#astral limbs

[witch-of-many-names]

Anyone else who has feathers/feathered limbs (wings specifically) as far as astral limbs/body parts ever like. Feel your feathers poof under the right circumstances?

Because. Yes. Recently especially.

It's odd but. It's also nice?

[strugglekin]

I haven’t been on here in a few years so i’m not sure how controversial astral limbs are anymore but regardless I feel them very strongly. The feeling of wings on my back and a mighty form once felt and lost brings me such emotion- it gives me hope, to return to that life after i have completed what i must in this one, but also a deep longing for who i once was.

Nevertheless, they give me strength.

[fell-on-all-4s]

Awake at 4 am unsleeping because I can feel my astral/phantom limbs stronger than I have in ages. Not just wings, but ears and tail too, and im getting hints of what could be wings on my head. I had to take off my shirt and I was kneeling on my bed in such a... meditative state? Probably helps that im sleepy but I'm a little restless, too.

On a similar note, recently a new friend who knew a little bit about my kin stuff asked if I had wings. I said yes and asked her how she knew, and she said she could see them somewhat. We talked about experiences with divinekin and I told her maybe I was an angel in a past life. She said she thinks I am an angel still - I have the energy of an angel, and she can feel it. She makes me feel like I'm glowing. She has wings, too. And I feel safe and... authentic in her arms. True self sort of stuff. Also, she lets me be a kitty all I want :3

Didn't plan on this becoming a sort of love letter. 4 am thoughts can move like that.

If u read this far, thank u, I appreciate u and I love you. If ur just scrolling thru, I love you as well.

[the-otherspace]

Normally, I feel my astral limbs while in bed. I will wrap my wings around myself and swish my tail back and forth (a stim thing.) But today, I woke up and my wings were still out when I got out of bed. I was able to flex my shoulders and stretch my wings. It felt great, but a little weird.

[blackvahana]

Sometimes my husbands lessons are him sitting there waiting with the most subtle, untraceable words you've ever seen metaphorically written on a envelope left on a table that takes years to notice. Sometimes... his lessons are "take whatever form you want for sex because I think you need it. Actually, you know if you openly had sex in it, you'd figure out your form more. Also you should let yourself both shapeshift and have sex rn because it's an expression thing happening" and then I log on to tumblr and there's a comic about someone telling someone else to take. explicitly. whatever form they want for sex stuff. talking about forms and what they look like for sex. and then hi [someone else whose name I'm not tying to this post about sex lmfao] talking about forms. and also conveniently being reminded of [another different person]'s NSFW blog I skipped over when I was having sex repulsed trauma times. and what's next. am I gonna walk out this door to a salesperson knocking at 2:43am to tell me about the latest shapeshifting sex forms science on earth too

[joeysmuttonchops]

[The New Titans (1988) #67]

look at those little boxes. "Normally: he hears the rhythmic beating of a human heart." "Normally: He senses the nerve impulses passing between neurons." "Normally: He feels his brain take control over an alien body." I just know this man is so weird about the physical self. there is such a sense of alienation in those lines. sure sometimes a person will focus on physical sensations like a heartbeat, but neurons? using "his brain" rather than "his/himself"? i would bet so much money that joe does not consider the Body to be part of the Self (which could partially explain why he's so careless with the bodies he's possessing like ive mentioned before)

that being said, lets note how he's able to hear the souls of the previous women eric has absorbed. its a secret tool that will help us later.

[localsundeity]

“Like constellations imploding in the night

Everything is turning, everything is turning

The shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light

And everything you thought you knew

Will fall apart, but you'll be all right”

[ckret2]

Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

####

Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed. 

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table  under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched. 

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

[strugglekin]

I am so very dragon shifted right now- i can’t stop shaking my wings and tail heheh

also looking at videos/experiences of other dragons brings me immense joy

[endursent]

- Through the Dark

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , dry humping , a bit of pining , tight spaces , NSFW 】

【 note; i've never written smut/nsfw before, so this is treading new grounds for me, but I need to practice for gss because i want that to be juicy. expect more, lol. it'd also be nice to get requests/suggestions to stir by brain a bit if you'd like.

also, the reader's gender is never mentioned but there are gender-neutral they/them pronouns used twice in the middle to enforce that ambiguity. 】

【 word count; 3.391 | read on ao3 】

“Stop… moving so much,” Sunday strains through grit teeth, he’s trying not to sound annoyed or upset, but it’s an uphill battle. 

  “You’re moving first, I’m just adjusting,” you whisper back, you can’t tell what expression he’s making in the darkness, but you’re sure it’s on some scale of annoyance or frustration by the sound of his voice. 

  “You–”

  You hear footsteps approaching and slap your right hand over his mouth, your heart beats faster as they approach, quick taps against hardwood floors… you feel Sunday still completely, his jaw moves slightly beneath your palm as he swallows thickly. Neither of you move an inch until distant shouts sound and the footsteps fade. You still keep your hand over his mouth for a moment longer just in case. You can’t see out of the closet you’ve squeezed into… what if there’s someone listening on the other side? Just waiting for either of you to make a noise?

  Your heart continues to beat rapidly in your chest, you feel it hammering against your rib cage–and you’re sure Sunday feels it too.

  After a while, you take a gamble and lower your hand from his face, surely they’re gone now? 

  “...” Sunday doesn’t say anything, a tense silence falling between you. His voice is a whisper when he finally does speak. “... is this a usual occurrence?”

  You have to take a moment to try and understand what he means. “Ha? Being stuck in a closet?”

  “Yes,” he just grumbles, disapproval clear in his tone. 

  “... no,” you mumble in return. The how and why of the situation was irrelevant—mostly because it’s your fault and you don’t want to think about it—what was much more important is that you are stuffed into a closet with Sunday with barely any wiggle room and you’re not keen on facing a horde of angry guards who could potentially be hostile with only you and Sunday to fend them off. 

  Your limbs barely have any space, Sunday’s arms are above the both of you, his elbows on either side of your head as the space is so narrow he can’t even lower them—there’s no direction wide enough for his arm to bend. Your chests are pressed together so tightly that the ornament on his scarf has nearly poked you in the eye three times and you felt the tickle of his feathered wings against your cheekbone when you turned your head to the door.

  The rest… is the uncomfortable part—not that being pressed like sardines in a can isn’t uncomfortable in general. Sunday is slightly taller than you and has to spread his legs on either side of you so that he can fit—the closet isn’t exactly tall either, so the two of you are slightly hunched as well, thus you have to tuck your legs under him so that he’s practically sitting on them, your knees press against the wall achingly and one of your thighs is pressing very insistently and directly between his legs.

  The strain in his voice is probably only half due to the uncomfortable, hunched position, and half because with every slight move you make, you’re essentially grinding your thigh against his crotch. It’s hard not to notice the situation, but for his–and your own–sake you pretend not to. 

  Unbeknownst to you, Sunday is fighting for his life. He hasn’t been touched by another… ever? Not like this, even if accidental. He feels the tips of his fingers prickle and his jaw clench unconsciously as he tries his best not to react outwardly. 

  “Okay… they should be gone now,” thankfully your hands were bent downwards, and thus you could push against the closet door with your elbow.

  But it doesn’t budge.

  You press again, nothing. It’s locked, or blocked by something. No matter how you try and push, the door doesn’t budge.

  “What is it?” Sunday frowns, he can’t see what you’re doing and the closet doesn’t have any holes or window on the door to allow light in. “Open it, just…”

  “It’s locked,” you interrupt him. 

  He says nothing… and you can almost sense the mixture of frustration and disappointment in him, but a soft, warm exhale fans over your face, it almost tickles. “Try again,” he urges surprisingly softly. “Perhaps it’s just stiff.”

  You do as he asks, but no luck. “… it doesn’t open.”

  Sunday clicks his tongue. “Alright—stop pushing, be still,” he nudges your head with his elbow. With every press against the door, your body pushes away from it—and your thigh flexes, pressing against him further. 

  There’s another beat of silence, but you can’t stand it—thankfully, an idea flashes in your mind and you decide to give him a heads up… this will require some wriggling. “Sunday, my phone is in my pocket, if I can get it and send a message to the Express group chat, someone must be able to come and pry the door open.” Never have you imagined a more useful task for Dan Heng’s spear.

  “Can you reach it?” he asks as you shift your arm from being stuck between your stomachs and squeeze it between your bodies. His eyes squint at the feeling. 

  You bite your lip in concentration. “Probably… but I’ll need to try and stretch my thighs and waist to fish it out…” 

  “I see…” he understands what that entails, but he’s not sure he likes the idea. “Can you reach my phone instead? It’s in my coat pocket.”

  You pat around his side and try to find it, it could be easier… but to reach down you have to try and bend forwards—which means pressing your forehead and face directly into his chest. The scarf wrapped around his collar is soft… and it smells nice, like cinnamon. Though his chest itself isn’t very soft, he’s rather skinny. 

  But no matter how you reached and even tried to tug his coat up, the pocket was too far down and his phone even deeper inside. There’s no other way.

  “I’m sorry,” you truly are, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. “Maybe if we just wait…”

  “No,” he shakes his head and you feel his hair brush against your nose. “Just do it.”

  Deciding to try and just get it over with, you nod and start shimmying your back and ass upwards as much as you can to try and create space for you to be able to tug your phone out of your pocket. And it has the exact effect expected. 

  Sunday grunts, he tries to bite back any noise and his thighs twitch before he presses them against your hips tightly, as if trying to close his legs… it’s torturous, your thigh drags up and shifts and moves against him as you fish for your phone, he can’t even reach down to still your leg or tug at himself—anything, his arms are at too much of an awkward angle to be able to bend down in the tight space, so he’s stuck just enduring the searing heat that’s pooling dangerously easily between his legs. 

  Finally, you get a proper hold of it and drag your phone out of your pants pocket, you settle back down which elicits a sound from him that shoots through both of you like an arrow. “Sorry!” you quickly try and apologise, but the soft twitching of his body signals that the apology will do precious little.

  Sunday swallows thickly, so much so that you could hear it. His body was warm before, but now it feels like he’s radiating heat against you. He doesn’t want to say anything, worried his voice might not sound right—but the position you realigned into is pressing him almost painfully flat against himself… which also means he feels every small drag or shift you make. 

  You try to tilt your shoulders in a way that lets you see your phone screen… if you can just text the Express group chat that you’re stuck, surely someone can put off what they’re doing and come let you out. 

  It’s tricky to turn the phone in your hand with only one to spare and try to unlock it without seeing the screen, where even is the messaging app again? You just try your best to guess… until you try and type, which is when your phone tilts from your fingers and clatters to the ground.

  “…”

  “…”

  Fuck. 

  An exhale leaves Sunday. “You dropped your phone.”

  “… yeah,” you sound like a puppy being scolded by its owner. With your phone facing up on the floor, he could just barely see you giving him guilty dog side-eyes.

  He couldn’t explain the frustration it brought him that now no one knew of your positions—you had managed to send a … half-message… but it probably didn’t mean much to anyone. 

—

[17:42] You: slfep dmgwlsGn f

[17:43] March 7th ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ: Huh?

[17:46] Himeko: Probably put their phone unlocked in their pocket again...

[17:49] March 7th ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ: lol

—

  The light from your phone turned off as it was left untouched for too long, and you groaned slightly. Great… now what? Surely you’re not going to be stuck here forever.

  He wasn’t going to be able to keep his composure much longer, especially not when your damned body is pressed against his like this, the smell of your clothes and the occasional brush of your hands when you move them in the little space they can be moved. 

  It certainly doesn’t help that he finds you irresistible. 

  How could he, after his world had been turned—his beliefs, his ideals and his goals all turned from reaching forward, to halting in front of a mirror, forced to confront his reflection and pick out the flaws in his own mind before himself. 

  And you treated him just as you would any other person, despite what he had done, despite his false sense of benevolence that he still worked to understand how to redirect to something more realistic, how to understand what it is that drives... 

  His thoughts are interrupted—unfortunately, because it was distracting enough—when you pat his coat again to try and find his phone, but his skin begins to tingle every time you touch him, his poor body highly sensitive from the growing tension in his pants. “S-stop, be still—please,” he breathes, his voice suddenly far closer to your ear than it was before, his soft hair tickling your cheek. 

  Oh, that was…

  You’ve never heard his voice sound like that—not that you’ve known him for long enough to hear many of the pitches of his voice could make, but the way it rose slightly and cut off before pleading with you…

  Why do you want to hear it again?     “Sorry,” you say again, losing count of how many times you’ve said it already. “Are you okay?”

  He wouldn’t admit to his predicament with a gun to his head, but… it’s impossible to ignore, and there’s no way you don’t know either. He takes a deep—shaky—breath. “You can’t… move your leg?”

  You don’t want to lie to him and say yes, your knee is aching from being pressed so firmly against the wall of the closet, and your tailbone isn’t faring better against the other wall. You can pretty much only move it side to side unless you try and straighten your knee out—which as he felt earlier, was far worse. “Not really.”

  He swallows again, Sunday is glad he’s wearing gloves and that the closet is dark, or else you would have felt his sweaty hands or seen it on his brow by now. “I see.”

  He can’t stay like this much longer, his heart thunders against his chest, he hears it clearly as his breath hitches when he tries to provide himself some relief by shifting his hips to one side—but only proceeds to drag against you again, causing maddening friction that makes his thighs flex. 

  The tension in the air is so thick you’re not sure if it’s just the fact the closet doesn’t exactly have a vent, or that your nose is a hair’s width from Sunday’s neck, but it’s making your head feel lighter and your breaths deepen the more he tries to find more comfortable positions and fail, letting out short breaths or grunts. At this point he might as well just find the relief he’s desperately holding back from chasing. It would be less painful. 

  “Sunday,” his name falls from your lips quieter than you meant to, and surprisingly, your own name leaves him equally shyly. A simple breath that made your spine straighten instinctively—causing you to poke yourself in the eye on the ornament on his scarf. “Ow—“

  “Stop moving,” his tone sharpens and you feel a palm on your head. “… nhh—“  Sunday’s body twitches, you feel a throb against your thigh and he fears he’s going to burst if this continues. “…”

  But he can’t in his right mind just ask you if he can use your thigh to satisfy this torturous ache. 

  Thankfully, your mind is usually not ‘right’. “Hey,” you muster up some courage, it helps that neither of you can’t see anything. “If you need to…”

  “No,” he interrupts you, shaking his head—and a wing slaps you in the face, you feel like your face is taking too many swings today. “No, absolutely not.”

  “You sound like you’re about to cry.” His voice is tight, but not because he’s about to cry—he might, if this keeps going for too long—but because he’s reigning in every single willpower he has to hold himself still. “Will it be better if I do it?”

  He clicks his tongue, this entire situation could have been avoided if someone didn’t trigger the alarm. He could’ve gone about his day and not had to—yet again—confront a side of himself left neglected. “No… fine, let me.”

  It was… tentative, shy, as if he thought that short and subtle movements would mean you wouldn’t feel anything or not notice too much. Every shot of warmth from his waist to his fingers and toes made him shudder and his chest tighten, it was a fight on all fronts to both keep quiet and focus on being careful at the same time. 

  It was hard to watch, or rather listen to, as the dark was still all-encompassing. 

  Maybe he would feel better if he didn’t have to think about the uncomfortable silence in the darkness. 

  You can’t reach up, your hands stuck below your chests, otherwise you would have touched his face first. He likely wouldn’t have been as startled as he was when your lips suddenly—yet gently—pressed against his. 

  “Wh—mm you—doin—m—“ it’s almost comedic how his question is only half communicated, surprised and confused by the kiss that he slowly eases into, accepting your offer and splitting his attention. 

  His hips grind against your thigh, slow at first and uncertain, but as your mouth takes half his mind off of it, he begins to move more desperately. He’s been held at a precipice for so many minutes, an agonising hour that felt so long that he thought he would surely explode in some form if it were to continue for much longer. Sunday’s lips are surprisingly soft against yours, warm and inviting as he pushes back, his hand above your head that laid on it is now searching for purchase, as if he wants to take hold of you properly. 

  The two of you pull back to breathe, and Sunday wastes no time to duck his head next to yours, damp lips brushing past your temple and to your ear. He plants wet, open mouthed kisses below it, the sensitive skin tickled by the sensation as his tongue drags against the shell of your ear. 

  But he doesn’t give up, taken by the heated moment and relaxed barriers, his hips continue to cant against your thigh, his worldview narrowing to the sensation of your warm skin under his lips, to the delicious friction created by both your pants. “Hahh…“ he breathes out, a string of saliva separating his lips from your skin. 

  You move your leg in tandem to his grinding, you can’t help but feel his pleasure as if it were your own, the way his body trembles with strain, the breathy sounds below your chin and flex of his hips. You feel your own body respond and warmth pool needily, but you ignore it—he’s the one that’s been suffering for an hour in this stuffy space, you can wait… you try to convince yourself at least, ignoring the subtle throb of your own, at least it was just against air and not pressed against something as well—or perhaps that’s worse. 

  It’s embarrassing, Sunday echoes in the back of his mind, not only that he’s had to resort to this, but also the fact that he wants more. He doesn’t just want to rut against your thigh like this, he wants to touch you with his hands, trapped at an awkward angle over your shoulders. He wants to feel your own heat, the warmth radiating from your clothes against his a tempting tease, a longing of seeing what’s beneath. Your skin, your hair, your eyes, your neck, your lips—he wants to feel all of it. 

  Sunday mumbles your name again before his lips find your ear and the top of your throat once more, a hint of teeth as he captures your earlobe between them, a shiver running through you, you can hear his mouth and tongue so clearly... he kisses a reddened spot left below your ear from his single minded focus and his hips falter and his body twitches together, but he only succeeds in brushing his bangs against your chin and his small wings fluttering outward. The surge of heat emitting from his straining cock was unbearable, he moved faster, a breathy sound of your name on his lips again, Sunday says it for the third time as tension fills his body and all he can focus on is the warmth of your frame against his—a bit too tightly in the cramped closet—the soft warm breaths against his ear and the way your hands unconsciously started grabbing at his coat. 

  You feel him tense and groan, the choked sound foreign on his lips, you never expected to hear such a bodily sound from him, nor could you stop it from raising every hair on your arms. You hold onto him as he practically falls against you, Sunday’s breaths are heavy and his arms tremble by your head, his mind feels like it’s been tossed around a bit before stuffed back in upside down, he can’t straighten up or lie down and has to practically sit on your thigh. 

  “Are you okay?” you prod and poke at his stomach worriedly. “Was that okay? Are—“

  “Please… j-just… one moment,” he pleads, not ready to answer a barrage of questions just yet. His heart is beating so fast it almost worries him, his throat feels dry and his legs are weak. He did nothing but drag his crotch up and down your thigh and this is the state he’s left in? He can’t imagine how you would leave him if he got a real taste—

  He shakes his head and you splutter as you get a mouthful of feathers. “I… might have dirtied your pants,” he says shamefully, the sticky wetness between his legs left behind from the height of pleasure was surely going to stain you too. Though it felt good, certainly, he is having some post-clarity… for you to see him so tense and desperate as this—he always has a careful front, not more so than before, but the habit remains. 

  “I have more,” you try to assure him… you don’t have them with you, but you do own more. “So…”

  He presses his forehead against your shoulder. “… I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  A small smile cracks your lips and you stroke his side. “Okay, we‘ll talk later… how about a second grab for your phone? Now that you’re all, eh… spent?”

  “… don’t send anything until we’re dry.”

[galedekarios]

i need to take a moment to talk about one of my favourite details in the astral sea scene because sadly, you can't really see it too well (or at all) from afar / without the camera tool.

remember the very end?

when gale and his partner form that sort of star?

and they're little more than a tangle of limbs?

the original gale has his hand outstretched and the protag's hand slides down his arm:

until they intertwine their fingers and hold hands.

i just wanted you all to know that.

[frameacloud]

The purpose of this survey is to collect data about the experiences of people who feel sensations of nonhuman body parts, for example, wings or a tail. Some call these supernumerary phantom limbs, phantom shifts, otherlimbs, or astral limbs, though you may have other preferences for the words you use for your own experiences. If you haven't had those experiences, you can participate in this survey too. This survey was made for people who call themselves otherkin, therianthrope, furry, or any other potentially alterhuman or nonhuman identity. If you don't describe yourself with any of those words, you can participate in this survey too.

The survey will take you about 6 to 15 minutes. Everyone age 18 and up is welcome to fill out the survey at the below link, until it closes on July 6, 2024:

Survey Link

Who is running this survey and why: The person running this survey is Orion Scribner (they/them), an otherkin/therianthrope who has been making projects about these communities since 2005. I will use the results in my panel at an Internet-based convention later this year (OtherCon 2024), and in other future research projects.

[yandere-wishes]

𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℍ𝕚𝕘𝕙

❤️‍🩹Characters: Yandere! MH Ghouls x GN! Reader

❤️‍🩹Summary: There's something ancient within you. Lost and forgotten. You're an eldritch creature living amongst monsters. A piece of you lives within each of them. And a piece of each of them lives inside you...

❤️‍🩹Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, Body horror in Frankie's part, slight gore and blood in the rest, angst, super cryptic.

❤️‍🩹Could be read as romantic or platonic.

I am a monster, for now and forever. I am a monster, what a terrible being.〜♡॰ॱ

There's something ancient within you. Lost and forgotten. ~❣✧❣

⚡︎Frankie Stein ⚡︎

There's something ancient within you. Lost and forgotten. Frankie is desperate to unravel it. To crack it open. She feels you in every one of her limbs. Feels you in the stems of her patchwork heart. That has to account for something right? 

Your melancholy seeps through you, tainting the tiles in shades of gold. 

Frankie blames the binding of your skin, she's always found it too loose. 

Nothing extramundane, to tether your essence within yourself. She wouldn't mind taking you apart and stitching you back together. Recreating you into something perfect. She's grown wry of watching you crack your ribcage open, shoving astral celestials where your heart should be. You mutter things, things she doesn't understand, things she's scared she'll never understand. Her bones rattle, a rouge spark runs down her spine. Every piece of you haunts her...

Frankie use to believe, verily childishly, that parts of her were salvaged from you. She knows now that that's impossible, yet she still wishes every night for the childish dream to come true.

In many ways, Frankie has always been bound to you. Your first friend, your first confidant, your first punishment, your first comprehension. Even when you'd been too young to understand the cacophony of the world, you'd still know the two of you were connected. 

It had only taken a lifetime to understand why. 

Bones collapse into constellations. Somehow she feels you slipping away. Her slender fingers trace the stitches across the hollow of your chest. A meteoric reminder of her work. "It's okay I'll have you fixed in no time." Frankie doubts you find any truth in her incentive. You've always been drawn to pessimism. Still, she feeds the needle through skin and muscle. Praying she remembers the stronghold pattern her mother taught her. 

The shade they used for your blood is too bright. You bleed in rivers, 

flowing with no end insight. You wash away her sorrows with farfetched promises. Awakening a longing, she never knew she had. 

Frankie wishes she could pluck out your spine. Kiss each vertebra like an iridescent pear. Maybe then your souls would tether, maybe then everything will go back to the way it once was. The needle snags across bones, marring your skin in star-kissed bruises. She pecks each one, muttering a sorry across cold flesh. You feel like home under her lips. A home she never got to know. 

Yet the echoes of its brilliance linger faintly in the hearts of those who once knew its warmth.

Frankie smiles as your eyes crack open. Dizzy and distant, you've yet to notice your enhancements. The pieces of herself she tethered onto you. She wonders when you'll notice the new eye, the new leg, the mismatched fingers. Her heart sparks thumbing loudly in her ribcage. 

She sinks down, by the operation table,skinning her knees. You feel like home, now more than ever. 

Your fingers find her head, patting the matted hair, she smiles something solemn and forlorn. She trails her fingers over one of the stitches on your arm, prying her slender digits between the threads and into the gaping tissue. Her fingers release a spark, your body arches off the table. After all, blood has always been a good conductor for electricity. "It's just a power boost. You'll be right up in a few minutes." a giggle rips from her throat, as you mummble an acknowledgment. Eyes overcast with equal parts grief and glee. 

She always knew she loved you how could she not? You'd been linked to her for as long as she had a conscience. You had always been her everything. Sometimes she wonders how you both ended up like this. Stitching pieces of yourselves into each other. 

Frankie closes her eyes. Her mind struggling to regain control. Her deep breaths waver as she hears shifting from the table. 

"It's alive..."

𓆩❤︎𓆪Draculaura𓆩❤︎𓆪

Draculaura can smell the ethereal ichor now. Maybe it's always been there. Hidden under bygone layers and golden sand. She wonders if now, knowing what you know, makes you see her as anything less. You're older now, smarter. Maybe you understand the world just a little bit better than she ever could. 

Despite her gifted immortality, Draculaura likes to think that she's grown, too. No longer the little batling who faints at the mere scent of blood. Yet the urge to vomit is still there, an acidic reflex in the back of her throat. She's been avoiding you lately, simply because you make the urges go away. 

She can't live with that.

Can't live with what you make her. 

You trace the heart on her cheek. Your fingers feel like divinity sinking into her skin. You try to reason with her, tell her the truths of the crypt. "Surly Draculaura, you must know who you really are. Isn't it silly that you persist in this nativity?" Your words are harsh. Good intentions wrapped in silver blades. She bites her tongue, killing the queries before they dare spill. 

You make her crave things. 

Things she's avoided her whole life.

There's blood on your lips, dripping onto the ground. She fights the urge to kiss you. The heat of the sun amplifies the scent of the decaying flesh. Her stomach growls, this isn't right. The grip on her parasol tigtens. There is justice behind your actions, not one she can make herself understand. She watches as you tear into the decomposing body. "Don't", it's nothing less of a prayer. She feels her fangs elongate. How she wishes the world would turn to black.

Can a vampire be haunted? 

Surly they can, it's the only answer to your staunch lingering. 

Draculaura's coffin feels too snug, like a home and a prison encapsulated in one. She wishes she could feel cold dirt under her nails, feel the thrill of digging her way out of a grave. It's your fault, it has to be. Why must you awaken such ancient sensations? Such horrid cravings, such primal needs. 

Why must she see divinity in your face, liquid darkness shimmering behind enigmatic eyes? You are something terrifying, something painful. You are what she was supposed to be, what she's fled from her whole life.  

Your silhouette is a curse and a blessing. A reminder of a lineage she was thrusted into. A legacy she never wanted. Everything about you is a hunting familiarity for a family she never knew. She wonders if she would have been the prettiest girl in the morgue. She wonders if her father should have let her die all those eons ago.

 "I used to be human" She confesses one night. She doesn't know why you agreed to come over. Why seeing you in your pajamas sparks one too many fond memories.

"So?" your tone is one of perplexity. She feels foolish under your gaze. You glide the makeup brush across her cheeks. dusting them with faded nostalgia. "I can't eat them. It'll feel like I'm eating myself" How long has it been since the transformation occurred? how long has it been since she shedded the body of that sickly fragile girl? She's been a vampire for centuries yet still can't get used to the title. 

"You can eat these ones..." Something ancient within her stirs, her bones rattle with comprehension. She knows what you mean and it fills her with a need to scream. 

Draculaura can't see her reflection, can't gauge how different she is now. You used to help her with her makeup back in high school. Back when the shade of your lipstick determined your personality for the day. She's never seen her face. She prays it's identical to yours. She prays that someday she can embody you...

There's a deathly hunger within her. Bubbling in her stomach. She needs to let it out before it kills her. Can she even die? She's almost sure she wants to. You almost make her want to succumb to the impulse of quitting her humanity all toghter. Your presence makes her all so hungry. She's gotten better at hiding it under school-ghoul gossip and trend talk. 

She settles for a kiss tonight, a rushed peck on the cheek. Some vampire she is, instead of bleeding you dry she's pouring her sorrows into you. She wonders if you take note. See the ghosts jouncing within her soul. 

Draculaura's nails pick at the skin of her birthmark.

The skin cracks.

blood trickles. 

Can a vampire even be haunted?

Yes. 

She knew the charade wouldn't last forever. 

Knew that one day the lights would dim and the stage would fade to black

A final curtain call. An impending doom.

The final nail in her glass coffin. Rendering it to shards.

And she'll be left plucking fragments from her eternal flesh.

There's a small joy in knowing you'll be her effacer. 

The one to put an end to 2,000 years of pretend. 

"And then he was all like "You know?" and I was like "Whatever" and he was-" 

"Draculaura, I have no idea what you are talking about." She turns to face you, your smile is a crushing weight. On her shoulders crave. You throw your head back and laugh. Laughing at how little she's changed since you shared a desk in class. Since your most eminent concern was fearleading practice and algebra tests. Draculaura should laugh too, this she knows. Yet she remains distracted by your neck and all the glory it holds. 

Just a small bite won't hurt...

☾🐾☽Clawdeen Wolf☾🐾☽

Clawdeen is protective to a fault. A trait she could never identify as innate or habit. Still, the urge to stalk you persists. Pricking away at her fur like wolfsbane. 

Clawdeen's been brought up to believe in legacy, to worship the moon and the stars and their maker. Ancient things have a way of lasting lifetimes. She knows this now, finds its evidence when she unravels her family, her pack, herself...you. Her kind has been known to nurture those they love, to birth and raise every great warrior. She ponders again if this was originally encrypted in their blood or if her species picked it up throughout the years. 

All she knows is that something inside her awakens when she sees you. A testament to an ancient love, long since stifled under sand and snow. 

She wonders if that's what she's done with you all these years. If, in her own way, she's raised you to become some sort of warrior, a great beast living amongst subsidiary. 

The two of you sit beside the bay window. Her newest sketchbook draped across her lap. You lean in resting your head on her shoulder, listening as she explains the inspiration behind each design. 

You feel like you've been mauled. A piece of you thrown in every direction. Only to morph into the creations of your hunter. "You remember your first design?" you ask, closing your eyes to still the world. "Wasn't that when we wrapped Howleen in a red blanket and my mom's scarf?" Her claws prick her upper lip as she stifles a giggle. "And made her walk around the house like it was a Scaris runway" You add, relishing in the bygone recollection. 

Your childhood memories together are coated in ichor. Jejune days 

when you'd watch her tumble over herself trying to be everything she could never be. Even back then, you'd known something was amiss with the world. Seen the ancient wolf that lay dormant within her. felt its bonds call out to you, pulling you in deeper. You'd cling to her like a frightened child to a teddy bear. 

But you're older now. Instead of the scared child, you've turned into the monster under the bed. Funny how everyone's heritage catches up with them at some point. Even when you grow unaware of its presence. Legacy still tends to echo in your bones. You're both the same in that regard.

"I can never tell if I'm alive or dead." You tell her one night. 

"Neither" Clawdeen's voice is rigid, stiff. She can feel your awakening and rebirth. It sings in her head, more vital than a howl. "creatures like us don't die so easily. We only transform." She remembers the legends, the wars, they rattle in her bones sending shivers up her spine. Neither of you have ever died. You've survived every tribulation. 

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" you reply, Clawdeen notes the embers that burn behind your eyes. How they spread across your body like a wildfire.

"What doesn't kill me, simply gives me a reason to kill it" She swears she sees the moon flicker in retort. 

Clawdeen slits her throat with her claws. 

Choking on moondust and half-fallen stars. 

Her father once told her heritage is everything before giving her a golden ring fashioned as a wolf's head. She still doesn't know what he means. 

She knows her kind was born from misplaced love. 

She's just glad your fates are entwined. 

"Someday you'll have red eyes." You trace your thumb over her lashes as you speak. Trailing down to play with her curls. She knows what you mean. Oh how, she wants to devour the hope you offer so freely. Rip it from your heart and feel it pulsing under her fangs. Maybe then her stars will align and she'll truly understand what she is. 

 Clawdeen's feelings grow teeth, gnawing at her carnivorously as she pulls you close. Muttering a 'thanks' as if it holds the weight of the world. There's comfort in the thought that she's molded you. Helped nourish your flames until they grew so potent. She's ever only been the middle child of the moon. But with you, she feels like so much more. Like something celestial, something ancient. An heirloom made of blood and moonrock. 

Above you the clouds part. Giving way to the full moon. 

₊˚.༄Lagoona Blue₊˚.༄

The air in her lungs feels synthetic, dry. She chokes off the sand and ozone, blinded by the unfiltered light, leaving burns on her frail, scaled, skin. She wonders if this is how a fish feels as it's being reeled on land. She wonders if she's any different now.

Her heart hammers when she sees you, cracking her ribs in hysteria.

Water lilies bloom from their marrow, she counts them just to distract from the stars burning in your eyes. Her teeth catch her bottom lip, gnawing the pink flesh like a shark does its prey.

Her eyes burn when she catches a glimpse of you by the pond. Gazing conflicted at three-eyed frogs. She can't help but see you as a cacophony of unmarked graves. Too many ghosts linger across your body, they're prints evident in the afternoon sun.

You leave a water lily behind her ear as you brush past her in the hallway. She thinks your perfection is exaggerated, artificial like the air. The kind daydreaming divers pray to find in rogue oysters. Lagoona is sure you're the last of your kind. An endangered creature too proud to ask for help. She clumsily fingers the flower's petals. The wave of nostalgia that invades, has her gasping for air.

The ocean she once called home is overrun by rot. She too is infected by the pollution that plugs her gills. In her dreams, she treads through clean oceans, webbed fingers entwined with yours. There is no corrosion here, no death. Just you and her and everything that entails the definition of good. When she wakes up she notices that her gills are falling one by one. Pastel blue glints scattered, floating across her bed like the empty husks of sea stars.

She too is the last of her kind.

She too is destined to perish in agony.

She wonders if you hear her tears. Hear them fall into the abyssal sea. Feel their reverberations as they create rings on the surface. She can't expect such a thing from you. You're in your own world struggling with your own scars. You left her another flower today, nymphoides indica, she doesn't understand what you're trying to tell her.

The pond has started to bleed too. Its decaying scent is pungent from miles away.

has it bled into her?

Is she infected too?

You're there again today, worlds apart yet close enough to touch. Her body stiffens as she kneels next to you. Desperate for your attention, desperate for you to tell her what she is. Maybe, just maybe she can confess her love in time to share a grave with you.

"I used to be so beautiful.." Your voice sounds evasive. A final cry for help before the ocean consumes you. Your reflection in the pond is muddled over. A glitch in reality, something Frankie would have more experience with. "you still are mate…you still are" Her words are earnest, yet she doubts they bring you solace. "If it's any consolation, I'm polluted too..". You laugh so condescending it makes her stomach churn. She rolls the words in her mouth again, tasting them for misunderstandings.

"We're all polluted Lagoona. We always have been."

You're made of one too many pieces, all doused in poison. You rearrange the water lilies on her head. Your fingers feel like home threading through her hair. "The last of our kind." Lagoona giggles, her body is growing dryer, desperate, the moisturizer and hydration station have long since stopped working. Now she awaits the poison to take over fully. You're her memento mori another helpless creature awaiting death.

And yet, to her, you're still as radiant as the first day she met you.

Lagoona's grave will be in the sea. It's a last wish one you decide to honor. You kiss her on the cheek as she turns to you. Body half submerged in her home. She hugs you, with all the longing her frail corpse can muster. It's only too late when you notice that you too are being submerged. Dragged into the eternal depths. Lagoona refuses to part with you. This is her final gift, the last present she will give you. A quick and painless death. One with a comforting presence.

Her father used to tell her strange tales of bizarre men who'd come to their ancestrial home, seeking answers far too advanced for them. She wonders if she's had the answers all along. Maybe she just had to look a little deeper.

It doesn't matter now. For her final breaths, she is at peace. She is content to end like this. With you in her arms.

𓂀𓆣☥Cleo De Nile☥𓆣𓂀

Cleo likes to think she's come a long way from her former self. No longer an autocrat cheerleader with stary eyes and a need to be worshipped.

She likes to think she's filled out the role of queen, of sovereign, of absolute. 

She's done her dynasty proud...

Shattered and transformed herself into the perfect vessel. 

It's not until she catches her rogue reflection in the gleam of your eyes, that she realizes she's still the same. Eons have passed yet Cleo still remains the same frail cowardly daughter bearing the burden of the D'Nile name. 

You look every bit a queen, a sovereign, an absolute. You've grown to fill the role you never knew you had. 

Cleo bleeds gold. She always has. 

Little did she know, you did too. 

You always had.

There's a crushing weight, something that makes her long for entombment. "I wish I were a mere child once more." her tone is sand on sand. So faint you think it nothing more than a mirage of sound. Her head lays on your lap bleeding out her sins as she prays for the sun to melt her. Feeble, unstable thing she is. Hailing from a feeble unstable place.

Maybe it would do you both some good to forgo the past. To embrace a thundering, grotesque future. Maybe it's time to retire the thrones and gold bangles. Maybe it's time to depart. 

she laughs at such a preposterous notion. 

Cleo's Icoffine lays in a pool of shards and wires and golden beads. Her bandaged fingers wrapped tightly around your bicep, tugging you closer until the scent of spices and flora became overbearing. "it's...okay" you lie through the rage bubbling in your throat. Through the tears that sting the corners of your eyes. "It's not-it's...it's never been okay", the words feel like boulders crushing her bones. turning her body and bandages back to dust. 

You've known Cleo to always wear a broken crown. Funny how, after a millennia, the cracks still keep growing. Only now they bleed into her corpse, cut through bandages, and aim for the heart. You want to wipe her tears away. To whisper glory and purpose into her bejeweled ears.

Cleo lies on the golden floor. It's cold, frigid, she doesn't remember gold to be so unwelcoming, so petrifying. You pull her hand to your heart, hovering above her. Watching as she melts and hardens in the same breath. 

"Allow me the pleasure of death once more. Allow me the luxury of being the only monster you ever have to know." Cleo doesn't remember missing her sarcophagi so much. Her lungs fill with broken promises as her eyes sting from mulish obsoletes. "I've been so blind for so long." She confesses, free hand fiddling with the jewels on her blouse. Running them along her nails waiting to see which will scratch first. "As have I, there's no need to-" her voice is harsh as she sits up. The undead rising from its bejeweled grave. Her hands cup your face. She tries to be gentle, to cradle you like a flower petal. "I'm-I-" her breath hitches as her fractured mind screams. "I hate myself all so very much. Yet I love you with every bit of the heart I thought I lost all those millennia ago."

Chaos has a way of squirming through her veins. 

Her dreams are tainted in rubies, seeing you lying in the sand. 

The noise above is defining. She hates that she's not used to it by now. 

It can't be fair. 

The world can't take you from her. 

You're the only lifeline she has left. 

The only hope that remains. 

You tell Cleo you want to die one starless night, she understands the sentiment. You don't know why that makes you cry. Her lips leave phantom kisses across your eyelids. Spilling gold pleated secretes into your skin. Cleo wishes she kept you entombed next to her, rotting away far from every disaster. Yet she knows she can't, not now at least. You've morphed her into her purpose better than her omnipotent father and cruel sister ever could. With you by her side, she's truly become a queen, a sovereign, an absolute. While you rein above her, some all-knowing creature who she can't help but worship. 

Maybe someday, decades from now. 

The love you share will be dethroned

How unlikely such a feat seems.

Taglist: @hadesnewpersephone @feedmestraycats @deathangelraven @itotallysleepenough @yuuka29 @umgatochamadopercyval

[naffeclipse]

Gifts

Reader x Mermaid!Eclipse

Commission Info

Thank you so much to @counterbalance for requesting a darling fic about Y/N and Mer Eclipse learning about gift-giving and then properly celebrating Christmas together! This was a delight to write and I'm always happy to return to Soul Bound to the Astral Sea AU <3

Content Warning: Light angst.

———

Tonight, for once, you find it difficult to drift off into dreams. It’s hardly been an issue before. In the night, while you rest, you visit your dear friend—a figment of him. A memory replaying the last tattered pieces of your home like a wind-torn sail. 

The familiar ache in your heart does not rest. It is a machine, a relentless, chugging engine that does not know what time of day or energy you have to give, it goes on hurting, wondering about the little mer you held in your arms within the shelter of the cove. Where has he gone? Is he safe? Is he growing as big as you dream of?

You calm your breaths. Sliding your eyes close despite the lack of heaviness, excitement clings to your fingertips and toes. 

You’re not a child. Not anymore, but you’re not grown enough to be seen as an adult. Vanessa looks and acts like an adult. The adults talk to her like she is one. She kind of is. You think she’s serious enough to be one, anyway.

A teenager. That’s what you are. Neither baby nor adult. It’s frustrating at times when you’re so furiously captured within a body that has begun puberty but you’re still inclined to have a joy in things the little kids enjoy as well.

Fighting your jumping anticipation, you shift once under the scratchy covers. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.

The mantra works over you, and draws you down, down, down into a dark depth with no sun, only stars. 

The black space is as peaceful as a day with no wind. The stars glittering around you are distant and far, watching you with a cool awareness. You float with no power to propel yourself through the inky sea you float within, and you wait.

He does not leave you alone for long.

Brilliant orange light pierces the darkness. The glow engulfs you until you find his head rearing through the pitch-black like a solar flare across the surface of the sun. 

A warmth spills into your chest. Caressing your heart gently, the echo of a song a child of the sea once sang to you returns. 

Eclipse.

A leviathan—barely grown. His body easily dwarfs you with a long, scaled tail shimmering like pearls under moonlight, burning hot orange. Frills and fins wave through the black sea. His four limbs cut through the emptiness, propelling himself towards you until his two lower hands take you gently in his palms—like a person picking up a cat, you think.

He’s so much bigger now. A sort of growth spurt has taken him this last year,  lifting him out of the tiny minnow you found trapped on the beach and into this vision of a great sea beast that tears down ships and conjures storms. The frills around his face have thickened and are beginning to spread wider upon the crown of his face. His arms are thin but quickly gaining with limber, corded muscle. His colors of brilliant orange, red, and black are beginning to deepen into sharper, mature hues.

There is still so much growing left for him to do if he is to become a true monster of the ocean, as all the stories go. But he is large and he is gentle with you in his hands. 

His maw immediately splits into a great grin. He chirps a gentle sound in greeting. You stare at him, and the familiar ache returns at the impression of his claws handling you so gently.

What a beautiful, cruel dream.

“Hey, big guy,” you say softly. You softly tap the back of his hand cradling your torso. “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

Eclipse grumbles low in displeasure. His wide eyes flare with a familiar concern before his expression picks up once more. His frills flick.

A pulse rings through your core. A question.  The reason for your excitement—not anxiety—that almost kept you from another blissful vision in the night.

He draws you close to his chest. Reclining onto his back, Eclipse lays you upon his heart. You want to laugh. How long ago was it when you cradled the little mer in your arms like a baby? Now he’s holding you effortlessly upon his chest, and you have never been smaller despite your growth spurt. Unfortunately, this is where it ends for you. 

The thought doesn’t scare you: being held in the palm of a giant mer. You knew then when you beheld his little face and his wide, scared eyes, that mers weren’t as bad as the people of the island thought. 

A great, powerful heat rolls through your body in confirmation. Then, a little nudge.

“Right,” you murmur, “Tomorrow is Christmas.”

You concentrate on images of a tree decorated in tinsel and ornament, and little gifts wrapped up underneath. That’s what it looks like for other children when their parents are providing. 

“It’s about gift-giving,” you study the pattern of his shining scales, “and being together with people you love.”

Immediately, your thoughts wander to the feast the island holds for everyone, including orphans like yourself. You’ll get a gift or two provided by the lady who works at the office in the center of town, paid for on behalf of the community, often generic and simple, like a good-smelling lotion or a tiny toy (though you’ve outgrown such desires). Other kids stare at you when you dare to linger far too long, and often loudly wonder if you’re the same one their parents say is strange and possibly dangerous. They know it’s due to a mer.

None of it matters to you. What you care for is the food, the rich smell of mashed potatoes, and the savory scent of a Christmas ham with honey glaze. Oh, you would give your left hand to devour an entire coconut cream pie.

Eclipse trills a curious sound.

“Vanessa will help me steal a pie,” you say, then laugh quietly while you outline a scale on Eclipse’s chest. Sometimes, when he has damaged or worn scales, you try to pick at them but your phantom hands seem to have no effect. “It’s not much, but it’s nice.”

Once, a few years ago, when you had woken up on Christmas day, Vanessa noticed the tears on your cheeks. Another dream of Eclipse left you with a deeper ache than usual. She didn’t even open any of her gifts; she simply slipped a coconut cream pie off of the dessert table they were setting up, and she took you down to the beach. It was cool, but not cold enough for snow. Vanessa told you to dig in. The two of you ate like toddlers, eating with your hands and smearing whipped cream on your chins. 

You looked out to the ocean, a dark gray-blue, and wondered if Eclipse would have eaten pie with you.

A flash of bittersweetness burns through you. Eclipse rests his hand gently on your back and strokes his thumb down your hair.

Eclipse rumbles as you lie on his chest, causing you to still. A terrible coolness floods your middle. You press your palm over his heart. It is not a content sound he often makes or a curious grumble. No, it is a moan of sorrow, something deep swirling within the pit of his stomach.

Again, you feel a sting of salt upon an old wound. Your heart ripples with his anguish.

“Eclipse?” You can’t lift your head from underneath his soothing motions. “What’s wrong?”

He continues to hold you with desperation as if trying to catch the moon by scooping up the reflection of lunar light upon a still, watery surface. 

The strength of this dream of your little mer bears down upon you, and you long to close your eyes. Instead, you turn your head and kiss the firm bone of his sternum.

“Don’t be sad,” you whisper, “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

You’re not very good at easing him. His presence is still downtrodden, but a tinge of frustration burns around it, like fire eaten away at the edges of old newspapers.

Another pulse rises through you, stronger than the rest. Then images begin to emerge in your mind. Ghostly memories of beautiful large seashells, pieces of lost treasure, and even a brass clock spring into the front of your awareness.

It perplexes you all the same, the levels of your dreams. Sometimes they’re sweet and simple, and Eclipse only holds you while the two of you drift away. Others are like this. It makes the ache deeper, widening like a chasm until it’s nothing more than a trench where no light reaches. 

“That’s a lot of gifts,” you chuckle, then add, “If you were here, I’d give you fish. So much fish that you couldn’t even eat it all. Would you like that?”

A soft rumble quakes underneath you. The impression of hunger storms through you as he provides a comically violent rendition of how he would tear apart and indulge in such a feast. 

But he falls quiet, and you have little more to say. 

You smile as his hand gently surrounds you in the form of a squeezing hug. You lay your head heavy on his chest and watch the starlight drift by. The constant heat in your chest is gentle and comforting, but underneath it is a salty sorrow.

He won’t be here to give fish to, and you will go to town with Vanessa tomorrow, and steal a pie.

When you wake, you feel the warmth of the dream fades. It’s Christmas. 

*

The sea is calm on a Christmas day. Last year, it was tormented with storms and raging seas after the harsh season of the sea leviathan attacks. You try to not remember the sickly yellow scales of the monster from the depths, nor its teeth, nor its stomach you were trapped inside. 

Now, you guide the Rustbucket II slowly, aware of the heavy catch dragging along its side. The silver fish struggle within the net. Your old fishing ship might have buckled such a load. Eagerly, you sail deeper into the sea while everyone on the island enjoys a feast, even Vanessa. 

You promised you would see her later. She threatened you with eating all of the coconut cream pies if you didn’t keep your word.

You turn your sights to the horizon. A bright sun shines down despite the cool temperatures. Your thick sweater combats the chill in the air, and you watch the fog of your breath heat up before your red-touched nose. Fixing a strap of your overalls, you search outwards with your heart.

Eclipse?

A resounding ripple in your heart answers back. Slowing down the length of the boat, you step out of the cabin to reach the railing on the deck. The beautiful water settles around you and your small vessel. You search the deep blue. Warmth climbs into your bone marrow. The presence of a great leviathan swirls the surface before gently, he breaks through with a gentle rise of his massive form.

Dripping above you, Eclipse grins, his maw open wide and revealing sharp layers of teeth. None of the jagged fangs frightened you. Instead, leaning your arms over the railing, you gaze back with a smile on your face.

“Hey, big guy.” You incline with your head towards the netting straining with the wriggling weight of your catch. “Merry Christmas.”

His eyes sweep slowly away from you and to the fish. His eyes widen, the pupils dilating in a predator’s hunger. His tongue, shadowy and sinuous, swipes his mouth.

For me?

He lifts a claw to his chest and taps once. The bright glow within his gaze becomes candle-soft.

You nod. “For you.”

His massive form sends ripples against your boat, rocking it in the slightest, but you flow with the bobbing effortlessly. Lowering himself to you, he presents his face close to the edge of your boat. You lean over, as far as you can without losing your footing, and press your face against his cheek. 

A gentle, musical sound leaves him, a sigh and a purr, rumbling into one pleased sound. His eyes close. With the gentle touch of sea foam, he nuzzles you softly before you pull back. You rub your gloved hands together.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Dig in!” You gesture at the net. Eclipse trills. Rising again, his massive claws work the riggings of the net just as you have shown him before, and with delicacy, freeing the netting from your boat. 

The catch of fish is akin to a bag of marbles in his hand. The little creatures struggle and flop about. Eclipse licks his chops once more. Opening the netting, he upends your gift and dumps it entirely into his maw. You make a slight face as he chews and a few slip away from his maws, falling into the sea and escaping.

You wait. A growing anticipation buzzes through your chest, not of your desire, but from Eclipse. He’s already eating his gift. What more could he be excited about?

A twinge of apprehension moves through you. He doesn’t think you have more fish waiting for him, does he?

Thoroughly rushing through his meal, he chews and takes a heaping swallow.

You watch his expression closely. “How was it? Did you like your snack?”

He trills in answer, humming a song that sends musical notes washing against you. A cheer like a great splash from his massive, lower hands follows. His tail whips excitedly down below. The ocean begins to stir before he calms himself and again, lowers himself down to you.

You laugh. His excitement is infectious, and you soon shake away any concern. He likes his gift. This year you had something you were excited to give. Your dear friend gets to participate in a holiday humans celebrate, and you’re not only looking forward to pie this year.

Eclipse finishes with a thick swallow. With a satisfied swipe of his tongue, he grins at you. You arch an eyebrow back. 

A pulse of energy, eager and excited, touches your heart.

“What? What is it, big guy?” You narrow your eyes in exaggerated suspicion when the leviathan tilts his head. A mischief glints in his eyes like a shimmer of stars.

Slowly, he lowers himself to you and gingerly lifts a claw to the top of your head to stroke your hair once.

Wait. Stay.

You dip your chin before Eclipse snaps his tail, and with thick ripples, bordering on crashing waves, he disappears down below. You watch his massive figure before the deep blue swallows up his bright red and orange colors.

What is he planning? Giving you another seashell? You adore the one in your home, sitting close to your bed on top of your dresser. He finds the most lovely things to bring you.

Get ready.

An image flows into your thoughts as the words enter your mind. A knife, like the one you keep in the cabin for cutting through nets. Slowly, you straighten from leaning idly against the railing. What is he going to give you that requires you to have a knife on hand?

Still, you do as he asks. You step away from the waters at last settling from his submergence and locate the little knife. It’s a touch blunt, you need to get it sharpened. Hopefully, it will do the trick.

Venturing back to the railing, you gaze down. A bubbling begins in your chest, clashing now with nervousness amid the anticipation. 

You furrow your brow. There are very few times in your life you have ever felt Eclipse nervous. 

An urge to call out to him almost overtakes you, but in synchrony with your thoughts, the colossal mer arises back from the depths. He stops at his shoulder, floating in the ocean and keeping his gaze level with you before he draws out his hand.

A small bag, netted and knotted, sits on the water-dripping center of his palm. You peer closer as he offers it up. His frills flick around his head, sitting back slightly while his wide eyes watch you. 

For you.

You glance at him before gingerly reaching out and taking the netted bag. You stare down at it, finding a few dozen oysters tied up within. 

You lift your head. Eclipse drops his hand back into the water and presses closer to your boat. He looms in the slightest. You get the impression that if he were anywhere close to your size, he would be watching over your shoulder and checking your expression every other second.

“Okay,” you say softly. You use the knife to cut the netting and carefully set the bag down on the deck before you pluck one oyster.

It’s dark. The meat might taste good, though you’ll admit, you’ve never dined on oysters before. Clams, yes, but not this. 

Open them.

The urge returns. A swirling vortex of enthusiasm follows, and you glance up at Eclipse for a split second of confusion before you remember what oysters are also known for.

You turn the oyster over. Examining in your hand, you carefully angle the blade and break open the shell. A gray flesh collects within, and several lumps sit underneath the flesh.

Lowering the knife, you stare in silent awe. Your lips part soundlessly. Carefully, using your fingertips, you begin to push on the bumps, coaxing the little treasures out of the oyster and into your palm.

Several pale and shimmering pearls, some round, some less so, fall into your palm.

Saltwater pearls.

“Oh, Eclipse.” You lift your head. “These are beautiful. How did you…?”

A hot breath leaves his mouth—as if he were holding it all the while. He dips his head. Impressions fly through your thoughts. He spoke with Vanessa (as best as he could when she cannot hear him the way you can) and she suggested a pearl necklace for a Christmas gift. Eclipse has found no such treasure in his years of collecting, but he knew what made pearls.

Another thought enters your mind. Eclipse longed to crack open the oysters himself but his claws were far too big for such little pearls.

But a gentle warmth fills your body.

Then you feel his thoughts center on you.

Except you.

You make a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a sob. You shake your head slightly, blinking back the slight wetness threatening to plunge your face. Clutching the pearls, you look up at him.

“Thank you. No one has ever given me something so precious.” You beam and gingerly roll the priceless pearls between your fingers.

He bobs his head, and settles against the side of your boat, carefully to not put any pressure onto its frame, and settles in as you crack open the neck oyster. A warmth radiates from him, filled to the brim with relief and content.

Once you’ve gathered a priceless hoard of pearls, you get to your feet and kiss Eclipse on his sea-slick cheek. A gesture done in gratitude and as a gift.

[scribbless-n-stuff]

I'm here to request since I can't write shit.

Dan Heng came home unexpected and even gave me his lightcone early. I'm screaming 😭😭😭

Anyway, I really want to just coddle him up. Pepper his face with kisses, hugs, play with his cheeks, he's just too adorable I can't

This is more of a ramble sorry. I hope you can write something out of this. Thank youu

Late Night Longings

Characters

Dan Heng (IL or not, depends on your imagination <3)

Warnings/Info

FLUFF!!! INTENSE FLUFF!!!

Author’s Notes

LET’S GAURRR CONGRATS ON GETTING DAN HENG & HIS LIGHT CONE, ANON REQUESTER!!!

Oh god I’m actually tweaking over this beautiful man (I’m a lesbian)

might as well make this a Dan Heng fan acc bro

Hopefully this doesn't disappoint...

After another week-long adventure, the Astral Express team finally boards back on the train. The mission was tough, almost everyone was tired and drained, including you. The train’s doors close, leaving the train car quiet. 

Himeko, who was keeping in check of the duties inside the Express, approaches you from her seat. You feel a hand on your shoulder, “Welcome back, Y/n, how are you feeling?” the red-haired lady asks.

You let out a tired smile, “All good, just tired.. I should go and rest....” Your voice trails off, as you look around for your partner, Dan Heng. However, he was nowhere to be found. He probably went straight to his room. 

Smiling bittersweetly, You let out a heavy sigh, drooping down in fatigue. Your brain was basically falling asleep as you were standing up. 

The sound of light chuckling pulls you back to reality. “Alright, sleep well then.” Himeko withdraws her hand from your shoulder, giving you a smile. She leaves your side, to check on the others. You nod back before also turning away, to go to your room. 

The last sounds you hear, before exiting the parlor car are March’s whiney complaints about how troublesome the mission was. You fondly smile, the crew was like family to you. However, someone was missing. 

Entering your room, you sigh and discard your clothes, getting into more comfortable ones. You also go to wash your face and brush your teeth. By the time you get on your bed, you stretch out your limbs and pop your joints. 

You yawn, as your mind drifts to Dan Heng. “He’s probably tired… Might as well give him space tonight..” you think, before getting into your sheets and wrapping yourself into a blanket. However, you couldn’t help but feel a bit sad, missing the closeness of your partner. Nevertheless, you needed your rest. 

As you felt the snugness of your mattress and pillows, you fell asleep almost immediately, lightly snoring as you dreamt of nothing. That’s how you know you’re having the best sleep of your life.

...

… knock knock

The sound of knocking on your door disturbs your deep slumber, you grumble in annoyance. As you peek open your eyes, you could literally feel eyebags forming below your eyes. You turn your head over to your nightstand to look at the digital clock. 

2:43 AM. 

You squint your eyes and huff in disbelief of the current time. Ultimately, you decide to ignore the knocking. Besides, it was almost 3 AM, there was no way you were gonna be awake during witching hour.

Flopping back down, your head lays back down against the pillow, shutting your eyes back closed. As your whole body relaxes once more, your facial features relax too. Finally… sweet, sweet slumber…

…

… knock, knock, knock

Your eyes snap back open, feeling your anger flare up. Hopping out of bed, temporarily bidding goodbye to your warm blankets, you stomp towards the door of your room. You whip open your door. 

“Can’t it wait ‘til morning?” You sharply scoff, before looking up to see a pair of teal eyes. It was Dan Heng, in more casual attire. Except, you couldn’t see his clothes much because he was loosely wrapped around in his blue blanket. 

“Oh!-” Upon seeing that it was him, you immediately regretted your harsh words, just because you were tired.

“Apologies..” The poor boy mumbles sleepily. “I’ll go back to my room..” Dan Heng sniffles, because of the cold air, as he turns away. His hair was tousled up, looking absolutely adorable, which made you feel even more guilty. 

You immediately reach out to yank him back by the hand. “NOOO WAIT!” you exclaim. “I’m sorry, I was tired..” 

Dan Heng blinks at you, feeling a bit surprised by your raised voice.  “It’s fine.. I shouldn’t have knocked so late.” He mutters. 

Tugging again at his hand, “Apology accepted…” You look at him with adoration, it was truly a rare sight to see this man so vulnerable, due to his usual stoic behavior and expression. “Do you wanna come in?” You offer, feeling happier now that your partner was here, disregarding the late hour. 

The next second, you see a small smile appear on his face. 

“Yes, please..”

With this, he basically engulfed you in his arms, also wrapping you in the blanket draped around his figure. Your yelp is muffled into his torso, suddenly bearing his body’s weight. You do your best to drag him to your bed, hugging him by the waist. 

Dan Heng clumsily waddles to the bed, still holding onto you out of clinginess. Eventually, you pry yourself out of his hold, pushing him onto your bed. “Man.. you’re different when you’re sleepy.” You huff at him, as he looks up at you with a sleepy expression. He doesn’t respond.

You smile, before also getting into bed, beside him. His and your legs tangle together, as you position yourself just a bit higher than him, so that his head is around the same level as your collarbone and neck.

His eyes were already closed, falling back asleep. Poor little thing must have woken up randomly, then decided to come to you for comfort. You coo at him, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in to kiss him on the forehead. 

Dan Heng furrows his eyebrows at his, as you feel his cheeks grow warm. Upon registering this reaction, you snicker, deciding to coddle him up even more. You release your next attack on his nose, giving him a quick peck. After that, you go to both of his cheeks, giving him four kisses on each one. 

“Mmmmfff..” The boy mumbles at you, the warm fluttering feeling swelling up in his chest was feeling too strong. The combination of the late hour and his fatigue were a dangerous combination. Nevertheless, he doesn’t tell you to stop… Or maybe he’s too tired to. 

Regardless, you wouldn’t stop either way. 

“You’re sooo cute~”  Finally, you kiss his lips. Slowly and tenderly, lightly biting his lower lip to tease him. This was the last straw for him. 

“You’re waking me…” Dan Heng muffles against your lips, but you just swallow up his words, as you pull away and give him another quick peck. Ignoring him, as you repeatedly kiss his face in the same order as before, except, more aggressive and affectionate. He blushes madly as his face scrunches up in feigned discomfort, but he secretly enjoys it. 

After a bit, he’s had enough, seriously wanting to sleep now. Dan Heng uses the last of his physical strength and energy to push and roll you onto your back. He gets on top of you, mainly to pin you down and restrict you from any movement to disturb him. The comfortability and closeness were just bonus points.

“Stop. Sleep.” He muffles again, as he nestles his face against your chest. As you’re pushed down, you feel your face heating up at the change of position. Even he felt slightly flustered and embarrassed at his own boldness, but he couldn’t help himself. 

You whine a bit at the loss of control, but you sigh and give in, feeling tired too. One of your hands is brought to his back, as you run it up and down to generate warmth for him. As for your free hand, you tangle your fingers in his hair, gently massaging his scalp to further lull him to sleep. 

Dan Heng on the other hand, his arms were still wrapped around your waist from earlier, holding you against him like a needy koala. The feeling of your fingers caressing against his hair made him let out a shaky sigh. He felt so content, and so did you.

[galebrainrot2024]

Oh boy this one is a little salacious and indulgent. Anyway, we're back!

Summary: Inspired by the image below, gender neutral and unnamed Tav and Gale get a moment alone without their companions. Sexually explicit, denial, mutual masturbation, restraint, voyeurism, oral sex

Read on Ao3 | Master List | NSFW18+

Gale strides to the throne, running his fingers over the spines of the books, admiring the unique craftsmanship. “A bit self serving, if you ask me. Anyone who’s well read wouldn’t require such a gaudy display for their supposed knowledge.” You can’t help to roll your eyes in response and he gives a cheek grin. “Am I wrong?”  

The rest of your companions returned to camp while you and Gale scourged the wizards tower, looting what you were able and taking the moment to yourselves. It wasn’t often you had time privately and away from the others. Now, here you were - isolated and contained together. 

You watch as the sunlight whispers through the large paneled windows, kissing Gale’s skin and feel yourself spark to life, the tendrils of need licking up your spine. Your cheeks flush, tempted as you watch his fingers continue to run over the books, admiring their skill… you swallow hard.  

As he drapes himself into the chair and leans back cooly, you feel gripped with the desire to please him, to get down on your knees in front of him and bring him to the zenith of pleasure. To worship him. He reads the lust on your face and slouches a bit cockily, raising a brow and flicks his wrist to conjures a mage hand in a flash of purple hue. He studies the hand for a moment before tossing a wicked grin your way, his pupils blown wide. When Gale speaks, his voice is low - “Are you alright, my love? Your cheeks are looking rather… flushed.” Gale rests an elbow on the arm of the chair and looks at you as if you were his prey, leaning back in the chair languidly and brushes his bottom lip with his thumb. His legs spread as if in invitation, the familiar mischievous glint evident in his gaze. You feel the tingle of your shared arousal course through your veins and your breath hitches. “It’s not often we find ourselves with such privacy. Might I suggest we take advantage of this gift of serendipitity?” 

“What did you have in mind?” You breathe, though your body already seems to know the answer. The voracious urge consumes you, the need to entwine your limbs, the carnal ache for the delirium of bliss by his hands. 

“Ah,” he chuckles darkly, raising a brow and leans forward. “Quite a few things, and none of them require this…” he gestures to your body, “extensive armor.” He clicks his tongue and the mage hand extends towards you, brushing through your hair. The movement sends a shudder down your spine. Your lips part as the fingers brush the hollow of your neck and skims your hems, begging to unlace and unbutton the fabric that stands between your naked form and Gale. 

The erogenous heat fills your center and he watches you come undone, feeding off your desperation as the mage hand deliberately undresses you. The fingers work unhurried, the throbbing between your thighs growing with every light caress and brush. You shudder and try to shoo the hand away when it then grips your wrists together, Gale’s darker appetites seeping through. You gasp, surprised by the firm, sudden moment. He clicks his tongue again, “it’s unlike you to be uncooperative, my love…” the hand tightens around your wrist and he conjures another to begin to undo the rest. You feel your knees buckle and your lips part, wanting. 

Whenever Gale was in this mood, you couldn’t resist pushing back against his hubris and the fixation with making you squirm. To deny you pleasure and inch you closer to the edge without quite giving into you. It is a game, and you will not be the first to yield. You feel your heart thrum wildly, this the first time you’ve been alone since the night in the astral plane. Your eyes drink Gale in, the way his robes cling to his form, highlighting the half formed arousal beneath the robes. It makes your mouth water, wanting to taste every inch of him. You again try to work against the hand and are met with resistance. Another manifests in front of you, tracing idle patterns between your thighs before it continues disrobing you. The air is cold against your bare skin as your armor falls away, leaving you standing stark in only your undergarments. 

Gale rests back, his head tilted against the chair and you see him stir to life, his eyes frenzied with insatiable need. Gale licks his lips and a smirk dances at the corners of his mouth as he manipulates the hand with deft twists, and you stand dumbfounded - goosebumps rise across your body from the cold and your nipples stand alert. The hand brushes up your torso and up your chest, barely tracing your neck. You shudder and Gale leans forward hungrily. “Is something the matter?” His voice is thick with lust and he bites the tip of his finger as he uses the mage hand to caress your body. You feel the fire bloom within and your core pools with frenzied longing, squirming as the hand finds its way between your thighs. You hear yourself whimper and a plea falls from your lips. Gale leans forward more, his legs spread wide as he rests on his knees. 

Your eyes lock on one another, profound craving and an almost punishing thrill of what was to come charging the air between you. Your underwear betray your sweet arousal and the hand barely brushes over your clothed sex. You inhale through your teeth, “Gale please…” 

Gale leans back again, one of his hands snaking between his thighs to hold the evident bulge under his robes. “Please what?” He asks, his eyes flicking to the arousal between your thighs and you hear him groan. The wait is exquisite. “Use your words, darling.” 

You try and as you do, the mage had around your wrists tightens and begins to push you forward and you oblige. Gale’s legs seem to spread wider as you approach and he leans back, beckoning you. As you approach, your body undulates with torturous need, the arousal between your thighs severe. He flashes his brows and flicks his gaze to the floor before him. You fall to your knees, and he leans forward, taking your chin in his hands and brings his lips to yours. The kiss is lecherous, his tongue forcibly parting your lips to roll over yours. You whimper and moan, squeezing your thighs together and another hand materializes. The hands spread your legs and work one thigh each, your hands still restrained by the first. 

When Gale pulls out of the kiss you are both breathing deliriously, his black pupils revealing his craving for more. He stands in front of you and disrobes, the thick bulge in his briefs begging to be freed. Your body responds, lips parted and mouth watering. You lean forward and lick across where his briefs meet his lower torso. His hand holds the back of your head as you do this and a guttural moan escapes him. 

Your carnivorous excitement takes over and you grip his briefs with your teeth, pulling them down his body. He laughs darkly, “Very good…” he purrs and you look up at him, eyes wide and eager. Gale sits back in the chair and you are entranced - he releases your wrists and the hands caress your lower body. With your hands freed they find their way to Gale’s thighs and you grip them tightly as your lips graze along in tandem. You can sense the hands massaging your butt, the source of your arousal as if to encourage you to please him. 

His pulsating erection demands to be sated and you eye him, your tongue flicking higher and closer to the source of his pleasure. You hear him moan, his hand still lithely guiding your head between his thighs. The saliva in your mouth pools yet before you are able to take him, he pushes your head away. You whimper and feel the hands beginning to massage and pleasure you, your eyes flutter and you hear Gale sigh as he watches you. 

Gale’s hand guides you forward now, succumbing to you and you meet him eagerly, your grip firm on the arms of the throne. Your lips wrap around the tip of his erection and saliva pools downward onto his shaft. He grunts and you roll your tongue over the sensitive tip and he squirms as you take him deeper into your mouth. Gale rewards you with a groan and thrust, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat deliciously. You suck as if famished, your voracious thirst for him fueling the skill of your mouth and tongue. The grip on the back of your head tightens and he begins to push harder into your mouth and you feel the hands between your thighs increase their tempo and firmness. You moan against his cock and the vibration makes him twitch, his body slick with sweat as you take him and indulge. You lick across his shaft and fondle the bridge between his ass and penis which causes him to writhe beautifully. You smirk and use your hand to grip the base of him, bringing your lips to meet your hand as you work him. 

Gale comes undone, the grip in your hair sending you reeling and the hands torment you, bringing you closer and closer to bliss. Each time you feel yourself close to release, the hands pull back and you cry out desperately, your mouth full of Gale as he retreats. You suck harder, frantic, seeking the full flavor of Gale’s arousal. He is salty, warm in your wet mouth and his movements begin to grow more urgent, volatile. Your jaw aches and tears form at the corners of your eyes and your saliva covers his throbbing erection as he bucks into your mouth. You relax your throat, allowing him to plunge deeper into you and he moans louder, the sound anguishing music as he continues his retreat from your pleasure. 

You pull back and you feel Gale’s hand resist and he groans, almost in frustration. He tries to press you back to him and you resist, you grip him tightly with your hand and you gaze up at him as you lick across his shaft. His lips fall open and his head tilts back. Suddenly, you feel a hand manipulate you aggressively, so close to allowing you release that you fold your entire mouth over Gale and he cries out in animalistic pleasure, plunging into your mouth as the hands work you. “Oh fuck…” he grips the back of your head almost too hard, his cock slipping deep into your throat and you moan as the warm, sticky cascade of his climax shoots into your mouth and you suck violently, tasting every part of his pleasure as he allows the hands to bring you to your own rapture while you taste the fruit of your labor. 

He collapses into the chair and you onto his lap, resting your head on his thigh - both of your breathing is ragged and shallow, the calm settling between as your breath comes back to you. He brushes his fingers through your hair and across your cheeks and you look up at him. He is flushed and grins, almost sheepishly as you say: “You are full of surprises,” you murmur and kiss thigh before pulling yourself up to kiss him. 

It is slow, tender, and you see him thrum to life again. You raise a brow and he shrugs before murmuring, “Well… we have time for a bit more, wouldn’t you agree?”