you never want him to stop. 

Pressing the hot muscle into Diluc’s fangs again, you feel a numbing sensation seize your tongue, losing control as the warmth from Diluc’s mouth and his natural venom rupture every nerve and muscle, chasing down your spine, compelling you to grind even harder against him. Every kiss is tainted with the obscene sounds of him swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood, the creaking of the table as your hips rut into each other no better than animals in heat, and the moans that echo along with the snap of the fire. 

It is still not enough. 

Breaking the kiss, Diluc’s lips chase after your own, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, thoroughly drunk off your blood. Not that you’re faring any better, nightgown bunched at your waist and slick to your skin from sweat, blood smeared across your lips and chest. 

A dark smile cracks along the Hunter’s mouth, glinting with blood-stained fangs as he snarls, “Addicting.” 

Saints. The way he said that word echoes in your skull and you whimper, clenching your thighs around his waist and pulling him closer still. Diluc obeys, pressing your bodies together so tightly you could feel his heartbeat against your chest.

Without thinking your hand is already trailing down every straining muscle of Diluc’s body, scratching down his chest and abs until it grinds against the searing heat straining against his trousers. The Hunter keens, pushing into your body as he gasps, hardly giving himself a moment to breathe before claiming your lips once again. 

You’re trying your best with the atrocious number of belts and laces that block you from your goal, and yet to no avail as your mind can hardly think straight between the insistent press of Diluc’s lips on yours and his venom running rampant in your veins. 

Another whine and you give up on the trousers entirely, laying your palm flat against his clothed cock. He bucks into your heat, and you marvel even through your lust-dazed mind at his sheer size, having to rub both hands down his length to simply feel it all.

Diluc gasps, tearing his mouth from your own as he licks the remaining blood from your skin until he forces himself from your lips. “Don’t. Don’t do that, else I really might lose control of—”

You do it again, cruelly grinding your palm into his length before dragging your fingers up again, nearly coming up to his lower abdomen as you thumb the mass of red curls disappearing into his trousers. Oh, gods, you need him, now. 

The Hunter hisses as your movements get rougher, jaw snapped shut as he thrusts into your hold, the force of it enough to drive you and the table you’re pinned upon backward. You can hardly stop yourself from imagining that power, that sheer size buried deep within you. All-consuming. Addictive.

You’re about to press up again when his hand catches your own, yanking both up and slamming them above your head. A whine, and you thrash beneath his grip, arching against him. But Diluc no longer responds, his body rigid as he witnesses the mess he’s made of you. 

It’s instinct, the way you beg and whine for him. It’s merely a prey’s response to a predator coaxing them into a false sense of bliss before the kill.

“You deserve so much better.”

And then the warmth above you disappears, leaving you cold and empty and aching, alone with only the crack of the fire and the silence of the night.

Diluc was gone.

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you, and you fall limp onto the table as you stare up at the ceiling. “Fucking bastard.” 

Even with the fireplace at your back, there is no mistaking the sudden chill of the room, and you force yourself to sit up despite the horrid mix of Vampyr venom and raw desire making your limbs tremble with every movement. Saints, everything ached, the room spinning as you stumbled onto your feet. Not trusting your legs enough to make it to your chambers, you opt to collapse against the couch, another delirious whimper seizing you as you lay sprawled against the leather. 

You hate him. 

Saints you hate him and you hate him for leaving you while the growing need between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole. The leather was deliciously cool against your flushed skin and you writhe against it, another breathy moan slipping past your lips as you turn to face the door. 

Your quarters were on the third floor, two above the clinic and one above the orphanage. There were only so many rooms Diluc could have fled to, at least until the snowstorm subsided. 

For now, though, he is stuck in the house. Curse or blessing it may be.

You bite onto your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood- you wonder if he can smell it- as your hands glide downwards, ghosting over the bruising remnants of Diluc’s touch. Oh, you hate him. You hate him so much. Even the brush of silk against your skin was becoming unbearable, and you slip past the nightgown, letting it bunch at your hips. 

Even amidst the venom and lust, your logical side begins to panic— heavens forbid you’re loud enough to wake a patient or the children sleeping only a floor below. 

But you know that with his senses Diluc can hear everything. 

And that alone would make this punishment worth it. 

Call it retribution. 

A hand slips beneath your undergarments and Saints, fuck, you were dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. But you remember the bastard voyeur undoubtedly listening in and force yourself to slow down. Instead, you rub slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to drive your head back into the armrest, waves of heat rippling through you. 

With a broken whimper, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a breathless moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. Saints. It’s not enough. 

You whine, and yet force yourself to draw each movement out, the twist of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the lewd wet sounds of each movement. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the tip, this time two plunge back in, and your back arches off the couch with violent tremors as you imagine it was Diluc’s hand instead. Your Hunter’s hand, hot, rough, and big enough to send you reeling with a mere touch. Deeper and deeper, he’d push you to breaking, and your free hand claws into the leather at the thought of it. 

It’s Diluc’s voice rings in your head, and you see that dark smile, glinting with blood-stained fangs as he snarls. “Addicting.” 

Addicting. 

A sob, and you force your fingers curling up in self-inflicted cruelty. It’s Diluc’s hips that grind into you with relentless fervor, it’s Diluc’s hand that brings you closer and closer to the edge until you draw blood from your lips, and it’s Diluc’s name that leaves your lips in silent screams as you finally come again and again until the room fades to black. 

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

You’ve ruined him. 

Gods the fucking taste of your blood lingers in Diluc’s mouth, every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every beastly urge and simply consume until—

Diluc sinks his fangs into his arm with a groan, forcing mouthful after mouthful of blood down his throat in hopes that the bitter taste of his blood covers your own. 

It’s not enough. Not even close. The hunger had hardly subsided and his dick was still begging for release, heavy and controlling, demanding his very sanity as he stumbled into one of the abandoned patient cubicles. Your voice, broken and desperate, rings against the base of his skull, and the memory alone is enough to send new ripples of heat down his spine. 

Throwing himself onto the cot, Diluc shields an arm over his face, attempting to block out the sounds of your moans, the rhythm of your heartbeat, the taste of you still raging through him. But even the slightest movement only succeeds in making the rough seams of his trousers rub against his cock, the friction enough to make him grit his teeth, fangs sinking into his bottom lip. 

And then he hears your voice again. 

He goes deathly still, afraid he’s begun to hallucinate in this lust-induced haze. But no, there is no mistaking it. From where you are, a floor or two above, he hears the rapid stutter of your heartbeat, your stifled cries, and the slick, wet sounds of your hand as it—

“Saints,” he’s gasping for air, ”kill me now.”

Diluc knows you’re torturing him. 

His ears strain against his will, and Diluc catches another whimper from you when suddenly the scent of your blood hits him like a bullet. You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding and his cock is throbbing in time to your weakening heartbeat. 

You really do turn him into a beast. It’s sinful. 

One hand unbuckles his trousers, fumbling them down as the other stifles another moan, sound low and tortured. Diluc’s pace matches yours, and as he hears the slow rub of your fingers against your core, he in turn grips his cock, pulling it from its confinements as it springs against his abs. Saints, he’s leaking enough to coat his palm in slick already, excess dripping onto his thighs. 

It’s easy, with the taste of you in his mouth and the breathy voice of you in his head, to imagine it’s your hand gripping him instead. He hates himself for how much harder he gets at the thought of it. 

But Diluc hardly gets to dwell on it, any semblance of embarrassment is swallowed whole by greed as he hears your pace quicken. Listening to you intensely as you fuck yourself on your hand, his jaw clenches as he grounds himself in time to the beat of your heart, hips stuttering as he gives himself a painfully rough jerk. 

With each pump his hips rut faster, erratic movements rocking the cot as the groan of the frame is covered only by the slick slap of skin and his muffled whimpers. Diluc’s mind wanders, and he can’t help but remember how you writhed beneath him, dark blush tainting your features and that cruel smile flickering across your face. What face are you making now? 

He pictures you below him once more, but someone as unpredictable as you would never be satisfied with that for long. Would you push him down? His eyes flutter closed and he indulges in your noises that reverberate through the wall. Would you tie or chain him up, each movement slow and cruel as you used him to your heart’s content? Granted, he could break free from any sort of restraint, but would he want to?

Fuck. He’s not going to last.

Desperate, Diluc digs his nails into the soft underside of his cock and with a prolonged squeeze starves off his orgasm, thighs trembling from the pressure. Diluc thinks you’d do the same. You’d tease him, you’d send him to the brink only to stop, a cruel sort of devotion only you could give him. The thought alone is enough to send his head rolling back, mouth open as he growls out your name. 

It must be poison. Your blood must have gotten him addicted. 

From the room above your pulse stutters, and he feels each beat of your quickening heart on his tongue, he feels it against his cock, and as soon as you moan a broken mantra of his name, Diluc knows he is doomed. 

You must be his damnation. 

[becauseimanicequeen]

I've used a lot of purple in my work today, and some yellow, and it got me thinking about Wandee Goodday (tell me I'm obsessed with Wandee Goodday without telling me I'm obsessed with Wandee Goodday, lol)...

Purple and yellow are contrasting colors (also called complementary colors) because they are on opposite sides of the color wheel. Contrasting colors are the definition of "opposites attract" when it comes to color because they are completely different but complement each other very well. When placed next to each other (or, as in my profession, somewhere within the confines of the same canvas), it creates high impact and contrast. They pop.

So, what does that tell me about Yak and Dee in Wandee Goodday? That their contrasts complement each other.

Dee (purple) is more mysterious and (let's be honest) a bit cold. Yak (yellow) is more clear/direct and warm.

Dee enjoys luxury. I mean, neon lights (at least the quality stuff) are expensive and we've seen how much he likes neon lights.

Yak seems to enjoy the simpler things in life like just being around the people he likes and having fun with dressing up in different costumes.

(I could be wrong about this, though, considering he can, somehow, get his hands on all those costumes and props he uses to disguise himself when he goes to Dee's place. Maybe that's a very expensive hobby/kink he has, lol.)

Anyway...

What's interesting about purple and yellow, in particular, is that they also have overlapping traits, and (not so) surprisingly, so do Dee and Yak.

Purple (Dee) is associated with wisdom while yellow (Yak) is associated with intelligence. But even with this overlapping trait, Dee and Yak's wisdom/intelligence is different and complementary.

Dee is a doctor and it has surely taken him a lot of studying to get to where he is now. The kind of intelligence he uses every day (because of his work) is scientific and analytical.

Yak's intelligence is, I would say, more of an intuitive and emotional kind. He took what Taem said about people not always being able to be strong, saw it in Dee, and was able to empathize with it.

Even though they're both wise/intelligent, they are so in their own ways.

(Yes, Dee shows empathy for his patients as well, but I feel like he lacks some of the other aspects of EI at the moment, like self-regulation, for example.)

Another interesting aspect of purple and yellow is that purple is the color on the color wheel that's closest in value to black while yellow is the color closest in value to white.

In other words, purple is the color on the color wheel that reflects the least amount of light while yellow is the color that reflects the most.

Even though black and white and purple and yellow have different qualities and symbolism, the contrast between dark and light is there in both pairs.

Black is often associated with the night while purple is associated with mystery (one of the reasons being that pure purple is so dark it was likened to the evening/night in the past). White is often associated with light while yellow is (in the West) associated with the sun. In Thailand, yellow is associated with Mondays, and Mondays are associated with the moon (the light in the night sky).

With this in mind, it could be that Yak (yellow) is coming into Dee's (purple) life to shine some light.

There was that hint (in the 3rd episode) of a car accident that (most likely) took Dee's parents' lives. Considering what we saw in that flash of his memory, he saw them dead. Whether he was in the car with them or not doesn't matter, the trauma was evidently deep either way.

While I don't believe in other people being able (or having the responsibility) to heal your trauma (you have to work on that yourself), Yak might still be able to give Dee some light through another perspective on life. Perhaps to work less (so he'll have the time to change the lightbulbs, lol) and make more time for fun and play (like their FWB relationship).

With the whole contrast in values between purple and yellow, combined with the reasons they're in this FWB/fake boyfriend relationship, I also feel like Dee might end up hurting Yak.

Yak seems to be the one who is mostly into this FWB/fake boyfriend relationship and it feels like that because he wants to be there (he clearly likes Dee). Dee, on the other hand, is mostly in it for his own personal gain (at first to prove that he isn't vanilla and then to show Ter and the gossipy idiots at the hospital that he’s not into Ter).

And let's not forget that he likes to win...

And will probably do whatever it takes to win over Ter (since he admitted that winning at all costs is a bad habit he has).

The question is how much Dee will hurt Yak on the way to winning (because I'm pretty sure Dee will win the scholarship) and how far he will go before he realizes what he's doing/what he's done and what Yak actually means to him.

Eventually, though, Dee will realize his feelings because I'm sure he will see the light that Yak has brought into his life (literally and figuratively).

Anyway, that was my rant about color. I'll shut up now...

[rs-hawk]

The Thunderbird: Part One

If you like Indigenous mythology, make sure to follow me for updates on my Indigenous Americans Folklore Romance staring January 15, 2024!

You never really listened to your mother about what was out there. You always considered the old stories to be that. Just stories. Everything they talked about could be easily explained by science. Well, maybe not everything, but at least most things. Believing in those stories made you feel like you were playing into the stereotype of a “superstitious Indian”. Frankly, it angered you if you thought about it too much, because if you didn’t, you felt like you were denying such an important part of yourself.

However, if anyone asked, and if you were to look in your heart of hearts, you had to honestly say that you didn’t believe. They’re just stories. Stories made to explain things your ancestors didn’t understand, and to be warnings to keep children safe. Like why you shouldn’t go into the woods alone, or why you should try to find cover during thunderstorms. Maybe if you had listened though, you could have just continued your life.

On New Year’s Eve, you were driving home from your parents’ house. You had work the next day, unfortunately, and your family can get a little out of hand at parties. It wasn’t quite midnight, but you didn’t mind reigning in the New Year alone. You just wanted to be able to get some sleep.

As you thought about how much part of you wished you could have stayed, you saw lightening flash across the sky. You slowed down, wearily watching for another flash, when thunder boomed so loudly your car shook. Your stomach dropped through your feet to the floor, with your heart following when you see what can only be described as a bird the size of a helicopter.

Your entire body trembled as you watched it soar through the dark sky, but even more so when the creature slammed into the ground in front of you. All the stories your mother said came racing back to you. Men turned to monsters by their immoral actions. Creatures too beyond human comprehension, so this is all we can see with our human eyes.

You weren’t sure what happened next, but the hood was ripped off of your car, and the cold winter air seeping into your bones. The creature peered inside at you, chirping and clicking at you. You swallowed hard as it’s long beak picked you up by the collar, dropping you on the ground beside your car. You couldn’t even scream. The fright left you feeling numb.

A caw that sounded like thunder boomed from the beak as it bumped its head against your cheek. Other stories also bubble up from the back of your mind. Creatures beyond humans, who won’t even have a Chief of War as they are above it. Protectors of their cousin nations. Protectors of sister tribes. Those who live just beyond, in the upper world. The closest to Father Sun and Mother Moon that any of Their children will ever be.

You stood up on trembling knees, and the creature just watched you. After a few moments, you started walking along the street, wondering if it would follow you. There was another flash of lighting in the sky, followed by a deep boom of thunder. You know it’s from the bird. As you’re walking, you see a massive pile up ahead. Police cars and ambulances circle the cars, pulling out survivors. If you hadn’t stopped when you saw that thing, you would have been here. In that carnage.

Fear made a lump bubble in your throat as a police officer walked up to you. “Are you alright Miss? It’s freezing out here. Were you involved in the accident?”

“No. No, um, I was attacked a little way back but it left. It destroyed my car so I was going to walk home,” you explained, not wanting to really explain what happened. How could you?

The officer frowned, looking you up and down. “You’re sure that’s what happened?”

Heat flushed your cheeks as you nodded. You knew what he was thinking, but you weren’t drunk. You hadn’t touched a drop. “Yes sir, but I’m alright. I’ll call a tow truck in the morning.”

He grunted out a “fine” before turning away to pay attention to the scene in front of you. The booming of thunder made you wince, drawing your coat closer to you.

To continue this story, check out the IAF Romance Series tier on my Ko-fi here! Hope to see you there

[livingforstars]

Comet Hyakutake's Closest Approach - March 24th, 1996.

"The above true colour image of Comet Hyakutake was taken on the night of March 21st-22nd, 1996. On the 24th, Comet Hyakutake would make its nearest approach to Earth, closing to a mere 10 million miles as it passes over the planet's northern hemisphere. From dark sky areas, it's tail would possibly be seen to cover about 20 degrees on the sky (40 times the apparent diameter of the full Moon) corresponding to well over 3 million miles, at the distance of the comet. The word comet, referring to the tail, derives from the Greek "aster kometes", meaning long-haired star - and the hair of comet Hyakutake continued to grow as it neared the Sun! The tail grows as the Sun heats and sublimates (changes directly from solid to gas) the material on the icy surface of the comet nucleus, sending jets of gas and dust into space. The material is swept back by the solar wind, so comet tails usually point away from the Sun rather than simply trailing along behind in the comets' orbit. Some predicted the tail would grow over those next few days to nearly 50 degrees."

[immortalmsmoon]

Could I get pls Ren Amamiya x fem!reader, who has problems with hanahaki? (It is a disease in which flowers grow in the lungs of the person you love, and you cough up flower petals and blood in one.)

I'm counting on you, I like your blog very much!!

Hanahaki

A/N: PLEASE I LOVE THIS?? I am so excited to post this this was so fun UGHHGGHH THANK YOU SO MUCH! Also i will be referring to Joker as Ren Amamiya in this one, hope that's ok!!

Ren Amamiya x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Descriptions of Pain, a little sad, angst, mentions of heart break.

If i missed anything, please let me know!

Wordcount: 1,696

It was a beautiful day, truly, the sky a stunning shade of blue and the clouds fluffy pieces of cotton drifting in the wind. the sun had just begun to set, streaks of pink and orange and pale purple mixing in the the blue that would slowly soften, only to deepen once the moon rose.

The sky was pretty and all, but there was one thing that really stood out to you.

He looked so pretty, the pretty colours of the sky dancing off his glasses and pale skin, and he looked just ethereal. his hair, messy as ever, framed his face so nicely, and that charming smile was out as he spoke to your friends.

you had fallen behind the group a bit, but that didn't matter to you, not when you could look at Ren from where you were without being met with suspicious eyes.

You had liked him for what felt like forever, even though it had been just about a year. you had never said anything though. Not when he made it clear to his closest friends- You, Ryuji, and Yusuke,- that he heart only beat for Ann. it hurt more than it should have, to know that all you were to him was a Friend. But you supposed that was better than being nothing to him.

Your friends called to you from there places ahead of you, and you hurried over to stand by Ren.

"pretty, isn't it?" he murmured to you, Butterflies dancing in your stomach as he leaned down to you to ask the question. all you could do was nod your head in response.

The night ended after you and your friends watched the sun set, and you all hurried to quickly catch the last train before midnight. You and Ren were the last two of your group on the train, and you joked and giggled from your seats in the back of the train, showing each other meme's from your phones, and funny Tweets.

the train ride was short, and soon you were parting ways, waving to him from your door step as he walked off to Leblanc. You stayed on your front step until he was out of sight, and stood there even after he was gone, wondering, if maybe in another universe the two of you could be together, be more than friends. You were quick to shake your head. you had thought these thoughts before, and it only ended with you in a messy heap of blankets and tears.

in the light of the moon you sat on your bed, your face stained with tears. You knew this would happen from the moment you stood out on your front step. your head throbbed as you sucked in a breath, attempting to calm your breathing. something about the pain in your head was different, and it stirred a nauseating feeling into your stomach, and you were quick to stand up, which you quickly regretted.

you placed a hand on your head as you slowly made your way to the bathroom. Could it be the flu? maybe...but you felt fine just hours ago! you navigated through your dark house to your bathroom, and just as you passed the threshold of the door, you felt as if something had stuck to your throat.

you coughed, and felt little movement of whatever had wedged its self into it. you coughed a couple more times, and then finally you felt whatever it was in your mouth. it felt weird. smooth. soft. you spit it out into your sink.

Flower petals.

you had heard of this before. Hanahaki, a disease that sparked from unrequited love. Your thoughts traveled to Ren, his smile, his voice, his hair, and a pain found its way to your chest, right above your lungs. You coughed again, the stinging in your throat almost unbearable.

A dream. This had to be a dream.

Tears found there way down your cheeks, and you took in a sharp breath. You felt an anxious pang in your gut, and a saddend cloud fogged your head. You had known Ren didn't feel the same as you, and you had tried to live in ignorance, and force it from your mind. you spent your days pretending, wishing, that what the two of you had was more than friendship, even if he had explicitly told thats all it was.

A dream. You would go to sleep, and everything would be fine, right?

you ventured to your room, stumbling through the dark, but taking care to not wake up the rest of your family.

Weeks passed and it only got worse as time stretched on. The flower petals started to appear in a higher quantity, and with the flower petals came thorns and leaves. Your throat was sore, the white petals stained red from the blood that the thorns had drawn. Sometimes in the middle of the night, you sat in your bathroom coughing and crying, from the pain of a broken heart, and the stinging of your raw throat.

Today you were supposed to meet everyone. You didn't want to go, your throat so sore talking felt like a chore, but you did anyways.

Leblanc, the cafe Ren lived in was where you all met. It was nice, a rustic looking cafe with a warm and inviting enviroment. You hadn't seen everyone in weeks, you had been taking days off school, saying you were sick, or skipping because you couldn't bear to see Ren.

As you sat at the booth, sipping your drink, Ren slid in beside you.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? i've missed my best friend" he said, tossing you a teasing wink. A pang went through your heart, and you blinked hard, nodding your head, humming in response. You felt a heaviness in your chest as well, and you chose to ignore it. You took another sip of your coffee.

"So....I've been thinking...About Ann."

You felt your stomach drop, your chest tightening.

"I might ask her out"

You felt your chest tighten even more. He continued to speak, and you pretended to listen. Your chest continued to tighten....maybe it wasn't tightening because of what he said. You felt a pressure in your throat, a far to farmiliar. You coughed, covering your mouth, and stood up in an instant. Ren stood up beside you, his mouth moving, but you couldn't hear anything he was saying. Your ears were ringing, your throat sore, as you coughed in an attempt to push out the flowers crushing your lunges.

Chaos had erupted within Leblanc, your group of friends rushing to you, patting your back soothingly, and asking if you were ok. Ren had tried to rub your back, urging you to cough, but it had only made it worse and so you pushed him off. Having finally made it to the washroom, you slamed the door behind you and crahsed to the floor, hacking into the toilet. The petals in your throat felt thicker, sticker, and clung to the inside of your throat more than the other ones had. you continued to cough, feeling it sticking and slicing your throat. you coughed harder, some of your friends trying knocking on the door trying to see if you were ok. you ignored them, focusing more on coughing up the petals. You should have known this would happen. Being with Ren, Being near Ren, hearing his voice, everything about him hurt you, and in the end, it had only made this condition of yours worse.

You finally managed to cough it up. You could feel it in your mouth, scraping along your tongue and the roof of your mouth. a Flower. A full flower. Not just petals. You panted as you held it in your hand, staring at the flower, covered in your fresh blood. The knocking on the door and the calling of voices through it grew louder, and you opened your mouth to respond, but your throat had been scratched so much you didn't think you could speak. blood soaked petals clunge to your cheeks, blood dripping from your mouth and onto your lap.

The door burst open, you friends freaking out at your state. Ann came closer, her hand outstretched, but you moved away from her touch, the blood covered flower curshed in your hand, which caught her eye. her face filled with panic as she finally took in your full state, and let out a cry as she saw the blood coming from your face. you pushed yourself into the corner of the bathroom, dropping the flower, and wipping the blood from your face. it wasn't long before an ambulance was called.

Your doctor told you about it, well elaborated on what you already knew. You would cough up flower petals, more and more until it became a full flower. eventually, it would kill you. that was, unless you got it surgically removed. It seemed like the best option, but as usual, there was a price that must be payed. You would forget ever loving him. You would forget ever loving the glow of his eyes in the sun, and the softness of hands. you would forget loving the deepness of his voice, and the brightness of his laugh. It brought tears to your eyes. you had beat yourself up over loving countless times, but never, not once, did you ever want to forget the feeling of loving him.

But maybe it was for the better, Right? To let go, to move on. Maybe it would be better for you, maybe you would grow into a new person. It was a daunting feeling. You weren't sure if you were ready to let go, to face whatever you would have to without him.

People used to tell you that "Where flowers bloom, so does hope". it was something you mother said frequently, actually. you had lived by it for so long, clinging to the saying, telling yourself that if you lived your life by the day you would bloom too, and that hope and happiness would find its way to you.

You weren't so sure you believed that anymore.

[loneberry]

FIRST TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE

Images from my first total solar eclipse, depicting the outer corona, inner corona, prominent prominences, diamond ring, and the partial phase. Photos taken by Dan.

A black sun. Never had I seen a black sun, that insignia of melancholia that will forever remind me of Kristeva, which will forever remind me of M’s suicide—it was one of the few books M had with her at the very end, the book that her mother believed was the key to why she did it.

Black sun. On the day of—or day after—M’s death anniversary. I had been weeping for days when I found myself beneath that darkening sky.

*

What’s the difference between a partial and a total eclipse? I vaguely remember going onto the playground with some glasses as a child, but I don’t remember what I saw in the sky. What’s the big deal? The sky goes dark for a few minutes. It can’t be much different from the onset of night.

Wrong.

The rhapsodic scientists I listened to on various podcasts convinced me that there is really no comparison between a partial and total eclipse. I tried to hatch a last-minute plan to get myself in the path of totality. In the days leading up to the eclipse, I would be at the French King Bridge for M’s death anniversary. The only person I knew in Western MA, besides M’s mother, was my poet friend Ethan. So I asked him if he had a plan to see the eclipse.

I did not know, when I texted him out of the blue, that his parents lived in the path of totality in northern Vermont, that his father Dan was an astronomer (communist astronomer!) and eclipse chaser (this was his 14th eclipse), that Dan had even organized the local viewing event and wrote a book on the history of astronomy. At Ethan’s parents’ house there were literally photographs of eclipses mixed in with the family photos (see below). His father had even built a little observatory on his land. I had, in the most haphazard fashion, found the perfect guide to my first total solar eclipse.

Dan brought his equipment to the eclipse viewing: cameras, filters, binoculars, and a $4000 hydrogen alpha telescope that we used before the eclipse to look at the sun’s prominences and a sunspot on the surface. He enthusiastically answered all my questions. How had the Babylonians worked it out so long ago? Why does the wind pick up when the eclipse begins? Why is the sun’s corona so much hotter than the sun’s surface? (It’s still a mystery to the scientists…) Why why why. (People often tell me that I always ask a lot of questions—almost like an eternally curious child.)

The eclipse. It is not like the dimming of sunset, with its orange hues and plunge into the horizon, the low angle. It is a light unlike any light I have seen before, a strange dream-like atmosphere, a gray yet shimmering unreality, the air suddenly cold, the birds in a confused tumult. The uneven temperature of the atmosphere makes the wind pick up as the moon slowly covers the sun. Though the light was not the gold of sunset, you could see a band of orange on every horizon like a 360 degree sunset, an eerie gloaming that electrifies your skin.

A silence descended on the field as the moment of totality approached. Then, audible gasps—we couldn’t believe what we were seeing. I think the first thing I said was, “Holy. Shit.” Nothing prepared me for the numinous beauty of the sun’s corona, those elegant wisps of bright white light haloing the black sun. I think it’s probably the closest one can come to seeing God while alive on this earth. I cried during totality while observing the patterns in the corona through binoculars. A beautiful pink arch of plasma (a prominence) was visible toward the bottom of the sun. Dan pointed out Venus in the sky.

In the center of that black hole there is an abyssal silence

I don’t know how to describe it. Celestial indifference to human endeavor, human emotion. A kind of coldness in that heat, the heat of the corona, beyond even the fires of Hell. Then I can hear the angelic squall of the corona ringing over the landscape. It is a sound full of grace even as it cannot be called happy.

I can see why the ancients might interpret an eclipse as an augur of something deeply ominous, perhaps apocalyptic. The experience is, at once, sublime, ecstatic, and deeply unnerving—all your perceptual faculties are telling you that something is wrong. The ongoingness of the world and its rules cannot be taken for granted, for the sun went black, not in my dream, but in the afternoon sky.

And just as soon as it began, it was over. We had almost 3 and half minutes of totality. I was surprised by how quickly the sky brightened, how much light we get when the sun is almost completely covered.

One day the moon will float away. There won’t be any more total solar eclipses. Be grateful you were alive during this slice of cosmic time.

This is my favorite scene in all of cinema, from Béla Tarr's Werckmeister Harmonies. Watch drunkards reenact an eclipse in a drab Hungarian bar...

Ethan and communist astronomer dad!

I even got eclipse-branded maple syrup (peak Vermont)

[unicyclehippo]

New Year's prompt: glitter!

eat and be eaten is the way of the world. laudna knows that better than most. there is nothing that escapes it; if there is something that she believes in, it is that.

every person, every creature, good and bad, is meat sinew blood bone. death will lick her way into sweet marrow and she, giantess, will grind bone to bonemeal, to dust, to the finest vanishing filaments in the blowing wind. she will do that for everyone—pauper and puppet and queen. she kills moles in their molehills and boulders dreams of mountaindom. drags her pale hands through the farmlands and rots seeds in their bed, then farmers, then towns. she drapes a dark cloak across all faces, her shroud, takes their breath and leaves only memory behind, that small and tarnished token. hers is the dominion of death everlasting and it is steady and voracious in its generosity.

when the last of the aliens have landed in the desert, the bridge brightens to a burning red. it pierces into the rubble moon until it finds glass, crystal, that throws the red in a hundred thousand beams, each line a knife to the net, the cage.

glass melts, rock melts. the prison door cracks—and death sighs. she is free. she unhinges her jaw and opens wide her hands and reaches for the gods. it is the easiest thing to pass through the weave; she grabs the magic by the fistful and gorges herself on it, finally, licks every shred of magic from the chains and swallows it down link after link and when she is done with it she takes the first domain, the closest, and sinks her teeth into it rotsoft and sweet, an overripe plum, the frantic beating of a heart. it bursts in her mouth. holy! red! she drinks it down, licks her lips clean, licks her hands, until there is no trace left of the paltry god and its domain its stagnant cup. she is so hungry still. she reaches for the next.

far below, light spills like blood across the sky of exandria. divinity flares, fights, dies and is devoured; it glitters as it goes, explosions like all the rest of the far and distant stars, dead and dying.

the feast—the sky full of fire—lasts a year. there are no gods remaining when it is done; death has eaten them all, and herself too, in a great slow writhe, a snake and its tail, death and its endless end.

//

bells hells waits a year. stationed at the edge of the world, a red column of light drifting up into the distance of the astral sea. there is no ruidus anymore. only a line of red dust and rock smeared across the sky.

laudna has taken to travelling between the towers. there are twenty-five of them, so far, in groups of two or three. each new cluster rises up a little further from the bridge as the builders grow more daring, more hopeful. the red-stone roads creep between each settlement like a network of roots or splintering canyons. a reminder of ruidus, she thinks.

there is something to it that makes her heart ache—their world and city had been so full of dreams of exandria and, now that they were here, it was dreams of ruidus that guided their hands.

‘copper for your thoughts?’ miraani asks, sharp teeth grinding over the words.

laudna is resting, which is still strange to her. the sun is high and blisteringly hot and her caravan has stopped at one of the nexus; everywhere where the splintering roads met, the builders had fashioned great domes. way points of water and shade in the desert, wind tunnels whistling as the heat is dragged up and out, flags and awnings stirring in a lazy breeze. she is searching the interior—carved and painted with directions (and some amusing graffiti) for the way to the seventeenth cluster. stood in the archway, laudna eyes the next waypoint—a little lump in the distance—and the cluster beyond it. the twenty-sixth tower nearly complete.

‘do you miss kreveris, miraani?’

they step up beside her. tall, the sloping crest of their head nearly brushing the seven-foot curve of the arch. for a time, they are silent.

‘it was a place of great misery for many.’ miraani touched two fingers to the spot at the base of their neck where the flesh was warped, lumpy with a long-healed scar. a pink membrane closed over their black eyes—a sign, laudna had come to learn, of discomfort. emotional or physical. no one liked getting sand in their eyes. ‘we were corralled and leashed, our will lashed to that of the weave mind. there was never enough and it spurred cruelty in all. our city was a hollow thing built in honour of your world.’ miraani tilted their head upwards. beneath the membrane, their eyes swivelled. searching for that red trail across the sky. ‘and even so… yes, my guide. my mind overflows with thoughts of it.’

‘i am sorry. that we could not save it.’

miraani shook her head. ‘you saved us. and soon, i will be your guide through new kreveris.’

‘is that what has been settled on?’

‘i do not know what the Chorus intends but yes, many among us are calling it this.’

laudna nods. rubs at the line of her sternum. ‘i look forward to seeing it,’ she murmurs.

miraani waits. when laudna says nothing else, they clear their throat. ‘if we leave now, my guide, we will make it to the cluster before night.’

‘what? oh, yes. yes, of course.’

the caravan is ready to move, wuukor watered and drivers back from a road-rough lunch and stretching their legs. miraani swings up into the first caravan and pulls laudna up with them; together, they lead the six-cart caravan forward into the desert.

‘why are you thinking of kreveris?’ miraani asks later, voice lifting over the creak of wood and leather, the clatter of hooves and wheels on the road.

laudna shakes her head. ‘i was not. i was thinking of…death, i suppose. and what it leaves behind.‘

‘bodies,’ miraani nods.

it is not what laudna had in mind but she nods. thinks of her own body. creaking joints. scars. hollow burned out rooms in her mind that she cannot tread, cannot recall what they once held.

there was once a city on the moon; now, pieces of a city and pieces of a moon. it will take decades to rebuild and the work is at hand but it is painful and slow and sand fills every pair of boots she has.

there was once a woman in her mind; now, no woman and, it feels, only pieces of a mind. it is frightening and terribly lonely to hear only herself; it is more frightening, when she hears her thoughts echo, that old remembered whisper a sigh through the corridors of her mind. but the emptiness, the splintered roads and canyons, make it so very easy to tell when the red weight of a beloved mind brushes into hers and sinks deep.

hello, my love, laudna sings, and hears the redoubled echo. my love, my love, my love.

they are in range of the cluster and laudna lifts her eyes to the glinting cap of the twenty-sixth tower. it takes a moment, and a teasing brush of a mind to coax her close, but finally she spots a figure floating near the peak. massive bricks of stone rising effortlessly into place around her as teams of builders set them into beds of beam and mortar.

you are incandescent, my love, laudna whispers to her.

you are still too far away, imogen says. her mind bristles—irritation and exhaustion and that needling anxiety. you’re not allowed to sweet talk me until i can kiss you about it.

then come and kiss me, laudna tells her simply. her love, her wife, her life wavers in the air. the blocks shiver and, one by one, lower to the ground. then like a comet, imogen burns across the sky, closing the distance until she is here. with laudna once more. she hovers by the side of the caravan. it has been a year since she had to touch the ground and she rarely does; her eyes crackle with lightning, forks of red and purple leaping from her hands, her feet, the frizzing ends of her hair. she is the most beautiful creature laudna has ever seen.

she is frowning.

‘you’re two days late.’

‘hello,’ laudna says, pointedly. ‘there was a sandstorm.’

imogen scowls—up at the sky, as if in reprimand for keeping them apart—and then darts forward. ducks her head beneath the top of the caravan to alight within. purple lights flare and fill the space; purple paints the distance between them, and laudna’s hands and skin and when imogen kisses her, she closes her eyes and sees no black, no green, only purple.