#he dreams in phosphorescence

[bearlytolerant]

he’ll dream enough for the both of them

[haddonfieldwhore]

venomous serpent - vessel

vessel (sleep token) x inhuman!reader

warnings: inhuman?vessel, inhuman!reader (succubus vibes), suggestive content/implied smut, not lore accurate, sleep paralysis (brief), biting, blood mentioned, lmk if i missed smth

word count: 1.7k

vessels eyes opened and glanced around the darkness of his bedroom, unable to move any part of his body other than his eyes. he was used to strange dreams and irregular sleep, but this was something new. he strained his muscles but remained immobile as the room around him began to warp into an unfamiliar place, somewhere strange and cold. tall trees stretched endlessly above him and damp grass caressed his arms as he now lay on the ground, soft rain falling from the sky as he stared up at the night sky.

vessel could feel himself regain control of his body at last, and was able to sit up, taking a deep breath as he looked around, able to see more of the forest that surrounded him. a melodious laugh echoed from every direction around him, before converging on single location, the sound now coming from a behind a tree a little ways up the path. vessel felt inclined to follow it, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself as his feet carried him down the trail, the earth soft and damp beneath every step. the sound of laughter got further away with each passing second, and then suddenly it came from behind him, causing vessel to turn around with a start. you stood before him, and it only took one look for him to determine that you were the most stunning being he had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on. as if you could read his thoughts, you laughed again, the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

“aren’t you intriguing,” you sighed, running a finger over his shoulder, sending shockwaves through his body. a soft breath escaped his lips, parted slightly as he admired you, in a trance as you looked back at him. “why are you hiding?” you placed your hands softly on either side of his mask, and it took all of his willpower to stop you from removing it, his hands wrapping around your wrists.

“please….” was all he could mutter, and his heart skipped a beat as you smiled back at him mischievously. his breath caught in his throat as you trailed your hands down either side of his neck, before tangling in the plush fabric of his coat and pulling him close to you, your bodies nearly touching.

“alright, keep your secrets,” you smiled, your voice so enticing that he might have taken it off after all if you had only asked again. vessel swallowed the lump in his throat, gathering the courage to speak.

“what…are you?” he asked. “what is this place?” you furrowed your eyebrows together, his grip on your wrists releasing as your fingers played with his long necklaces.

“this is your home now, silly,” your voice teased him. “and what do you want me to be? what are you?” you countered. “i don’t think i’ve ever had one like you before.”

“is that so? what do you intend to do with me?” vessel didn’t know where the new shred of confidence came from, but his heart rate increased as your eyes lit up a phosphorescent green and your touch trailed down the length of his torso, goosebumps appearing in their wake. your fingers hooked through the belt loops of his pants and pulled his hips against yours, and his hands landed on your waist to steady himself, and you hummed at the feeling of his fingertips digging into your soft skin.

“just relax,” you whispered next to his ear, before placing a kiss to the flesh of his throat and then sinking your fangs in. vessel tensed at the sharp pain, his nails leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips as he tried to stay still. “let go.” he heard, but you hadn’t spoken, it was just in his head, your voice ringing through his thoughts as venom coursed through his veins. it burned so sweet, his arms wrapping around you to keep you close, and he felt you chuckle against his skin. he gasped softly as your forked tongue caressed the bite wound, before pulling back to look at him, blood dripping from you lips.

vessel closed the distance between you, tasting the iron on your tongue as he moved his lips against yours feverishly, hands roaming your body as you kissed him back. you surprised both him and yourself when a moan erupted from your throat as he pushed your back softly against a tree, his hips pressing against yours as you ground against eachother. his kisses trailed wet and hot down your neck, and you laughed softly as your hand caressed the back of his head.

“i think i’m gonna keep you,” you hummed, his own teeth puncturing your skin know leaving angry red bruises behind. his hands still wandered your body, tugging at your clothes until they were removed, and you slid his coat off of his body, letting to fall to the ground with a soft thud. vessel gently pushed you to the ground, before crawling on top of you. your sharp nails nearly pierced his skin as you held his chin, his still masked face hovering above you. your eyes turned dark now as you smiled up at him.

“keep me,” he muttered, kissing your swollen lips, his tongue tasting the venom that still dripped from your sharp canines. he moaned deep in his throat as you bit down on his bottom lip, piercing the plump flesh between your teeth.

“i have to let you wake up, don’t i?” you asked, rolling over so you were on top of him, the soft grass tickling your knees as you straddled his lap.

“i’ll sleep forever if if means i can remain here with you. like this.” his hands trailed up your thighs to rest on your waist again as you raked your nails over the soft skin of his stomach, stopping at the button of his pants, and vessel couldn’t help but buck his hips upward slightly.

“such a generous offer. i must say i’m tempted.”

“say yes,” he pleaded, as your hands began to undo his pants, your eyes shining green again as you smiled at him.

“hmm let’s see if you can prove that you want it.”

•

vessel awoke, jolting upright, discovering that he was once again in his bed. he looked around. attempting to wrap his head around the incredibly vivid dream he had just had. had it truly been a dream? he wondered. everything felt so real. was this sleep playing some kind of game with him? he sighed, stepping out of the bed and walking down the hall to the bathroom. when he flicked on the light his appearance in the mirror shocked him. thin pink lines trailed down his bare torso, fine cratches left by your sharp nails down to the waistband of his pants. he tilted his head to the side to inspect the deep puncture wounds on the side of his neck, where your fangs had sank into him, and his heart pounded in his chest.

vessel heard the sound of your laugh again, and he looked around, only to see nothing and no one there but himself. shaking his head, he flicked the light off and stepped back out into the dark hallway, the light of morning only just beginning to stream through the cracks in the curtains as the sun would soon rise. from the end of the dark hallway, just outside the doorway to his room, he saw two familiar eyes, glowing an unnatural green. he walked toward you just for you to vanish, appearing again sat on the end of his bed.

“did you sleep well?” you asked innocently, crossing your leg over the other as vessel approached you cautiously. he kneeled on the ground in front of you, kissing the exposed skin of your knees softly, and you smiled down at him.

“incredibly,” he replied. “your venom-“

“it will not harm someone with your power,” you replied, leaning forward until your lips were nearly on his. “but i can still make it hurt if you want me to.” his eyes closed beneath his mask in response, his head falling backward to expose his neck to you, and you caressed his painted skin before sinking your teeth in once again.

“am i dreaming again?” he asked, wincing as you placed yourself in his lap, his arms encircling you.

“you tell me. is it a good dream?” you were doing it again- speaking without speaking; somehow communicating telepathically.

“mm- yes,” he groaned as you licked a trail of blood that had begun to run down the hollow of his collar bone. “i never wish to wake up.”

“say the word and you can have me awake or asleep. i’ll be with you always.” you pressed your lips to his, and his hands grabbed at either side of your jaw, trying to prevent you from pulling away. the mixture of his blood and your venom on your tongue made his head spin, and he repositioned your bodies so that you lay beneath his in the bedroom floor. the chains on his necklaces dangled from his neck, and you used them to pull him down to your lips again.

“you have got your hooks in me,” he moaned against your lips, and you smiled.

“it was almost too easy,” you teased. “but i must admit, you have captured my interest as well.”

“so this is not a dream? i will not wake up and find myself alone?”

“no. i am here,” you placed your hand over his chest, his heart bearing past beneath your palm. “and i always will be,” you gently touched the bite mark on his neck.

“what is it that brought you to me?”

“curiosity. i can travel many different realms and plains of consciousness. i have seen you before, but what you are still eludes me. i wanted you to myself. but he already had you.” vessel tilted his head at you slightly.

“he? you refer to sleep?” you nodded.

“yes. it took me a while to find you. but now that i have i am not letting you go.” you kissed him, softer than before.

“i would not have it any other way.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

[abhorsenkatiel]

I've been making really over-thought TLT character playlists for about a year now as a background program to keep my brain entertained while I'm at work, and I realized that I have kind of a lot now, so I figured I'd share them here if anyone is interested.

Here's the ones I made for Harrow and Gideon. I'm really happy that I was able to get them to have the same number of songs, and also nearly the same run time! If you listen to them in order, they follow each character's emotional narrative.

Song lists below the cut

Harrow

Walk With Fire, Hunter As A Horse:

For when you're a suicidal ten-year-old committing the gravest sin and having complicated feelings about your life's purpose.

REPENT NOW CONFESS NOW, Lingua Ignota:

For when you're a mentally ill teenager leading the congregation of an apocalypse cult while stewing in your own hypocrisy and guilt.

Anti Body, Gazelle Twin:

For when it's your first time away from your home planet and the fate of you and your entire House depends on getting along with your childhood nemesis.

I Walk The Line, Those Poor Bastards:

For when your cavalier is hanging out with another necromancer and you feel weirdly jealous about it. (Fun Fact: There also ended up being a Johnny Cash reference in Gideon's playlist, which was completely unintentional)

True Love, Eivør:

For when the person you love most is with you for eternity, but not in the way you want. (Favorite line for maximum emotional damage: "House of pain, this body is too small a chamber")

Out of Focus, Ioanna Gika:

For when God denies you your only wish, so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

The Time Machine, Hunter As A Horse:

For when you construct an elaborate alternate reality to keep yourself from remembering your ex. (If someone had told me this was written about Harrow in HtN I would've believed them.)

When That Head Splits, Esben and the Witch:

For when you make your worstie give you a back alley lobotomy to save your cavalier's soul.

Oh You Are Not Well, Chloe Foy:

For when you come back wrong from traumatic brain surgery and all you can do is vomit, murder, and follow cryptic instructions from your past self.

MANY HANDS, Lingua Ignota:

For when you beg God for salvation and he tells you to learn how to make soup. (Favorite line for John and Harrow's relationship: "The Lord spat and held me by my neck. 'I wish things could be different', he wept")

God's Dark Heaven, Those Poor Bastards:

For when you're having a crisis of faith while you wait for a cosmic horror eldritch being to show up at God's vacation home.

SOHEAVYSOHOLLOW, Varien, Tori Letzler:

For when your only comfort is the hallucination (?) of your dead monster girlfriend.

I'm Not Done, Fever Ray:

For when you're dead, but it's not the end.

Gideon

Toll, So Below:

For when you're an abused orphan living in an apocalypse cult.

rise, Origa:

For when you're a teenager and you dream of escaping indentured servitude by achieving military glory.

Dark Room, Foreign Figures, Johnny T:

For when your childhood nemesis foils your 86th escape attempt and you get the depression.

Throne, Saint Mesa:

For when you're and epic, badass swordswoman, but your childhood nemesis makes you pretend to be her cavalier at a nerd convention.

Let You In, Marc Straight, Ellen Rose:

For when your childhood nemesis bares her soul to you and you don't know how to feel about it.

Bad Apple!!, RichaadEB, Cristina Vee:

For when you're trapped in a murder house going into a suicidal spiral.

Martyr, Roniit, Saint Mesa:

For when you decide to sacrifice yourself to save your necromancer whether she wants you to or not.

We Are Forever, Hunter As A Horse:

For when you're at peace with your sacrifice. (If someone had told me this was written about Gideon at the end of GtN I would have believed them.)

Lights Out, (DOLCH):

For when it doesn't work and now your still-conscious soul is trapped in her broken mind.

Song for Zula, Phosphorescent:

For when you give her everything you have and she doesn't even want it. (Here's the Johnny Cash reference for Gideon.)

Family Tree (Intro), Ethel Cain:

For when it turns out that your parents actually are super important and powerful, and also they suck.

Exorcise, Gazelle Twin:

For when you get halfway resurrected and it sucks.

Glory Amem, Those Poor Bastards:

For when you're Her Divine Highness, only child of God, and it sucks.

[prismaticpichu]

On one mission, Sephiroth feels a strange calling. That night, he wanders away from the group and begins searching. When he finds the cave behind the waterfall, he is immediately stunned by what, or rather who, he finds.

Ooooohooooooooooooo *rubs stubby paws together*

I’ma do both a Drabble and a regular answer bc this is a juicy one! 💕

~

Sephiroth wasn’t sure how the words left him, those two ghostly syllables that seem more like a shallow breath of air than actual speech. He wasn’t sure how he formed the thought in his mind—when the seeds were planted, where they came from, or how they flourished into the wraithlike realization that had overtaken him like a possession.

Instinct.

Pure, raw, undeniable instinct.

He reached out, numb, like a child wanting to grasp the stars in their hand. Like floating in a dream.

And yet, as his hand met the crystal, nothing had ever felt so real.

“M… Mother…?”

He knew.

And now… :3c With a little EC sprinkled in!

~

The calling isn’t like the eerie, painful tugs on his psyche that he feels at night, or the bitter chills that sometimes crawl down his spine and fill his mind with dark and bitter impulses. No. Not this time. This time, it’s… different. Sweeter, almost. But not in a cloying, manipulative way, trying to seduce him with its velvet timbre. It is just…

Different.

And unlike those callings he heard so often at night, Sephiroth follows.

He quietly breaks away from his troop in the dead of night, knowing at least two other First Class SOLDIERs are there, and follows the calling to gushing waterfall. But the calling doesn’t stop there: what he’s looking for doesn’t lie in the water, isn’t something that’s going to come streaming down from the cascade. He has to keep going. He has to.

He continues to travel forward, unflinching, and walks right through the waterfall diving Corel and Nibelheim.

The cave is towering, brilliant, astonishing—a valley of luminous blue gemstones jutting out from all directions and setting the cavern aglow in its phosphorescent embrace. But it’s what’s in the heart of the cave that earns Sephiroth’s attention—that causes his eyes to widen and his heart to twist and throb and shrink and burst all at once.

A woman, encased in a crystalline structure.

Beautiful brunette hair.

A pearl necklace.

Holy white clothing.

Sephiroth’s breaths rattles, and he continues to walk forward.

His nerves have frosted over, glazed under ice and frost. He doesn’t even feel the limb move as his hand slides into his coat pocket, the one nearest to his palpating, twisting heart, and takes out the photograph.

He brings it before his eyes.

He lifts it up.

He holds it in front of the crystal, the woman, Her…

And sees that they match.

When Genesis and Angeal finally find Sephiroth, having searched for him in a frightened, concerned haste, they find their friend’s head pressed against the crystal—whispering, shuddering, crying… Pleading in a voice too quiet for them to understand, something of a blend of an apology and a wish and a promise.

The one thing they do hear, they do catch, comes out in choke so deep and raw that the entire cave seems to shudder.

Three words they never thought they would hear Sephiroth utter.

“I love you…” Sephiroth chokes, and brings his voice down to inaudible as the tear rolls down the crystal. “I hope you’re proud of me, Mother.”

[the-clay-quarters]

Okay this took me three days bcus I spent Way too long thinking about it but! here's my guys in @t6fs' template!

The only bit of this that was left blank for non character reasons is the dreams- I avoid all the dream cards in game to avoid nightmares, so I don't really know the vibes oops. Oh, and the key items are distinctive things they carry regularly, excluding things they'd own at home. Otherwise, detail bits under the cut! I ended up with a lot of notes and wanted to ramble, it's really fuckin long <3

Silverstein

"His" pet is Pembroke's Half-Wild Mandrake (from bag a legend). They both agree that it is still hers, it's just hard to take care of in the middle of the city so it lives out with him. Otherwise, he keeps no pets.

Apathetic but also opinionated: On most things, he's very apathetic, simply agreeing with other people's decisions. On the other hand, though, he is strongly revolutionary and aiming for a lot of change... Not that he'd tell you that, not that you should know.

Dreams: It's canon that clay men can't dream :( No rights

Habitat: He likes being out and about, he spends most of his day out in the streets. He does a lot of "low skill" but high strength work, like moving services or construction.

Both hot/cold and coffee/tea are Neither for clay man reasons: Very high and cold temperatures cause him issues in different, equally annoying ways, and he can't eat/taste either, so no preference on food or drink.

Items: The gloves are clay stained, actually, and primarily on the inside. He started collecting first city coins for heart's desire and just has a habit of keeping some on him now. Horse head amulet... fear of death and uncertainty about the particulars of clay men :)

Flower, white rose: Did you know all the funky coloured roses (ie blue or rainbow) are made by dying white ones? :)c

Animal, saint bernard: Big but fairly gentle and lazy, would be a guard dog if asked but is mostly content to just sit

Element, rock slide: Change! Upheaval! Rocks :3

Pembroke:

The pet is her hunting dog, lovely lil thing <3 She doesn't keep many pets as she's a very busy person (and wouldn't want to put that on her poor housekeeper) but a good dog is always useful.

Rude-polite range is because she defaults to, and is usually, quite polite but often is also overcome with the need to be an absolute lil shit. Duality of man <3

Lodgings: Rooms above an ex-bookshop, now her tailoring shop!

Enemies: See: habit of being a chaotic lil shit. Apparently people don't like it when you think their party is too boring and try to spice it up smh

Items: A wedding ring with no match. A pocket watch to keep a tight schedule. A weapon of some sort, picked from a diverse collection. A travel sewing kit for rogue buttons and popped stitches. A hat pin, back up weapon :)

Flower, green dahlia: .......This one's mostly a pun off of Delia ngl

Animal, borzoi: Fancy and elegant looking, but still a hunting dog. Pretty but vicious~

Vincent:

The pet listed is a frost-moth but they have so. many. bugs. The phosphorescent scarabs are also pets. They have spiders. They keep any and every type of bug to either study or have as a pet. Please never visit their flat if you don't like bugs.

Gender: Bureaucratic misunderstanding. They filled out various forms wrong when they were first travelling to the neath, rolled with the neutral pronouns, realised they like it more than they probably should, and simply refused to think about that at all

Logic-emotion range is them trying to lead with logic but also having high anxiety

Lawful-chaotic and apathetic-opinionated are also anxiety, honestly. Though, for the latter, they are just quiet about their more out-there opinions, especially in the realm of politics. It's a culture thing kinda sorta, if I get into that here it'll add like 3 paragraphs at least.

Cultural identity: Catalan! Very proud of that! But won't default to that and will usually say they're Spanish. I can't get into that for the exact same reasons as the last point oops

Allies: This guy ☝ is depressed and isolating themself

Remember vs forget: When you're this far from home, your culture comes just from your own memories that you can't afford to lose. But also fuck wouldn't it be nice to simply forget the things causing you anxiety.

Items: Big round glasses to counter their shortsightedness. Bugs. Anti spider goggles that aren't prescription, both because they were originally lent and because they don't usually need to see very far with them on. Catholic rosary, worn under their shirt. Bugs. Surface currency, specifically Spanish pesetas, sent from their parents. Bugs. Bugs. More bugs.

Flower, forget me nots: Blue, anxiety coded, pretty <3

Animal, mantis: Awkward looking, vibes <3 Also, specifically hierodula papua bcus it's blue!

[elenath9]

A short SG-1 fic that nobody asked for

Summary: Jack says goodbye to Daniel in Meridian, from his point of view. Warning for major character death.

Length: ~1k

This is the last work I’m going to post publicly in the SG-1 fandom for the foreseeable future.

I’m putting it here because I have been and will be taking an indefinite hiatus from AO3 to preserve my (flagging) mental health. I’m sorry to any followers/mutuals who write - I’ll mark your stories for later.

What He Wants

*Note: the dialogue is as it appears in the episode.

————————

I stood there, alone in a room full of people and watched him die. My best friend. He was in the final stages – Janet had outlined earlier what this kind of radiation poisoning would look like, yet I can’t say I was at all prepared for the reality.

I stood by his bed and looked on, helpless, while Carter’s dad tried to save him. Daniel was all bandaged up – we couldn’t see his face. I’m not sure I wanted to at that point. Too afraid of what I’d find: bitterness maybe; pain and suffering, surely. I’d already seen enough of that to last a lifetime.

So I stared straight ahead, watching the orange light from the healing device pool in a circle on the grey sheet draped over his wrappings.

Then I felt a gentle touch, a slight tingling pressure on my shoulder that was somehow familiar. My head snapped to the left.

And there he was, looking whole and alive and well. A halo of light surrounded him. A glow was on his face. Behind him loomed the ‘gate, silent and inactive, and the equally silent, regal form of a woman in white with a face like an angel.

I can’t say anything surprises me anymore, so when I saw Daniel I just smiled and nodded and greeted him as if it were just another day, just another mission.

But of course, it wasn’t. Somehow Daniel had found a way to reach me from beyond his deteriorated state. I got the sense he wouldn’t have done so if it weren’t important.

“Did you want something?”

“Yeah. Tell Jacob to stop.”

“Why?” My voice came out casual, but inside I was screaming.

“Because I’m ready to move on.”

The words were hard to hear. “You’re just… givin’ up?”

Giving up wasn’t something Daniel did. This was a man who kept going in the face of almost any adversity, the man who dedicated three years of his life to finding his wife, who would stay up all night to decipher a difficult translation and who wouldn’t quit doing everything in his power to help a friend in need. Daniel had fought. God knew he had fought, as hard and as bravely as any soldier. But if he believed his fight was over…

“No, no,” he said with a soft little smile. “I’m not giving up, believe me.”

He turned his head, and I followed his gaze. We watched the angel-like woman dissolve into a phosphorescent ball of light and depart through the ‘gate in a burst of radiance.

Daniel licked his lips. “You remember Oma?” he said with a little flick of his head.

Ah. The glowy chick from Kheb. “Sure.”

“I think I can do more this way.” Daniel smiled faintly, though his eyes shone with unshed tears.

Gut-wrenching pain gripped me to think that he believed he could do more by leaving us for some unknown Great Beyond. As if “doing more” was the only measure of his life’s worth.

“It’s what I want.”

What he wanted. What he wanted was to die, and I had to be the one to let him.

“I have to go now.”

Oh, how I wanted to tell him to stay, to try to talk him out of it. But such an act would have been pointless.

“Everything’s gonna be fine. Please, Jack. Tell Jacob to stop.”

God, his face was so intense. I’m not sure I can ever forget that expression. And just like that, like waking from a dream, we were back in the infirmary: him on that bed, and me… still standing there.

Now came the hard part, the part I was gonna struggle with. How do you just let someone go like that? How do you advocate to stop a treatment that could work to bring them back? Daniel couldn’t speak of course, couldn’t just appear to everyone like had to me or he’d have done it. No one else knew what he wanted, and who would believe me if I told them? All I had to do was keep my mouth shut, to pretend like he hadn’t just conveyed to me his final wish, and Jacob would keep healing his damaged body.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had much more respect for Daniel than that.

This was his journey, his path. He had to do what he felt was right. If I was truly his friend I had to honor his wish.

So I took a deep breath. I opened my mouth, knowing I was about to end a great and beautiful life. But what else could I have done? Tell me, what else could I have done?

“Jacob. Stop.”

“Are you serious?” It was Carter’s dad who answered rather than Selmak, and his tone implied, ‘are you crazy?’

“It’s what he wants.”

They all looked at me. Janet with wide disbelieving eyes, Carter with shock and immense sadness, General Hammond with a grim expression, and Teal’c with something unreadable. If you’d asked me how I felt in that moment, I’m honestly not sure I could have answered.

“Someone else want to tell me what to do?” Jacob said.

I took another breath. This was my last chance to turn back. My voice, a ragged whisper, nearly caught in my throat as I uttered the final words, advocating the one thing I swore I would never, ever do, and it felt like tearing out a piece of my soul.

“Just let him go.”

No one questioned me. The healing glow winked out, and I swear that room became so much darker and colder. I listened to the last, laboring beats of his heart. I listened as they slowed, faltered…

Stopped.

THE END

[eve-without-adam]

Dreams in Phosphorescence - College Student!Gale x Stalker!John

After a childhood spent under his father’s oppressive thumb, Gale finally moved to New York, hoping for a fresh start at college. All in all, his life wasn’t too bad. He got along well with his roommate, managed to keep up with all his courses, and the new guy at work seemed to reciprocate his attraction. If only he knew who was sending him those intimate notes.

[rahuratna]

Queen of Thorns (Part 1 of 2)

In light of certain recent manga events, the following idea was born. SPOILERS BELOW CUT!

Genre: Action, adventure, mystery

Characters: Adult! Sensei Nobara, OC (her student)

Summary: In the remote reaches of a Siberian peninsula, Kurosawa Akito, student of the legendary Nobara Kugisaki, learns a fundamental truth about his sensei's strength.

CW: canon-typical violence

In dreams, the world sometimes shudders, as if shaking its colossal shoulders to rid itself of an itch, a small irritation lodged in its fabric. Akito stumbles into wakefulness, the traces of that dream-quake lingering, disorienting. The darkness within the yurt is no longer inky black, traces of orange flickering on the edge of his vision.

It takes a moment for him to process that these aren't remnants of his sleeping consciousness, that something is happening outside and he needs to throw off these covers and slide uncoordinated feet into his boots and take a quick, gasping breath as the freezing night air strikes his chest like a gong, and the need to move, move, move -

He grabs his fleece-lined parka, arms slotting with trained regularity into the sleeves as he pushes out of the yurt, into the chaos of night. The quiet of the camp has been shattered, the conical yurts in the easternmost corner ablaze, the distant bellow of the reindeer herd making itself known over the cacophony of shouts and screams as people scurry to and fro.

The freezing air is helping him focus, a sharp slap to the cheeks as he blinks away the sting of the smoke. Akito takes a moment to zip up his jacket and tug the warm gloves from where they are stuffed within the pockets. As always, he has to battle every preservatory instinct he has in order to do what's necessary.

She always said that choosing to be a sorcerer requires a special brand of madness, and he often wonders when his own mind will break free of its shackles of normality, allowing him to charge head-first into the fray like she does.

And yet, here he is, doing exactly that. For him, it feels mechanical. Maybe he is mad. Maybe it has already taken his mind, this strange inability to consider the frailty of one's own body. After all, he chose to come out here, to this remote peninsula on the northern coast of Siberia, as he'd been instructed by mission requirements.

There was no more time for hesitation. He was running towards the burning yurts, shouting out to the others to move back, move away. He wasn't sure if they understood his words, but his wildly gesticulating arms certainly spoke a language all could comprehend. As he approached, he slowed his pace, threads of cursed energy spreading out in fine veins across the affected area.

Akito was no battle hound. His technique, dubbed 'Luciferin', was sensory. It relied on subtlety and heightened perception. He was able to send out a web of complex fibres that mapped out cursed energy flow, lighting up with phosphorescent glow a dearth of detail that rivalled a living being's neural network. And under the right circumstances, he could ... but not here. Not now. Too many factors, too many possible casualties. He couldn't risk it. That was a last resort after all.

He whispered into the frigid night air and motes of brilliant aquamarine light twisted away from his lips, tracing the lines left by a foreign energy signature. Something had attacked the camp, with malicious intent. These yurts normally housed nursing mothers and babies, monitored carefully by the head shaman, the Tadibya, and he uttered a silent thanks to the instincts that had warned the Nenets herders that something wasn't quite right in the air tonight.

The burning yurts unleashed pennants of thick, acrid smoke into the night sky, irritating his eyes as he came closer. The phosphorescent glow of his technique was now tracing out a fair-sized crater in the frozen ground, smoking slightly, the uppermost layer already turning cold. The yurts had been flung away from that central point of impact, scattered possessions and smouldering hides strewn in the wake of the outward force.

This attack would have ended in fatalities, if things had been a little different.

Skirting the edge of the destruction, Akito circled closer, body tense as a drawn bowstring, watchful. The metal of his cursed tool, the customized dart gun, was icy against his fingers as he drew it out and slipped a loaded vial into the chamber.

Something was here; still, watchful, waiting amidst the ruined tents. The distant shouts of people faded as his perception sharpened in other ways, guiding him forward. The blue-green traces leaped and scattered, re-forming at the edge of his ability to control them, sliding like a glowing map of energy over the ground.

And then, he saw it.

Caught in the web of his cursed light, something that looked like the familiar outline of a large reindeer, but with an element of otherness, an awareness that snagged on his senses. Not to mention the large amount of cursed energy threading through its body and emanating from its branching antlers.

A cursed spirit. Probably first grade. Powerul enough that Akito knew full well that he couldn't take it on by himself. And yet, here was the crucial issue faced by all sorcerers, multiple times in their career of choice. How does one back away from an overwhelming challenge when peoples' lives are at stake?

The spirit strode slowly through the smoke towards him, the leisurely pace menacing. The signature click of its hooves on the ground mimicked the stride of the reindeer he'd become so familiar with over the last few days. Akito gritted his teeth. The Nenets saw the reindeer as a vital part of their lives, interwoven into their faith and spirituality. From what he suspected of this case, this was ... an open mockery.

He readied the dart gun as the creature picked up pace, head lowering gradually. He recognized the gesture. It was charging him. The sickening amount of pressure gathering at the tips of its antlers warned him of exactly what was coming. He didn't have much of a defence against it, but if he didn't stand his ground ...

Glancing back at the herdsmen and their families, still disoriented and panicking from the attack, Akito knew what he had to do. He aimed the dart gun, the soft guidance of his energy nudging the dart as it left the barrel, spiralling towards the creature as its hooves dug into the ground and it propelled itself towards him.

The dart glanced off some kind of protective layer and Akito dived out of the way, skidding over the frozen ground. The spirit wheeled and faced him with unnatural stability, hooves barely gaining traction for its turn as it faced him once again. Sweat freezing on his skin, Akito loaded another dart, mind grasping at his sensei's last lessons on the sprawling grounds of Jujutsu Tech.

Focus. Channel. Pierce.

Those antlers shone with deadly purpose, with power, as the large head lowered once again. There was something almost impersonal about the attack, as if he was simply a pawn on a chessboard spanning the icy tundra, a piece to be removed.

Focus. Channel. Pierce.

Akito fired again, moving simultaneously. The dart, imbued with the honed light of his cursed energy, struck harder this time. It was probably what saved his skin, because the spirit's charge was slightly off-kilter. The energy from its antlers discharged into the wooden framework behind him, exploding with a force that sent shards of burning shrapnel rocketing through the air. Akito cried out as something burning hot lanced across his side, and another solid mass pierced his calf, lodging there.

Rolling over, hands still gripping his gun, ears ringing, he was vaguely aware of warmth seeping down his leg, and in a sluggish curtain across his ribs. The cold would soon do its job, and the pain hadn't hit yet. He had the advantage of a few minutes. Ragged pants loud in his own ears, audible over the pounding of his heart, Akito fingers slipped on the next dart, already slick with blood.

A second too late on the reload. A second that could cost him everything. He watches as it happens, with the slow march of the inevitable, as the pulsing energy coalesces around the spirit's antlers once again. This time, his hand is actually steadier.

Focus. Channel. Pierce.

The dart left the gun on his exhale, and this time, he didn't dodge. Self-preservation was no longer an option. He doesn't have the agility to move. The shard of wood piercing his calf was beginning to assert the first pangs of tearing agony. The missile struck the forelimb, striking through what he imagined could be sinew and the spirit's charge veered away, head tossing to keep the energy that had built up. Its leg came down awkwardly. He'd done some damage, at least.

The spirit seemed to regard him, faceless, calculating. He briefly wondered what kind of cursed spirit this was. How could it be so careful, so still? Almost ...

But now it was striking the ground with one hoof, cracks of that same spiralling energy seeping into the earth, racing towards him like a shoal of underwater predators. It was attacking from a distance now. Akito took in a deep, shuddering breath, readying his body for one supreme push, when -

A snowmobile burst through the smouldering ruins of the camp, the roar of the overtaxed engine loud over the ringing in his ears. The person seated astride it was momentarily airborne above the seat, the vehicle passing over the rise at speed, and he glimpsed something familiar in their hand, something that broke every taut muscle in his body down in relief, a sobbing breath escaping his lips.

A hammer.

Glowing with traces of cursed energy that was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat, the driver's other hand raised, fingers splaying as three gleaming projectiles launched from their palm. The hammer came arcing down as the snowmobile struck the ground with an alarmingly loud thud, the front tracks sending up a flurry of frozen earth. The flat side of the weapon struck true.

Powerful streaks of electric blue flew across the narrow space, the spirit letting out a colossal bellow as each of them punched through hide like a hot knife through butter. It staggered back, the energy that had been snaking through the ground towards Akito rapidly retracting. The snowmobile had not slowed down, heading straight for the spirit, forcing it to buck and leap backward, slowed by its injuries.

The treads narrowly skirting the creature's flailing hooves, the snowmobile swerved away, heading for Akito. The back end smeared soot across the ground as it slid to a screeching halt and the rider reached up, pulling away their helmet.

Gaze still directed at the reeling spirit, her profile was momentarily lit by the burning tents. Chestnut hair, flecked with steely grey, caught back in a low braid, amber eyes gleaming with lambent fervor, as they always did, when faced with a strong enough opponent. The fleece jacket did little to disguise the wiry strength of her build, corded scarring stretching from beneath the eyepatch over her left eye.

The spirit saw her and took pause, something vast and terrible exchanged in their glances, a promise of fatality against the backdrop of this blasted land, and it turned away. A strategic retreat. The sound of its hooves was like thunder over the flat plains as it took an unusually rational exit.

The fierce challenge leaves her gaze as she glances down at him, the faint crow's feet at the corner of her good eye crinkling briefly, before she swings her leg off the snowmobile and grabs her satchel, hands brisk and efficient as she places the first aid kit beside her and checks his injuries.

"All good, squirt?"

He nods shakily and her voice is a steady hum as she recounts her speedy passage here, first by flight and then by the cross-continental train, the slow fading of the fires around them and the frigid wind rapidly cooling the night air.

Once his wound had been given field treatment, along with a dose of her basic reverse curse technique, the wooden shard removed with a quick "Look away, breathe, breathe, ah! There we go," he is being hoisted up, one arm slung over those narrow, but powerful shoulders. Her strength had always surprised him in the beginning, but now, even as he's outstripped her in height, it comes as a reassuring constant.

She has always been by his side, cajoling, critiquing, refining. Condescending, yet kind, temperamental, yet always empathetic, brash and loud, yet always emphatically pushing past the concealing curtain of his own insecurities.

Even with her reputation as one of the best sorcerers in the business, one of the terrible trio who had taken on, and defeated, the King of Curses, Sukuna, she had chosen him as her student.

Kurosawa Akito, the slow and sullen boy who'd made no impression at all on anyone else during his time at Jujutsu Tech, other than his association with her. With a technique that didn't even brush the surface of straight combat power and a lack of confidence in the little ability he had, Akito had always wondered what she had seen in him, what she had latched onto with that characteristic tenacity of hers. He was now a competent grade 2 sorcerer, thanks solely to her training and his utility as a tracer and investigator, but he was nowhere near her level.

A sharp slap upside the head had him yelping in protest as she glared up at him.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Considering all the blood I've lost? How about no, sensei?"

"Keep up that sass and I'll make them feed you raw reindeer again."

"Hardly a punishment. I've gotten used to it, you know?"

"Have you now?"

She grunted disagreeably as they slowly moved across the perilous, flaking crust of broken and burned earth, back towards the rest of the camp. From his vantage point, however, he saw the small curve of her smile. Her grip on the waist of his jacket tightened briefly, almost imperceptibly.

There was no need to say more. She always understood his unspoken thoughts, as if by some strange radar of cursed energy that linked the wavelength of a mentor's mind inextricably to that of their student's.

Such was the nature of his sensei, Special Grade Sorcerer, Kugisaki Nobara. 

[fivewholeminutes]

there’s a part in take me back to Eden that says “i’m in a waking hell and the gods grow tired.” do you think it’s referencing the origin of vessel and sleep? as in, vessel was in “a waking hell” (reality/earth) before he shifted away from his previous life to believe in sleep (a ‘tired’ god)?

Hello there, Anon! This is a goooooooood one, let me roll my sleeves up for an answer-

This is a delicious perspective I have not considered before, however! I do believe he says "I'm a waking hell" there and I will explain later why, but for that I would have to leave the interpretation of the whole song here. And it will kinda mix the being in waking hell and being a waking hell, because I overdid it again. Apologies in advance.

For me, this song refers to the beginning of it all, to an event which was perhaps the final straw for the trilogy (or even the general idea of Sleep Token) to exist. There are parts of this song that feel like a reminiscence of a catalyst for the whole sleepy business and parts that describe the present, after Vessel got a taste of what the whole sleepy business is about. I'll try to explain that now!

I dream in phosphorescence Bleed through spaces See you drifting past the fog But no one told you where to go

We dive through crystal waters, perfect oceans But no one told me not to breathe And now the weightlessness recedes

Okay, for me, the first verse is him dreaming of the times before, of his Eden (a person, a "better" time in his life, whichever suits you). He bleeds through spaces (in the Dreamworld?) to see what he has lost and craves to come back to. But the dream turns into the moment it all went wrong, where they got lost/drowned. He comes back from the dream-turned-nightmare to the present with the chorus:

My, my, those eyes like fire I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre Come now, bite through these wires I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire

(Oh god let me be feral about the chorus for a second here, ok. GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH, HOW CAN YOU WRITE POETRY LIKE THIS AND HAVE THE AUDACITY TO DELIVER THOSE LINES SO DELICIOUSLY. WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT. IT'S BEEN ALMOST 8 MONTHS AND I AM STILL EXPERIENCING EMOTIONS UNNOWN TO HUMANKIND WHEN I HEAR THIS- okay I am back to being normal now.)

He wakes up and remembers how cruel being under Sleep's influence is. That no matter what he dreams of (hello, The Apparition), he is always waking up to the reality, which is still terrible, despite Sleep's promises. The eyes (probably 6 of them huh) are Sleep's. Sleep continues to lure Vessel in, even when Vessel knows, after being with/serving/worshipping Sleep for quite some time now, that Sleep is going to be his downfall. But he stays, cause he has no better options, mayhaps?

And we're finally getting to the waking hell part which you've asked about!

He is in waking hell still, even if he thought he's going to escape from it. He knows he cannot/will not separate from Sleep now, but it's not like he's going to make Sleep's life easier with completely giving up. He:

isn't happy about the sleepy business (anymore);

has an attitude and WILL bite back;

will make his suffering everyone else's problem now.

Which brings me to the gods - in many interpretations I've seen, Sleep is an outcast in some sort of pantheon. He needed Vessel as much as Vessel needed him and together they are more powerful. Sleep helped Vessel in his lowest moment and Vessel, while gathering more and more worshippers, gave (and is still giving) Sleep enough power to make other gods' lives miserable as a revenge or something. Or just, you know, grow in power in general, it doesn't have to be a revenge. The other gods will be pissed off either way, because one thing all gods hate is other gods/entities growing in power.

The symbiosis with Sleep has worked for a while, but due to various reasons (Sleep getting too greedy, as gods do, not all Vessel's problems being magically fixed by Sleep's presence, miscommunication, different expectations, broken promises etc. etc.) Vessel started to rebel. He's in waking hell still (despite Sleep's promises that lured him in in the first place), so he will become one for the ones he can lash out on now (Sleep and the other gods). He embraced the become ungovernable meme. Isn't there a saying "hell is other people"? He took that literally. While he's awake, he is insufferable to all who he thinks is at fault for his current state now.

I will travel far beyond the path of reason Take me back to Eden

And he's happily going to continue to be insufferable to get what he wants (what Sleep has promised him when they've made their pact or whatever it is they did tbh), even if it's not reasonable to do so. He's beyond caring at this point.

And we're back to flashbacks, baby!

Well yeah, I spit blood when I wake up Sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and makeup Just two days since the mainframe went down and I'm still messed up Room feels like a meat freezer, I dangle in it like cold cuts Missed calls, answered phones from people I just don't trust Mirror talk, fake love But I'll take a pound of your flesh Before you take a piece of my paystub White roses, black doves, Godmother, rise up I need you to see me for what I have become

I really think this depicts the catalyst for going under Sleep's influence and the very moment they became entangled. Something happened (accident, death? and the aftermath of it, the lowest point, depression, becoming wary of people around him, aggression etc.) and that's when Sleep took an opportunity that would benefit them both (with the hidden agenda for later, of course). Now imagine the magical girl transformation with the roses and doves flying around and from Just Some Guy he becomes a Vessel and in the last moment of realisation of what he has done, he's crying out to the Godmother (whoever she may be!) that he's changed and probably irrevocably so.

Back to the present!

I guess it goes to show, does it not? That we've no idea what we've got until we lose it And no amount of love will keep it around If we don't choose it And I don't know what's got its teeth in me But I'm about to bite back in anger No amount of self-sought fury Will bring back the glory of innocence

He's realising that no matter what, he cannot turn the time back. Not even with Sleep's "help". He's not going to give up though, just for the sake of having something to do out of spite.

I have traveled far beyond the path of reason Take me back to Eden

Ok, with this one I am frankly not sure if it's "I have travelled" or just a repetition of the previous one. Can't hear it clearly and we don't have official lyrics (i am side eyeing Vessel so much rn). But. If it's "I will", it's just repeating of the things he'll do to piss the gods off. If it's "I have travelled", then maybe he's just confirming the past won't come back, even though he tried everything (has travelled far beyond the path of reason) or maybe he is still hoping the possibility to get back there physically, when everything was fine, and will fight for his Eden still. And not just out of spite.

[fleabagoftheendless]

Highway

Chapter 1

Here is my fic for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang :)

Robert Gadling, an alpha, found himself at cross roads when he was abducted at a party organized by Roderick Burgess. With his fears about his abductors mitigated soon, he decided to go on a roadtrip with them instead, one of the abductors being the infamous omega, Morpheus Endless.

Tags and Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, implied past rape, implied miscarriage, Dream of the Endless saves himself from Roderick Burgess, abduction, Stockholm syndrome

The whole thing is up on ao3!

Also luckily I got paired up with a wonderful artist who made this fantastic art! @kydrogendragon ❤️

The chapter is below the cut

The smell of smoke calmed him down a bit. It wasn’t a good habit, but Hob couldn’t stop it. The night was still young, and he wondered if it would be a bad idea to leave so early. He took another drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes, trying to keep his building frustration under control. He crushed the cigarette in a nearby dustbin with the ashcan before making his way inside the grand hall. His father was somewhere around; he didn’t bother looking for him. Being the only son of Robert Gadling Sr. meant attending such parties to make contacts and also to find a perfect omega.

His father owned several pubs in London, which he was expected to run once his father retired. This meant he was supposed to settle down soon now. Considering that, he was in the eyes of many people who wanted their omega children to find a perfect alpha. But Hob wasn’t sure if he could handle this again. After having a taste of this life, and then losing it soon after, he wasn’t sure he wanted to even look at another omega. But he also didn’t want to upset his father. He took a drink from the bar counter, deciding he was leaving once he finished it.

Suddenly, there was a crash somewhere. He startled a bit, almost spilling the whiskey he was sipping on. It came from up and it sounded like glass shattering, echoing in the hall. He looked up, only to see one of the chandeliers fallen to the floor, its glass pieces scattered around like phosphorescent in the water. And then came the loud bang of a gunshot. There was shouting and screaming, all the guests running around to find shelter from more bullets that were sure to come. But none came.

“Where is he?” someone yelled from across the hall, and Hob finally saw the culprit. Two men, who had their faces half-covered with scarves walked frantically, with their guns raised.

“Where is he?!” one of them shouted again, but no one listened as they continued to run for their lives. Hob, for some reason, stood frozen in his place. Later, he will call this fate but right now, he just couldn’t move. When he realized what he was doing, he quickly went behind the bar counter, as the men looked like they would shoot any second. His hands were shaking badly and he cursed himself for not leaving from here earlier. But more importantly, how did these men even enter the party when the security was so tight? Hob shook his head, as his breathing quickened with each passing second.

Hob must’ve missed the walkie-talkie because he was surprised when he heard static and then a voice say:

“Boss, we have to leave, now! Rodrick is nowhere to be found and the police have entered the building.”

And then, more footsteps. When they started fading a little, Hob sighed with relief. Still, he decided to wait for another five minutes. The men didn’t find who they were looking for, so they would leave now. Maybe that is where he went wrong, because suddenly someone was pulling him up by his arm and Hob stood up on wobbly feet. He realised one of the goons was holding him up while pointing a gun at his temple.

“Do not try anything.” the man holding a gun at his head said. And then another masked man came to stand on their right and Hob figured this was probably the “boss”.

This boss looked at his companion and nodded. Meanwhile, Hob himself kept still as getting shot by some random hooligans with scarfs on wasn’t on his bingo card today.

"Sorry mate, but you have to come with us," the man holding him hostage said, and Hob frowned at his American accent until he realized what he meant. His heart sank, wondering what these guys wanted from him, but Hob wouldn't go down without a fight. He stupidly tried to break into a run, and he could only make it a few steps forward when he ran into someone. So he tried to punch whoever stopped him, only for something blunt to hit him on the back of his head. The pain exploded in his skull, his steps faltering.

The next thing he knew, someone was holding him up by his shoulder and dragging him outside the building. Belatedly he realised the security officers at the party didn’t do anything to stop these goons from taking him.

“Do not try to be smart right now mate. We will release you later, promise!” the same American accent. Hob tried to elbow the person in his ribs, only to fail spectacularly. He was now being pushed into a van, the door sliding closed in his face. He saw the partygoers stand back and stare as these men took him away.

Hob had read about the abducted victims and the statistics. Of course, he knew omegas got abducted most of the time. They were usually the perfect victims. Alphas got taken rarely, maybe because the state punished the convicts harder for that. He tried to remember how to escape when someone was taken, but unfortunately, his chances of escaping were lowering as the seconds passed by.

Strangely enough, he couldn’t scent his abductors. One of them was now driving the van, and the one with the American accent was sitting beside him.

“Boss, do you think they are following us?” the man asked the driver.

“No Matthew, the security there was solely for Burgess, they won’t care for a partygoer that much.” a deep voice replied.

The man named Matthew sighed deeply, loosening his hold on Hob. Hob leaned against the window, knowing full well his chances of escaping were less than none. He just hoped that Matthew wasn’t lying back in the manor when he said about letting him go later on.

He didn’t understand why they took him though. Was it some sort of revenge because they didn’t find Burgess? Well, he will find out sooner or later. So instead he paid attention to the road, trying to figure out where these guys were taking him. It was a good thing that they didn’t tie his eyes or his hands, at least he had this much liberation. His heart was beating fast though and as they drove further from Burgess’ mansion, Hob’s hands started shaking. It was as if he was in shock first because the growing panic in his gut made him realise how deep in trouble he was. He tried to take deep breaths, remembering Matthew’s promise, but he still couldn’t help and thought the worst. He went back to the statistics to remember how many people made it back home after captivity and he couldn’t remember the clear numbers. He just looked up at the London night sky from the van’s window.

~~~

They were outside the city, near a forest area when the van came to a sudden halt. Hob looked outside the window, only to see a small cottage at the side of the road. It looked like it had been abandoned a long time ago. The driver got out first, sliding open the backdoors. Matthew held onto Hob’s arm and dragged him along as they got out of the vehicle.

The cool air hit Hob right in his face as they got out of the van. Matthew took off the scarf from his face, but the driver didn’t. And he was giving weird looks to Hob as if he was shocked. Hob decided nothing could be done, so he let Matthew drag him to the cottage. The man took him to a room on the right upon entering.

“We are sorry about this, but we will let you go in a few days,” he said, pushing Hob into the room and closing the door on his face.

Hob tried to take deep breaths and tried to get his heart under control. He told himself that these people wouldn’t hurt him, since Matthew promised to let him go. Still, he couldn’t find it any easier to believe those words. His captors didn’t disturb him for the rest of the night, except for when Matthew handed him some food. It was just boiled peas and mashed potatoes.

As the night crept up on him, Hob found himself alone in the eerily dark room. There was a small bed in the corner which he had been using and he laid down on it, staring at the ceiling. Maybe he should try the door of his room once. He ought to try, or he will blame himself for not making any effort to save himself. So he got up from the bed and approached the door. As he moved the knob, a soft click echoed in the room.

The door opened.

Hob gasped in surprise but decided not to waste any more time. He opened the door halfway through and wiggled out of the gap. It was dark in the entire building, and he wondered why his captors didn’t lock the door of his room from the outside. As his eyes adjusted a little to the moonlight falling in from the window, he could see the main door a few meters away. He slowly stepped forward, making sure he didn’t run into anything.

Luck wasn’t with him- he bumped into a low table, or maybe it was a pile of books because it made a loud thud. He heard the release of a gun’s safety as the light came on.

There on the couch to his left, sat a man, whom Hob recognized as the driver. But more importantly, the man wasn’t wearing his scarf from before. Hob knew that face, he had seen it before many times. And his shock overtook his fear for a few seconds as he remembered all the times he had seen this man before in his life.

The other man kept pointing the gun at him. “Robert Gadling, go back to your room. Matthew told you before, that we will let you go when the time is right.”

Hob gulped loudly, sensing that the man was kidding. But the deep baritone which Hb had heard earlier in the van now belonged to a face; a very familiar face. He quickly turned around and went back to the room, before closing the door behind him. He wasn’t sure what he found scarier, that his captor saw him trying to escape, or that his captor was none other than Morpheus Endless Burgess.

~~~

Morpheus couldn’t sleep that night.

Crashing at Burgess’ party was already a stressful task and not finding Burgess added to his frustration. And then he did the one thing Matthew told him not to do. Abducted a random citizen instead. When he had run away all those years ago, the disdain he had for alphas in general was almost scary, not that he still didn’t dislike them. Morpheus didn’t know what took over him, maybe he wanted to punish someone else for what Burgess did but he just ordered Matthew to do as he said and take Robert Gadling jr with them. This wasn’t the first time he had abducted an alpha though. A few years ago when he was on a similar mission to catch Burgess, he had failed. So he took another alpha from that party and kept him in this same cottage overnight to teach them a lesson.

All of them were the same, all of them thought the world revolved around them and Morpheus took it upon himself to teach them a lesson this way. Now, after today’s adventure, a nightmare plagued his sleep so he woke up and decided to sit outside in the small living room of the cottage. Except, his hostage decided to run away at that moment.

Here saw Robert Gadling, escaping from his room and then running into the small dining table where Morpheus’ books were kept. Morpheus was sitting beside a lamp to his luck so he switched it on as he pointed a gun right at Robert.

“Robert Gadling, go back to your room. Matthew told you before, that we will let you go when the time is right.”

And Robert might’ve been shit scared because he flew back to his designated room.

~~~

Hob couldn’t sleep the whole night after that encounter.

Morpheus Endless Burgess. The infamous omega who had been missing for nine years now. There were rumours Morpheus married Rodrick for money, which didn’t make sense. Then there was the pregnancy announcement; Rodrick had been so happy. And then some months later, Morpheus ran away. No one knew why and no one looked for him, not even his husband, which was odd considering Rodrick would never let someone take away his child and future heir.

Ever since then, Morpheus has become a sort of urban legend in the city. No one ever talked about him, even his own family. But behind closed doors, every omega is given his example of how disgraced omegas don’t deserve a spot in society. Hob wasn’t sure about his stance on it.

He looked up at the ceiling. He hated Rodrick Burgess with all his being, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about Morpheus. At best, he felt that Morpheus deserved a much better Alpha and husband than that bastard; at worst, he felt that Morpheus was a bratty omega who disgraced his own family. He slept finally in the wee hours of the morning, hoping he hadn’t made his abductors too angry.

~~~

It was early in the morning and Matthew was already at work. After all, if your boss won't eat then, how will they continue terrorising the rich alphas?

He took a plate of sandwiches to the man sitting at a desk. “Here boss, bet you are starving.”

His boss turned to look at him, sighing as the sandwiches were shoved in his face. He took the plate nonetheless. “Your hospitality is appreciated, Matthew.” His deep voice reverberated through the cottage.

Matthew chuckled. “Your royal way of speaking still hasn’t gone away, huh? And this is not hospitality, I mean we’ve known each other for five years now, making food for your partner in crime isn’t a big deal.”

The other man shrugged, picking up a sandwich to eat. Matthew could only smile at that.

“So, are we leaving tomorrow?” Matthew asked.

His boss nodded. “Yes. We will leave Robert Gadling here, he can easily make his way to the city. I don’t think it is safe for us to stay here.”

“Got it, boss. I think one night of terror is fine for him.”

Morpheus looked at him and sighed. He knew Matthew disliked that he did this to innocent people. He said, “He is an Alpha, and he was at the Burgess party. This will teach him a lesson.”

Matthew sighed at that. His boss could be an ass sometimes.

~~~

Hob woke up with a start, grappling at the sheets blindly as his heart raced. He looked at his surroundings and realised he was in a room in some cottage on the outskirts of London and not in a cramped hospital corridor. He kept a hand on his chest, trying not to cry. It had been so long since that day and he still had nightmares about it.

A knock on his door pulled him out of his reverie.

He got up, standing on shaking legs and making his way to the door. He wasn’t in the mood to see Matthew or Morpheus for that matter, but he wasn’t in a position of power right now. When he opened the door, Matthew was smiling like a child who was trying to impress his parents with a drawing.

Hob looked questioningly at him before Matthew enthusiastically explained, “So, the boss and I are leaving tomorrow, that means you will be free to leave! I suppose you are happy now?”

Hob’s eyes widened. That’s it? They are letting him go so easily?

“Really?” he asked and Matthew nodded.

“Yes, buddy. I am sorry I scared you the previous night. The boss can be out of his mind sometimes. Hope you live a good life from now on and stop hanging around Burgess, that guy is trouble.”

Hob hummed at that. “Okay…thank you I guess?”

Matthew shrugged.

Hob sat back down on his bed, contemplating what Matthew just told him. Of course, he knew Rodrick was a troubled man, but now he wondered why Morpheus teamed up with Matthew in whatever plan he had against Rodrick. Were they planning to kill him? Or just abduct him like they did with Hob, but in a much more horrible way?

Hob wasn’t even sure if it was right for an omega to do that in the first place. But he wasn’t about to tell them to not do whatever they had planned. Burgess deserved whatever was coming his way.

He took off his dinner jacket, as it was getting a little warm now, and sleep evaded him even though he felt nothing but tired. The nightmare woke him up a little earlier than usual. He wondered if anybody was looking for him. If his father sent the city police after Morpheus and Matthew. Nonetheless, he would be a free man tomorrow, so it didn’t matter.

“Are you hungry?” Matthew asked, making Hob pause. And then he felt the slightest pain in his stomach, realising he was hungry. But he shook his head.

“No…I mean yes, I am hungry. But I was wondering…” he gulped, not knowing if this was a good idea. Although, his abductors weren’t even that scary. He exhaled, “Can I sit outside for a little while? I promise I won’t try to run away, I just feel a little suffocated here, please, just for a while.” He spoke in one breath, so quick that he wondered if he was even coherent. Matthew stood there in surprise, but eventually, he nodded.

“Wait.” He stepped back and closed the door on Hob’s face yet again, latching it from outside. Hob rolled his eyes and waited for two minutes when Matthew returned, opening the door and moving aside.

“Yeah come out buddy. But you are not allowed to move out of our eyesight and mind you, all the doors and windows are closed so no hanky panky.”

Hob’s smile turned into a frown. “Hanky panky? Seriously?”

He made his way out eventually and stood in the middle of the living room as if he wasn’t sure what to do now, which he wasn’t. He looked to his left and jumped a little when he saw Morpheus sitting at the dining table. Gulping loudly, he made his way to the window, sitting at a chair nearby so he could get the view from outside. It seemed it was about to rain and he could tell it was windy outside with the way the trees were swaying. He loved admiring nature but usually from afar.

He must’ve gotten lost in his thoughts because the sudden voices startled him.

“You know boss, I think we should’ve waited for Burgess to go to his country farmhouse, these kinds of parties have a lot of security so he might’ve gotten intel from his investigations,” Matthew said like a civilian wasn’t in the same room with them who might get them arrested with all this information.

“I am aware, Matthew. It was a miscalculation on our part. But we won’t miss the next time,” Morpheus replied, and now Hob was fully invested in the conversation. He was a curious man, which was his fatal flaw. And right now, he was curious about why these guys were trying to catch Rodrick Burgess of all people, especially when Hob’s own experience with that man had been really bad. A lot of people wanted Rodrick Burgess dead.

“So what are we going to do?” Matthew asked.

“We’ll have to find him. Certainly, he is not going back to his house. There must be a place where he goes in such a situation.”

“Yes, but it would take a few days boss. And since we crashed his party I am pretty sure the police are already after our lives. This reminds me we also have to disappear for a few more days.

Morpheus didn’t reply for some time.

“Also what if his men are looking for us?” Matthew spoke again, and like before, he didn’t get a reply.

Hob heard everything from where he was sitting. He could understand why Matthew sounded so concerned. Rodrick was a powerful man, he must’ve already sent his goons after these two.

He would later wonder what provoked him to say his next words, why he didn’t think before saying what he did. But he would never regret it like he never regretted his other decisions.

“I can help with that. If you want.”

Both Morpheus and Matthew perked up at that, staring at him for long excruciating seconds and Hob felt insecure.

“Why would you say that buddy?” Matthew spoke up finally, saving Hob further embarrassment.

Hob stood up straight, “See, I know you don’t believe me, but I have kept an eye on Burgess for the last few years. His whole business is corrupt. Apart from being a money-hungry industrialist, he also runs a cult which is just a cover-up for sex trafficking. And before any more omegas are trapped in that hell, Burgess needs to be handed to the police.”

Matthew was about to say something, but Morpheus beat him to it. “And how can you help us, Hob Gadling?”

Hob took a deep breath: this was his last chance, and he had to be convincing, “Okay listen, I know for a fact that Burgess is going to meet one of his clients tomorrow morning, who might be a potential investor and also a new member of his so-called cult. He needs more investors for his hidden business so he can't miss the meeting even if he almost got killed today. I can tell you the location and you can check if I am telling the truth.”

Hob took a deep breath when he finished and looked at the other two men. By their face, it seemed they genuinely didn’t know about Burgess’ meeting the next day. Morpheus eyed him suspiciously, and then he looked at Matthew, tipping his head to tell him something. Matthew nodded.

“Okay then, let’s check how much you know about Burgess.”

Hob could only wait.

~~~

It was his second night at the cottage of his abductors, and Hob couldn’t sleep again. He desperately hoped he was right about Burgess because it was his only ticket to gain Morpheus’ trust. If he had known that Morpheus was so jet-set on trapping Burgess, he would have hunted Morpheus down years ago. He wondered where Morpheus and Matthew were planning to run away the next day though. And where the former had lived for all these years after he ran away.

Hob fell asleep with this thought.

~~~

Ten years ago…

Hob stood in a corner, hoping none of the parents and their omega children approached him. He had ditched his friends to attend this big dinner party held at the Burgess Manor. The Burgesses were one of the big names in England, specifically, Rodrick Burgess. A successful industrialist, who also delved his hands into black magic from time to time, courting with powers he shouldn’t be even thinking about.

Hob didn’t even want to be here, but his father had dragged him along. The party was in the big hallway downstairs, lit up and too bright. Drinks were being served, and the music filled up the air with the voices talking about mundane things. Hob was at the bar counter, asking for more whiskey when the crowd went silent. He turned around in confusion until a loud voice sliced through the air.

“Good evening everyone.” It was Rodrick. Hob sighed, pinching the tip of his nose. Rodrick always had a very condescending tone, which made Hob want to punch him right in the face.

“Today marks my first marriage anniversary with my husband Morpheus Burgess. My beautiful omega!” he continued, pointing with his hand towards the bar counter. The crowd moved aside, forming a perfect alleyway from where Rodrick was standing, towards another man, who was leaning against a pillar near the bar counter, nursing a glass of white wine. His jet-black hair was a little longer, curling around the end, and he was wearing eyeliner, with blue kohl under his eyes. His blue dress fluttered a bit when he moved, and Hob smiled at the way the dress’ colour matched his eyes. Hob decided then and there that Morpheus was the most angelic man he had ever seen.

Morpheus smiled when the crowd looked at him, exactly in the way an omega was supposed to smile. He kept his almost empty glass on a table beside him and walked towards his husband, his heels clicking against the marble floor, echoing in the room now that the music had stopped playing. Rodrick held his hand out as Morpheus neared him and the omega took his alpha’s hand, standing beside him.

If anyone saw them, they could tell Rodrick and Morpheus made an unusual couple. Rodrick was much older than his omega, at least 30 years if Hob remembered Rodrick’s age correctly. And Morpheus looked much younger than his age. Last Hob heard, Rodrick had married a 19-year-old omega, which meant Morpheus must be 20 currently. But good god he looked like a 17-year-old was told to play dress up with that dress and make-up.

But Hob couldn’t do anything, even as the crowd cheered and applauded for the couple. The DJ behind the dance floor started playing a romantic number once Rodrick was done giving his speech. Romantic guitar strings filled the air this time, followed by equally sappy lyrics.

I found a love, for me,

Darling, just dive right in and follow my lead

Rodrick moved his husband around and kept a hand on his waist while holding up his free hand. Morpheus gave him another shy smile and held his hand. They danced slowly, other couples following their lead.

‘Cause we were just kids when we fell in love

Not knowing what it was

Hob almost scoffed at that lyric. So ironic.

Morpheus’ laugh reverberated through the hall and Hob immediately understood it was controlled laughter. As if Morpheus had attended one of those grooming schools where he learned how to act properly. It sounded sweet and naive and so fake.

Hob shrugged, walking around the dance floor, eyeing the main couple with disdain. He was standing with the crowd at the front now, where Rodrick and Morpheus seemed too close as if he could just walk towards them. But he stopped himself.

Rodrick spun his husband around before taking him into his arms again. Then they were spinning around in each other's hold.

It happened then. The most important few seconds of Hob Gadling's day. As the couple were spinning, intertwined in an almost hug, Morpheus rested his chin on Roderick's shoulder, so that he was looking at the crowd. And as he spun, his eyes met Hob’s.

Hob froze. As if he saw a ghost. And then the couple spun again, and this time he again met Morpheus' gaze.

It was intoxicating. Those piercing blue eyes gazed into yours as if they knew all your embarrassing dreams. After a few more minutes, the song faded and then stopped altogether. Rodrick smiled at his omega before letting him go. And Hob could swear he saw something akin to predatory behind the alpha’s smile.

If he could, he would call the police, or anyone to stop this madness. But no one would come to help, because this was how things were supposed to go.

Eventually, Morpheus walked away from the dance floor and picked up his abandoned glass. And Hob could see it then; the omega stood out in this place. Even though Morpheus Endless was from a big family, he still didn't belong in this place. His curious eyes were full of wonder, and even though it seemed he was pleased with this life, one could tell he wanted more.

Or maybe Hob was just projecting.

He shrugged it off, this situation was anyway not under his control.

~~~

Hob woke up with a start.

God the dream had been too vivid. Those eyes, that young face. Morpheus had been so young at the time. Hob took a deep breath to centre himself. He hadn’t even thought about the other man in so many years, and now suddenly all those memories came back to him like a tsunami, sweeping him off his feet.

He wondered if Morpheus thought about him at all. If Morpheus even remembered him. Well, who was Hob kidding? They only ever met at six parties total in the one year Morpheus was married to Burgess. The last meeting had been strange. Morpheus looked so out of himself that time but Hob didn’t get a chance to ask what had happened.

Before he could fall into his thoughts further, the door to his room opened and Matthew barged in. “Oh, you’re already awake.”

Hob shrugged at the man. “So, are you leaving today?” He felt a sense of dread at the thought. The fact that he got one chance to catch Burgess, but he will lose it too.

Matthew sighed. “Sadly yes, but I have good news for you.” A smile appeared on the man's face.

Hob looked at him expectantly.

“The information you gave about Burgess was right. And don’t tell him, but the boss is impressed. He wants to talk to you before we leave.” Matthew said, delighted.

Hob’s smile fell at that.

~~~

Morpheus sat on one of the dining table’s chairs, and it was astonishing how he managed to make such a simple-looking unpolished wooden chair look like a throne. Hob stopped himself from rolling his eyes and sat in a chair across from Morpheus when the man gestured at him to do so.

“Why do you want to help us?” Morpheus asked.

Hob took a deep breath, straight to the point. “Like I told you before, Burgess is not a good person, apart from being a corrupt industrialist, his cult is a cover-up for sex trafficking. That man should be stopped.”

Morpheus nodded. “We know everything about Burgess. I don’t need to know his history. I am asking why you want to take him down. Is it because of personal reasons, or do you want to be charitable?”

Hob felt a little offended; for an omega Morpheus seemed to have a high level of audacity. “Well, I don’t know what helping my friends and the general public will be called. I just saw the man committing extreme atrocities and decided he needs to be stopped.”

Something shifted in Morpheus’ face then. He seemed satisfied with the answer. “What else do you know about Burgess’ businesses?”

Hob turned his face to the side, thinking. “Well, I have heard that he lures some desperate people into this cult of his, promising a connection to god or some higher power. He even tried to summon death once, god knows for what. And in-between playing with all these delusions of his, he also…sells people to other really powerful people.”

If it wasn’t for his eyes watering, Hob would’ve assumed Morpheus wasn’t affected by such a story. And this got Hob thinking again about Morpheus’ marriage with Burgess. Rodrick already had a cult, even before his marriage. It was shocking that Morpheus’ parents even agreed to marry their only omega child to a delusional man like that.

Morpheus blinked his tears away and spoke further. “And you are well aware of his whereabouts?”

Hob nodded. “Yes, from his hiding places to his schedule for the next fifteen days. He will be hosting another one of his parties by the end of this month. And I think that will be a good opportunity to catch him.”

Morpheus tipped his head upwards, giving Hob a look. “And are you sure you want to help us?”

Hob jumped at the opportunity. “Yes, yes of course.”

Morpheus took a deep breath, “Hmm, very well. We are leaving today, disappearing for some days until the police calm down. Meet us outside in 15 minutes or we are leaving without you.”

Hob’s eyes widened.

Shit, he was a part of this team now.

[mk-oc-imagines]

This post is heavily inspired by @criminalmutantsins and their Johnny Cage song post. If the original creator feels like I'm copying feel free to DM to delete my post.

Bi-Han and Songs - Character Analysis - Post under read more

TW: D*eath, Child A'use and more

Sleep Token - Take me back to Eden

| I dream in phosphorescence

Bleed trough spaces

See you drifting past the fog

But no one told you where to go |

- This part of the song could very well be representation of death, more importantly the death of Bi-Han's mother, her presence nothing more but a fading memory and dreams. Bi-Han sees her eveeywhere he looks but her presence does not bring warmth anymore.

| We dive trough crystal waters, perfect oceans

But no one told me not to breathe

And now the weightlessness recedes |

- The start of Bi-Han's training, it seemed picture perfect but the high expectations of his father and the responsibilities of a future Grandmaster weighed heavy on his shoulders and there was no one Bi-Han could confide in, since no one would he sharing his responsibilities.

| My, my those eyes like fire

I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Come now, bite trough these wires |

- Bi-Han says in one of his clash intros, that his father was a man of many secrets. Bi-Han knows who he truly was, before Kuai Liang was born and Tomas was brought into the clan. He knows how ruthless he can be towards his own and how he changed when his brothers came into the picture. Bi-Han knows that the man puts on a mask in front of other people to be seen as something he's not.

The last line represents Bi-Han plotting his own father's demise.

| I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired

Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher

Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire |

- This could represent Bi-Han and Liu Kang not seeing eye to eye, Liu Kang underutilizing the Lin Kuei and telling them to hold back, always hold back.

Perhaps people knew about his desire to grow the Lin Kuei, evolve with the ever changing world but unless he could convince his brothers, he could not move forward.

| Well yeah, I spit blood when I wake up

Sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and makeup

Just two days since the mainframe went down and I'm still messed up

Room feels like a meat freezer, I dangle in it like cold cuts

Missed calls, answered phones from people I just don't trust

Mirror talk, fake love

But I'll take a pound of your flesh

Before you take a piece of my paystub

White roses, black doves, Godmother, rise up

I need you to see me for what I have become |

- Bi-Han's struggle in becoming Grandmaster and the guilt he felt for his father's demise. With his ascension to Grandmaster, there was a certain paranoia that his father's followers would come for him, that they would find out about his plot so he surrounds himself with loyal members, while he tries to convince his brothers to evolve, they grow further and further apart.

| I guess it goes to show, does it not?

That we've no idea what we've got until we lose it

And no amount of love will keep it around

If we don't choose it

And I don't know what's got its teeth in me

But I'm about to bite back in anger

No amount of self-sought fury

Will bring back the glory of innocence |

- The Lin Kuei brothers drifting apart as time goes on, their bond withering. Bi-Han pushes Tomas away when his adopted brother tries to get close, because everyone he knew and loved either died or abandoned him, so Bi-Han isolates himself, lashes out at anyone who tries to get close. He's done making compromises and he'll do whatever it takes to push the Lin Kuei forward.

Nothing More - This is the time

| When did we become these sinking stones?

When did we build this broken home?

Holding each other like ransom notes

Dropping our hearts to grip our brother's throat |

- This focuses on the crumbling relationship of the Lin Kuei brothers, Bi-Han actively trying to convince his brothers to follow him and his vision but since Kuai Liang nor Tomas saw what Bi-Han saw, he's isolating himself from them, lashing out at his own brothers.

| You can't see because you don't know

You're caught below, beneath your own shadow

Stuck inside, half alive

Do you ever stop to ask yourself why?

Close your mind, identify

Do you feel, do you feel?

Do you call this a life?

All you waited for

Drowning just to keep score |

- This could represent perhaps Bi-Han hiding what his own father was doing to him.

Bi-Han didn't understand why his father was so hard on him but lenient on his brothers, later on he would chalk it up to him being future Grandmaster but that wasn't enough.

| We always start with good intentions

But lose ourselves along the way |

- Pretty self explanatory

I'm sorry that I can't write out the rest of the text since I want to work on Jericho, but feel free to add your own and listen to the rest of the second song or look up the lyrics.

-Nell

[yeuxverts00]

Pièce de Résistance

A 10K OneShot written with Neilistic (Collab of my dreams) for the DWS Summer Lovin’ Gift Exchange (Explicit)

Summary: Healer Hermione Granger is slowly descending into wank-related madness as several of Draco’s veela samples conspire to drive her insane. Or; Four times healer Hermione came imagining veela Draco, and the one time she fucked him. Also, they’re soulmates.

Excerpt:

“May I ask—” he seemed to be taking care to keep his voice level. Unruffled. “—why you need a sample of my semen?”

“I have to explore all avenues, and as your condition seems to have something to do with… urges… I think it would be prudent.”

Hermione successfully managed not to blush by drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, and biting down. Draco’s eyes caught and held the movement. Grey flooded with molten silver, reflective and bright. Her wastepaper bin caught fire.

She tossed an extinguishing charm in that direction.

“I apologise.” Draco didn’t look contrite. He looked ready to raze St. Mungo’s to the ground like a pillaging viking. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

Willing herself not to shake and shaking regardless, Hermione levitated a specimen jar towards Draco. She had to take extra care to not let it batter him about the head.

“So I—” He flicked his wrist elegantly, suggesting that bringing himself to orgasm would be an elegant affair. “Here?”

“Er—yes. I can find you an alternative room, or you’re welcome to apparate elsewhere and come back, but my other patients have felt comfortable enough to…”

“You ask such things of other patients?” There was a distinct note of affront to his tone—dare she say…jealousy? Her calendar went up in flames.

Hermione assiduously cast another Exstinguere, although the summer months now appeared to be a lost cause.

“Yes, it’s routine in some cases.” What even were these words leaving her mouth? Nothing was routine here. What was routine? Concepts were losing all meaning because she was thinking of Draco gripping himself tight, wing flaring wide.

She only hoped he couldn’t see the straws she was clutching at.

If she screamed the word professional enough times in her head, perhaps her professionalism would manifest itself.

“Fine.”

The jar was in his fingers, her lip was back between her teeth. She tasted copper.

“Is it standard procedure to be watched while producing the sample?”

“Wha—oh, no. Excuse me. I’ll be outside. But not close. Find me, when you’re… yes.”

She hurried out, putting as much distance between them as possible. She thought she was safe until she noticed she’d inexplicably drifted back down the length of an entire corridor. She was being summoned, as though by Accio, right back to where she’d left. Like a boomerang, she found herself leaning against her own office door again, drawn by the Heavenly music inside.

Her fierce anxiety was squaring off with delirious levels of lust. She was going to be fired. Arrested. This was sexual harassment. She had become criminally horny.

And yet couldn’t stop. She could hear rhythmic noises. A few soft grunts.

She was hysterically, ferociously aroused.

She was just beginning to wonder how much longer her knees could keep her upright when footsteps approached her office door. She nearly flew backwards into the opposite wall beneath a poster of a stern healer declaring SPATTERGROIT: IT’S NO JOKE.

He was standing in the doorway—sans shirt—avec wing—filling the doorway—becoming the doorway. The look he fixed her with suggested he was extremely unimpressed with her bedside manner. In his hand was a little jar and it was—

Oh Jesus H Merlin Christ. It was glowing with a diffuse phosphorescence simultaneously soothing to her eyes and profoundly alarming.

“Does it… normally do that?”

“Perhaps we can have this conversation back in your office.”

[littlemourningstarr]

Back to Eden

Sekh and Astarion make the journey to visit Shadowheart after hearing that her mother has passed. And while they had hoped for time to console their dearly missed friend, fate would never give them enough peace. Something is growing in the forests around Shadowheart's home, and with it a truth Sekh could have never dreamed of.

Chapter 1: Phosphorescence

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Transmasc tav

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Transmasc tav, violence, gore, vomit, body horror, use of aphrodisiacs, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, dirty talk, power play, vaginal fingering, blow jobs, hunter/prey dynamic, platonic cuddling, suicide

Sekh stood in Shadowheart’s cozy bedroom, watching her maneuver along the bed. He and Astarion had arrived earlier that afternoon, to her little woodsy cabin, for possibly the most overdue visit of Sekh’s entire life.

She was the best friend he had ever made, outside of his lovers. And Sekh felt terrible, down in his bones, that it had taken him years to make the trek out to see her. Worse, still, that it had been her mother’s death that had been the tipping point. He didn’t want her to be alone.

“He will take up the majority of the bed,” Sekh offered, as Shadowheart pulled back the heavy blanket on her bed. Behind him Astarion scoffed- yet had no comeback ready. Even he knew it was the truth.

“You act as if I don’t fight for my own bed every night with my own little bedmates.” As if for emphasis, one of her cats hopped up onto the bed and began kneading at one of the pillows. “He’s going to have to fight hard.”

She reached for the curtains that hung over the window by her bed and pulled them tightly shut, tying them closed to ensure light wouldn’t escape in, come morning. Once she was done she flopped back onto the bed, happily stretching her bare legs as Sekh pulled his shirt off, tossing it away. Behind him, another sigh from Astarion.

“You’re a mess of a man,” he muttered, grabbing the shirt and folding it, before dropping it onto the neat pile of his clothing. Astarion could handle a mess- Sekh remembered his tent, from years and years back- but not when it came to clothing. That he seemed intent on always taking care of- unless it was being stripped off hastily for more carnal reasons.

“Good to see some things never change,” Shadowheart mused, as Sekh crawled into the bed, in the center. It wasn’t his usual spot, when he was sharing a bed with more than just Astarion- typically the vampire would take the spot for himself- but it seemed fitting.

And as Astarion crawled in next to him, nearly naked in nothing but his underwear, there were no complaints. The elf draped an arm over his waist, snuggling up to his chest with a content little sigh. Shadowheart lay on her side, watching them in the dark, as the moonlight no longer flooded into the cabin.

“You're staring,” Astarion mused, even though his eyes were shut. Shadowheart gave a short, soft laugh.

“You're both just nice to take in.” She reached out, rubbed her hand along Astarion’s forearm affectionately. “Seeing you both like this just brings me back.” She scooted closer, before she draped her own arm just beneath Astarion's, settling her cheek against Sekh’s bicep. “All those nights in the Elfsong.”

Sekh smiled. Despite the fact that it should have been the worst time of his life- in the end, it had been far from it. Despite the hell the Netherbrain had wrought on Faerŭn, it had given Sekh so much.

Friends. Family. A purpose when he had been so close to spiraling, unsure what to do with himself.

He'd never want his loved ones to endure the pain again- but he would, gladly, knowing that it led to this moment.

“You two trying to be subtle,” Shadowheart added, which had Astarion snorting a very undignified laugh, cracking open one eye.

“Forgive me for being unwilling to keep my hands to myself. But Sekh is just too… delectable.”

Shadowheart laughed again. It was like music, a tune from long lost days that Sekh was hearing again for the first time in ages. Gods he had missed her so much.

“I'm not blaming you.” She lifted her head, giving Sekh a playful look. “I understand the appeal.”

Astarion hummed. “Trying to invite yourself into the fold?”

Sekh recalled how strange it had been, when he’d kissed Shadowheart once, after Balthazars's death. The way her face twisted, she had as well.

“Absolutely not.”

Astarion tightened his hold around Sekh’s waist, as Shadowheart settled back down. “Good,” he whispered, adding so quietly Sekh could barely hear him, “I'm not in the mood to share, currently.”

Left silent was the fact that Astarion hadn’t wanted to share for months. Ever since Sekh had first started his fertility elixir, the vampire had lost seemingly all interest in any partners outside of his husband. Sekh would be the last to complain- he did rather love the attention, feeling as if the most sought after creature in all the realms looked at him every day and decided he was it.

Sekh toyed with Shadowheart’s free hair, as he heard one of the cats jumping onto the bed- and then a moment later Astarion grunting as it climbed atop him and settled in for the night. The cleric laughed, and Sekh leaned his head down, kissed the top of her head.

“You know,” she admitted, her fingers tracing along his bare side. “I don’t think I’ve laughed before today, in the past few weeks.” The drow couldn’t blame her- he remembered long stretches after his parents’ death where he didn’t laugh at all. And while her father still lived, his grief had taken him to his wolf form, to wander, try and find his next purpose now that his wife was gone.

Shadowheart had been clear, that she didn’t blame or begrudge her father. He was doing what needed to be done for himself, and after years of being tortured by Shar, it was all Shadowheart wanted for him. She’d find him again, one day. She’d said as much to Sekh, swearing that Selûne wouldn’t allow her to lose him again so quickly.

Sekh had bit his tongue, over her faith. This wasn’t the time to voice concern in her overly trusting ways with her moon deity- and Sekh couldn’t very well tell Shadowheart how to grieve. All he could do was be here, for her.

He tightened his arm around her, as Astarion complained as a second cat climbed onto him. The cleric laughed again, burying her face into Sekh’s chest- and the drow told himself she’d be alright, in time. She was stronger than he had been, in his opinion. She’d find a way out of grief and back into life.

*

Astarion smiled as he brushed out Shadowheart’s hair, lifting the long, heavy locks and enjoying how silken it was. She had always had lovely hair. Even with her dark roots quite grown out, her hair was a thing of wonder. He almost liked the current look. Yet when she had asked for his assistance with it, he couldn’t deny her.

There was a mixture in a bowl next to him, a thin shimmering paste, that he began brushing into her roots. She sat quite still, holding one of the many books he’d brought with him, reading quietly. While Sekh was often the one to write to their friends, Astarion had been adding his own little notes to Shadowheart’s for quite some time, lamenting that she couldn’t be up to date on the latest trashy novels that he so devoured. He so did want someone to discuss them with.

And if he tried with Sekh- well, they’d devolve into proving they could, in fact, have better sex than the main heroine and her many lovers.

“That one simply isn’t as good,” Astarion offered, brushing the paste into Shadowheart’s roots. “ This author has nothing on that long running series I mentioned you need to catch up on. The lines are just…dreadful. Who says some of these things?”

Shadowheart hummed, as across her cottage the door opened, presumably Sekh returning from his late morning forage around Shadowheart’s garden. Sure enough, a moment later, the drow appeared, basket hooked in one elbow, hair flopped over one shoulder in a ponytail.

“I keep telling him he should try his hand at writing something better,” Sekh pointed out, stooping down to offer the basket to Shadowheart. She reached inside, plucking out a handful of berries and popping them into her mouth.

Astarion scoffed, but didn’t meet his husband’s eye. Sekh had been telling him, everytime he lamented about any novel he picked up not holding a candle to the Wishful Wiles series that he had become so engrossed in. The author was a sheer mystery, and Astarion was burning to know how they actually managed to write a heroine so good and lifelike.

He expected Shadowheart to laugh the idea off, but she was quiet for a moment while she chewed, before swallowing and offering, “Gods know you have the experience to write from, Astarion.”

He paused, her hair in his hands, as Sekh disappeared into another room with the basket. Shadowheart had a point- he could just simply recant any delightful experience onto a page and it would be quite… invigorating for a reader.

He pondered this as the cottage filled with a warm, nutty and herbal scent. Tea, Astarion quickly realized, when his husband returned, holding two steaming mugs and offering one to Shadowheart. He was out of luck when it came to his precious coffee, but at least he could have this.

Sekh sat down opposite Shadowheart, taking a sip, as the cleric shut her book, setting it aside. “You look as if you’re thinking something,” Shadowheart teased, as Astarion returned to working on her hair.

Sekh kept sipping at his tea, was quiet for a long moment, before he spoke, oddly cautious. “How long do you think your father will be gone?”

Astarion swiped his brush into the paste, knowing Sekh was concerned about Shadowheart, being alone. She had written after her mother’s death that her father had gone off to commune with the earth, the moon- to roam as his heart needed him to, so he could grieve. It meant Shadowheart was alone- with the company of her animals yes, but still alone.

After a long moment the cleric sighed. “I don’t know, to be honest. He could be gone for years, taking in the world. He was never married, before my mother- she and I were his first family. I think being here, where he finally got those last few years with her, hurts him now that she’s gone.”

Sekh shifted his cup, looking down into the liquid thoughtfully. “I just worry about you, without anyone.”

Shadowheart laughed- but something about it was, in fact, quite sad. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, I know. And frankly you can take care of half the realms too. But that’s not it. There’s a difference between taking care of yourself and truly living, Shadowheart.”

Astarion set his brush down, carefully securing Shadowheart’s hair in a knot at the back of her neck, his work done. They’d wash the mixture out at some point. “He does have a point,” Astarion offered.

“What would you suggest?” She didn’t speak unkindly- her curiosity was genuine. Astarion had to respect the friendship the two had, and how easily it picked up where it had left off, years ago. He had never been blind to the way Sekh had pushed Shadowheart away from blindly following Shar, and making her own decisions. He’d put as much emotional energy into ensuring she remained her own master as he did for Astarion.

“Rivington has so much space. The woods around Baldur’s Gate are massive- but there are plenty of spots where, perhaps if someone was interested, a nice little cottage could appear…”

Shadowheart was quiet, before whispering, “You want me to come back?”

Sekh nodded. “Of course. We could find you space set away from the city so no one would bother you or any of your furry little family. But you’d be close to everyone- to us. And maybe even to a certain hellbound tiefling…” Sekh winked, and Astarion couldn’t help but laugh. He leaned forward, could just see that Shadowheart was blushing. Not that her attraction to and desire for Karlach had ever been veiled. The vampire never understood how nothing had come of it, during their adventures.

Instead of simply denying him, Shadowheart gave a little smile. “I’ll think on it,” she said- her voice sounding sweet, almost adoring. It made Astarion feel good, in his belly- and he ran a hand along her shoulder affectionately. Shadowheart glanced at him, leaned her cheek into her shoulder, on his hand- and then added with all of the snark he had always known her for, “Don’t think we’re bypassing you writing a novel. I’m with Sekh here, sweetheart- if you think someone can do better than these authors, prove it.”

*

It was mid afternoon and quite warm, when Sekh followed Shadowheart out of her cottage and towards a stream that cut through the forest she had taken as home. Astarion was tucked away happily in his shirt, clinging to his warm skin and seeming quite content to be taken for a little walk and enjoy the sun through a protective layer of cloth.

The forest surrounding Shadowheart’s home was lovely. It was peaceful in a thriving way- the plants looking lush, the wildlife Sekh saw curious and not nearly as skittish as he expected. He could see why she had settled here, had built her own little oasis of safety for a few years.

He felt selfish, hoping she might consider his suggestion, to move back to Baldur’s Gate. But he had to admit, he worried about her out here alone- not for her safety, he had no doubts that Shadowheart could handle herself and most quite well- but simply for her mental health.

He settled under a very large tree as Shadowheart began to strip, not bothering with modesty around Sekh. He appreciated that- modesty had been thrown out the door in the tadpole days, and frankly, it had no business ever coming back.

Once she was stark naked, Shadowheart left her clothes in a pile next to Sekh and headed into the stream, warmed by the sun, to rinse out the paste Astarion had used in her hair. Sekh leaned back against the large tree, stretched his legs out, giving a content little sigh, as he felt Astarion crawling about his chest, poking his little head up from the opening of his shirt. The tree provided enough shade that he could keep the little bat out of direct sunlight.

Sekh reached up, rubbed a single finger along Astarion’s head, ruffling the white fluff of his fur. He got a little squeak, before he felt the little body relaxing against him, pleased with the attention. He let his eyes fall shut, almost drowsy in the lulling heat, despite that it was only midday. He had awoken earlier than usual, as Shadowheart didn’t keep the partial nocturnal schedule he and Astarion did. And there was the lack of coffee…

He dozed for a moment, only came to when he felt not the weight of a little bat on his chest, but suddenly the full weight of Astarion, straddling his lap, leaning into him. He cracked an eye open, before he got his arms around the vampire, pulling him close, throwing him off balance so he sprawled against Sekh’s chest- panic fluttering momentarily in his ribs about the sun.

But Astarion was laughing into his neck, where his face had landed. “Oh relax pet, I promise I’m quite alright.” He straightened back up, still straddling Sekh, reaching his arms up above his head and stretching lazily. “We’re in the shade, after all.”

Despite that, Sekh was sure Astarion could still feel the warmth, of the sun- the air itself was simply pleasantly heated. The drow relaxed, content to stare up at his husband with adoring eyes as Astarion enjoyed what he could have, of the daylight. Sekh reached out, got his hands on Astarion’s waist, ran them down to his slim hips, thumbs rubbing little circles into his hip bones, through his clothing.

Sekh could imagine how Astarion would look in the sun, in that moment- could remember the first time he met him, starved and slightly gaunt but hiding it, short curls glimmering in the sunlight like spun silver tears. Beautiful-

But nothing compared to what he was, now.

“You’re staring,” Astarion said, teasingly but softly, glancing down at Sekh. The drow gave him a little smile.

“I can’t help myself.” He sat up properly, arms sliding around Astarion’s waist, hugging him tightly as he pressed his cheek to his belly. “You’re beautiful, did you know that?”

The vampire gave a single laugh, before he began stroking Sekh’s hair. The drow couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t need to. He always felt a fluttering heat in his chest when Astarion looked at him a certain way.

Like he had found purpose, home, safety, for the first time.

“I am well aware,” he finally whispered, gently guiding Sekh to lift his head, stare up at him. He was indeed looking at Sekh like the rest of the world had melted away. “You make sure I could never forget.” Astarion cupped his face, rubbed his thumbs along his cheeks, over his heavy scar, his frozen shadows- the stories of Sekh’s life, for any who cared to read.

The vampire leaned down, pressed a gentle, affectionate kiss to Sekh’s lips. The drow let his eyelids flutter shut, kept his arms around Astarion’s waist, responding in kind with a love, an adoration, that came from the wells of his very soul. When Astarion straightened up, released his face, Sekh leaned back against the tree, content to just stare up at him again.

He mouthed silently, I love you, and his heart soared over the grin that spread across Astarion’s face.

“I feel like I’m interrupting.” Both men glanced out into the sunbathed space between the tree and the river, found Shadowheart wringing her hair out over her shoulder, watching them with keen hazel eyes. “Should I just go take a second bath?”

Astarion flashed her a welcoming grin, and she walked over, pushing all over her hair over her bare shoulders. The roots were as white as moonlight, matching the rest now. Instead of reaching for her clothes, Shadowheart settled naked in the grass next to Sekh, unconcerned. Sekh reached over, gently brushed a few wet strands of hair that were sticking to her cheek back.

“If I were to return to Baldur’s Gate,” Shadowheart said, stressing the if, “what are the odds that you’ll hear from Karlach?”

Sekh was quiet, as Astarion shifted slightly on his lap, studying Shadowheart’s face- the subtle light to her eyes. That affection that never died for their tiefling friend.

“I don’t know,” Sekh admitted, “I keep trying to reach her and Wyll, but I’m getting nothing. I’m at the point where I might just have to have Helsik let me into the House of Hope.”

Shadowheart gave a single nod, before she moved to get dressed. Sekh reached up to pull the collar of his shirt out a bit, assuming Astarion would take his bat form for safety- but the vampire hesitated. Sekh quirked a brow, and Astarion reached up, pushed his hair back, looking for something to keep his hands busy.

“Perhaps you might want to take a little walk… enjoy the sunshine. I wouldn’t mind feeling it through your clothes.” Sekh noted that Astarion’s eyes looked a bit sad- in a way they hadn’t in years. Not since shortly after the Netherbrain, when he had to come to terms with losing the sunlight.

But it was different here, than it was in the city. It was relaxing, freeing- it was the best parts of daylight to miss.

Sekh gave a nod, and Astarion stood up, shedding his typical shape and gliding down into Sekh’s waiting hands. The drow pet his back gently, leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. If Astarion wanted to feel the sun through Sekh’s clothing, there was no way to deny him.

*

Astarion gripped at the ground, his body blanketing the dead deer beneath him, his fangs firmly in her neck. He had blood running down his chin, had shed his shirt to avoid staining it. This far into the depths of the forest, away from cities and towns, it felt good to let something beastly in him free.

He growled into her veins, pulling his mouth back enough to free his fangs from the wound so she could bleed freely into his mouth. He had been spoiled so much lately, had been filling his belly with thinking blood, that he honestly forgot how much he actually enjoyed deer blood. The different nuances it had, to others. A bit gamey, yes, but it was heavy, thick, more filling than others.

He lifted his head, sucked in a deep breath that he didn’t need, felt a drop of blood rolling down his throat, pooling at his clavicle. The moon was high already- he had gotten himself so distracted with a card game Shadowheart had taught him and Sekh that he had nearly forgotten to go for a hunt. And while this was quite the typical hunting hour for him back home, he imagined Shadowheart would want to be curling up into bed already.

He leaned back into the deer, taking another mouthful of blood, feeling the cramps in his belly dissipating. It was odd, how the hunger pains simply became a background thrum in his body, after all of these years. Unpleasant, yes- but almost like a dull headache, one that he knew how to aleve. Never had he thought he’d be free, like this.

Silently to himself, as he drank, he wondered how the hunger would affect a dhampir. Would they feel that ache in their bellies too without blood?

The thought of a child feeling that made his stomach clench up. He lifted his head, forced himself to swallow the blood in his mouth. It was something he had been considering more and more, as of late. Even though Sekh had yet to fall pregnant- not for a lack of trying on their part surely- Astarion still felt it was a valid concern. After all, it would happen. Someday. He refused to believe it wouldn’t.

And while the thought of a child- his child- feeling this hunger made Astarion want to be physically ill, he couldn’t help but smile to himself, grin in fact, over the thought of teaching a little dhampir to hunt. Of watching some amalgamation of he and Sekh learn to creep through the shadows, bare their little fangs and find veins within one bite. There was a swelling of pride he felt because he was so sure their children would be brilliant-

Children? He was getting ahead of himself, jumping to plurals already.

He forced himself to finish his meal, before he stood, stooping over to haul the deer up over his shoulders. Shadowheart and all her little beasties would be pleased to have a meal brought to them. And he had to admit, it made him bristle with some sort of pride when he brought something back.

Never once, before that fateful tadpole, would he have considered providing for someone to be pleasing.

He made his way back through the woods to Shadowheart’s cabin. He could see lamps and candles burning inside, as he shouldered open a door to a small shed. He strung the deer up, before he made his way towards the cabin, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand to try and clean some of the blood. He let himself in, found Shadowheart and Sekh sitting on the floor, on a large hand woven rug, Shadowheart’s wolf curled with his head on her lap.

The wolf lifted its head, must have smelled the blood on Astarion, as he pulled the door shut. The wolf, Buttons, bared his teeth, and Shadowheart set down a large chain netting she was working on and reached down to pat his head. She had taken up making her own intricate chainmail, since last Astarion and Sekh had seen her, years ago. 

Her work was breathtaking.

“Don’t snarl at him, he’s bringing you dinner.” Sekh stood up from the floor, where he had been holding a number of supplies- pliers, wire, beading. He walked over to Astarion, giving him a playful little smile and reaching up to rub his thumb against his cheek, a tacky smudge of blood only smearing more on Astarion’s skin.

“Messy eater,” he teased. Astarion only grinned, a retort on his tongue about how Sekh adored it-

“Oh I know that look,” Shadowheart said, walking over, her wolf in tow. “Why don’t the two of you go… anywhere else, and I’ll go dress that deer.” She paused, before adding, “You might need a bath, Astarion. I don’t make a habit of snuggling with things smelling like old blood. One of the reasons the owlbear doesn’t come in the house…”

“He wouldn’t fit,” Astarion pointed out, much to Shadowheart’s smug little smile as she giggled. He wanted to shake her and kiss her, the infuriating little thing.

Perhaps he had missed her more than he realized.

“Why don’t we go get cleaned up,” Sekh offered, taking Shadowheart’s suggestion. He brushed some of Astarion’s hair back, fingers brushing along the length of his ear. The vampire shivered, caught unaware, and his husband grinned like an arch devil, knowing that Astarion was overly sensitive there. Without a word he pulled away, heading off towards Shadowheart’s bedroom- presumably to grab some bathing supplies- while Shadowheart studied Astarion, arms folded, still smiling.

“What?”

Her smile faltered a little- but her eyes were still looking at him with genuine care. “Sometimes it’s… odd, to think about you now compared to the conniving man faking a need for help that I met years ago.” She reached out then, placed a hand on his shoulder, gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Happiness looks good on you, Astarion.”

He couldn’t argue. Even if he couldn’t see himself, he felt better than he ever had, in life or death.

*

The trip through the cool night air to the stream was pleasing, grounding, helped to bring Astarion back from the drowsy lull he could easily fall into, after feeding.

Still, he was far from upset when Sekh crouched on the bank, near a large rock, and began drawing on it in some sort of red ink. It stained his fingers as he inscribed a sigil carefully, tongue pinched between his teeth in concentration. It was rather adorable.

Astarion had stripped completely by the time his husband was done, was nothing but pale skin in the moonlight. Sekh straightened and turned to say something- but the words died, the drow simply staring at him.

Astarion would have thought that eventually the fluttering of wings in his gut would cease, when Sekh looked at him like that. But he was beginning to think they never would.

Astarion walked over to him, silent on the cool grass, and reached out, hooked his fingers in Sekh’s pants and tugged him closer. He leaned in, kissed his husband’s chin, moved to his jaw. “Less staring,” he whispered, “more undressing, pet.”

Sekh smiled at that, stepped away from Astarion and began to disrobe. The vampire stepped into the stream, pleasantly surprised at how warm the water was. It was as if he was stepping into a heated bath, at home.

He must have looked shocked, because he heard Sekh say, “Did you doubt my magic? The sigil will warm the water a few feet out, so long as it doesn’t wash away. You can thank Vette if we ever find ourselves in Waterdeep.”

Oh, Astarion would definitely be thanking the little sorcerer. He hadn’t been thrilled about the idea of a dip in an ice cold stream.

He waded out a few feet, until the water went from pleasing to tepid- it was at about his upper thigh, possibly the deepest part of the stream. He reached down, cupped some of the water and poured it over his chest, noted a bit of it running down him pink as it gathered the dried blood at his collarbone.

He heard the water splashing gently, as Sekh joined him, the drow finding his way to Astarion and pressed flush to his back. A kiss to his shoulder had the vampire’s eyes fluttering shut, his body relaxing as Sekh’s hands splayed on his chest, roaming along damp skin, knowing every line to his body.

One of those hands skimmed down over his belly, tracing a line down past his navel, had Astarion tipping his head back when Sekh’s hand palmed his soft cock. Instinctively, he canted his hips into his husband’s hand, as Sekh continued to pepper his shoulder with kisses.

Sekh felt like heaven, against him- but gods, he always did. Not just the growing arousal in Astarion’s veins, as he grasped his quickly hardening cock, teased as his teeth dragged along the skin of his shoulder now. But his presence against him, holding him as if he could shield him. He always shielded him- he’d never stopped, not since they had first met. Sometimes it made Astarion hurt, made him wonder how he could ever give back to him.

“Are you with me?” Sekh asked, his hand stilling. Of course he would notice Astarion was in his head. “Because we can stop.”

“I’m with you,” Astarion whispered, wrapping his hand around Sekh’s, guiding him to stroke him again. His other hand reached back, found his husband’s hip and gripped it tightly. “Distracted by how much I adore you.”

Sekh chuckled, before he pulled free, removed all contact with Astarion. The vampire turned, watched his husband taking a few steps back, the water licking at his cunt, then at his upper thighs. Something about moonlight made his scars seem prominent against his dark skin- along his cheek, all the little dots at his neck, the jagged lines under his chest, one trailing down over his ribs…

Astarion moved to him, when Sekh stopped moving- took him up in his arms, pulled his warm body flush to his chest. Gods the drow was so alive against him, made Astarion forget he was dead. He roamed his hands along Sekh’s back, his hips, sought out his mouth for a slow, lingering kiss that had his own legs trembling.

Sekh responded as he always did- a subtle incline of his head, the glide of his lips as his mouth opened, accepted Astarion’s tongue- the fact that he tasted faintly of blood. Loving the beast that Astarion was allowed to be, as he did every night.

Astarion moved his hands to his ass, squeezed as he jerked Sekh harder against him, the drow rising on his toes. His cock was trapped between them, hard and rubbing against their bellies, making Astarion almost dizzy. His mind raced to every possibility he could think of- hoisting Sekh up and holding his weight with the drow’s legs wrapped around his waist, or sinking down into the water on his knees and letting them nearly drown-

Sekh took the decision from him- but Astarion was happy to give it to him. His husband pulled away, took his hand, continued moving backwards again through the water, leading Astarion back to some of the larger rocks along the bank.

Sekh leaned against one, directly next to the rock he had drawn a sigil on, pulled Astarion in between his spread legs and ran his hands along his shoulders, his biceps. His mismatched eyes felt hypnotizing, looking at Astarion through thick, ginger lashes, screaming with desire, with adoration, with a sort of love Astarion didn’t have words for.

Astarion kissed him eagerly, reached between them and slid his fingers along Sekh’s cunt. He was so warm, so soothing when his lips parted under Astarion’s pressure, when the vampire found him wet. He rubbed his fingers slowly over his clit as he kissed, sucking at Sekh’s tongue when it pushed into his mouth, giving a little growl when Sekh took many of his wild, silver curls in hand and tangled them around his fingers, pulling gently.

He felt a tremble, roll through Sekh- moved his hand so he could grasp at Sekh’s hips, pulling him more to the edge of the rock. Without instruction, Sekh arched his hips up, a hand reaching between them for Astarion’s cock, stroking slowly as he was positioned. The vampire moved to mouth at his jaw, sighing in sheer relief as Sekh guided him into his body, as the warm, wet heat of home engulfed him. Astarion would gladly live inside Sekh, in his bones, his marrow, his blood- in anything the man would give him.

Sekh tipped his head back, bared his throat, and Astarion moved to it, kissed his pulse point as he rocked slowly into him. The urge to bite was insatiable, in him- there was something about having his fangs in Sekh’s skin that made him feel whole, made him feel so safe.

He dragged his fangs but didn’t bite- even as Sekh bared his neck more, grasped at Astarion’s back as he moaned, fingers digging into his thick scars. Astarion hadn’t bitten Sekh since before the first night they had tried for a child- he was partially terrified that weakening Sekh in any way would leave them trying in vain.

His drow whispered his name, and Astarion shuddered, hips jerking against him harder, his cock beginning to ache. He sought out Sekh’s mouth, kissed him with a desperation that always cloyed at Astarion, when he was near orgasm. Sekh pinched his lower lip between his teeth, caused a little jolt of pain that had Astarion whining. His drow got his hands between them, pressed to Astarion’s chest and pushed gently.

Astarion took the silent queue, leaning back, pulling out of his body. His cock was utterly drenched with Sekh’s desire, the cool night air making Astarion hurt. But it was worth it to have Sekh untangle from him, the drow turning over, sprawling against the rock and lifting his hips and his ass, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Like this,” he whispered, and Astarion was on him before he had finished the two words, grasping his ass and kneading the supple flesh, watching as his cock sank with an illicit ease back into Sekh’s body.

Sekh pushed back against him, ass nestled to Astarion’s pelvis, squirming an arm between him and the rock. The other grasped at it, holding on as he groaned with each thrust, his fingers working desperately at his own clit. Astarion bared his fangs, dragged his hands up Sekh’s well muscled back, leaned over him and got one hand to slide around his neck, to grasp at his throat.

Sekh tossed his head back, and Astarion knew he was smiling when he breathed yes, so pleased at the touch. Astarion squeezed gently, could feel Sekh’s throat move as he swallowed against his throat, fingers pushing in and dampening the blood flow to that pretty mind of his.

He used his hold to help jerk Sekh back against him, and it was only moments into the new position that Sekh’s cunt was clenching around him, begging to milk Astarion as his husband came with a rush, with a howl of his name like a beastly creature, calling to the moon. Astarion’s hips stuttered, his body unable to deny himself release any longer. He kept himself deep inside Sekh as he came, moaning his name, a whimper hidden at the end as Astarion felt the sweet static bliss of orgasm fading out into his limbs.

He slumped over Sekh, released the pressure on his throat but still held him, mouthed at his shoulder, the crook of his neck. He stayed inside him, wishing he’d been fed on thinking blood that night so he could wrench a second, consecutive orgasm from his body- so he could bring Sekh more heavenly bliss…

Sekh turned his head, awkwardly managed to kiss Astarion, the wet sounds of their lips filling the vampire’s head, against the gentle rush of the stream still around them. It was hypnotic, soothing-

That is, until there was a loud, thunderous crack. Astarion jerked away from Sekh’s mouth, turning his head towards the sound- noticed that a large tree on the opposite bank had suddenly splintered at the trunk, and lay in a heap, the tops of the branches dragging in the stream.

“What in all the hells?” he whispered, Sekh turning and staring at it as well. His husband squirmed beneath him, and Astarion straightened up, pulling out of him- the desire for a second round briefly forgotten. Sekh straightened, crossing the stream without hesitation and stepping onto the opposite bank, walking around the tree towards the trunk. Astarion followed, paused at the edge of the water, listening to the forest around them.

It was suddenly deathly still. He couldn’t hear a single creature stirring- it even seemed as if the wind had died. It was the silence that befell the arrival of a predator.

Astarion felt goosebumps rising along his arms, down his back. “Sekh,” he called, cautiously, as his husband ran his hands along the trunk of the tree, his brow furrowed. Whatever he was seeing he didn’t like.

“It’s not rotten, it was alive- thriving,” he called back, turning his attention to Astarion. “Something broke it.”

He no sooner got the words out of his mouth before Astarion noticed something moving in the darkness, behind Sekh. He opened his mouth to yell, but it was already reaching for the drow, moving with a terrifying speed, wrapping appendages that looked like sun-leathered vines around his waist and hauling him back. Sekh stumbled, and Astarion launched himself up the bank, running with his immortal speed, as Sekh turned in the strange vines’ grasp.

His husband grasped one, yelled ignis at the top of his lungs, and fire burst along the growth, trailing back into the darkness- and illuminating a shape that had Astarion stumbling. Looming in the shadows was a mass of vegetation, bulbous in ways that brought him back years, to the shadow cursed lands, to an old tavern-

The creature shrieked at the fire and released Sekh. Astarion moved, caught him before he could stumble to the ground, bracing Sekh firmly to his chest as Sekh shouted ignis again, sending fire sprawling at the beast. It lumbered forward, countless singed vines squirming and flaying in the air, its legs stout, squat as it moved. It had arms- two sets Astarion could tell, but they weren’t right- a conglomerate of tissues, plant and fat and he wasn’t even sure what else- but all different lengths, with too many joints.

He threw himself and Sekh to the side, as the creature barreled into where they stood, continuing down into the stream, its bulk giving it too much momentum to stop.

Astarion pivoted his foot, turning to watch it, as Sekh got his footing, staring as his ginger locks whipped wildly around him, the wind picking up. “What in the nine hells is that?” Astarion hissed, taking in the multiple spines along its back, pushing at a strange gray hued skin, laced with roots like veins. Gods it was grotesque.

“I have no idea,” Sekh admitted, eyes flicking across the stream, to where he had left their belongings. “But I’d dare say it needs to be dead.”

Astarion grinned, fangs on full display. “Say less my sweet.” He launched himself forward, racing to the stream and hurling himself into the air. He grasped at the thing’s middle, water splashing around him as his claws dug in, broke flesh- if he could call it that- and dragged down a few inches. The smell that escaped was gag-worthy, nothing but the overly ripe sweet stink of rot. Astarion fought down the nausea that tried to overtake him, lifting one of his legs and pressing his bare foot firmly to the thing so he could dig his claws in deeper.

It shuddered, nearly shaking him off. The vines stemming from its shoulders and the multiple spines poking at its back thrashed, seemed to move almost thoughtlessly, as if the creature wasn’t cognizant enough to control all of them and its own body at once. One did manage to wrap around his bicep and squeeze, skin breaking as he realized it was barbed. The scent of his own blood filled the air as it trickled down his arm.

Astarion pulled one hand back, shoving forward with all the strength he could muster. The creature’s body gave with more ease than he expected, parting as if it was a sack of congealed blood and rotten organs, his hand punching deep into it, up to his elbow.

It howled from its head, which Astarion still couldn’t get a good glimpse at, as it began to teeter, then shake itself violently. One arm tried to reach for Astarion, but its fingers were too clumsy to grasp at him as he pulled his arm back, punched into it a second time.

There was black ichor clinging to his skin like tar, the smell making him dizzy. Another vine grasped at his thigh, wrapping around it, thorns digging in deeper, and within a moment it burned as if he had been bitten by ten serpents, all pumping their venom into him.

He gave a sharp cry, nearly losing his hold on the beast. He might have, if another vine had gotten its hold on him- but the creature was quickly distracted when Sekh came charging into the stream, his shortsword held in both his hands. He leapt, driving the blade into the creature's chest, dragging it down to what must have been its groin, splitting it wide open.

Sekh shoved a hand into the grotesque mess, into the vile black ichor blood and rotted innards, grasping at what Astarion surely didn’t want to know. He expected his husband to be pouring his necrotic magic into the thing- but he noticed Sekh’s eyes go wide, his mouth open in shock-

Still, the creature teetered, and Astarion felt the vines releasing their hold on him. He wrenched himself from the creature, grabbed Sekh by his bicep and jerked him away as well as it fell with a heavy, gushing sound against the rocks and the bank.

It lay still, unmoving, as Astarion and Sekh stared at it, both panting.

“What in all of the fucking heavens is that thing?” Astarion asked, glancing at his arm, caked in the vile gore, before he gagged, releasing Sekh’s bicep and reaching up to cover his mouth with his cleaner hand. “Gods I’m going to vomit.”

Sekh was already moving towards the creature, uncaring about the stench or the fact that, for all they knew, it was simply going to get back up. He used his sword to pry the cavity of its body open more, but Astarion couldn’t see the details within the caverns of the thing’s body.

“Darling,” he warned, “step away from it.” He was acutely aware of the bruises that might be farming, where the vines had grasped Sekh. And he was trying to ignore the way his thigh was burning. Gods if that vine had moved just a bit higher-

He realized there was a reason they avoided fighting stark naked.

Sekh hesitated, before he turned away, moving quickly to Astarion, reaching up with the hand not holding his sword, cupping his face. “Are you alright?” The vampire nodded- but winced a moment later, and Sekh frowned, deeply. He led Astarion towards the bank- away from the creature- and tossed his sword down as Astarion admitted,

“The… thorns on one of its vines hurt a bit more than I would have thought.”

Sekh gestured for Astarion to sit in the grass, and he did. Sekh got onto his knees, examining the broken skin on Astarion’s thigh- the flesh around each little puncture was an angry red, swollen and tender already. Sekh frowned deeply at the sight, before he pressed a finger to one of the wounds. Astarion hissed, blood welling from the wound, along with a few flecks of something that was deep indigo.

Sekh was moving before Astarion could even ask, the drow rushing for their things, tearing open the little bag he’d brought down to the stream. Astarion turned to watch, but shifted and brushed his thigh onto the grass. He nearly cried out at how badly it hurt, how it sent needles down his entire leg. What in the devil’s name-

Sekh was back, bag in hand, dropping down onto his knees so quickly it had to hurt. He pulled a bottle out, popping the cork, and shoved it into Astarion’s hand. “Drink this. All of it. Now.”

“Darling-”

“I said now!”

Sekh had barely ever raised his voice at Astarion. Without another argument the vampire pressed the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back, downing the entire potion in a few gulps. It tasted vaguely medicinal, was thicker than he had expected- it left his tongue feeling slimy. 

He had barely gotten the last swallow down when Sekh was pushing at each puncture wound again, forcing blood to the surface to trickle down Astarion’s milky thigh. The vampire bared his teeth in pain, wincing as he swore he could feel each little flake that appeared in his blood, leaving the wounds. Sekh forced him to plant a foot in the ground, so he could bend his knee, give his husband access to each puncture on the back of his thigh.

When Sekh had finally prodded at each wound, he pulled a rag from his bag and dipped it into the stream, wiped the blood and whatever that was from his leg. Astarion had to admit, the burning was already subsiding.

“Rinse off and I will wrap it before you get dressed,” Sekh said, “once we’re back at Shadowheart’s I’ll make a poultice that you’ll need to leave on overnight.”

Astarion frowned. “Would you tell me first what just happened?”

Sekh sighed. “Kaeltak vines. I’ve only ever seen them myself maybe twice. They’re rare, damn near extinct. And very toxic.” He stood up, offered his hands to Astarion and helped pull him up. “I gave you a general antitoxin which should help, and since I got their pollen out of you, you should be alright. Especially considering your vampiric biology.”

Astarion stared at his husband, rolling the words around in his head. He wasn’t exactly sure where to start. “You just had a general antitoxin with you?”

Sekh offered him a smile. “I’m a drow, starshine. Of course I did.” He nodded towards the water, and Astarion took the hint, stepping in- gods below, it was frigid, the sigil Sekh had painted on the rock previously now washed away. Still, he splashed water over himself, rinsed the sickly black gunk off his arm, from under his nails. After a moment Sekh stepped into the water, cupping some and letting it roll over his shoulders and down his spine.

Astarion leaned in, couldn’t stop himself from grasping at Sekh’s waist with his now itchy fingers. “You know,” he teased, “your sweat is intoxicating, maybe don’t wash it away.”

And, despite how utterly ridiculous this was- Astarion was choosing to not yet process the hulking dead mass of what he wasn’t even sure behind them- Sekh grinned. He reached up, patted Astarion’s cheek.

“Love, your cum is dripping down my thighs.”

And with that he pulled away, wading deeper into the stream. Astarion stared for a moment, and- well, alright, he truly didn’t have a comeback for that, except to laugh at himself and the absurdity of the situation.

*

Sekh crouched on the bank of the river, examining one of the dead thing’s vines in his hands. He was dressed properly now, had sent Astarion back to Shadowheart. He hoped the vampire might remain at her cabin if the cleric decided to come view this mess for herself- which he was sure she would. Kaeltak toxin was nasty, and while he had gotten the pollen from the vines- which holds the toxin- out of Astarion and gotten him properly dosed with an antitoxin, he would still be a bit slow, run down- and probably quite sore.

Sekh cut a portion of the vine away with his knife, wrapping it in a rag and stowing it into his bag. He’d take all of it if he could, but he wanted to get a look at this thing before his companions returned.

He stood up, leaning over the gaping maw that was its torso, wrinkling his nose. It stank of decay, yes, but vegetation decay, something slightly different from flesh decay. More earthy, like hot dirt.

It was still an unpleasant scent.

Sleeves rolled up, he reached into the cavern of its body, pushing away large sacs. They felt as if they were filled with fluid, little pod shaped hunks inside them. He wrapped his hands around one, pulled- found it was encased in a sort of sinew webbing inside the creature. He pulled harder, and the fine fleshy strands snapped, sending him stumbling back a step as he was holding the sac.

It was warm, hot in his hands, even. He got down onto his knees, laid it out on the grass, examined the size- it overflowed both of his cupped hands- the color- a decayed purple flesh tone. He grabbed his knife, pressed the tip to the sac. It gave quite easily, bursting open and sending a fetid flood soaking into the grass. Sekh reached up with one hand, covered his nose, swore he was going to vomit.

He took a moment to steady himself, before he pushed at what indeed were little pods, in the now deflated sac. They seemed hard, almost seed like. After a moment Sekh picked one up- pleased that whatever liquid still coated them didn’t seem to bother his skin. He turned it in the moonlight- it was dark, near black, wrinkled like a walnut and about the same size.

He stowed a few in his bag as well, for better examination. Then he moved back to the carcass, looking at its insides again.

He felt cold, under his clothes, his skin. Cold in a way that was new. It was the chill of his necrotic magic, but tenfold. He rubbed his hands together, thinking to when he had shoved his hand into the beast- could he call it a beast? Was it sentient enough?- had opened himself to let the death magic in his bones free.

Except it hadn’t flowed from him- instead, he had felt the chill of death move from the creature into his fingers, his palm, snake like ice through his veins to be swallowed up in his marrow. He had never felt that, not in his over seventy years of life. Not since he had first started to develop the powers, when his mother was still alive and able to explain to him what they were. At least, what she knew of them. Which wasn’t much.

Sekh was still staring into the carcass when he heard footsteps approaching- two sets. So Astarion hadn’t stayed back. Sekh couldn’t be surprised.

“By Selûne’s light,” Shadowheart murmured, stepping up next to Sekh, “Astarion hadn’t been exaggerating.”

The vampire scoffed. He looked a bit pale, Sekh noted- he should have had a bit of color to him, considering he had properly fed on a deer only hours prior. Instead he looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

“I’m hurt,” he offered, his voice teasing- but Sekh noted, sounding tired. “To think you believe I lie.”

Shadowheart cast him a glare, before turning to Sekh. “What is it?”

Sekh didn’t know, and he hated that. At least, he didn’t know what it was as a whole- but its separate parts… “It’s a whole amalgamation of shit.”

Astarion snorted. “Very scientific, my love.” Sekh ignored him.

“It’s got a variety of different plants growing from it- those vines there, with the barbs- don’t touch them- they’re kaeltak vines. Nearly extinct, highly toxic. I’ve only seen them twice in my life. And that,” he pointed to a thatch of vegetation that made up a thigh, “common flora- there’s even some wispweed mixed in. Hells, if you look at one of its… hands, there’s damned dandelions.”

Shadowheart toed at the hand, nodded at the bright burst of yellow from the thriving dandelion. It was happily growing from the corpse. She looked up along the body- frowned when she reached its torso, surely noting the night orchids laced all along its clavicle and shoulders.

“But what is possibly even more confusing,” Sekh offered, reaching out and prying at its open chest cavity. Astarion cursed, took a step back as the heated, wet entrails of the being were exposed, steam rising from the sheer fire of its body. The smell was unfathomable. “Look at that.”

Shadowheart peered into it, her brow creasing. “Is that bone?”

Sekh nodded. It was a thick rib- he could curl his fist around it, but not much more. “It’s from something humanoid- considering the sheer girth, I’d wager an orc.”

“If you look at its back,” Astarion offered, “I saw at least three spines poking through its… skin. Can we call it skin? I don’t think I want to call it skin.”

Sekh grasped the creature, but its bulk was too much for him to move. Shadowheart joined him, and the two managed to roll it onto its side. The slick sound of its guts sliding and spreading out in the grass was gut wrenching.

As Astarion had said, there were three spines, all crooked and nearly twisting, along its back. One was much smaller, stopped before it reached the creature’s pelvis- a dwarf’s perhaps.

“Before you ask,” Shadowheart said, looking just as disgusted as Astarion, “no, there hasn’t been anything strange at all. This is the first… plant… corpse I’ve seen.”

Sekh nodded. He was sure if there had been something, she would have told him. He wanted to examine it further, to move into the forest it had stumbled from- but his inquisitiveness was tampered by the fact that he wanted to get Astarion safely back to Shadowheart’s cabin.

The beast could wait until morning.

They made the trek back to Shadowheart’s cabin, where Sekh was quick to set up his supplies on the cleric’s table. He wanted to get a healing poultice on Astarion’s leg as soon as possible.

The vampire was keeping rather quiet, but the pallor hadn’t left his skin. Sekh could tell Shadowheart had noticed it was well- she was studying the vampire without a care for hiding it. Astarion shifted under her stare, before he gave a sigh. “Alright, I feel awful, is that what you two want to hear?”

“No,” Sekh admitted, crushing a few herbs in his mortar, twisting the pestle into them so that they were rather fragrant, so close to his nose. “But it’s what I expected. You look like you’ve been starved.”

“I feel it honestl-” the word cut off as Astarion staggered. Shadowheart moved to grab him, steadying him, as he slumped against her shoulder. Sekh shoved his chair back, standing quickly, as Astarion mumbled into Shadowheart’s shoulder, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“I have him,” Shadowheart said, looking at Sekh. “You finish your work.”

Sekh hated to not be the one to care for Astarion, but he nodded. Shadowheart could handle him, and even if Astarion was uncomfortable, he wasn’t in mortal peril. Shadowheart guided Astarion towards the door, saying something about the night air, as Sekh moved to continue crushing the herbs. He rummaged into his bag for one of his healing potions, pouring about a spoonful into his mortar as well. He could have Astarion drink one, but it wouldn’t target the wounds specifically- if Sekh could do that, he’d be fine, come morning.

He stirred the mixture, was sprinkling in a bit of bulb fruit salt when Shadowheart came back in- alone.

“Ever proud,” she said, looking a bit sad, “he… asked I not stay with him.” Sekh stood up then as she walked over, handed her his bowl.

“Keep mixing that, would you?” She nodded, and Sekh moved for the door, letting himself out into the night. He moved past Shadowheart’s garden, could see Astarion on his hands and knees off past her shed, looking as if he wanted to hide in the shadows.

Sekh moved quickly, sure steps closing the distance in breaths. He could see Astarion’s shoulders trembling, heard a choked gag as he retched. The drow felt his heart sink, as he got down on his knees next to him, reaching for his hair. “Let me,” he whispered, as Astarion glanced at him. The vampire was panting, pink tinged saliva clinging to his lips and fangs, eyes mildly bloodshot.

But he didn’t argue.

Sekh gathered up all of Astarion’s curls, holding them back with one hand as the other rubbed his back. His shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his scars. It had to be uncomfortable.

Astarion coughed, gave a sick, wet groan, before he retched again, all that blood he had managed to feast on earlier leaving him like gold spilling from a coffer. Sekh hushed him, told him he was alright, as Astarion gasped for breath, trying to steady himself. It was long minutes before the vampire wasn’t panting, seemed steady enough to settle back and sit, reaching up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sekh released his hair, cupped his face in his hands, rubbed his thumbs along his cheeks. Astarion looked exhausted. “Let’s get you back inside. I’m going to rewrap your thigh, and you’re going to get some rest.”

Astarion gave a nod, let Sekh help pull him up. He teetered for just a moment, before he was able to stand steady and follow Sekh back to the cabin. Shadowheart was exactly where Sekh had left her, still stirring the mixture. He took it thankfully, as Astarion moved towards the bedroom, already pulling at his sweat damp shirt, peeling it from his skin.

Shadowheart left Sekh to get a glass of water, before she headed for the bedroom and Astarion. Sekh gathered up his bowl and a fresh cloth bandage, following and finding the vampire sitting on the edge of the bed in his underwear and one of Sekh’s shirts, looking rather haggard.

Shadowheart handed him the water to clear the taste from his mouth as Astaron perched a foot on the bedframe, allowed Sekh room to unwrap the bandage on his thigh. He had bled considerably, and while the punctures still looked raw and inflamed, Sekh was glad to see there was no deep blue lacing in his veins, stemming from the wounds- a sign that the pollen was spreading. He really had gotten most, or all, of it.

He set the soiled bandage aside, swiped his fingers through the poultice, and began rubbing it over the wounds. Astarion gave a little grunt, as Shadowheart took the cup from him. “I expected it to sting,” the elf admitted.

Sekh smiled, scooping up more, applying it very generously. “It should actually feel cooling.” Astarion gave a little nod. Once Sekh was done he wrapped a fresh bandage around Astarion’s thigh, before the vampire climbed properly into the bed, settling himself beneath the blanket.

Sekh and Shadowheart moved about the cabin, dosing the candles and lamps, securing the door- and then they were disrobing to comfort and climbing in themselves. This time Sekh stretched himself out along Astarion’s back, hooked an arm over his waist and held him flush to his body. The vampire gave a little sigh, and Shadowheart crawled over them, back to her spot beneath the window.

She cradled Astarion as well, pressing his face into her clavicle, her breasts, letting him rest against the sound of her heartbeat. Sekh pressed his face into Astarion’s free hair, felt the vampire relaxing in his hold- and then the deathly still that meant he was sleeping. As the minutes melted into the night, Sekh heard Shadowheart’s breathing leveling out as well, as she joined Astarion in slumber. Sekh, however, lay awake for an hour at least, mind free to ponder again why he had felt the chill of death leaving the creature and making its way into his own body. And why it had felt invigorating.

[goblininawig]

Lucien's Little Dilemma

Follows the events of Gault's First Kiss, but can be read as a stand-alone. You can also read this on A03. Rated G.

Summary: Lucienne and Gault team up to help a dreamer find their way.

They keep having the same dream. It starts with a wilderness devoid of life, no insects, no birds, no foliage, and no weather. It is a void of endless nothing that they nevertheless know, in the way of dreams, that they must cross. Every step is torment.

But finally, the wilderness gives way to a rocky terrain with soft moss that kisses their weary feet. They stumble into the shelter of a cave to rest. Colorful veins of phosphorescent minerals glow and sparkle along its surfaces, casting light on a small pool, bubbling up from a hot spring, and the massive nest just behind it. 

Within the nest, sits an egg. It's large enough for a person to stand inside, if it were cut in half. The shell is unlike any known on Earth, and it shines faintly.

As they watch, the egg begins to tremble, then shake. Then a crack appears. Terrified of what sort of monster might be inside, the dreamer screams and runs from the cave, back towards the biting wilds. 

Lucienne closes the dream journal, a slight furrow between her brows. They had made it all the way inside the cave this time, But they are still too afraid of confronting the unknown.

This dreamer recently came to her attention when Lucienne had been looking idly through the new arrivals. In the scores of fresh books, she'd run across the journal of a dreamer on the cusp of adulthood, prompting the Dreaming to conjure them a new volume in their life long record of dreams. Since then, she's been keeping track of them.

If only there was some way to help them, she muses, tucking the volume back into the shelf. 

"You're quiet today, love," Gault murmurs softly in the librarian's pointed ear. "What's on your mind?"

Lucienne smiles and tilts her head back on Gault's shoulder so the dream can see it. "You're always so concerned about me," the librarian observes. She snuggles deeper into Gault's embrace. "I was just thinking about a Dreamer."

"Oh?" Gault replies, drawing her shimmering arms more tightly about her lover. "Anyone I've met?"

"Not according to their recent dream records," Lucienne replies, trailing two dark fingers along Gault's sparkling skin as she spoke. "This young adult struggling to accept the truth about themselves. I wish I could help," she explains. 

"It's rare for you to become so concerned about one of the Dreamers," Gault noted. "What is it that's drawn you to them?"

Once again, a smile lifts Lucienne's lips. "They remind me of you, in a way," she admits. "The way you fought Lord Morpheus to be seen as you are, and not how he wanted you to be. This dreamer has a similar challenge... except I'm not entirely certain they even realize that. It's hard to tell when you only know their dreaming minds."

"Perhaps I can come by the library later, look at the dream log, and see if I can help?"

"That would be lovely," Lucienne tilts her head up again, this time to kiss Gault's cheek.  

Gault flutters in the air behind Lucienne's armchair, reading the dream journal over her shoulder. The couple is studying it together in the library. Lucienne is secretly very fond of the way Gault uses her wings at any given opportunity. It makes her feel warm and giddy in ways she hasn't experienced since she was human, long ago. 

"I can see why they remind you of me," Gault says, interrupting the librarian's thoughts. "They are aching to make some real transformations in their life."

"Yes, exactly!" Lucienne affirms, "any ideas?"

"Well, I recognize the area of the Dreaming this describes. I had a lot of work in that area back when I was a nightmare," she explains. "Maybe I can find them there and help them have a break through."

Lucienne sets the book down on her desk, hops out of her chair, and leaps into Gault's arms. The dream makes a startled noise, but catches Lucienne easily, and draws her close. 

"Thank you," Lucienne murmurs softly, before pursuing her lips to Gault's inviting mouth. 

They get lost in each other. Gault flies them in graceful loops over library stacks as they embrace tightly and kiss gently. And they start like that until Merv stomps in to ask 'Loosh' a question.  

The dreamer stumbles into the safety of the cave, weary from traveling through the wilderness. The cave walls sparkle and illuminate the space. Deeper in, lies a bubbling hot spring pool, and, beyond that is a massive nest with an equally large egg. They suddenly worry they've entered a monster's lair.

"What do you seek?" says a soothing voice. 

The dreamer looks around but can't find it's source. "Please," they whimper, "I just want to rest."

A figure separates from a dripping stalactite above - humanoid, but dark and shining like the cave itself, held aloft on a pair of large wings. "Peace is difficult to find when you do not know yourself," she says. 

"But I do know myself," comes the unconvincing reply. 

"Then why do you fear your power?" the figure gestures behind them to where the mysterious egg sat. 

As they watch, the egg begins to crack and shake: something is being born. The dreamer cringes away in fear, but the fairy-like figure flies down to stand beside them. 

"It's all right," she promises. "Just watch."

Gault offers the dreamer her hand, and they take it gratefully, squeezing tight as the shell breaks away. 

It's like the sun is rising inside the cave; it fills with light and heat too intense to look at. The dreamer closes their eyes, but the intensity fades, and they open them again. 

Inside the nest, preening its firey feathers, sits a pheonix. The dreamer gapes at its beauty, and the palpable sense of magic, purpose, and power it radiates along with its sun-like shine. 

"It's incredible," the dreamer says reverently. 

Gault squeezes their hand, "and so are you."

They find their mother in the kitchen, drinking coffee, and sit down with her to have a talk that involves some tears, but more joy and laughter. They declare new pronouns and a new name, a name that fits who they truly are inside. 

In the Waking World, the dreamer rouses, a sense of purpose and self-awareness burning like a fire in their heart. They know what they need to do. 

In the Dreaming, Lucienne eagerly devours the latest entry in the dreamer's book. Gault arrives back from her mission as the librarian reads the final sentence. Lucienne leaps up to greet her, and they embrace. 

"You did it," Lucienne cheers.

Gault smiles and brings the back of one glimmering hand down Lucienne's cheek. "I didn't do much," she demures. "They just needed a push in the right direction."

"We all do from time to time," Lucienne beams, leaning into the touch. 

"Speaking of time," Gault says, winking mischievously, "do you have any right now?"

"For you," Lucienne affirms with a gentle kiss, "always."

Tagging: @orionsangel86 @tryan-a-bex

[zoezoegr]

Pennies from Heaven

I have to hurry home to my ghost. Let me explain: I moved to a new apartment 1 and 1/2 years ago––I'm coming up on a lease renewal. It has generally been a perfectly typical apartment, of course, save for the floor-to-ceiling windows, comparatively low rent, and the neighbor's dog, whose expression looks shockingly like Sir Alec Guinness. It's uncanny, but probably not occult. I mean, I sincerely doubt that Mr. Feathers––that's the dog's name––is the reincarnated spirit of The star of the Lavender Hill Mob, The Lady Killers, and Our Man in Havana, among others, but the thought has crossed my mind. It is a rather striking resemblance. But I swear, that was the only strange element in my building for over a year. And as well we all know, ghosts don't wait a year before they saunter out and start haunting a place––they get right down to it––or so popular fiction would have us believe. That's why I was understandably surprised to find, as I got under the covers one night last month, a strange glow, almost phosphorescent, from which was produced a pallid figure, lacking in gravity.

You probably think that I screamed. I didn't scream; I simply went up to the man––I quickly ascertained that he was one––and asked him who he was. To my surprise, he asked me the same thing. For an exaggerated moment, our eyes were locked in a very long winded attempt to glean some understanding through the nuance of expression, but to no avail. I engaged him in small talk; he reciprocated. Little by little, I was able to make head and tail of the situation:

His name is Frederick and his wife was recently widowed. He is 36 years old and he passed away in a freak tram accident. The great irony is that both the tram and his home are in another country. Let me rephrase: he is haunting the wrong country. In fact, he is haunting the wrong continent.

Frederick was, of course, very distressed to hear this. He was hoping to haunt his wife––you know, out of love––but I suppose there was some sort of bureaucratic mixup––naturally I don't know the true nature of Providence, but I assume it must be something of the sort––and instead he's haunting me! It breaks my heart, really. The poor man is stuck in my apartment, longing for his wife and home, I can't do anything to help. You might assume that his being here would be an imposition on me, but frankly, it's been a long time since I've entertained, and what's more, my social life is going through bit of a dry spell these days. Maybe it's selfish, but I'm glad of the company.

This was the situation as of last month. In four weeks, we have become friends. We know each other's tastes––I don't know his in food, for the obvious reasons––but his likes, dislikes, dreams for the future, pet peeves, etc. I well know. He loves Dianne Wiest, and it pains me that we can't go to see her new movie together––you know, because he can't leave the apartment. But at the very least, last week, I agreed to dog sit Mr. Feathers for the day, for Frederick's enjoyment, and he does agree most adamantly about the resemblance.

Flip Side

My memories suddenly returned as I materialized. There was a period of time where I either did not exist, or was existing in a way that I cannot comprehend. As I came back into being, I was filled with the joy of knowing that I was at home with Mary, even if it was no longer as a being she could see, touch, or even understand. Mary has always been a very scientific person. Even if she saw me, there's a chance that she’d refuse to believe her eyes. As I materialized, I began to perceive a woman in front of me––but she wasn't Mary. I am much more disappointed in death than in life. She didn't scream––I'm grateful for that––she talked to me politely––that was a shocking relief. I don't particularly like small talk, but in this situation, it was soothing. For the first time, in death, I appreciated its value. She asked me more than she told, but was never nosy. I managed to find out that her name is Lucy, she's 40, and she's a bank teller. She loves to read and watercolor and we have surprisingly similar taste in films.

It became apparent that I was stuck at Lucy's, but there are far worse fates. Apparently, death isn't fair, either. But I like Lucy. As much as is humanly possible, she helps me forget that I was killed by a derailed tram—while Ben Affleck, who was standing next to me at the time, lived, apparently––and that I would probably never see Mary again. She knows I like Dianne Wiest, and since I couldn't go to see her new film, she rented her entire filmography for me. She brought over her neighbor's dog, who bears a shocking resemblance to Alec Guinness. That was a good day.

Lucy is not the easiest person. She's always bubbling over and she seems to be incapable of sitting in silence. But she's very kind. I can't think of any logical reason why she should be. It's obvious to her that people should be kind. I don't know how long I'll be with Lucy, but I know that I'll enjoy my time with here much more than I ever could've imagined.

[adder24]

Take me back to Eden

A Songfic inspired by the song "Take me back to Eden" by Sleep Token.

A/N: I wrote it from the viewpoint of Reese during his quest to fulfill his vengence in "The Devils Share" @untilthe12ofnever @nuggsmum @plinkitee @sunrise68 @savhcaro @imo126 @imelopsittacus @bonnie131313 @scnewztown @bliphany @caviezeldaily @aragarna @eyesofwitt @follow-voice @heike-251 @detective-fiasco @hellostickerdoodle

Please tag on. I have forgotten a few POI blogs so my apologise

An anchor was what she was to him. She showed him mercy at his lowest point, compassion when he was shot, strength when their foes were hunting them down. She had managed to keep this lone wolf under control, made him feel like he was part of a pack, made him feel loved.

Reese had plenty of chances to drop his guard, let her in and bury the monster he used to be, he could have had something, he could have had everything he desired but he left it too long and now it was too late.

I dream in phosphorescence Bleed through spaces See you drifting past the fog But no one told you where to go We dive through crystal waters, perfect oceans But no one told me not to breathe And now the weightlessness recedes

Returning back to the darkness felt natural. The pain from bleeding wounds were numbed, grief now turned into a burning fire of vengeance and the monster had retaken its seat at the top of the table, its hunger would only be quashed when those involved were slain by his blood soaked hands

He should have allowed Harold to get him treated by one of his contacts but there was no time for back end hospital treatments or for wounds to heal. Those would need patching up on the fly, hatchet job stitches and bandages made from rags. It wasn’t pretty but it would hold for the time being while he walked, once again, down the path of the cold blooded killer. Hoping this time it would be a one way trip, hoping once his bloodlust was quenched, he could finally join her.

My, my, those eyes like fire I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre Come now, bite through these wires I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire I will travel far beyond the path of reason Take me back to Eden, take me back to Eden Take me back to Eden

Simmons was the man to pull the trigger on them but Reese knew he was just the mouthpiece, he knew that order came from above, the man who Carter was putting away. Quinn and he knew where Simmons was going to run to.

Two birds one stone.

For all Reese cared, the wolves that lay in wait could have Simmons but Quinn, Quinn was in his crosshairs and he was determined to remove him permanently. Yet time wasn’t on his side. His wounds were not healing, every day he was popping sutures and patching himself up again, everyday the rags were drenched in blood, blood that his body was struggling to replace. 

Porcelain bathroom sinks were tainted with his crimson nectar, a sight he was oh too familiar with but the fire raged within him, there was no time to process the toil he was dragging his body through, his soul growing colder. Carter wanted to take Quinn down the right way, Reese just wanted to take him out, one way or another. Nobody was going to change his mind. Calls were missed and messages ignored.

His mind was set. The cold blooded killer returned.

Well yeah, I spit blood when I wake up Sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and makeup Just two days since the mainframe went down and I'm still messed up Room feels like a meat freezer, I dangle in it like cold cuts Missed calls, answered phones from people I just don't trust Mirror talk, fake love But I'll take a pound of your flesh Before you take a piece of my paystub White roses, black doves, Godmother, rise up I need you to see me for what I have become

He knew the US marshals would be protecting him, he knew where they would be holed up and the best ways to remove them from his mission. Plunge them into darkness, blind them and make sure none of them would get up to disrupt his plans. As simple as it was to perform, even that gave Reese a great deal of pain.

He needed a moment to catch his breath, to mask the pain of his wounds and that of his broken heart. Oh how he blamed himself for not being more open towards her, how he left it till that fateful night to drop his guard. He took her being there, ready to put her neck on the line, for granted and now she was gone and that hurt more than the inflamed bullet holes that oozed blood profusely.

My, my, those eyes like fire I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre Come now, bite through these wires I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire I guess it goes to show, does it not? That we've no idea what we've got until we lose it And no amount of love will keep it around If we don't choose it

As he marched down the corridor, he could feel the flames of fury take hold, the burning rage filling his eyes. He knew Quinn was in the room, he knew that whoever was with him didn’t stand a chance and he knew deep down that this wouldn’t bring her back. 

If this was to be his last stand at least it would put him at peace, knowing he took the life of the man who coldly ordered her death.

And I don't know what's got its teeth in me But I'm about to bite back in anger No amount of self-sought fury Will bring back the glory of innocence

He watched as the last remaining guard crept out the room, he moved so that he was hidden and then struck, marching the guard back into the room at gunpoint before knocking them out and turning the gun on Quinn, fighting against himself to not end the man's life instantly, to prolong it, make the man give up information that he needed to relay over. Yet Quinn gave a speech about loyalty, droning on about not wanting to break the loyalty he had with Simmons, even if Reese threatened to kill him.

Magic words.

There was no threat, he was going to kill him even if he got what he wanted and he wouldn’t make it painless, he wouldn’t make it quick, he was going to drag it out and he made certain to tell him that, even if his breathing was becoming more labored and the pain more intense. It worked. He got what he needed from him and Reese was going to deliver on his promise, the gun trained on the man’s head, mere seconds from pulling the trigger before he was stopped, stopped by Harold's gentle voice, reminding him what she had sacrificed to bring down Quinn on her terms. 

He didn’t want to undo all that but the urge, the urge was strong. He wouldn’t do it in her name, he would do it to soothe his own soul, to correct his own mistake. He saw the fear flash across Quinn’s eyes as he made one last ditch attempt to put a bullet in his skull, annoyed that he was spared by the gun failing. He looked to Harold for Mercy, an end to the pain he had endured. What he got in return was Shaw hauling him back to the car, getting him into the back before he passed out from blood loss.

That was the moment he was at peace, calm and pain free. His mind put him in a garden, basking in the sun while listening to the birds around him chirping and cheeping. Flowers were bright, colourful and smelling sweet and somewhere in the distance he could hear a stream. He took a deep breath, a smile on his lips as he closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again, seeing a shadow cascade over him and a familiar face peering down at him.

My, my, those eyes like fire I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre Come now, bite through these wires I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire I have traveled far beyond the path of reason Take me back to Eden Take me back to Eden