#plush blood moon twins

[deadbloodzero]

"WHO TOOK MY LAST COOKIE!?"

Oh. Shoulda known.

You're lucky you're cute. Yes, you can have it. Just ask next time.

GOOD GRIEF

Guys, what have I told you about sharing?

You know what? Close enough.

Eclipse, We'll get you some ice cream later, okay?

[miiroki]

𝘿𝙖𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 𝙭 𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧/𝙤𝙘

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘐𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥. 𝘠𝘦𝘵, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.

Warning: Vulgur language, sexual moments (no actual sex)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Maricelle Hightower was born a regal lady, bred to be perfect, obedient, and pliant.

Born from the same womb as her twin sister Alicent Hightower, the two girls were meant for high class living, meant to be royal wombs to any high class lord, or king.

Alicent Hightower had always been deemed the oldest, the most quiet between the two sisters. Due to her submissive behaviour, she had bore the brunt of their fathers actions.

Otto Hightower had tried to bend and fold Maricelle to his whims, but he had been met with consistent hostility and resistance.

In his hold Alicent felt like dough, elastic but agreeable when met with enough pressure and force. Maricelle felt like molten glass, permanent burns and scars would be the punishment for attempting to change her mold.

…

Once Otto had tried to be physical with her, grabbing her wrists so harsh it would leave bruises. Pulling her hair to ensure her conformity.

Maricelle had shown no reaction, and after dismissing her he kept hearing terrible tales from maids and working men alike, they’d whisper how terrible, and cruel the Hightower family would treat their lovable and kind Lady.

It had gotten worse throughout many moons, that other men of higher class had been known to discuss the hot topic.

Otto had asked Maricelle to stop what she was starting.

He was met with a coy face and her bandaged wrists.

“Father, I’m not sure why your listening to the common men so immensely”

…

During Maricelles first engagement with a neighboring Lord, a large event was hosted, which lasted 2 days and 2 nights. On the final night the Lord was said to have excused himself from the celebration and had asked for Maricelles assistance to his bedchambers.

The next day the man was found dead on his plush feathered bed.

No blood, no coughing, no struggle.

Maricelle was seen during that time. Their had been many accounts of her leaving the Lords chambers as soon as she tucked him into bed.

…

Shortly after she was sent home. Her guards and handmaids had been worried for her health, what if this supposed killer had somehow managed itself into the castles kitchen, and would poison their beloved lady.

Otto could recall asking his daughter about the events that occurred that night.

She replied with a familiar coy smile and asked him if he suspected it was her.

To which he replied with a gruff no.

“We all have a time and place father. Lord Alaric has just met his” Maricelle then bowed her head and excused herself from the council room.

Otto swore to himself then and their that he would make sure whomever Maricelle would marry, could handle her tendency’s.

His wishes would come true in the form of a rogue prince.

—

“Has he truly gone mad?” Maricelle uttered to her sister. “What does father want to achieve by marrying me off the Prince Daemon” she scoffed.

The carriage had shook and swayed from side to side.

“Sister” Alicent put her hand over Maricelles gloved ones. “If it is any condolence, Prince Daemon is young and he is always flying to diffrent nations on his dragon. After the marriage consummation, ‘tis certain that you will no longer need to see him”

Maricelle held onto her sisters hand, gripping it tighter. “I suppose. I just hope that I do not see my end like Lady Rhea Royce” she whispered softly.

The people of Kings Landing had known Maricelle as the perfect daughter, kind in every way, mesmerizing in every way. She liked the attention, craved it even. She made it apperant to herself that she would always keep a shark eye and an even sharper ear to hear comments people would whisper about her throughout the cold halls of the Red Keep.

Her father was not opposed to the vision either.

—

“Lady Maricelle” King Viserys had spoken. His voice slightly hoarse, echoing throughout the cold hall of the throne room.

“Your grace” she bowed and held her poise.

“Otto has done his job well with you and your sister. You are both well refined young women, and he aught to be nothing but proud”

She had to stop herself from scoffing.

—

The first time Daemon Targaryen layed eyes on the Hightower women was when he saw her sitting alone on a stone seat near the blossoming flora.

From his spot behind a pillar, his eyes roamed her figure.

Whoever this women was, she was well endowed in all the right areas, the square neckline outlined in intricate embroidery only highlights the swell of her bosom.

Suddenly his mouth seemed dry, and his feet had grown a mind of it’s own. Walking towards the entrancing women, and taking the rest of him with it.

He stood in front of (the still unknown) women.

“The Red Keep gardens are wonderful this time around” Daemon plucked one if the stray petals that had gotten trapped in her hair. “Aren’t they?”

Maricelle slowly fluttered her eyes open, and blinked, being met with the legs of a stranger in front of her. Averting her gaze she was met with the unmistakable likeness that was Daemon Targaryen.

“Prince Daemon”

He hummed, and sat beside her. Making eye contact with while she looked up at him, was to difficult.

Even for a seasonal women wooer like himself.

It was especially difficult when he had a clear view of her plunging neckline, exposing the obvious softness of her tits.

He was a simple man.

“Seems I’m quite well known” He laughed, more so coughed, trying to stop the foreign heat of his ears due to his own thoughts.

She chuckled, and he had started getting dizzy.

“How could one not know of the Rogue Prince”

“I suppose my title precedes me” He mustered to look her in the eyes.

Now close enough, he could confirm that this women had to be a siren. A mermaid maybe. She’d somehow grown legs and had come to taunt him.

Idiot.

He scolded.

Her eyes were umber, with slight glimpses of green when the light hit them just right. If he kept looking maybe he would’ve noticed the similarities between her and her sister, but before he looked strange he had to force his eyes to peel away from her face. Instead he took in her attire.

A verdant green.

If he was in the right state of mind he might’ve put two and two together, but it seems this women was to tempting to think about anything else.

…

The two had chatted the noon away.

Sitting on the stone bench, almost knee to knee, only a whisper parted them, to engrossed in their conversation to separate.

He had enjoyed making her laugh, and while she was in a fit of giggles she had noticed that the sun was no longer high above her, but was now setting atop a hill.

She faced Daemon and had hurriedly said her goodbyes.

Their she left him, high (hard) and dry.

Only the soft billowing of her dress was all he could see as she ran as elegantly as she could away from him.

Daemon sighed. The spell she put him under had started to slowly go away.

It was when he started to walk away from the garden that he realized he has no name to label the maiden that entranced him.

—

The event that night was brimming with Lords and Ladies from around Westeros.

Some had become intoxicated as soon as they entered the great hall.

From her position near her sister and father, Maricelle kept a keen eye upon any figure that entered the room.

Her brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower had been canoodling with the ladies on the dance floor. It was not a sight she wanted to behold.

Finding the party dull, she made her way out of the festivities and found herself back at the stone bench she spent all afternoon at.

She hesitated to sit, but her instincts took over.

Maricelle could feel the cold and sturdy seat even through the many layers of her proper attire. Their was no sound except for the drowing noise of chatter and loot music from the hall just across the way.

Their was no sign of movement, not even servants were seen scattering about.

It seemed like it was just her.

Before she could fully relax, two callused and rough hands gently made contact with her eyes, covering her sight.

“To what do I owe the pleasure” Maricelle laughed softly. Placing her own hands near the ones covering her eyes, clinging onto the man’s wrists

“It’s not every day that I see a dame all by herself, rare in especially beautiful maidens” The man’s voice was tainted in tease.

“Why don’t you reveal yourself”

“As the lady wishes”

Daemon retracted his hands, and quickly held both of her own that were attached to his wrists. He initiated her to rise from her seated position by lifting her hands into the air.

She twirled around and craned her head upwards to face Daemon.

Their hands still holding each others sank between the two, acting like a bridge.

Their faces were to close to be considered polite, and the stone bench parted them by their knees.

“How may I help you Prince Daemon?”

Maybe it was the darkness of the night playing tricks on him, but Daemon swore he could feel her leaning towards him.

“Having you here now is all I need”

She scoffed slightly, “Is this how you charm all women”

“Only lonely pretty ones in gardens”

“So I am lonely?”

“Not anymore”

—

Daemon had unknowingly escaped from the festivities meant for his betrothed to Maricelle Hightower, but he could care less now that a pretty women was running and following him through the castle corridors, all while laughing.

Maricelle held up her dress as Daemon led her by a stretched arm. His other hand was secured on her waist.

The dashed and stumbled through the dimly lit halls, giggling like children.

Maricelle had thought him immature, a barbarian, a beast, and everything under the bright Westeros sun. She still felt that way but even she could admit, he was very fun.

She had also neglected to tell him her full name, wanting to see his reaction at a later date. Which would be inevitable.

…

The two found themselves in the library. Dusty, but most importantly, empty.

Daemon waited no longer, and started to attack her neck. He leaned her on a wooden table, so her ass was pressed against his pelvis, while she faced away from him.

The room was filled with feverish moans and whimpers.

Maricelle’s neckline had been pushed down, along with its many layers. Revealing her plush breasts.

Daemon makes quick work of the clean slate of her skin and littered her with marks of light purple and red bruises.

Daemon on the other was anything but untouched, his hair was being gripped by her right hand, while she had made her own marks on his neck, and jaw. They were much more pronounced.

Daemon had wanted to progress more, kissing her was incredible, but he was sure she was hiding something magical underneath all this fabric. He lifted her skirt and clothing, reaching for her small cloths. His hands caressing her exposed thighs.

Before anything to dishonourable happened, a loud banging was heard from the front door.

“Lady Maricelle? We have urgent orders from your father. A guardsman had seen you entering this room”

It was the nightly watch.

Had her father really been prone to incredibly terrible timing.

I was just about to have the time of my life. Maricelle huffed, disappointed greatly.

“Lady Maricelle, may I enter?” The night watch asked.

Daemon and Maricelle looked at each other with worried looks. If Viserys was to find that he was about to defile a young women who seemed important due to the guard reference of ‘Lady’, he would not be able to avert that kind of crisis.

Otto would be incredibly furious. Maricelle would most definitely be locked up in her room again.

“Uh…please, wait a moment” Maricelle uttered.

“Of course Lady Maricelle”

Daemons head flicked back and forth to his surroundings. Under the table? No. Behind the shelf? No. Behind the door? Stupid.

He then looked at the flustered women before him, all red and blushing with desire. She had pulled those delightful breasts back into their cage, and had tried to hide the marks of desire on her neck with her hair.

His gaze then looked further down, he was still holding onto her skirt.

Under the dress of a beautiful women? Yes.

Maricelle let out a small shriek as Daemon lifted her skirt further up and crawled underneath the large mass of fabric.

Maricelle blushed even harder.

She could feel the way his body was positioned under her dress. His arms had wrapped themselves on her right leg, and he was just hiding on the edge of her skirt.

“Lady Maricelle?”

She twisted her head to the door, and dusted away any remaining evidence on her clothes and made sure to lightly smack Daemons head to let him know that someone was now entering.

“Come in”

The night watch was a fairly old man, suited in the common silver armour, a torch in his left hand, and a spear in his left.

“Lady Maricelle, your father has summoned you to his private chambers, along with your sister”

“Alright, thank you for informing me, you may go”

The man stared and blinked at her. “Um, my Lady, do you not want any company to escort you?”

She tsked quietly, and she could feel Daemons shaking. Most likely laughing at her.

“No need, I will go myself”

“It would be improper of me to leave you to your own defences, especially at nigh-”

“I will go see my father myself” she hurriedly interrupted him, stern in her words.

The man had hesitated to act, but with a sigh he had bowed and wished her good night.

As soon as the doors had closed, Maricelle quickly tried to kick Daemon out of her dress.

“Prince Daemon! I must go!” She spoke quietly through gritted teeth, while holding up her skirt.

He laughed and continued to hold onto her waist now that he was standing straight.

“Alas you must”

He sneakily pecked her lips and whispered a goodnight before watching her scramble away, and out of the room. Leaving him only with the memory of her smooth silk legs, warmth, and another hard on.

Daemon groaned and looked down at his trousers. They were stretched to their limits as his bulge had been trying its best to escape its confinements.

“Hand it is” he sighed.

[azsazz]

Bloody Hearts (Part 2)

Azriel x Cassian x Rhysand x Reader

Summary: A modern mafia AU.

Warnings: Blood, injury, guns, depictions of graphic violence. Ik this isn’t how hospitals work but just pretend for the storyline that it is.

Word Count: 1,780

Notes: Well, it's been a long time since I've worked on this one, but you all voted for it, so here it is! [Not edited]

[Part 1]

_________________________________________

“What the fuck, Rhys?” Azriel hisses when he catches sight of his fearless leader leaning heavily on Cassian’s side, an arm wrapped around his shoulder. He’s pale, lips beginning to tint the blue shade of the moon, and the man can hear his teeth chattering from across the room.

The dark haired man drops a steel-toed boot to the ground with a thump as he pushes himself up from the large oak desk where he’s been monitoring the cameras. The green shine from the screen glints over the twin guns nestled in the double holster across his strong chest and reflects off of the azure stone set in onyx metal around his neck.

He’s quick to make his way around the desk, hitting a single key on the console as he goes, and the screen floods black. It’s second nature by now, never leaving anything unlocked that he doesn’t want anyone seeing, even if it is his comrades.

Azriel’s footsteps are silent but Rhys’ grunts are not as Cassian helps him lie back on the poker table, crimson already staining the velvet top. The chips dig into Rhysand’s back but he can hardly focus on anything other than the ripping pain in his side. He’d dug the bullet out of his side and had slipped from the hospital before they could get any more information from him, even if his mind was screaming at him to stay, not for his wound, but for the beautiful woman behind the counter.

Cassian’s already off to retrieve the medical kit as soon as Rhys is settled. Azriel slips the knife from its sheath in his boot and doesn’t hesitate to cut through the expensive fabric covering the wound. His golden eyes are sharp, calculating as he moves, flickering over the torn and damp fabric, and then to the inflamed muscle of his torn stomach when he tugs away the bloody material.

Rhys grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as the room spins. He feels as if he’s the ivory sphere twirling around the roulette table as he lies there, letting Azriel poke and prod at the wound he’d been so careless as to get.

“How many times have I told you not to go running around with an open wound?” Azriel speaks softly, his voice a low rumble that’s always comforting, even when it’s a threat to their enemies slipping past his lips. 

“At least I got the bullet out this time,” Rhys grunts back in time for Cassian to hear. He’s carrying the med kit in one hand and in the other, a bottle of triple distilled whiskey, one of the expensive bottles Rhys likes to reserve for his more important guests. 

Now seems as good a time as any to break into the copper liquid.

“Who did this?” Cassian asks, handing off the supplies but keeping the bottle for himself. His voice is rough, wanting to know answers so that he can move his people where necessary, to find out where Azriel can plant his spies. His large frame casts a shadow over the wound when he hikes his foot up on one of the plush chairs, and Azriel tuts, shooing him to the other side so that he can see better. “And why didn’t you call one of us for help?”

Both of his friends have seen Rhys like this on multiple occasions. Not necessarily with bullet wounds, but their leader seemed to be needing stitches more often than he’d like. As head of one of the most notorious mafias in the country, he’s sought after by rivals for power, women for his body, sometimes both. 

It comes with the territory, though, and no matter how many times he scrubs his name from every source he can find, they’ll always know who he is, his father had made sure of that. But it’s no life to live hiding, and now, Rhys supposes that it's no life to live always having to look over his shoulder either.

Azriel leaves to scrub his hands, sharing a look with Cassian as he leaves him to fish for information from their leader, whose arm is thrown across his eyes, the gold light from the chandelier too much for him right now.

“Was it the Oleanders?” he questions, taking a swig of the auburn liquor before helping Rhys sit up for a sip of his own. It burns as it goes down, its aftertaste of copper he can’t quite distinguish is his own blood in his mouth or the drink.

Rhys swallows roughly, the liquor sticky in his throat. “The Oleanders, the Canus’, the fucking Tritons, take your pick, they’re all starting to look the same these days.”

“Well, what the fuck are we supposed to do about that?” Azriel asks as he slides back up to the table to begin threading the needle. His eyes are sharp, focused on his task, shaking his head when Cassian offers him a swig. “We already have every disposable knight out there that we can.”

His friend hisses as the needle pokes through his tender skin. He’ll never get used to the feeling, and he doesn’t want to. 

“Fuck if I know,” Rhys sighs, accepting another drink. “All I know is we need to start playing offense, they’re getting too close.”

A muscle in Cassian’s jaw twitches but he nods nonetheless while Azriel grunts his agreement. The three of them will be up for days trying to plan their next move. They need to think of something to shock the rival gangs, to scare them back into place where they’d been when Rhys’ father was still in charge. A new head meant that all past treaties were over, but Rhysand doesn’t regret it for a minute. Not after what his father had done to his mother and sister.

Azriel is meticulous with his stitching, and Rhys concentrates on the stillness of his hands while he patches him up. It had taken a long time for his friend to be able to show his hands like this, even though the three of them are like brothers. A gambling debt gone wrong had left the apathetic man caught and set alight by the Oleanders, harrowing grins and remarks of how he wouldn’t be able to hold his cards after they’d finished with him haunt him to this day, and Rhysand finds him asleep at him computer more often than not, surveillance screen blaring green light and a gun clutched tightly in his marred grip.

“If we knew who put a hit on you tonight we’d be that much closer to knowing where to start,” Azriel murmurs, tying off the suture and sitting back for a better look at his handiwork. This time, he doesn’t hesitate to take the liquor from Cassian, smearing the label red as he does so.

“Was a drive-by,” Rhys answers, his breathing ragged as he sits up. He makes a face at the scrap of shirt hanging from his shoulders, tugging it off and tossing it to a heap on the ground. It lands with a wet sound but he doesn’t care, they’ve all seen worse.

It makes him think of you, offering to help him out of his shirt with wide eyes and red cheeks. You had made his labored breathing worse, struggling to suck down a miniscule amount of oxygen after your beauty had forced it from his lungs. He wants to see you again.

He hadn’t recognized the large blacked-out SUV that had slowed to a crawl next to him. He’d known immediately and cursed himself for taking his phone call outside, and with no knights to guard him. He was sprinting down the block before the window even rolled a centimeter down, his shiny, expensive shoes sounding like their own bullets ricocheting off of the sidewalk as he moved. 

Bullets sprayed the buildings around him, not a soul in sight. Rhys had managed to dip into an alley and disappear, but after having received the lovely wound in his side in exchange.

It could have been much worse.

“I’ll start looking into security cameras,” Azriel says, wiping his palms down his own shirt. He’s already making his way over to his desk, and Rhys would scold him for being a bloody mess if he hadn’t known his friend as well as he does. That glint in his eye tells Rhys all he needs to know about what Azriel will be doing until he finds the culprit. “Where did it happen?”

“Westboro and 8th,” Rhys sighs, sharing a tired look with Cassian. The both of them know that prying Azriel from the screens will be nearly impossible, and they cheers to that, taking another pull from the bottle.

“You need to be more careful,” Cassian tells him. His hazel eyes are glazed with seriousness, his tone stern and fearful all in one. The corners of Rhysand’s frown soften as his friend's tenderness, agreeing with him in full.

“I’ll make sure you know where I’m going next time,” he answers, gaze sliding over to where Azriel’s already tuned deeply into his work. “The both of you.”

He has his own personal guard, a group of trustworthy men that have passed all of his and his friends’ rigorous vetting processes, but it would be nice if he were able to take a breath alone for a moment. Rhys is sure that both Cassian and Azriel will be flanking his sides once more now that this has happened.

Cassian seems less than pleased with his response but Azriel takes it with a grain of salt, fingers flying over the keyboard in an attempt to find the assholes who’ve done this. He tucks Rhys’ words into the back of his mind for later, already thinking of ideas on how to have more eyes on Rhys without being there himself.

“Shower,” Cassian demands softly, removing the bottle from Rhys’ grip. He saunters over to perch on the edge of Azriel’s desk, watching politely and not touching like Azriel has scolded him on many occasions. The thought makes the corner of Rhys’ mouth curl in amusement, even if he knows that they’ll start murmuring about him as soon as he leaves the room.

But he follows Cassian’s orders nonetheless, sliding from the poker table onto his shaky legs. The room steadies after a few harsh blinks but he stays upright, making sure he has his bearings before he moves towards his suite.

“And try not to get that wound wet,” Azriel calls after him, eyes still pinned to the screen before him.

Rhysand rolls his eyes, ignoring his friends, but his smirk curves into a full blown grin.

[eggnogisyummy]

For anyone that is curious, here is some info of my Redemption AU of the SAMS!

**NOTE: THIS IS A SAMS AU, NOT EVERYTHING IS GONNA BE CANNON**

*Basic Info: The redemptions first started between the time when Solar Flare was made and when Bloodmoon was supposed to die. It first started with KC, then Bloodmoon, until finally Eclipse(though he put up a fight about it first). Characters such as Solar, Jacko, Forkface and Ruin still came through time.

*Characters! (Oh boy 🥲)---------

Sun: Has anxiety and trust problems. He fully doesn't trust the ex Villians and hates it when he doesn't get info on what they're doing. He's in a relationship with Bloodmoon as well, not by force by any means but still has some trust issues with the twins.

Moon: A mix of the old Moon and the new Moon. They took KC out, though the memories stayed and the code had to sort of rebuild itself. Moon is sort of keeping tabs on everyone, though he keeps overworking himself and sometimes really snappy but he truly does care for his family. He has the star hidden somewhere and plans to use it to get rid of the creator.

Earth: Still the main therapist, Earth helps the Villians see the wrongs they have done and how they could make up for it in some way. She has a small therapy garden she likes to take care of.

Lunar: He helps Earth with the Therapy, sometimes giving his own advice, throwing in humor and/or just being the stress ball/plush(since y'know, hes still made of nano machines at this point). He also works in the theater.

KC: Basically the tired but loving dad. He works at a soup kitchen and takes care of Eclipse, Solar Flare and Bloodmoon. He visits the daycare every now and again, especially on Halloween since the kids love to see him on that day. He's trying to look for a partner through Tinder of course, and does SoundCloud rapping to pass the time. He's pretty decent and is taking lessons.

Eclipse: Still a bastard, he's the least nicest of everyone. He throws insults whenever he feels like it, but doesn't do any actual physical harm anymore. He refuses to go to therapy, but KC drags him to it anyway. He has his own body, but he can't upgrade it to make himself stronger since they don't want to risk Eclipse trying to kill them all again.

BM: Nano machine ADHD twins, they still hunger for meat and blood. However KC managed to get blood bags and raw meat from stores. If Bloodmoon stays good sometimes KC will even give him a really bad guy to kill. BM is currently dating Sun.

Solar Flare: SF is the youngest, and the favorite child since he knows when to mind his own business and not act like a lunatic. He's still growing as an AI, but he's better at recognizing emotions and feelings, like the feeling of trauma from when Eclipse tried to take him over and the hatered he has for Eclipse. He tried to find ways to hurt Eclipse, though usually he keeps himself from doing those things. Sometimes he just can't help it.

Solar: He's Solar. And not dead, since Ruin didn't get a chance to kill him.

Forkface: They dont have really any huge beef with anyone except for the Creator and Ruin. They're still mysterious and powerful, but still loveable. They are living happily with Ruin Monty and are getting married soon.

Ruin: He is under supervision almost 24/7 after he tried to kill all the creators. He almost succeeded, but Bloodmoon and Eclipse were able to stop the machine before it could kill off Solar's creator. Ruin is fine with being supervised and is willing to be redeemed, even if the process is slow.

Jack: Jack is Solar Flare's best friend since the two are both growing AIs(and bodyguards lol). He enjoys playing with Sun's cats and protecting his family. He hates Ruin with a passion and doesn't want anything to do with him.

Creator: Still the main Villian and a horrible father. Kidnapped Lunar once and literally everyone ganged up on him, especially KC. He's currently in hiding and everyone is hoping he stays like that and doesn't bother them again.

If you have any questions please feel free to ask! Thanks!

[atherflame-theconcubus]

Actor Au Stuff (miscellaneous)

The original plan for the October takeover was for the blood twins to come back in a different body, though some of the producers got the genius idea of taking the wave twins and casting them as new blood moon, despite them, not even auditioning for the role (this resulted in lunar, calling it, a repeat of the last October takeover)

Bloodmoon & harvest Moon are really into vocaloid. They plan to pirates and voice banks, and make their own songs with Vocaloid.

Lunar is a scene kid.

Lunar’s actual body is the one that eclipse “blew up”

Eclipse is, physically speaking, the strongest of the actors. He’s able to pick up all the kids at once & kill code

Both ruin & eclipse had a habit of apologizing to their children anytime they had to act abusive for their roles. This caused multiple scenes to be restarted.

Kill code owns a camper van.

Sun tried hiding dazzle from the producers when he found her, he managed to do pretty well until Jack accidentally revealed her

Lunar & the blood, twins, confused, solar for a eclipse when he first joined the set

When eclipse finished making the twins, he was exhausted enough to fall asleep on the couch whilst holding them.

The same happened lunar, the only difference is that the twins decided to join eclipse on the couch.

The blood twins have tried to get the wave twins into Vocaloid

Solar flare, despite being made during the shows production during the kill code arc, is the oldest of the kids (programmed to be 17 by creator)

Harvest has a pet snake named Dollie

Lunar has a pet ferret named noodle

Both of Sun’s cats are played by his actual cats

Miku is a college friend of eclipse’s.

While none of them really believe in the theory of alternate universes, eclipse has stated if they are real, and there is a universe where the events act out are real, he is beating that world’s eclipse and ruin.

the wave twins constantly carry around weighted stuffed animals (Beta wave also has a large Pokémon plush)

Glamrock Chica & kill code will hang out often.

Monty used to babysit eclipse

Solar’s family will have movie nights that end with all 4 cuddling

The kids will choose an adult to cuddle & trap them in a cuddle pile

The wave twins second favorite adult is sun

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

some quick fun facts about Ruin and Bloodmoon in the Dentist au (placed in no particular order because my brain is still booting up):

okay so in this AU when Ruin is defeated by the boys, the virus isn't really 'cured'-it's sort of just in a dormant setting, which can be broken with enough strain to the networking and systems. That's not really Sun and Moon's problem though, so they kind of send them on their merry way with a 'do what you want as long as you aren't plotting to kill us'. Ruin leaves the pizzaplex (unpleasant memories from their dimension linger in the walls) and ends up finding Eclipse's place (Eclipse forgot to turn off his GPS chip which means anyone connected to the Plex network can find him relatively easily).

After a hasty explanation under the influence of a lazer cannon held to their head, Ruin ends up being employed by Eclipse as a medical receptionist for the dentistry cuz Eclipse has no staff besides himself. Eclipse can't really offer them money at first so he makes a deal promising to fix Ruin up with a new body and try to permanently remove the virus in exchange for help-Ruin does end up being paid later on, they spend their first paycheck on a trip to IKEA with Eclipse for the legendary Blahaj the shark plush (because my own personal experiences dictated this as extremely enjoyable and shut up they get to have childlike wonder).

Oh yeah by the way, Ruin lives with Frank because I said so, hush they'd be great roommates and you know it.

Bloodmoon is sort of a similar situation-they're captured by the celestial twins and sent off to dentistry cuz it’s now the equivalent of the celestial trauma rehabilitation center or something in their eyes. The twins don't immediately go there, though, preferring to actually explore the city for a little bit (they despise the idea of having to live with Eclipse). Eclipse hears some noise outside his apartment and grabs a broom thinking he’s gonna have to scare off some alleycats only to find Bloodmoon screeching cuz they fell in a trashcan and can’t get out. Initially it's a very rocky interaction because on one hand you have Bloodmoon hissing and spitting at Eclipse and on the other our poor dentist is just standing with a coffee mug in hand blinking blearily at the red thing in front of him. He just invites them in and goes back to bed (a terrible decision really cuz he wakes up to all his furniture trashed), which they find a bit out of character of him. They don't work with Eclipse, both because they aren't interested in his business and because Eclipse doesn't want them around bleeding gums and sharper equipment.

They don't live with Ruin and Frank and kinda come and go as they please for a little while, which Eclipse slowly starts to get more worried about. After a particularly bad incident he lets them stay a night at his apartment, but it's not really an experience either party enjoys. Bloodmoon does eventually end up living with Lunar (Eclipse asked Lunar if he could house them and Lunar was okay with it) (Lunar has his own little apartment here by the way) (Earth lives with Monty, same as cannon) and Eclipse visits them semi-frequently. He puts his own personal project aside to try to figure out a way to pick apart their code and take out that bloodlust, but in the meantime he just procures bloodbags from undisclosed locations for the Blood Twins to feed on. He's unfortunately not equipped with behavioral therapy skills so he can't really help them with the violent urges that come with their programming, so Lunar's trying to help them with that.

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

Ton sang, ma chérie

Pairing: Dominique x gn!fem-bodied!Reader

Writing Genre: oneshot

Genres: smut, gothic vampire-esque

Word count: ~1.4k

Warnings: blood, blood consumption (consensual), nsfw/smut, slight biting kink, slight blood kink, semi-nudity and nudity, dom and sub dynamics, dirty talk, fingering, feel free to let me know if I'm missing anything! | please do not read if you are not comfortable with the themes above; mdni

Title Translation: "Your blood, my darling"

Notes: Alright, this is my first time writing smut, so hopefully it came out well 🤞🏻I hope you enjoy reading it nonetheless ;)

This fic is sponsored by Deftones' cover of The Chauffeur by Duran Duran and chocolates!

~~~

Smooth hands lightly trailed down your sides in the dimness of the royal knight's room. Golden eyes bore into yours as raven-coloured hair tickled your cheeks. You lay beneath her in soft sheets; semi-nude yet wrapped in warmth.

"Would you like me to continue?" she gently whispered.

You firmly grasped her hair and captured her lips in a heated kiss to respond.

She ripped off your shirt and was greeted by a black lace bra; a light smile grew on her face as she looked at you with mischievous eyes. Lowering her head and running her tongue over your cleavage, she licked a stripe straight up your throat. Your hands found their place in her hair once again, silently begging her to continue nurturing your chest. She chuckled lightly before leaving hot kisses along your jawline.

She slowly reached the right side of your neck, where she decided to suckle on the space below your ear. You let out soft whimpers as she did so, calmly beginning to buck your hips forward. Her hand was set delicately on your lower stomach to stop your movements as she seemed to understand what you wanted.

Her warm breath fanned across your left breast as you felt her fangs carefully brush across the tender skin. 

She sank them in a moment later and a surprised sound left your lips.

The pleasure you felt upon her bite was almost unbearable. The constant stimulation of your senses mingled with the electricity in your veins caused you to feel so high that you had no other choice but to succumb to the bliss.

Domi had a tendency to get rough as she got greedy for you. Her left hand angled your chin away from her, while your hand rested on her bicep. The occasional soft growl would leave her lips when she felt the sinful pleasure herself, and her eyes now offered you a red, ravenous gaze.

Her right hand unkindly massaged your hip before moving down to caress your thigh. The euphoria of the bite had pushed you to the brink of arousal, and you needed to feel her now. Soft fingers came across your lips to silence the needy whimper that fell from your mouth. A quiet pop echoed in the room as she released your breast. Twin trails of blood fell down and stained your lingerie, while Domi's lips were painted in the wine-coloured liquid.

She huffed out a small breath as your lips met again in continuous kisses laced with depravity. The metallic taste you have come to love reached your taste buds as her tongue glided across your own. You perched yourself higher up against the pillows, allowing for the vampire above you to seat herself on your lap.

Your hands wandered up and down her bare thighs as the dark violet silk robe she wore did little to cover her up.

Dominique was always breathtaking, but here in the light of the moon and candles with the colour of nobility sliding off her body, she looked absolutely enchanting. Her head tilted back in delight as your sultry lips found their way to her sternum, leaving playful love bites behind.

A soft cry left her lips when you bit down harshly on the crook of her neck and grabbed the plush of her ass. You began guiding her up and down your thigh, prompting her to turn her gaze away from yours with a soft blush on her cheeks.

"Don't get shy on me now, amour." you whispered in her ear. 

You trailed your fingers down her chest… down the plane of her stomach… and to her clit. She bit her bottom lip in an effort to stifle a moan before burying her face in your neck. Your fingers trailed even lower, running through the evidence of her intense arousal.

She whined as two of your fingers entered her. The smooth velvet of her walls felt like touching heaven, and her sweet moans felt like hearing the angels sing. She began humping your hand as you breathed desperately into her neck.

"That's it… ride my fingers, ange."

Her breathing became heavier as her movements became sloppier. You thrusted your fingers into her harder, meeting each jolting roll of her hips. Loud and desperate moans left her as she clawed at your back, aching for her climax.

Your lips hovered over hers as you spoke, "Cum for me, ma étoile."

Her mouth crashed into yours as she met her rapture upon your order. Her hands flew around your neck as she frantically gripped at your hair, her hot breath passing over your cheeks between kisses.

The force of her pleasure based actions caused you to fall back on the plush bed once again, where Domi remained above you slowly falling from her high.

Heavy pants sounded throughout her bedroom as she placed her hands on your shoulders and rose. How majestic she looked above you; hair sticking to her face, pupils blown wide, and the tie on her robe now unravelled, leaving nothing to the imagination.

"It's your turn, ma cher." she said, leaving a kiss on your nose.

Her warm kisses continued down, first on your lips, then your throat. Once she reached the valley of your breasts, she tore open your bra, leaving a kiss on each of your now exposed breasts before continuing lower to leave three on your abdomen.

She ghosted down to your inner thighs where she licked and suckled on the soft skin. Her glowing eyes looked into yours, an all too familiar question in them. You nodded softly, and Domi bit you for the second time that night. This intoxicating feeling was easily one of the greatest pleasures of having a vampiric lover.

Her fingers ran like a feather across your clothed clit, causing faint moans to sound. The power this woman had over you was like nothing you had ever felt; she was a gentle commander when it came to you, as if she was crafted to be a royal knight.

The sensation of warm liquid dripping down your thigh snapped you out of your haze. The vampire used her fangs to pull your matching black lace underwear down your legs. A shaky breath left your lips as you watched her stand and shrug off the robe; it seemed you were both fully vulnerable now.

She carefully spread your legs and glided her hands up to your hips. With a loving gaze, she placed her mouth between your thighs and began lapping at your cunt like a starved animal.

Each brush of her tongue against your folds made you more of a mess. When she started teasing your entrance, your pants grew heavier, and when she penetrated your hole, a surprised mewl flew from your lips.

Domi was an expert with her tongue, knowing exactly how to use it to break you into pieces and mould you together again; tonight was no different.

Your body convulsed as you got closer and closer to the edge, prompting her to place a firm grip on your upper thighs to keep them in place. With ten more flicks of her tongue, you came crashing into your orgasm. Your hands flew to her hair, gripping and pulling, as she continued relishing in your juices.

After several agonising moments of overstimulation, she finally rose from your cunt only to be pulled into a strong kiss. She collapsed on top of you a moment later, brushing the sweat laced hair from your face and stroking your cheek.

"You were beautiful, amour." she praised.

"Merci." you breathed.

The candlelight flickered, changing your shadows on the wall. You simply laid there, carding your fingers through her long, smooth hair and basking in the afterglow.

She slowly rose from above you, grabbing her silk robe from the floor and tying it on again. You heard the sounds of her rummaging around in the bathroom, along with the noises of running water. When you saw her again, she was carrying a white robe and humming an old tune.

She clasped your hands in hers and helped you up from the bed, aiding you in putting on the robe and leaving a kiss on your forehead.

"Je t'aime, Y/n."

You smiled adoringly, "Je t'aime, Dominique."

~~~~~

Nickname Translations (feminine) : amour - love, ange - angel, ma étoile - my star, ma cher - my dear

Other Translations: merci - thank you, je t'aime - I love you

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

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[forever-rogue]

In Name Only - Part 19

A/N: Hello, my loves! I hope you enjoy this next little part of our story! We are slowly, but surely coming to an end! I’m going to miss this fools so much when it’s time to say goodbye! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of death, slight language

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

"What are you thinking about, my love?" your head rested on Oberyn’s chest as you slowly woke up to face the day. An arm was draped over your waist as he gently traced aimless shapes all over your bare skin. He huffed lightly before kissing the top of your head, prompting you to press a few kisses to the warm golden skin of his chest. 

“So many things and yet nothing of import all at once,” he admitted as you turned to look at him. Soft brown eyes met yours as you reached up and touched his cheek, “thinking about how glad I am nothing happened to you - that I came just in time. About how headstrong and fierce my sunshine is. About how I can’t wait to get home and get past this, and that from now on we’ll figure things out together.”

“I like the sound of all of that,” you agreed with a wistful sigh, “I’m glad and lucky, to have a husband like you that will always love me and protect me, no matter how silly or foolish I am. You saved me, Oberyn, in more ways than I can count.”

“I’ll always be there,” he promised, “I will never, ever, leave. You know that, silly girl.”

“A silly girl with the best husband,” shifting so you were lying on top of him, you clung onto his warm body as tightly as you could, “I must ask, or I am sure I will surely perish of curiosity - how did I know where I was...what I was doing?”

“You may have thought you were being sneaky, my dear wife, but you were utterly not. I got it out of Asha fairly quickly,” he confessed and you almost huffed with laughter, “I wasn’t fair behind, and I took the fastest steed in Dorne. Your mare is lovely, but she’s not very fast, and neither were you. It wasn’t hard to catch up.”

“Just in time,” you pressed a kiss to his lips, “how utterly perfect. Thank you, my Prince. I could not imagine a fate where I had a husband other than you-”

“I would imagine that if you had a husband other than me, than we would never have fallen into such a predicament,” he reminded you as you gently scoffed at him, “I fear your life might have been utterly more predictable-”

“It would have been a life of boredom and without love.”

“You would have been safe and led a life of quiet calm-”

“I would have hated it. Loathed it,” you reminded him with insistence, “I have everything with you. Love, a family, adventure...happiness. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I will always give that to you,” he promised; some days he still found it hard to believe that you were actually his wife. This was his fortunate reality, “I love you, my sunshine.”

“I love you, my moon and stars.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Are you ready to go, Oberyn?” you called you into the adjoining dressing chambers as you studied yourself in the gilded mirror, straightening down your dress. Your hands trembled as you reached for the bracelet Arianne had gifted you when you’d joined the Martell family; you tried to clasp it around your wrist unsuccessfully several times before you were ready to give up on it. Your husband was faster, however, and he took your wrist in his hand, gently taking the bracelet from you as he clasped it around your wrist. Letting go, he made a small sound of satisfaction as a small smile spread across your features, “thank you, my love.”

“Of course,” he moved to stand behind you in the mirror, his hands on your shoulders as he looked you over. Leaning into his touch, your heart practically leapt in your chest at the tender embrace, “you look beautiful as ever, Sunshine. I’m ready to go if you are.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you offered your golden prince a firm nod before turning around and pressing a gentle kiss onto his plush lips, “you look very handsome, yourself. A regal sight if I may say so myself.”

“And yet I still pale in comparison to my queen,” he took your hand in his as he pulled moved towards the door, “you’re nervous. Tell me - what’s wrong?”

“I’m just...I am anxious,” you admitted with a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you studied the floor, “I just - I want to do this, I do not hold any doubt in my heart about this. But I am nervous...what if the children do not want us for parents? What if they do not want to join our family? What if I’m a bad mother-”

“I won’t hear a word of this negativity,” he quickly cut you off by pressing his index finger to your lips, “you are a wonderful mother already, and I won’t hear a word otherwise and I have at least eight young women that agree with me. Those children absolutely adore you, it’s easy for anyone to see, including me. I know nothing I say will ease your nerves or worries, but please know that you have nothing to fear. I am always by your side, and you will always have my support. We’re a team, and we can get through anything.”

“You just always know what to say, don’t you, Oberyn Martell?” your worries eased up ever so slightly as a weak smile pulled on your lips. He put a finger under your chin and tilted your face up towards him, “you really think they’ll be okay with this? What if...what if they say no?”

“They will not,” he promised, “I swear it.”

“One day I will have your confidence,” you huffed in jest as he laughed lightly before pulling you towards the door. 

“It comes with age, Sunshine,” he insisted, “but for now, you’ll just have to take my word for it. Come on - let’s go and fetch our children.”

As soon as you heard the words our children, you stopped in your tracks and gave him a soft, hopeful little smile. The whole concept of motherhood and having children was something that was still often on your mind. Some days were worse than others, but it was slowly getting better each day. You were slowly coming to terms with the idea that being a mother meant so many different things. It wasn’t just about sharing blood with someone, it wasn’t just about giving birth to someone, it was about love. And that was all that mattered in the end. 

“I like the sound of that,” you whispered gently as a wide grin stretched across his handsome features, “our children.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “if you ever have a moment of doubt, a moment of worry or anything, you have me. Just say the word, and I will do whatever it takes to help you. I love you; that’s something you know you never have to worry about.”

“And I love you,” you promised, “I...I think I’m ready - let’s do this.”

“As you wish,” you took his hand and slowly started to walk out of your chambers and into the long hallway. The door at the other end of the hall, the one that had once led to your separate chambers was wide open. You’d taken care along with Asha to set everything up and prepare for your new family members. You hoped the twins would like their room; and if not, you’d do whatever it would take until they did, “away we go.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Hi Saria. Hi Alistair,” you found your favorite twins playing outside in the gardens of the orphanage that had become like a second home to you. As soon as they spied the two of you, they’d stopped chasing each other and shrieking, and bounded over to you instead. The young twins wrapped their arms around you as they hugged onto your waist; you couldn’t help but lean down and hugged them back, “I’ve missed you two.”

“You’ve only been gone a few days,” Saria laughed as she reached for your hand. Alistar followed suit and grabbed Oberyn’s hand, “but we missed you too. No one plays with us like you do.”

“Saria, my little love,” you turned to Oberyn and he gave you a small nod, “Alistar, there’s something we would like to talk to you two about. Something very important.”

“A-are we in trouble?” Alistar’s little eyebrows knitted together as he looked nervous between the two of you, “we’ve been good!”

“No, no, no,” you promised before ruffling his dark hair, “well, I guess I’ll just tell you right now. I hope you both know that Oberyn and I love you two very, very much. We’ve been thinking a lot about this and well.. if you guys would agree to it, we would like for the two of you to join our family - to come live with us at the Watergardens.”

The twins' eyes widened as they looked at each other before they turned to look at the two of you with excited expressions on their faces. Your stomach was full of butterflies and your heart threatened to burst out of your chest as you anticipated their response. At least they hadn’t turned down your offer immediately and they appeared to be enthusiastic. 

“Does that mean...would you be our mother?” Saria asked you softly, her little features drawn into a curious expression, “would you be our parents?”

Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you looked over at Oberyn. A big smile was on his face as his arm wrapped around your waist before he gave you a supportive nod, “we would like to be - we want to be your parents if you’ll have us.”

“We’d get to come and live with you all the time?” Alistar was practically beaming as he nudged his sister in the ribs, “you’d be our family! We’ve never had a family before...”

“Yes,” Oberyn promised him, “you’d come and live with us, and have a big, large family, with lots of sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles, and so many more. Whatever you could want, we want to be able to give it to you. How does that sound to the two of you?”

Saria almost threw herself into your arms as she nodded eagerly, her eyes glistening with tears. You quickly met her efforts and picked her up, balancing her on your hip as she buried her face into your shoulder and put her arms around your neck, “we’ve never had a mother before - or a father.”

Squeezing her back tightly, Oberyn picked up the young boy and clutched onto him just as fiercely. At that moment, you weren’t sure who needed the hug more, the Prince or his newly anointed son. 

“Now and forever more, you have a Mother and a Father,” your husband promised them, brushing the young girl’s stray curls out of her face, before giving each of them a kiss on their chubby little cheeks, “we love you both, very, very much.”

“We do,” you agreed, your heart fit to bursting as you basked in the glow of your little family. The feeling was almost overwhelming; this was everything you could have ever wanted, even if you hadn’t known it, “what do you two say? Shall we go home and you can see your new rooms and meet some more of your family?”

“Can we still come back here and see our friends?” Alistar asked, “we like them a lot.”

“Of course, my love,” you promised, “we can come back whenever you want and see your friends. We’ll make sure they know they’re not forgotten and that we love them too.”

“Then let’s go home!” Saria chirped excitedly, “we can come back later and tell them everything! I want to go see everything. Do you think there will be berries in the kitchens?”

“As the Prince, I require that there are always fresh berries at my disposal,” Oberyn promised her with a serious expression on his face, causing you to giggle at his silliness. He really was an amazing father - there was no other man that you would want as the father of your children, “and now you, as the daughter of the prince, you will have all the berries you could ever want and then some. How does that sound?”

“Perfect!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The twins were fast asleep almost as soon as their heads hit the soft pillows of their new beds. They’d been running around all day, getting acquainted with their new home and the new members of their family and household. They were most excited to see the younger girls again - their new sisters, Oberyn had gently, but enthusiastically, reminded them several times. After dinner, a meal with the entirety of the household, they’d started to yawn and nod off, despite their best efforts. But the large meal had led to full bellies and their energy was quickly drained. 

You’d each taken one of them in your arms as you carried them to bed, taking turns to tuck them both in, bundled them up in their velvety soft blankets. There were sleepy little smiles on their faces as you kissed their foreheads and wished them a good night. 

Before you could blow out the last candle and leave them for the evening, Saria had reached for your hand and softly asked for a bedtime story. Your features softened as you agreed to tell her one; you’d cast a look at Oberyn and he had quietly promised you that he’d be waiting in your chambers for you. 

You’d wracked your brain for a story, eventually settling on telling her the age appropriate version of the tale of Nymeria, the warrior queen who united Dorne and made the land what it was today. The young girl had listened intently, an eager and curious expression on her face as Alistar snored lightly across the room. Before you could get too deep into your story, the young girl - your daughter - was sound asleep as well. 

Touching her cheek gently, you studied her for a moment before giving her one last kiss and heading back to your own chambers. Closing the door as quietly as you could, a tired, but happy sigh escaped your lips. All this bliss that you had been blessed with - and now you had the privilege of returning to your best friend, lover and husband. 

Treading lightly across the hall, you nudged open the door to your room and found Oberyn in bed, propped up against the headboard as he read a book intently. As soon as he heard you, he stopped what he was doing and set the book on the small table as his side of the bed. A sweet smile crossed your features as you closed the door behind yourself and observed him for a moment.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of such a saccharine glance?” he tilted his head to the side as he pushed back the blankets and patted your side of the bed, “I have done many things in this life, some good and some bad, but whatever I did to deserve you was the best thing ever. I’ll thank the gods, old and new, for all eternity for blessing me with my sunshine.”

“I did not know you placed such faith in the gods, my dear husband,” you laughed at his silliness as you pushed your robe off of your shoulders and let it pool on the floor at your feet, “but surely there must be something good that exists if you brought you to me. You are the best thing to happen to me, whether or not you know it.”

“I place my faith wherever it is deserved,” he held out his hand to you and you fell into an easy cadence as you slipped into the bed and sat in the open space between his legs. His hand went to your cheek as he brushed his calloused fingertips over your soft skin. It was a contrast as sharp and beautiful as the two of you; one hardened and world weary and one soft and gentle, still learning the ways of the world. Like a perfect harmony, the two of you balanced each other, just like the sun and the moon seemed to do. You wouldn’t have changed a thing, “right now, I place my faith in you, my sweetest wife.”

“And I you, dear husband,” you looked into his soft brown eyes. He hummed in content as you carded a hand though his dark curls, causing him to keen into your touch. Leaning forward, you leaned against him, cuddling up to him as much as possible, “thank you.”

“Whatever for, sunshine?”

“For loving me,” you whispered softly, “for staying by my side even when I was not the most level headed. For showing me what family really means - for making me a mother. You have given me everything I could have ever wanted, even when I did not realize I needed it or even desired it myself. You are not only my best friend, my lover, my prince, or my moon and stars. You truly are everything to me.”

He was silent for a long time, only slow, steady breathes exchanged between the two of you. Inhale - exhale as he studied you. Nothing needed to be said; not really anyway. It felt like he was gazing into the very depths of your soul, the darkest parts that you didn’t even see, and he was taking time to memorize every single last bit of you. It was strange in a way, how vulnerable and open he still managed to make you feel despite the fact that he knew you more intimately than anyone else in the world. But that was part of the illusion of being human; no matter how well you knew someone, there were always parts to them to discover.

“I wish I could accurately convey even a fraction of how much I love you,” his voice was low and raspy as he pressed his lips against the shell of your ear, “perhaps words are not sufficient, but I will spend every day showing you…”

“Oberyn-”

But before either of you could say anything else, a loud knock on the door cut you off. A small huff escaped your lips as Oberyn dramatically rolled his eyes, remembering all the could have been moments that were interrupted before the two of you had made love for the first time. At least this time you hadn’t been in the middle of anything too...intimate.

“My Prince? My Lady?” Asha sounded nervous as called to you from the other side of the door. A look of concern grossed your features at her nervous tone as you shifted out from Oberyn’s lap. It wasn’t like her to be nervous or sound so distressed, “I-I’m sorry for the interruption. I come with news.”

Oberyn offered a supportive nod as you grabbed your discarded robe and slipped it back on before opening the heavy wooden door. On the other side, Asha looked like a deer caught in lights as a worried expression was etched into her features as her dark eyes flitted from you to Oberyn. Reaching towards the young girl, you gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “what’s wrong, Asha? Is everything alright? Did something happen? The child-”

“They’re fine,” she reassured you as she turned to glance down the hall to ensure their door was still closed, “everyone here is fine. It’s...there’s been news, from Honeyholt.”

“News?” Oberyn was up and at your side in a flash, his hands on your waist as he raised an eyebrow at her, “what news could be coming from there?”

Your heart was beating wildly as your mind raced with every single possible thought of what it could possibly. The worst thing was that somehow you, or even worse, Oberyn, were in trouble for what had happened those long weeks ago. Surely that wouldn’t have caught up with either of you so later.

“My Lady, I...I’m afraid there’s been a murder,” she wasn’t quite upset with the news, as no one in Sunspear would be considering they knew about the tense relationship between your families, but she still seemed surprised. Your brows raised so high, almost disappearing into your hairline as you turned to look at Oberyn. He was just as perplexed as you were, “your brother - Lord Beesbury. H-he was found dead in his study this evening. News just reached us.”

“Eaton?” his name spilled from your lips, laced with venom as Oberyn’s grip on your waist tightened, “he’s dead? How...how on earth? Who did this?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much more,” she held out her hand and offered you a sealed scroll. The golden, wax seal in the shape of a bee instantly gave away its origins, “I-I’ll leave you two alone. If I can do anything, please let me know.”

“Thank you, Asha,” you offered her a meek half smile as you  closed the door behind her and tightly clutched at the scroll. Oberyn’s face was a pointedly neutral mask as you held the scroll to him, “what news - do you think it could be true? I-it can’t be from….me.”

“Don’t be silly, sweet girl,” he almost huffed at your jest and you instantly felt a sense of relief flood your veins. You were a lot of things, but a murderer you were not, as Oberyn had reminded you, “the little bit of damage you inflicted would have long been healed by now.”

Nodding in understanding you sank back down on your soft bed and watched as he unsealed the parchment and read over it. His dark brows knitted in concentration as he read over the loopy scroll. You weren’t as familiar with it as that of other members of your family - it wasn’t your mother’s certainly. A few sounds of curiosity escaped his lips as he took it all in.

“What does it say?” you as he went over to his bureau and set it down, while leaning against the desk and letting out a long sigh, “do they know who did it - and what exactly it was?”

“The letter is from your brother, your middle one, Aeron,” he explained as you shrugged. You were never close with him, and had no real feelings one way or the other towards him, “he’s to be the new Lord. He said that they found your Eaton, by himself, slumped over at his desk. A single wound to his neck proved to be fatal. No signs of forced entry and apparently no one saw any one come and go or anything suspicious.”

“That’s suspicious enough on it’s own,” you whispered softly as he just shrugged in agreement, “I-I’d wonder who would do this to him, but it could be a multitude of people. He was not a good man and surely he made plenty of enemies.”

“He made his own bed,” Oberyn insisted, “the better question is - how do you feel?”

“I feel...nothing,” you confessed, “not one way or the other. I have never harbored any love for him, and he never did for me. We were nothing alike besides the fact that we shared the same blood. He was his own undoing; I can’t say I’m upset or surprised. All I hope is that Aeron ends up a better man than Eaton was.”

“That’s all we can do,” he cast a dismissive glance at the parchment, before walking over to you, “you’ll be alright, won’t you, Sunshine?”

“Of course,” you insisted, “like I said - they were no family of mine. But I am glad it was not by my hand. It would have been a hard thing to live with. And you were right...I wouldn’t have been able to actually do it.”

“That’s what I tried to prevent,” he kissed the top of your head as you looked over the bureau. It was then that something caught your eye; on the scroll there was something small, barely visible to the eye on the back side. He noticed you tense up and pulled back, “what’s wrong?”

“The parchment,” you slid onto your feet and siddled past Oberyn as you snatched it into your hands. A frown crossed your features as you turned it over and found a few symbols on the backside, in the lower left corner. If you hadn’t been looking for it, you almost certainly wouldn’t have noticed it; it was clearly - and cleverly - designed to go unnoticed. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked as you held it up to the light and pointed at the symbols, “it’s a message, isn’t it?” 

“I think so,” you touched over them, and tried to wrack your brain as to who it could be from him. Narrowing your brows as you studied them and then...it hit you. You knew those symbols, “this one - it’s a bee, for me, I think. I used to draw a bee like that all the time when I was a child, a horrible attempt really at trying to draw the family bee. But this other one...there’s only one person that I’ve ever known to draw this.”

“Who?”

“Sarvon,” you quickly thought of your oldest, and dearest, friend back in Honeyholt, “we’d always play together as children, including reading, writing, and drawing. He’s always liked flowers, and he’d try to draw them a lot. This is one he used to draw - a crude daisy.”

“So, they’re your personal symbols of sorts?” he took the parchment you held out to him, and thumbed over the ink that blended in almost perfectly with paper, “clever boy. He must have known, or at least hoped, you would see them.”

“I think...possibly, do you think that...he’s the one that did this?” you gave him a quizzical expression as you tried to imagine Sarvon doing something that vastly deviated from his gentle and calm nature, “do you think he’s trying to tell me that?”’

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly as you plopped back down on the bed and let out a long sigh, “I don’t know if we’ll ever have an actual answer. I find it doubtful that he would ever admit such a truth if we were to directly confront him. It would be a large gamble to tell anyone, especially us, if that is indeed what he had. Do you think him capable of such a thing?”

“I never would have thought so,” tossing the parchment onto the bed, you threw your head back and let out a long sigh. Your mind was positively reeling with all the things it could or couldn’t have been, “but I also knew that he has always been fiercely protective of those he loves.”

“Does he love you?”

“I would wager that at least once he did,” you turned your gaze back to Oberyn who was perched at the edge of his desk, rubbing his chin in thought, “when we were young children. He was one of my only - if not my only - friends back then. My brothers never paid me much attention and the other children never seemed to like me much. He became a common theme in my life.”

“Then I do not doubt he would have done something like this for you,” Oberyn concluded as you shrugged your shoulders. Your only real worry was about him ever getting caught, if he had actually committed this crime. But he was a smart man and he’d never made it obvious, “I told you that things always right themselves.”

“What do we do, Oberyn?” you asked, a slight sense of dread seeming into your bones. At least your husband was more worldly and experienced and could provide some sort of support right now, “I don’t want anything horrible to happen.”

Your Prince strode over slowly, looking regal as ever as he picked up the parchment and held it over the flame of the candle on his bedside table. The parchment instantly caught fire and started to burn and ash away, leaving not even a trace behind, “we do and say nothing. We’ve heard of this horrible tragedy and we move on. Everyone knows our relations are tense at best, and I don’t think we must do more than that. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right,” you turned to him with a sordid expression, “I can’t say I’m horribly moved by this, but I wouldn’t say that publicly. I suppose we offer condolences and move on with our lives.”

“An excellent idea, my Sunshine,” he reached over and tenderly touched your cheek, “now, let’s get some rest. I have a feeling we have many long days ahead of us. I’m not as young as I used to be - hopefully I can still keep up with the children.”

“You have nothing to fear, my love,” you beamed at him, “we’ll manage - together. Just like always. I...I love you, Oberyn. Very, very much, and it only seems to grow by the day.”

“And I love you infinitely, Sunshine.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[zecretsanta]

To: @reksigh 

From: @juricha-art

1.     DILF Sigma: THE prompt. Once I'd seen that, I just knew that I had to challenge myself into making it cute, humorous and sexy. Bringing out all four letters, you know. Because we all would love to feel those muscles, and there's no use lying to ourselves about it... Diana is one lucky gal~

And to illustrate the D(addy), I just had to use my headcanon again and throw in all the kids (the twins are the oldest, then comes Luna and Kyle and Left/Dio is the adopted one). What can I say? I just love them being happy!

2.      SigDi: Unlike Junpei and Akane, we've never got to see Sigma proposing to Diana, and I'm here to fix this horrible mistake, because they absolutely deserve that.

How many times did he try to do it, only to find that one woman he loved forever more queitly slip through his fingers like the sand in the hourglass?  

The first time was on the Moon, when he found her, her face kissed by the cruel light of the stars, her, like the rightful Queen of the Moon, already taking her rightful place and frolicking among them, something she couldn't do while bound to her frail form. She seemed to smile serenely at her lover, as if accepting his proposal as he placed the ring upon her marble-like finger, his tears shining brighter than the useless diamonds on the symbol of eternity.

The second time was during their hopeless wait for Akane to save the stranded couple and their yet-unborn twins at Dcom. As Sigma felt his strengh gradually slipping away from him, his burning desire to save the people closest to him made him survive, albeit barely, every day that he had to spend together with the woman that was now pregnant with his children. While still holding on to the last shreds of hope, he knew he couldn't her slip away like before, and, even though he couldn't ensure their survival, he could at least make amends for the last time. So while Diana was resting, he made use of whatever tools and materials there were and made her an engagement ring; a crude thing made of wire, aluminum and glass - he was no artist, but an engineer - it nonetheless shone brightly with his love for her. He found her sobbing in the shower in her nightgown, clutching to Phi's brooch, her hair in disarray, her face stained with tears. He helped her to her feet, caressed her face, took her hand gently, and placed the finger on it rightful place, trying his best to not let the extreme exhaustion show through his smile. Diana looked at him, surprised, tears of sadness gave way to tears of gratitude and joy. He promised her that they will see this through - they have had each other, after all...

The third time is the charm, Sigma thought. He still was no craftsman, but he still made his best effort at stitching the plush lion - Diana's favourite animal - that would play the key role on the Christmas night. Everything is going to be right since the entire incident with Dcom was over and they jumped over to a proper timeline. When the moment was right, he gently grabbed Diana's warm shoulder and presented her the silly plushie with the ring in its' mouth. As he watched her eyes light up with the realisation, gasping with excitement, he blinked away his tears of joy. This time, he knew that the third time is the charm.

(I am not a writer, so I hope thet you enjoy this little piece I made up to go with the artwork!)

3.      Akane Girlbossing: Now this was an idea that I've wanted to draw for the longest time. Akane is, in a way, an all-seeing goddess, overseeing every single timeline and weaving those timelines together or cutting them short according to her own will. She would even be willing to cut that red string of fate - maybe even the poor Jumpy's life - short, as she searches for the perfect solution to her burning dilemmas. She may appear heartless and calculating; ready to stain those scissors with some blood, but that image is even more beneficial for her, as she can ensure that everyone, including her and Junpei, will have a happy ending that way... as the almighty goddess wills it.

So, there you have it! All three works were done traditionally (liners, alcohol markers, watercolors, acrylic and ink markers with post-processing in Clip Studio Paint).

I wish reksigh, the Zecret Santa mods, participants, and everyone in the fandom a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! This year had been hectic, so here's to hoping that things will take a turn for the better in the upcoming year for everyone! Take care, stay safe and enjoy the festivities!

[dokifluffs]

Overfeeding and Aftercare | Tendo, Himekawa, Miya Twins

Pairings: Tendo X Reader (gender neutral), Himekawa X Reader (gender neutral), Osamu X Reader X Atsumu (not romantically though) ((gender neutral)) 

Genre: v a m p i r e, fluffffff, fantasyyyy

Author’s Note: asdkakahd fantasyyyyy i love fantasy so much so i hope yiu all enjoy!! Happy reading!! 

Warnings: blood, passing out from loss of blood

Overfeeding and Aftercare | Kenma, Bokuto, Kuroo 

Tendo: 

The night sky was clear with not even a cloud floating in the sky, the crisp air flowing through your slightly open window, keeping your room cool throughout the night

You could hear the outside world so clearly- the crickets in the grass, the owls hooting in their trees, occasional sounds from other students’ in their own dorms

Testing season had fallen over university and it was time for everyone to spend this next month studying their eyes out, including you

You had been stuck in your room all day, leaving your seat at your desk as sparingly as possible to use the bathroom and to eat

Your stomach grumbled for the nth time tonight just thinking about dinner with your friends that you had to miss, instead stuck with a few granola bars you had left instead

There was absolutely no time to waste and you were on a clear schedule you made for yourself to get the most out of studying yet it meant sleeping and even eating less

Your single dorm was empty, simple and plain to your liking though you wished there were more pops of color to make it actually feel more enjoyable as you stayed in here

A small pile of clothes was formed in the corner of the room right outside your closet doors, your bed unmade from this morning when you woke

Your lamp light flickered from the old bulb that was near the end of its usable life

“No, no, no, not now,” your voice frantic, eyes heavy and body begging for sleep and sustenance as the light finally went out, a large gust of wind blowing through your window, making the pages of your notebook and textbooks flip

The pale moonlight shined in onto your desk as it peeked from beyond the tall oak tree that sat right outside your window

You groaned, your voice bouncing off the painted over concrete blocks of your dorm walls that matched everyone else’s as you leaned back in your chair

It was a weird feeling- your head spinning slowly, the burning sensation in your eyes as they watered when you finally shut them, pressing the palm of your hand over your eyes and forehead to relieve all the pressures you had pent up

“You’re up quite late…” You jumped in your seat, heart skipping a beat at the sudden silky voice of Tendo in your ears

His crimson eyes glowed in the dark, his two red orbs looking directly into your tired ones as you sat up in your seat, spinning to face him

He wore an oversized uni shirt that flowed with the breeze in the room, his hair down and the ends of his red locks obscuring his vision ever so slightly

“Don’t tell me you want to become nocturnal, now~” he teased playfully as he reached down, his icy hands taking yours in his, amused hearing the way you swallowed when he touched you

He tilted his head into your hand, his skin pleasantly cold against your worn, hot one from all the writing you did to review your notes and course

“I’m just studying, Satori. Are you hungry, again?” You asked, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone

“Always,” he mumbled into your skin as he narrowed looking down to you, bending himself down ever so slightly as your arm was stretched upward in his grasp

He lowered his head, never breaking his gaze with you as he brought his lips across your flawless skin, his mouth already salivating at the faint feeling and sound of your blood pumping through your ulnar artery in your wrist

He closed his eyes as he closed his lips around your wrist, his teeth sinking in, humming in delight at the sensation of your blood over his tongue

You let out a wince at the pinching feeling

He removed himself from your wrist, the dark liquid slowly dripping from his teeth marks as he licked his lips

“You haven’t been eating properly, Y/N,” his voice dropped as your name rolled off his tongue. “You taste different,” he said almost disappointedly yet sounded completely different

You couldn’t tell if it was the darkness in the room with the moon shining behind the leaves and branches of the tree but it seemed his eyes were glowing even brighter

“I need to make sure you take care of yourself or else my meals won’t be as enjoyable anymore~” he cooed as he licked up the blood gliding down your arm, the corners of his lips curling in enjoyment when he felt your arm tense up as his tongue dragged up your arm

You bit your lip feeling his teeth sink back into the bite he made, taking in your blood to fill his hunger

The pads of his fingers holding your hand squeezed as he held your hand, stretching it

Your breaths grew longer and deeper, your vision clouding as your eyelids grew heavier and heavier

You let out a big yawn, your body letting go

Tendo caught you in his arms as you almost collapsed to the ground from your seat, never letting your body even touch the cold tiled floor

He lapped his tongue over his bite before he let go of your wrist once again, bringing you to your bed before laying you down, joining beside you

He licked your wrist until it stopped bleeding as you caught up on some much needed rest

“You should’ve taken care of yourself more,” he playfully poked your forehead, brushing your hair with his fingers, your body naturally curling and moving impossibly closer to his to reach the cool feel of his body in your sleep

Your nose was filled with the scent of tendo, his hand holding yours as you peeked open your tired eyes, tilting your head up on your pillow to meet his red eyes

“Good morning~” he chimed happily after being awake all night since he never needed sleep ever since he became immortal. “You really needed that,” he brushed his index finger down the bridge of your nose, smiling at the way your cheek was squished into your pillow

“Today, you’re taking a break and I’m going to make sure you eat and stay hydrated properly,” he leaned forward and kissed your forehead before you let out a small “mm” before closing your eyes again, bringing your forehead to his chest, his hand resting on your back draped over your side, legs intertwined on your bed

He hummed content holding you close, imprinting the feel and shape of your body close with his, relishing in your warmth, one he hadn’t felt in a while

It was a feeling he was determined to get used to for the rest of his immortal life

Himekawa: 

“Aoi, I’m here,” you shed off your raincoat and slipped out of your partially rained on shoes, calling into the darkened house, the curtains closed tightly to not let a single ounce of light in from anywhere. “Aoi?” You called into what seemed like an empty house

No movement or signs of anything or anyone

You walked carefully through the eerily dark house as rain showered over the house and entire neighborhood

“Aoi?” You knocked in his bedroom door standing ajar, creaking open with a haunting whine that made goosebumps rise over your arms

You shuffled in seeing the dark lump of his covers bundled up shift at the sound of your voice

“What’re you doing in there?” You peeked through a small opening that showed his face buried in the plush covers. “It’s time to feed, Aoi, it’s been too long.”

You tried to remove the blanket from him but was unable to budge

Ever since he changed, feeding became the thing he absolutely hated the most yet it was the one thing he needed to do

His eyes glowed bright red in the dark, no light natural or artificial could hold a candle to his eyes when they shined

He shook his head, one of the things he always did before he had to give in to feeding

He spent weeks after weeks, starving himself if it meant he didn’t have to feed on anyone or anything, most importantly, you but this also meant him gradually losing his strength

There were too many times in his early years where the hunger took over his humanity although no longer being one but what little he had left, even if he had to act like it, he wanted to keep it

This was a life he never asked for but he didn’t want a wooden stake through his heart or for his body to petrify- he didn’t want the bloodlust to consume him from the inside out again

“I know you don’t like this but you’re starving,” your voice was the calm in his storm that never went away as you brushed your fingers through his soft locks as they slid in between. “Please? I promise you won’t hurt me, you know I won’t let you.”

You could hear his quivering voice when he told you about his nightmares, seeing them so vividly at night, he could taste all the blood of those he had unintentionally drained, the horrors of what he was capable of, what he did to so many innocent people and the ones he loved most in the world

All he had left was you and he never wanted to lose you

He hesitantly sat up, the blankets falling off os his back and pooling all around his body, his fists clenched over his thighs, gaze avoiding yours

You pricked your index finger with a safety pin, bringing it to his lips

He gently took your hand in his, barely holding yours, his skin icy to the touch, it felt like as if he was standing outside during winter with nothing to keep him warm

He could feel his fangs protruding when his tongue made contact with the bead of your blood that formed on your fingertip and sucked

It was like an instant feeling when one drank water after being dehydrated for a day, however, in this case, it was hunger and thirst combined for weeks for Himekawa

Nothing had ever tasted so good in his lifetime

A shiver ran down your spine feeling his sharp teeth graze down the side of your finger, his lips ghosting over your palm before they found the soft spot in your palm, his teeth biting in and sinking into what felt like your radial artery

You winced at the pain but clamped your mouth shut, not wanting Aoi to stop because he surely would

It took a lot to get him to feed and almost nothing to get him to stop

He let the taste overcome him, all the fears he had was slowly dissipating as the black hole of hunger was taking over his mind

You blinked away, taking deep breaths as you kept yourself sitting upright, ignoring the sudden feeling of your body temperature dropping, the sudden rapid beating of your heart in your chest

You could feel your head drooping, swaying side to side as your vision blurred, the room beginning to spinning all around you

You bit into your knuckle, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggled to keep yourself conscious

He could feel all the energy and his strength returning with every ounce he consumed but fear pierced through his chest sharper than any stake when your body collapsed to the ground

His body froze seeing your unconscious body on the ground

You could hear soft whimpers in your ear, slowly becoming clearer and clearer as you slowly regained consciousness

“Y/N,” Aoi choked on his breaths with his eyes swelled and red from all the tears he cried and continued to drip off his chin. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, apologizing profusely as you woke, his hand automatically reaching for yours but instantly pulling back feeling the bandage he wrapped your hand in

He felt so heart broken, he wanted to disappear from existence the moment he realized you collapsed

It made him sick to his stomach despite ever being unable to feel sick

“I’m a monster,” he sunk back on his knees

“No, no, Aoi, you’re not,” you sat up, the damp towel he laid on your head falling onto his bed you laid on. “You are no monster to anyone,” you cupped his face, playfully squishing his wet cheeks, using your sleeves to wipe him dry

“You’ve been alive for centuries and who you are now is not the same person as centuries ago.” You pulled him close, peppering kisses to his forehead

“But I almost killed you.” He wanted to so badly to rip himself out of your hold so you wouldn’t have to touch him, touch someone who was supposed to love you yet almost ended your life

“But you didn’t and I’m still here and I will be til the end,” you reassured and hugged him close, pulling him to stand and making room beside you in his bed, your turn to dissipate his fears while more content that he actually fed compared to the past times

The Twins: 

Ravens cawed at you, perched on the branches of the oak trees in front of the house of your best friends, Osamu and Atsumu

As soon as you knocked on their front door, it felt as if life had fast forwarded itself now that you were suddenly upstairs

This always happened whenever you came over- it was feeding time

Your eyes were always squeezed shut and it felt like the breath was taken out of your lungs whenever either of them brought you inside to wherever they planned to feed on you

“You can open your eyes,” Osamu’s voice calm and light in your ear as your feet made contact with the plush rug over the cold wooden floors

He took your hand in his, his touch icy to your warm, living skin, as he led you toward one of the lounging chairs by the fireplace as the wooden logs crackled in the flame

“About time, I’m starvin’” Atsumu pushes himself off the couch and snatching your grasp out of Osamu’s, bringing you to the couch

But Osamu didn’t let go. He was much more gentle with you than Atsumu, the more hangry of them two

Your back was pressed into Osamu’s chest with your legs stretched out, Atsumu already advancing between your legs, preferring to feed from your thighs and Osamu your neck

You had been their feeder for what felt like sll your life at this point, but it always made you squeamish

“Stop squirmin’,” Atsumu grumbled hungrily as he firmly held down your legs as he spread them, his breath tickling you before he found his spot and sunk his teeth in

You let out a small yelp, adjusting to the feeling

Osamu’s body was cool to the feel even through yours and his clothes

Unlike his brother, he was a lot gentler with you

Looping his arm from behind around your head, he gently tilted it to the side with the guidance of his fingers loosely holding your jaw

“I won’t make it hurt as bad,” he whispered into your ear, making your heart race, you wondered if he could feel or even hear it

He ghosted his lips along your shoulder and neck until he found his spot, slowly bringing his teeth to your skin and pierced through your skin like needles

Atsumu repositioned his fangs, holding your leg up, digging his fingers into your thighs that would be sure to leave bruises, biting deeper into your flesh to taste as much as he could

Osamu held one of your hands from behind, the other moving from your jaw to your eyes, tilting your head back

It felt as if Osamu’s grasp on your hand was tightening as a wave of fatigue washed through your body

The crackling sound of the fire began to echo and drift around your darkened vision from Osamu’s hand covering your eyes, your heart beat gradually slowing down until your consciousness slipped away

Osamu’s eyes opened as he removed himself from your neck, his hunger satiated, his bite clean and pressed a gauze from his pocket to your neck when he felt your body go limp in his hold

“Atsumu, stop.” He kicked his brother off of your thigh, only for the blonde one to latch back on, biting into your other thigh with ease

“I said. Stop.” Osamu pulled you closer as your crimson liquid came out of Atsumu’s messy, numerous bites

Atsumu’s hunger was insatiable after having to wait a week every single time you fed them and this time, he was worse than the last

He glared at his brother, eyes glowing bright red even with the fireplace illuminating the entire room as Osamu held you close, your body curled up in his lap as his own eyes glowing at his twin

Your mind slowly began to wake as your eyes fluttered open

You could hear your heart beating slowly in your ears as if you were asleep- yet you were awake

Your hands felt about as you laid still in a dim bedroom with the curtains closed and a small lamp on a desk in the corner of the room

“Finally awake,” Atsumu huffed

Sitting up, your arms trembled weakly holding your body up

You didn’t even notice the twin until he moved in his seat beside the bed, your nose filling with the scent of Osamu but also the scent of Atsumu

“You’ve been out for the last three hours,” he sounded almost annoyed as you leaned back and rested into the pillows, half your face pressed into the bed you assumed was Osamu’s based on the smell

“Take it easy,” he pulled the blanket a bit higher over your body with a sigh

You were dressed in a big, dark red long sleeve you assumed was Atsumu’s

“Out.” You could hear Osamu’s voice as the door opened with a thud as it hit the wall. Atsumu grumbled beneath his breath as he got up from his seat, closing the door firmly behind him

Osamu came into vision as he brought the tray with something hot sitting upon it, steam rising from it but whatever it was, it smelled delicious

He peeked his head to you as he sat in the seat Atsumu sat in moments ago, pulling the seat closer

“I’m sorry for my brother... you know how ‘tsumtsum gets when he’s hungry,” he sighed. “How do you feel?” He asked, moving the blanket down from your face ever so slightly to see more of you

“Tired like I could sleep... forever,” you yawned, the tear rolling from your eye, over the bridge of your nose to the pillows

“You need to eat, I made some soup.” Osamu helped sit you up, careful with his strength before he poured you a bowl of soup, insisting on spoor feeding you when he felt how weak you really were

The hot liquid went down your throat, the savory taste lingering on your tastebuds and fed a hunger in your stomach you weren’t even aware of until now

For the rest of the night, Osamu and Atsumu took turns looking over you, mostly Osamu, though so he could change your gauzes, making sure their bites weren’t causing injections

Though it never really seemed like it, Atsumu was grateful having you in his and his brother’s life, feeding them, continuing to come back even after all the times he over fed from you

He peeked beneath the gauze to make sure he didn’t actually hurt you as you slept, bidding the two of them farewell till next week

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (let me know if you wanna be tagged for all my haikyuu posts): @yams046  @mazey-chan  @sunboikyo00  @kara-grayson04​  @fortheloveofbakugo​ @tsumtsumsemi​ @osamuonigiri @1-800-wholesome @yamagucci​ @realityisoftendisapointing@plantisnotplant @k-eijiakaashi​ @pink-panda-pancakes​ @differentballooncollection​ @osamusamusamu@therainroguefanfiction​ @euphorihan@turquoiselace​ @macaronnv  @oxmaddy​​ @mrkoala4prsdnt​​ @curiouslilbeast​ @plantisnotplant@therestless101​ @abcdaichi​ @oyasenpai​ @kaaidalupita​ @lovinnoya​

[6peaches]

Richard Siken - You Are Jeff

1 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which twin you are in love with at the time. Do not choose sides yet. It is still to your advan- tage to remain impartial. Both motorbikes are shiny red and both boys have perfect teeth, dark hair, soft hands. The one in front will want to take you apart, and slowly. His deft and stubby fingers searching every shank and lock for weaknesses. You could love this boy with all your heart. The other brother only wants to stitch you back together. The sun shines down. It’s a beautiful day. Consider the hairpin turn. Do not choose sides yet.

2 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road. Let’s call them Jeff. And because the first Jeff is in front we’ll consider him the older, and therefore responsible for lending money and the occa- sional punch in the shoulder. World-wise, world-weary, and not his mother’s favorite, this Jeff will always win when it all comes down to fisticuffs. Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t always all come down to fisticuffs. Jeff is thinking about his brother down the winding road be- hind him. He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him back and crawl inside this second skin, then he could relive that last mile again: reborn, wild-eyed, free.

3 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which Jeff you are. It could have been so beautiful—you scout out the road ahead and I will watch your back, how it was and how it will be, memory and fantasy— but each Jeff wants to be the other one. My name is Jeff and I’m tired of looking at the back of your head. My name is Jeff and I’m tired of seeing my hand me down clothes. Look, Jeff, I’m telling you, for the last time, I mean it, etcetera. They are the same and they are not the same. They are the same and they hate each other for it.

4 Your name is Jeff and somewhere up ahead of you your brother has pulled to the side of the road and he is waiting for you with a lug wrench clutched in his greasy fist. O how he loves you, darling boy. O how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. When he throws the wrench into the air it will catch the light as it spins toward you. Look—it looks like a star. You had expected something else, anything else, but the wrench never reaches you. It hangs in the air like that, spinning in the air like that. It’s beautiful.

5 Let’s say God in his High Heaven is hungry and has decided to make himself some tuna fish sandwiches. He’s already finished making two of them, on sourdough, before he realizes that the fish is bad. What is he going to do with these sandwiches? They’re already made, but he doesn’t want to eat them.

Let’s say the Devil is played by two men. We’ll call them Jeff. Dark hair, green eyes, white teeth, pink tongues—they’re twins. The one on the left has gone bad in the middle, and the other one on the left is about to. As they wrestle, you can tell that they have forgotten about God, and they are very hungry.

6 You are playing cards with three men named Jeff. Two of the Jeffs seem somewhat familiar, but the Jeff across from you keeps staring at your hands, your mouth, and you’re certain that you’ve never seen this Jeff before. But he’s on your team, and you’re ahead, you’re winning big, and yet the other Jeffs keep smiling at you like there’s no tomorrow. They all have perfect teeth: white, square, clean, even. And, for some reason, the lighting in the room makes their teeth seem closer than they should be, as if each mouth was a place, a living room with pink carpet and the window’s open. Come back from the window, Jefferson. Take off those wet clothes and come over here, by the fire.

7 You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room. Phone’s for you, Jeff says. Hey! It’s Uncle Jeff, who isn’t really your uncle, but you can’t talk right now, one of the Jeffs has put his tongue in your mouth. Please let it be the right one.

8 Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old. You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything this ferocious or intentional with another person. Your mother is pretending that she hasn’t seen anything. Your father is fiddling with the knobs of the radio. There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello.

9 You are in an ordinary suburban bedroom with bunk beds, a bookshelf, two wooden desks and chairs. You are lying on your back, on the top bunk, very close to the textured ceiling, staring straight at it in fact, and the room is still dark except for a wedge of powdery light that spills in from the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom is covered in mint green tile and someone is in there, singing very softly. Is he singing to you? For you? Black cherries in chocolate, the ring around the moon, a bee- tle underneath a glass—you cannot make out all the words, but you’re sure he knows you’re in there, and he’s singing to you, even though you don’t know who he is.

10 You see it as a room, a tabernacle, the dark hotel. You’re in the hallway again, and you open the door, and if you’re ready you’ll see it, but maybe one part of your mind decides that the other parts aren’t ready, and then you don’t remember where you’ve been, and you find yourself down the hall again, the lights gone dim as the left hand sings the right hand back to sleep. It’s a puzzle: each piece, each room, each time you put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, your ear to the wound that whispers.

You’re in the hallway again. The radio is playing your favorite song. You’re in the hallway. Open the door again. Open the door.

11 Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The heart is monologing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning. Can the heart escape? Does love even care? Snow falls as we dump the booth in the bay.

Suppose for a moment we are crowded around a pier, waiting for something to ripple the water. We believe in you. There is no danger. It is not getting dark, we want to say.

12 Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the broken leg of a dog. The sun is shining, O how the sun shines down! Your speedometer and your handgrips and the feel of the road below you, how it knows you, the black ribbon spread out on the greens be- tween these lines that suddenly don’t reach to the horizon. It is waiting, like a broken door, like the red dog that chases its tail and eats your rose- bushes and then must be forgiven. Who do you love, Jeff? Who do you love? You were driving toward something and then, well, then you found yourself driving the other way. The dog is asleep. The road is be- hind you. O how the sun shines down.

13 This time everyone has the best intentions. You have cancer. Let’s say you have cancer. Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay, it’s a love story after all, a lasting love, a wonderful adventure with lots of action, where the mirror says mirror and the hand says hand and the front door never says Sorry Charlie. So the doctor says you need more stitches and the bruise cream isn’t working. So much for the facts. Let’s say you’re still completely in the dark but we love you anyway. We love you. We really do.

14 After work you go to the grocery store to get some milk and a carton of cigarettes. Where did you get those bruises? You don’t remember. Work was boring. You find a jar of bruise cream and a can of stewed tomatoes. Maybe a salad? Spinach, walnuts, blue cheese, apples, and you can’t decide between the Extra Large or Jumbo black olives. Which is bigger anyway? Extra Large has a blue label, Jumbo has a purple label. Both cans cost $1.29. While you’re deciding, the afternoon light is streaming through the windows behind the bank of checkout coun- ters. Take the light inside you like a blessing, like a knee in the chest, holding onto it and not letting it go. Now let it go.

15 Like sandpaper, the light, or a blessing, or a bruise. Blood everywhere, he said, the red light hemorrhaging from everywhere at once. The train station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind. Or a horse, your favorite horse now raised up again out of the mud and galloping galloping always toward you. In your ruined shirt, on the last day, while the bruise won’t heal, and the stain stays put, the red light streaming in from everywhere at once. Your broken ribs, the back of your head, your hand to mouth or hand to now, right now, like you mean it, like it’s split- ting you in two. Now look at the lights, the lights.

16 You and your lover are making out in the corner booth of a seedy bar. The booths are plush and the drinks are cheap and in this dim and smoky light you can barely tell whose hands are whose. Someone raises their glass for a toast. Is that the Hand of Judgment or the Hand of Mercy? The bartender smiles, running a rag across the burnished wood of the bar. The drink in front of you has already been paid for. Drink it, the bartender says. It’s yours, you deserve it. It’s already been paid for. Somebody’s paid for it already. There’s no mistake, he says. It’s your drink, the one you asked for, just the way you like it. How can you refuse Hands of fire, hands of air, hands of water, hands of dirt. Someone’s doing all the talking but no one’s lips move. Consider the hairpin turn.

17 The motorbikes are neck and neck but where’s the checkered flag we all expected, waving in the distance, telling you you’re home again, home? He’s next to you, right next to you in fact, so close, or. . . he isn’t. Imagine a room. Yes, imagine a room: two chairs facing the window but nobody moves. Don’t move. Keep staring straight into my eyes. It feels like you’re not moving, the way when, dancing, the room will suddenly fall away. You’re dancing: you’re neck and neck or cheek to cheek, he’s there or he isn’t, the open road. Imagine a room. Imagine you’re danc- ing. Imagine the room now falling away. Don’t move.

18 Two brothers: one of them wants to take you apart. Two brothers: one of them wants to put you back together. It’s time to choose sides now. The stitches or the devouring mouth? You want an alibi? You don’t get an alibi, you get two brothers. Here are two Jeffs. Pick one. This is how you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them. Jeff or Jeff? Who do you want to be? You just wanted to play in your own backyard, but you don’t know where your own yard is, exactly. You just wanted to prove there was one safe place, just one safe place where you could love him. You have not found that place yet. You have not made that place yet. You are here. You are here. You’re still right here.

19 Here are your names and here is the list and here are the things you left behind: The mark on the floor from pushing your chair back, your un- derwear, one half brick of cheese, the kind I don’t like, wrapped up, and poorly, and abandoned on the second shelf next to the poppyseed dress- ing, which is also yours. Here’s the champagne on the floor, and here are your house keys, and here are the curtains that your cat peed on. And here is your cat, who keeps eating grass and vomiting in the hall- way. Here is the list with all of your names, Jeff. They’re not the same name, Jeff. They’re not the same at all.

20 There are two twins on motorbikes but they are not on motorbikes, they’re in a garden where the flowers are as big as thumbs. Imagine you are in a field of daisies. What are you doing in a field of daisies? Get up! Let’s say you’re not in the field anymore. Let’s say they’re not brothers anymore. That’s right, they’re not brothers, they’re just one guy, and he knows you, and he’s talking to you, but you’re in pain and you can- not understand him. What are you still doing in this field? Get out of the field! You should be in the hotel room! You should, at least, be try- ing to get back into the hotel room. Ah! Now the field is empty.

21 Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don’t make a noise, don’t leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights on. Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. I’m in the hallway again, I’m in the hallway. The radio’s playing my favorite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.

22 Someone had a party while you were sleeping but you weren’t really sleeping, you were sick, and parts of you were burning, and you couldn’t move. Perhaps the party was in your honor. You can’t remem- ber. It seems the phone was ringing in the dream you were having but there’s no proof. A dish in the sink that might be yours, some clothes on the floor that might belong to someone else. When was the last time you found yourself looking out of this window. Hey! This is a beautiful window! This is a beautiful view! Those trees lined up like that, and the way the stars are spinning over them like that, spinning in the air like that, like wrenches.

23 Let’s say that God is the space between two men and the Devil is the space between two men. Here: I’ll be all of them-Jeff and Jeff and Jeff and Jeff are standing on the shoulder of the highway, four motorbikes knocked over, two wrenches spinning in the ordinary air. Two of these Jeffs are windows, and two of these Jeffs are doors, and all of these Jeffs are trying to tell you something. Come closer. We’ll whisper it in your ear. It’s like seeing your face in a bowl of soup, cream of potato, and the eyes shining back like spoons. If we wanted to tell you everything, we would leave more footprints in the snow or kiss you harder. One thing. Come closer. Listen . . .

24 You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terr- ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

- You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 53- Rescue

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Grian is at the mercy of Dolios and his dark magic, but are the hermits there to save him in time? Or has the end come for the healing mage?

[Note: Hey everyone, I’m sorry for the time that was between chapters. A lot of really emotional and personal things happened over the past few months, and it just really pushed me off balance. But I really cant thank Red enough for being at my side the whole time- he’s the real hero in all of this. 

Happy Season 8!]

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To be back in the dark, cold bowels of the dungeons, willingly returning to the chamber that Dolios forced them to play his game in, left every hermit with a strange mix of dread and remorse. Almost every hermit, except for the few that weren’t around during the championship, can remember waking up in cells, being dragged from the hard stone floor at knifepoint, and turned into pawns for Dolios to control. Promising he will kill every last one in his game, and making TFC play along. 

But they hardly linger in the very chamber where their guildmaster outwitted the Magistrate of Lairyon, rather continuing on their search for a passage to the subchamber. Scar can feel the cavity in the stone beneath their feet, but no staircase seems to lead them down. It wasn’t until Cleo summoned the ghosts of those who died here, their souls lingering, that they are pointed in the right direction. So many souls, having seen so much suffering, not just from Dolios within these walls, though many are from his doing. 

A ghost guides the hermits to a circular room, and though their voice has long faded with time, their misty hands point to the center of the room. Mumbo kneels down. “There’s machinery here. If I just…” He places his hands against the smooth stone, and without even having to think, his magic appears. Redstone seeping through the seams of the rock, reconfiguring the mechanics and forcing the spiral staircase to descend. 

Everyone, including Mumbo, is surprised by his power. He’s never had such control before in his life. But they don’t linger on this new development. Not when time is running shorter and shorter for Grian. They cause a jam in the thin staircase, twenty something hermits rushing to the subchamber. Unlike the rooms above them, the stone is rough cut, no bricks or stenciling. It looks more like a cave blown open than a carved dungeon. 

A heavy weight wraps in on the hermits. They know they’re close as the pressure increases on their bodies. They follow the struggle to breathe, the feeling of carrying stones on their back. They’ve come to know the signs of a dark crystal well- and it leads them right to not one, but three towers of corrupted gems. 

They’re massive, protruding from the ground at an angle, black spikes erupting from the earth. The air is heavy with mist, swirling in tendrils, like the very tentacles of Eurynomos, way back in the forest. The mist grasps the open air, siphoning the very life from the stone and oxygen and taking it for itself. Every so often, a pulse of darkness bursts from the corrupted crystals, with such force it causes the entire cavern to shudder, and blows back the hermits’ hair and clothes. They all duck with each explosion, but one person remains standing, reveling in the energy that's breaking free from the crystals. 

Dolios’s fingers toy with the mist, grasping the air and feeling the power. With each eruption, the black seal between him and the central crystal glows. For a second, the hermits swear they can see the mist at his back look almost...feather-like. 

“Oh my gods… Grian.” Stress’s voice is so small, so quiet, the other hermits almost don’t hear it. But their captured friend’s name on anyone’s lips is enough to catch their attention. 

He’s grey, so monochrome that it was almost impossible to pick him out among the black crystals, the grey mist, and the dark magic. Limp body and hands, eyes open but unseeing, Grian is chained to the central crystal. Once blond hair, now an ashen grey, curls and crests over Grian’s face, his chin dropped to his chest. The hermits don’t breathe until they see him do so, but it’s a horribly shallow breath. Another wave of energy rolls through the crystals, and Grian’s body loses more of its color. More of it’s life. At this point, he hardly even reacts to the tearing of his lifeforce, his magic, from his body. Fingers twitch, but even those are beginning to turn flaky, fading away into oblivion. The tips of his once blue cape become little more than mist. Even the energy, the powers of the very atoms are being torn apart. Grian was very near death- or a fate worse. 

All for Dolios, and his insatiable need for power. The low thunder of every wave is broken by Dolios’s voice. He flexes his hands, laughing to himself. “Of all the angels I’ve stolen magic from before, it has never been this strong. Even Celia had nothing against you. I feel like I could blow all of Milliara apart with a windstorm this instant! Don’t worry, little bird, your magic is in good hands.” 

Iskall and Mumbo both scuffle to their feet, surging forward. Mumbo faster than Iskall. Too fast for TFC to grab him before he’s over the boulder they hid behind. And too fast to stop even his own magic from summoning. But it wasn’t the out of control magic that the hermits have seen before. Like destroying the crystal shard on Eremita, or in the depths of the Hangman’s Playground. 

No, even though lightning filled Mumbo’s vision, and magic surged through his veins like energy through a redstone circuit, he had every wit and thought about him. For the first time, he had true, full control. Every iota of power was at his command, like a dragon spreading it’s wings for it’s first flight across the sky. 

With a flippant wave of his hand, the twin satellite crystals shatter, red bolts of lightning creasing through the darkness-bound lattice. The air is filled with glittering crystals, mist freed from the quartz and purging it of the darkness. Mumbo turns his power, his attention towards the crystal that Grian’s chained to, and presses his fingers together to destroy the last crystal. 

He’s blown off his feet, a burst of wind from nowhere sending him skidding across the floor. When Mumbo gathers his wits and looks up, finally seeing Dolios through his anger, the magistrates is wild with manic delight. “Oh, now that’s real magic. I think this little bird’s powers might become my new favorite.” The other hermits dare to step out, walking through the shattered, transparent remains of the crystals. Dolios is the only color before them, his plush robes and rich colors standing out against the swirling magic. “Ah, the whole parade is here. Come to watch your friend die? Or will you all be joining him as well?” 

Dolios turns, resting his gaze on Grian. The hermits watch in horror as their healer looks as if he’s about to blow away in the wind. Like dust in the shape of a human. His eyes are empty, no glimmer of life left. They realize they may be too late. 

But that doesn’t stop them from getting their revenge. Mumbo remains focused on the crystal his friend is trapped against, but a sharp shard of gemstone goes flying through the air, cracking Dolios upside the head. Blood pours from the wound, matting the curly brown hair that crowns Dolios. He turns, anger mixing with the mania into a dangerous concoction. But his fury doesn’t get to live long, not when Scar drives a wedge of rock into Dolios’s jaw. This time it’s the magistrate that goes skidding across the rough hewn floor. In his attempt to stand up, Dolios becomes ensnared in just about every medium of magic the hermits can offer. Vines tie him down, radioactive spikes pin his clothes and hair to the floor, a ring of hellfire erupting from the depths of the earth. 

Mumbo, however, remains focused on his best friend before him. Summoning all his magic, every ounce of effort he’s ever put forth, he sends a bolt of lightning directly to the core of the crystal that is draining Grian. The lightning strikes true, hardly even raising a hair on what remains of the sky angel, but obliterating the crystal he hangs from. From the inside out, the darkness is banished by red light, like the sun rising red on a bright, beautiful daybreak. Blinding everyone within the cave- except Mumbo. He’s not lost in the light, the power, the magic. He’s a part of it all. 

The crystal shatters, and Grian falls. Crumpled to the ground, he looks to be little more than a pile of ash and rags among the sparkling crystal shards. Like the moon adrift in the sea of stars. 

When the hermits blink away their momentary blindness, they find Mumbo is already at his friend’s side. With a few teary blinks, the last of the lightning fizzles away, and Mumbo’s voice cracks like the very gems he destroyed. “G-Grian? Grian, wake up.” 

But Grian doesn’t move. Mumbo reaches out, grabbing the angel and pulling him to the safety of the hermits. Holding him close as the others surround. Ren reaches out, placing a hand on Grian’s shoulder. He retreats immediately, when Grian’s shoulder seems to fade from existence, flaking to ash and falling apart under Ren’s pressure. “Is he….” 

No one dares speak the word. Joe scribbles down a healing poem, but the magic does nothing. Grian doesn’t breathe, his eyes don’t blink. They just stare, empty, at the cavern roof above. And he continues to fade, all color lost, becoming nothing more than dust. 

“No, nononononono.” Mumbo’s words stumble and jumble together, and he shakes and jolts Grian as if trying to rise him from a dream. “Grian, don’t leave us! We need you!” 

Still nothing. 

Mumbo’s shoulders slump. A weight heavier than any dark crystal hangs over the hermits as Grian’s limp form lays in Mumbo’s arms before them. Tears threaten to spill from Mumbo’s eyes. Grian was his first real friend, the one who saved him all those years ago. And he couldn’t return the favor now. It was Grian that offered him kindness, offered him friendship. Grian who gave Mumbo a true family, a real home, who trained with him even when all seemed hopeless, and drank with him when nights were bright. It was because of Grian that Mumbo has a father in TFC, friends all around him. And now? 

Now his best friend was dead in his arms. Fading from existence, his magic and life stolen by a monster in magistrate’s clothes. Mumbo tips his head, breath stuttering as tears fall freely. Like a stream after a storm, rivers of salt water across his cheeks, cresting his jaw and running across the valley of his throat. Some droplets are caught in his mustache, others stain the collar of his outfit. All the hermits openly cry, even Doc. Memories flood alongside the tears, bowed heads over their fallen comrade as Mumbo holds his fallen friend tight.

One tear falls straight down, landing with a wet plop on Grian’s eyelid. Water, the lifeblood of Lairyon, slowly drips into Grian’s own vacant eyes. And from the ashen grey, empty gaze, a single vein of blue appears within his iris. 

Like a river, the blue flows freely, spilling across Giran’s sky blue eyes. Filling the empty grey valley with fresh blue water. And from the blue, like the sun reflecting off the see, a glimmer appears. 

Iskall noticed the color returning first. The pink of Grian’s face, sunlight colored hair beginning to renourish with color. Bringing Grian slowly back from death’s doorstep. He slaps Mumbo on the shoulder, his own breath gasping. Words struggling to break free from the nuclear wizard’s mouth, rather just random noises escaping his lips. 

It’s enough to get Mumbo’s attention, as well as every other hermit. Through teary eyes, they see the color spread. The red of Grian’s robes, the blue of his cape. The translucent, flaking form becomes solid and tangible again. 

And then Grian breathes. So shallow and soft, it’s almost impossible to see. But to the hermits, it might as well be an earth breaking tremble. Eyes blink, and parted lips move. A whisper of a voice breaks free from death’s grip. “Mumbo? Iskall? Guys?”

Grian can’t sing, but the words from him might as well be a chorus of angels. He was alive. Whether it was pure luck, the gift of life that water carries, or simply the friendship the hermits hold, something brought Grian back from the brink. 

Only one thing can break the joy. And that one thing has to open his mouth. From across the room, Dolios writhes in his bonds, snering. “Oh that’s just touching, isn’t it? If I can’t have it all, then I might as well kill every last one of you.” 

Doc realizes what’s happening first, but Dolios is just out of reach. A bout of strength that can only be attributed to previously stolen magic, Dolios tears apart the vines and breaks apart the crossed spears of iskallium. He stands, brushing off leaves and radioactive dust from his robes and tugging on his ponytail. When he opens his eyes, a crooked, crazed grin creases the leader’s normally charismatic face. “Do you really think such weak power can hold me down?” 

Wels reacts just in time to shield the hermits from the arc of magic that aimed for the group. Dolios doesn’t let up on his barrage, and the magical barrier begins to crack and contort against the dark energy. No hermit can step out from behind the shield without risking certain death. 

A wild, cackling laughter echoes off the cavern. “What will you roaches do without your precious angel now? Who will save you now?”

Wels’s barrier breaks. And Dolios attacks.

[m00nycore]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 . 𝒐𝒏𝒆 . 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚 .

ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒?

[𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡]

𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑐

𝑡/𝑤 : 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑚𝑎

𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ;; @dreaming-about-fanfictions @thesweethufflepuff

“he looks so like james! i mean, remus, can you believe it?! his eyes are exactly the same, just like lily’s! you talked to him on the train, you saved him—what is he like?”

and remus smiled at her, shaking his head. he hadn’t seen lucy this happy in years—and it was as if they were young again, as if the horror had never happened.

she had fiercely loved harry since he was born. all she had wanted since lily and james passed was to be able to take him in. harry gave her hope.

“exactly as you would expect him to be, and that was only at the first impression,” he was leaned against the desk in his new office, and lucy had insisted on helping him unpack.

remus had almost forgotten she had dimples.

“i will never forgive albus for not letting me take him in, moony—“ she cut herself off, quickly, very quickly, almost as if she were scared.

and lucy potter was scared.

she never used their old names. not until dumbledore dubbed her professor vulpes—and that wasn’t her, it wasn’t. she was playing a part.

but remus lupin smiled and it just about broke her heart.

“vulpes,” he said it warmly, as if greeting an old friend. in some ways, he reckoned, he was.

“moony,” she repeated. lucy potter was reminded about what it felt like to be young.

to new beginnings, he thought to himself, as he sipped his hot chocolate.

it was the first day of term, the first time that the third year students filed in the room—and lucy potter was almost scared to see him. harry potter: the only other potter in the school—the only other potter left.

the first few lessons went smoothly, and remus was, amazing, she thought. absolutely amazing.

harry walked in, looking skeptical, accompanied by a ginger-haired boy—a weasley, she knew it.

the potters loved their gingers, didn’t they?

harry’s eyes scanned the room and stopped at his aunt, who smiled.

she wanted nothing more than to run up, to hug him tightly, to cry. she wanted to apologize for not being able to take him in, she needed to know if he could ever forgive her.

harry deserved to know everything about his parents. harry deserved to know remus, to know her, as well.

sometimes lucy liked to think that she deserved to know him, too.

the wardrobe that she and remus had pulled out began to shake, and she saw a few of the students step back, eyes wide, some faces paling.

rising from her place, she walked forward, giving a little wave as she stood beside remus.

“welcome,” remus began, nodding at the crowd. “i am professor lupin—it is very nice to meet you all.”

“i’m professor vulpes,” she added. the name still sounded foreign on her tongue. “lovely to meet you!”

the cabinet shook once more.

“ah, i suppose that’s our cue to begin the lesson, yes?” remus asked, rhetorically. “intriguing, isn’t it?” he paused. “would anyone like to venture to guess as to what is inside?”

“that’s a boggart, that is.”

“very good, mr. thomas,” remus praised. “now, does anybody know what a boggart looks like?”

“nobody knows,” a girl’s voice spoke, and lucy realized it was hermione granger, the student using a time turner to take as many classes as she could. admirable.

“when’d she get here?!” ron weasley demanded. harry seemed to have good friends—apparently, the three of them were an infamous trio.

“boggarts are shape shifters,” she continued, ignoring ron. “they take shape of whatever a particular person fears most. that’s what makes them so—“

“—so terrifying,” remus finished, smiling. “yes, yes, yes.”

the students were soon practicing the riddikulus charm, wandless, and still flinching when the wardrobe shook.

neville longbottom was called forward by remus—another reminder of the past that made lucy want to cry.

it was marleen who had managed to find the mead—and dorcas’ idea to mix it with juice.

the girls were all laughing, gossiping, talking about their love lives. lucy was laying across lily’s lap, looking up at alice.

“frank?” alice questioned, again, with lily nodding at her. “i’ll have babies with him, mark my words.”

remus encouraging him made her smile. she was unable to keep that adoration out of her face—remus was infallibly kind.

alice and frank would have been so proud.

but her blood boiled, it absolutely boiled, when neville admitted his biggest fear was snape.

“frightens all,” remus remarked, among the laughter of neville’s peers.

“truly,” she added, winking at neville. she never approved of her brother and... his best friend... bullying severus—but he was cruel.

thus, lucy laughed the loudest when she saw him in mrs. longbottom’s clothing, and beamed at the smile that neville wore. he looked like alice.

the children formed a line as remus put a record on the phonograph. remus loved jazz—and she had grown fonder of it as well. she couldn’t listen to a lot of the music she used to.

“now, i want everyone to picture the thing they fear the very most, and turn it into something funny. ron!”

snape instantaneously transformed into a giant spider, and ron looked absolutely petrified, hesitating a few seconds longer than he should have.

“you’ve got it, ron!” lucy exclaimed, nodding at him. “think of something funny, come on!”

“riddikulus!” the spider suddenly had skates on each of its eight legs, making it slide around the floor. ron high-fived harry as he made his way to the back of the line.

pavarti patil feared snakes, seamus finnegan feared banshees, and dean thomas’s boggart took the form of a disembodied, living hand.

she tensed when harry stepped up—and remus caught her eye.

as the boggart shifted, fear began to fill harry’s eyes, as well—and it increased when the boggart took the form of a dementor.

without thinking, lucy bolted from her seat to stand in front of him—and her boggart took form.

a black dog.

“riddikulus!” she shouted, forcing her voice to sound calm and willing her body not to shake.

padfo—the dog turned into a plush toy, and remus came to her shoulder to send the boggart into the wardrobe and lock it with the flick of his wrist.

“alright, well, sorry about that! that’s enough for today, why don’t you all collect your books from the back of the class? that’s the end of the lesson, thank you!”

the students groaned, and remus began lecturing on how you shouldn’t have too much of a good thing.

lucy turned, facing harry, and patted his shoulder. he looked a bit put out, and she was suddenly worried her protectiveness had embarrassed him.

“it’s alright, harry,” she assured him, a maternal smile on her face. her first time speaking to her nephew in more than a decade, and it was impossible not to feel shaken. “at least your boggart wasn’t a dog.”

remus wasn’t like the others.

james would have been the one to ask if she wanted to talk about it.

peter would have beat around the bush trying to decide if he should ask her.

remus just offered for her to not sit in for the next few lessons. she refused. he smiled, and hugged her.

and he... if he were there, he would have just demanded to know. and she would have told him. she always told him.

lucy refused to even think his name—and when she did, it felt like hell. then there were the memories—the memories, oh god, they burned.

a wolf, a stag, a rat, a fox, and... a dog.

five people trying to fit under the same cloak. the black lake during sunset. running from the source of the noise. sleepovers in the wrong dorm, and late night trips to the kitchens.

the mandrake leaves james stole that they had to keep in their mouths for an entire month, and her crying from frustration if she failed. the silvery glow of the full moon while they stared out onto the grounds until morning, waiting for when they could run to the hospital wing.

the precious time spent with lily. study sessions turned to giggles and long conversations. the two of them were thick as thieves, and lucy never pushed her to james. in fact, she smacked her in the back of the head when she admitted her feelings for him. lily evans loved kate bush and the grease soundtrack. she showed her the muggle way of life—which lucy adored.

she found sisters within alice, marlene, and dorcas. alice was bold behind her sweet face and gave the best advice. marlene had everyone wrapped around her finger in the best possible way. dorcas had a quiet charm, similar to remus’, and she was unspeakably in love with marlene... who in turn was unspeakably in love with dorcas.

her brother flirting with lily. lucy would race him through the halls, from filch, and whoever was caught would take the fall. their strange twin code of conduct, their togetherness and alliance to each other—only broken by trying to push each other off of brooms at quidditch practice. he was protective, but never smothered her. she remembered them crying from happiness when they finally were able to transform into their animagi forms. they had a very similar laugh. james was her ride-or-die.

convincing peter to let her pierce his ear. scrawled notes being passed through class—he was a great confidant, and she would hold his secrets just as well. she had punched snape in the face, she had lost her control, just because he had brought peter’s name up. he was great at charms, great at giving advice.

laying on remus’ shoulder after the full moon, reading the same book with him, even if he had to pause while she finished the page. sharing snacks, genuine, true laughter and happiness, and giving him innocent, feather-light kisses on his facial scars to make him smile. rambling conversations, messy notes hidden between pages of books and under pillows. his ability to separate her from the trouble they found.

and...

muggle rock music. cigarettes. making his family’s lives hell. barked laughter and stupid dares. he always insisted she was his favorite potter—unless she worked with the other boys against him. the promise of forming a band. when he grabbed her wrists and shushed her—she’d ruin their cover, they were supposed to be hiding from filch. the cold hands in hers while they ran from the scene of the crime.

crime.

and she was back in reality, sitting in remus’ office with him while he planned lessons.

“do you remember the mandrake leaves?” she had asked, in a very small voice, as if he wouldn’t remember, though she knew it was impossible for him to forget.

remus ran a hand over his face.

“i remember well, lucy,” he sighed. “you were too hard on yourself.”

swallowing, and willing her voice not to shake, she stared at him before speaking.

“we all were... but he was harder on himself, remember? he would get mad, start kicking things and trying not to cry.”

remus lupin’s eyes were far away.

it hurt him too.

eventually, they walked to the great hall for dinner.

harry potter wanted to put together the pieces.

a black dog. the black dog.

he had seen that dog, he had gotten the grim, and it was their new professor’s greatest fear?

he knew the expression on her face—it was the one he, himself, wore when he was scared.

harry wanted to believe in coincidences, but doing that when he was harry potter wasn’t the best idea.

“professor vulpes,” ron began, from his seat on the couch. “she’s kind of fit, isn’t she?”

hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “honestly, ronald, of all the things... i’m confused as to why she’s even here.”

harry raised an eyebrow at her.

“well,” hermione began, sounding very slightly unsure. “i’m sure if dumbledore thinks it’s smart for her to be here, it must be alright... but we’ve never needed two professors for one class.”

“i mean, he said she’s helping lupin, isn’t he?” harry added. “i like professor lupin, i feel like he’ll be the best teacher we’ve had. and vulpes... she seems nice, too.”

“i agree,” hermione told him, hastily. “it’s just that it seems a bit weird, is all...”

“she seemed to know lupin pretty well,” ron commented. harry and hermione looked over.

“well, it just seems like they’re familiar with each other. they’re in perfect step with each other, almost, did you notice? they watch each other. and why did she run in front of harry like that?”

“i dunno,” harry grumbled. “maybe trying to save me from embarrassment?”

hermione rolled her eyes. “or, she could be trying to help you?”

“i don’t know,” harry still had a twinge of bitterness in his tone. “she seems familiar to me, though.”

“hmm.”

[nalgenewhore]

With My Life - Chapter One

masterlist - ao3 - next chapter

an: i kinda, i kinda have a new project oop 😳 enjoy 

warnings: (all graphic) violence, gun violence, blood, smut, implied PTSD

summary: A simple mission, that’s all it was. Get in, get the list, get out and be home in time for dinner. But life doesn’t always work that way, does it? Now, it’s six months later and a war brews, one they all know might wipe countries off the face of the earth, and the only thing he has to show for the mission is a bullet wound that supposedly killed him and the wrath of a woman who wished he’d just die and stay dead, but then again… Lorcan Salvaterre never did like to listen.

The Varese sun had barely begun to rise in the pale blue sky when he woke up. He remained still, keeping his breath deep and even as he looked around the room.  

Seeing that everything was as it should be, it seemed as though Lorcan Salvaterre had lived to see another day. With a soft groan and a stretch, Lorcan kissed his bedmate’s cheek and brushed her dark hair back before he got out of bed.  

He stooped to pull on the shorts that had been carelessly discarded the previous evening and padded into his bathroom.  

After using the amenities, Lorcan looked at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands, deciding it was probably time to shave. Opening the mirror cabinet, Lorcan gathered his shaving supplies and quietly shut the door, not wanting to disturb the woman in his bed.  

A couple years back, for his birthday, he’d received an old-time shaving kit from Fenrys and Connall, who had claimed it was the only fitting gift for a scruffy old bastard like himself. They’d both received sharp swat to the head for the comment and he had vowed to throw it out as soon as he got home. Of course, he didn’t do that and had become partial to it. The twins were never to find out and it was a secret Lorcan would take to the grave.  

As far as those two pups were concerned, Lorcan was still using some random shaving cream from the can and a cheap disposable razor from the store.  

He’d just finished lathering the lower half of his face and jawline when the door was pushed open and in stumbled Elide Lochan, still half asleep as she buttoned up his dress shirt.  

Upon seeing him, she paused, her lovely monolid-shaped eyes flicking over his half-covered face and the straight razor in his hand. Then, a cheeky grin spread over her plush and plump lips and she said, her already low voice hoarse with sleep, “You really are an old bastard, huh?”  

Lorcan chuckled and put the blade down, tracking her movements in the mirror as she walked in and hopped up onto the sink counter. “I’ve been told.”  

Elide smiled and fluffed her short, collarbone length hair. Her smile and her gaze softened as she tilted her head to the side, completely happy to sit while he got ready for work.  

“Do me a favour, love,” Lorcan said, his voice low and his accent adding a rolling lilt to his words, slotting himself between her legs. 

“Hmm? What is it?” She opened her eyes when she felt the cool tortoiseshell handle of the razor in her palm. Lorcan held it for her, his eyes open and honest. “Me?”  

“You.”  

Elide’s eyes widened and she glanced up at him, seeing that he was utterly serious. “You trust me?”  

“With my life, Elide,” he told her, meaning every word.  

Elide took the razor from him and rolled her eyes, flicking it open and fitting her fingers along the shank. She clicked her tongue, “So dramatic. It’s just a shave, Salvaterre.”  

Lorcan hummed and leaned his head to the side, eyes on Elide as she bit her lip in concentration and held the wicked sharp blade up to right beneath his cheekbone. “Short strokes, Lochan.”  

Her worried eyes turned to his and Lorcan gripped her thighs, rubbing soothing circles into her skin with his thumbs. Lorcan dipped his chin in a slight nod and his gaze tracked her eyes as she moved the razor in short, even motions.  

After a few moments, she wiped the blade off on a towel and went back to the task at hand, decidedly ignoring his heavy gaze on her. “Stop staring at me like that,” she muttered, tapping his chin back to drag the razor down his sharp jawline. “Don’t want me to have an accident, do we now?”  

She menacingly held the rounded tip of the razor to his throat, wearing a fierce frown. Lorcan bit back his laugh and held his hands up, “Nah, nah, do your thing.” He pressed his lips together to avoid smiling, but his eyes glittered with mirth. 

Elide clicked her tongue again and continued, occasionally pausing to wipe the blade. At some point, she started humming unconsciously and tilted his chin back, “Stay still.”  

Lorcan did as he was told and hardly breathed as she carefully pulled the blade over the front of his throat. Then, with a relieved sigh, she put it down and smiled as she picked up a damp cloth and patted his face. “Pretty good job for stress relief, huh?”  

As the words hit him, Lorcan froze and inhaled sharply. “What did you say?”  

Elide arched a manicured brow, slowly putting the cloth down. “...stress relief? That’s what I am, what we are to each other. It’s just sex.”  

He hesitated, the words threatening to spill out of his mouth, but he managed to hold himself back and carefully said, “You know you mean more to me than fucking, E.”  

Elide hummed and picked up the bottle of aftershave, screwing off the cap and dumping some into her hand. Lorcan made an irritated sound in the back of his throat, dropping his head down low. “Lochan... it’s not just the sex to me. I need you to know that. You matter to me, alright?”  

He lifted his head when she said nothing and Elide shook her head subtly and patted his cheeks, softly rubbing the balm over his smooth skin. “Lorcan...”  

He tried a different angle, pulling her hands away and squeezing her wrists gently. “El, I want to talk with you, but I have to get to work. Stay here today. We’ll go out tonight and- fuck–”  

“L, L, calm down. Go to work, we’ll figure it out tonight, yeah?”  She cupped his face in her hands and tilted her chin up, kissing the scar that ran down from his hairline and sliced through his left eyebrow. “It’ll be fine.” 

Lorcan smiled and leaned down, kissing her lips once, twice, three times, until she was laughing quietly. “You’ll stay here today?” 

“Mm-hmm, right here. I’ll snoop through everything and find out all your secrets, Salvaterre.”  

A low laugh rumbled through his chest and Lorcan kissed her once more, nipping her full bottom lip before pulling away and looking in the mirror. “Wow, nice job, princess.”  

“I told you to stop calling me that,” she hissed as he lifted her off the counter.  

“I didn’t hear any complaints last night,” he said as she turned away. Lorcan tugged her back against his front and leaned down, pressing his lips to the back of her neck. “Princess.”  

Elide huffed and shoved him away, crossing her arms tightly, “Yeah, well, last night was different, dickhead.”  

“Different? How?”  

A sly smirk curled her lips and Elide slowly backed away into his bedroom, “Well, for starters, it was a much different setting and I recall fewer clothes, but you know, silly me might be remembering something wrong.” She ran her fingers over the buttons of his shirt that she had plucked from his closet, toying with the top clasp before popping it open, just enough that he saw the swell of her breasts. “Would you be a darling and help me, please? Help your princess?”  

Lorcan shook his head and gripped the edge of the marble counter, biting his cheek hard enough that blood bloomed across his tongue.  

Elide cackled, throwing her head back as she laughed and laughed, delighting herself in his misery. Lorcan shook his head again and muttered to himself in his native language, stalking out the bathroom and hip-checking her on the way to his closet. “You’re a fuckin’ menace, Lochan.”  

He opened the closet doors and looked through the row of dark coloured suits, just reaching for a navy blue one as a set of slim arms slid around his waist and Elide kissed the skin between his shoulder blades. “You wouldn’t have me any other way, baby.”  

She wasn’t wrong.  

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide was watching him carefully as he put his Glock 19’s in his shoulder holster, a worried frown bunching up her brows. After securing his guns, Lorcan approached her, dutifully standing still as she fussed over the storm-grey tie he’d just tied perfectly.  

She glanced up at him and tucked her lip between her teeth. “Be careful, ok?” She looked like she had more to say but held her tongue.  

“Always, princess,” he quipped, holding his tie to his stomach as he bent to kiss her freckled cheek. “I’ll be safe, love. I promise.”  

“Heard that before,” she accused him. The memory of him in the supposed hit and run accident was still bright in her mind, it seemed. Interesting. If only she knew what had really happened.  

“I mean it this time,” he whispered, winking as he shrugged on his suit jacket. The dark navy colour contrasted beautifully with his russet complexion, soaking up the sun and setting the world aglow, the same way his black dress shirt made her pale, alabaster tone brighten until it looked like the full moon gleaming around him.  

Lorcan did mean it this time, more than any other time he’d said it. Tonight, tonight he would tell Elide that he loved her. That he was in love with her, that he had been since that early morning he’d been tailing a gun runner into a café and this tiny, firecracker of a woman, told him he could sit at her paper and laptop crowded table.  

He’d taken the seat and he’d almost let the man walk out of the store unnoticed because he’d been too distracted staring at her gorgeous fucking face and by her, Elide.  

“What should I wear tonight?”  

“Hmm? Tonight?”  

Elide laughed, “For dinner.”  

Dinner. Oh. Dinner-dinner. 

“Um, I don’t know, a fancy dress?”  

“Ooh, fancy?”  

Lorcan chuckled and wrapped his arms around her petite waist, his hands splayed across her lower back as he dipped her. He leaned in, brushing the tip of his nose against her, brushing his lips over hers before he whispered, “Very, very fancy, princess.” Then, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her, kissed her until she needed a moment to breathe and collect herself.  

He ruined the moment by grabbing her ass and laughing as he stood them up straight. Elide rolled her eyes, raising up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “Stay safe for me, ok?”  

Lorcan buttoned his one-button and cupped the side of her neck in one hand, stroking his thumb over her jaw. “I swear I will. Have a good day, yeah?”  

“Yeah. I’ll try,” she said quietly, turning to finger his cufflinks and brush her fingertips over the outline of the gun beneath his arm.  

“Bye, princess.”  

“Get out of here, stupid,” she whispered, grinning as they both backed up and then turned, her to run back to his bed, and Lorcan to the front door of his apartment.  

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan perused the aisle of cars in the garage, looking at every single one with exact scrutiny until he reached his - a sleek, black Aston Martin DB5. He let out a large breath as he sat behind the driver’s wheel. He just hoped today was an easy one. He needed easy.  

Pulling out of the parking garage, he nodded once at the security guards as he drove onto the busy street. Even early in the morning, Varese was already bustling, and he suspected it had something to do with the burning sun. The city tended to be busiest in the morning and late afternoon, calming down when the sun was at its highest point.  

He drove in silence, not turning on the radio to let himself think, to slip into the mindset he needed for his job.  

A few short minutes later, he pulled up in front of a nondescript building, slightly shorter than the ones surrounding it and kind of drab. Its concrete walls had once been a refreshing white along the coastline of Varese, but now it was a sickly beige colour. 

Lorcan looked up and down the street before stepping out of the car and locking it. No one looked his way as he crossed the road, reading the sign beside the front doors. Cadre Private Security.  

The plaque always had a glimmer of something bright in his chest, be it quiet amusement at the front or a sense of belonging or even a familial love, that no matter where, the cadre would always be one.  

He pulled the tinted glass doors open and walked through the stiflingly hot lobby, over the dirty and scuffed tiled floor. Hellas below, he understood that pretenses needed to be kept, but the no air conditioning was horrid.  

Lorcan pressed the elevator button, feeling it click and whir gently as the technology recognized his fingerprint. 

He waited patiently for the elevator to stop and when it did, it was empty like always. Lorcan stepped in and subtly punched in the code that would grant him access to the restricted levels, far beneath the surface of the earth.  

The elevator shot down smoothly, going past the parking garages and other underground levels. He knew that there were cameras and other biometrics scanning him and that if he didn’t have the authority to access the hidden levels, the ride would stop at the lowest parking level.  

Lorcan watched the level numbers glow green and stood still as the elevator came to a gentle stop and the doors slid open automatically.  

The moment he stepped out of the elevator, he was greeted by cool air and sighed in relief. He despised the heat.  

Lorcan walked across the laminate floor, nodding a hello to the receptionist sitting at the desk. “Good morning, Philippa.”  

“Good morning, Agent Salvaterre.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @superspiritfestival​ @lovemollywho​ @queen-of-glass​ @jlinez​ 

[siken-archive]

You Are Jeff

1 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which twin you are in love with at the time. Do not choose sides yet. It is still to your advan- tage to remain impartial. Both motorbikes are shiny red and both boys have perfect teeth, dark hair, soft hands. The one in front will want to take you apart, and slowly. His deft and stubby fingers searching every shank and lock for weaknesses. You could love this boy with all your heart. The other brother only wants to stitch you back together. The sun shines down. It's a beautiful day. Consider the hairpin turn. Do not choose sides yet. 2 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road. Let's call them Jeff. And because the first Jeff is in front we'll consider him the older, and therefore responsible for lending money and the occa- sional punch in the shoulder. World-wise, world-weary, and not his mother's favorite, this Jeff will always win when it all comes down to fisticuffs. Unfortunately for him, it doesn't always all come down to fisticuffs. Jeff is thinking about his brother down the winding road be- hind him. He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him back and crawl inside this second skin, then he could relive that last mile again: reborn, wild-eyed, free. 3 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which Jeff you are. It could have been so beautiful—you scout out the road ahead and I will watch your back, how it was and how it will be, memory and fantasy— but each Jeff wants to be the other one. My name is Jeff and I'm tired of looking at the back of your head. My name is Jeff and I'm tired of seeing my hand me down clothes. Look, Jeff, I'm telling you, for the last time, I mean it, etcetera. They are the same and they are not the same. They are the same and they hate each other for it. 4 Your name is Jeff and somewhere up ahead of you your brother has pulled to the side of the road and he is waiting for you with a lug wrench clutched in his greasy fist. 0 how he loves you, darling boy. 0 how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. When he throws the wrench into the air it will catch the light as it spins toward you. Look—it looks like a star. You had expected something else, anything else, but the wrench never reaches you. It hangs in the air like that, spinning in the air like that. It's beautiful. 5 Let's say God in his High Heaven is hungry and has decided to make himself some tuna fish sandwiches. He's already finished making two of them, on sourdough, before he realizes that the fish is bad. What is he going to do with these sandwiches? They're already made, but he doesn't want to eat them. Let's say the Devil is played by two men. We'll call them Jeff. Dark hair, green eyes, white teeth, pink tongues—they're twins. The one on the left has gone bad in the middle, and the other one on the left is about to. As they wrestle, you can tell that they have forgotten about God, and they are very hungry. 6 You are playing cards with three men named Jeff. Two of the Jeffs seem somewhat familiar, but the Jeff across from you keeps staring at your hands, your mouth, and you're certain that you've never seen this Jeff before. But he's on your team, and you're ahead, you're winning big, and yet the other Jeffs keep smiling at you like there's no tomorrow. They all have perfect teeth: white, square, clean, even. And, for some reason, the lighting in the room makes their teeth seem closer than they should be, as if each mouth was a place, a living room with pink carpet and the window's open. Come back from the window, Jefferson. Take off those wet clothes and come over here, by the fire. 7 You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room. Phone's for you, Jeff says. Hey! It's Uncle Jeff, who isn't really your uncle, but you can't talk right now, one of the Jeffs has put his tongue in your mouth. Please let it be the right one. 8 Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old. You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything this ferocious or intentional with another person. Your mother is pretending that she hasn't seen anything. Your father is fiddling with the knobs of the radio. There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello. 9 You are in an ordinary suburban bedroom with bunk beds, a bookshelf, two wooden desks and chairs. You are lying on your back, on the top bunk, very close to the textured ceiling, staring straight at it in fact, and the room is still dark except for a wedge of powdery light that spills in from the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom is covered in mint green tile and someone is in there, singing very softly. Is he singing to you? For you? Black cherries in chocolate, the ring around the moon, a bee- tle underneath a glass—you cannot make out all the words, but you're sure he knows you're in there, and he's singing to you, even though you don't know who he is. 10 You see it as a room, a tabernacle, the dark hotel. You're in the hallway again, and you open the door, and if you're ready you'll see it, but maybe one part of your mind decides that the other parts aren't ready, and then you don't remember where you've been, and you find yourself down the hall again, the lights gone dim as the left hand sings the right hand back to sleep. It's a puzzle: each piece, each room, each time you put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, your ear to the wound that whispers. You're in the hallway again. The radio is playing your favorite song. You're in the hallway. Open the door again. Open the door. 11 Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The heart is monologing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning. Can the heart escape? Does love even care? Snow falls as we dump the booth in the bay. Suppose for a moment we are crowded around a pier, waiting for something to ripple the water. We believe in you. There is no danger. It is not getting dark, we want to say. 12 Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the broken leg of a dog. The sun is shining, O how the sun shines down! Your speedometer and your handgrips and the feel of the road below you, how it knows you, the black ribbon spread out on the greens be- tween these lines that suddenly don't reach to the horizon. It is waiting, like a broken door, like the red dog that chases its tail and eats your rose- bushes and then must be forgiven. Who do you love, Jeff? Who do you love? You were driving toward something and then, well, then you found yourself driving the other way. The dog is asleep. The road is be- hind you. O how the sun shines down. 13 This time everyone has the best intentions. You have cancer. Let's say you have cancer. Let's say you've swallowed a bad thing and now it's got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you're happy anyway, and that's okay, it's a love story after all, a lasting love, a wonderful adventure with lots of action, where the mirror says mirror and the hand says hand and the front door never says Sorry Charlie. So the doctor says you need more stitches and the bruise cream isn't working. So much for the facts. Let's say you're still completely in the dark but we love you anyway. We love you. We really do. 14 After work you go to the grocery store to get some milk and a carton of cigarettes. Where did you get those bruises? You don't remember. Work was boring. You find a jar of bruise cream and a can of stewed tomatoes. Maybe a salad? Spinach, walnuts, blue cheese, apples, and you can't decide between the Extra Large or Jumbo black olives. Which is bigger anyway? Extra Large has a blue label, Jumbo has a purple label. Both cans cost $1.29. While you're deciding, the afternoon light is streaming through the windows behind the bank of checkout coun- ters. Take the light inside you like a blessing, like a knee in the chest, holding onto it and not letting it go. Now let it go. 15 Like sandpaper, the light, or a blessing, or a bruise. Blood everywhere, he said, the red light hemorrhaging from everywhere at once. The train station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind. Or a horse, your favorite horse now raised up again out of the mud and galloping galloping always toward you. In your ruined shirt, on the last day, while the bruise won't heal, and the stain stays put, the red light streaming in from everywhere at once. Your broken ribs, the back of your head, your hand to mouth or hand to now, right now, like you mean it, like it's split- ting you in two. Now look at the lights, the lights. 16 You and your lover are making out in the corner booth of a seedy bar. The booths are plush and the drinks are cheap and in this dim and smoky light you can barely tell whose hands are whose. Someone raises their glass for a toast. Is that the Hand of Judgment or the Hand of Mercy? The bartender smiles, running a rag across the burnished wood of the bar. The drink in front of you has already been paid for. Drink it, the bartender says. It's yours, you deserve it. It's already been paid for. Somebody's paid for it already. There's no mistake, he says. It's your drink, the one you asked for, just the way you like it. How can you refuse Hands of fire, hands of air, hands of water, hands of dirt. Someone's doing all the talking but no one's lips move. Consider the hairpin turn. 17 The motorbikes are neck and neck but where's the checkered flag we all expected, waving in the distance, telling you you're home again, home? He's next to you, right next to you in fact, so close, or. . . he isn't. Imagine a room. Yes, imagine a room: two chairs facing the window but nobody moves. Don't move. Keep staring straight into my eyes. It feels like you're not moving, the way when, dancing, the room will suddenly fall away. You're dancing: you're neck and neck or cheek to cheek, he's there or he isn't, the open road. Imagine a room. Imagine you're danc- ing. Imagine the room now falling away. Don't move. 18 Two brothers: one of them wants to take you apart. Two brothers: one of them wants to put you back together. It's time to choose sides now. The stitches or the devouring mouth? You want an alibi? You don't get an alibi, you get two brothers. Here are two Jeffs. Pick one. This is how you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them. Jeff or Jeff? Who do you want to be? You just wanted to play in your own backyard, but you don't know where your own yard is, exactly. You just wanted to prove there was one safe place, just one safe place where you could love him. You have not found that place yet. You have not made that place yet. You are here. You are here. You're still right here. 19 Here are your names and here is the list and here are the things you left behind: The mark on the floor from pushing your chair back, your un- derwear, one half brick of cheese, the kind I don't like, wrapped up, and poorly, and abandoned on the second shelf next to the poppyseed dress- ing, which is also yours. Here's the champagne on the floor, and here are your house keys, and here are the curtains that your cat peed on. And here is your cat, who keeps eating grass and vomiting in the hall- way. Here is the list with all of your names, Jeff. They're not the same name, Jeff. They're not the same at all. 20 There are two twins on motorbikes but they are not on motorbikes, they're in a garden where the flowers are as big as thumbs. Imagine you are in a field of daisies. What are you doing in a field of daisies? Get up! Let's say you're not in the field anymore. Let's say they're not brothers anymore. That's right, they're not brothers, they're just one guy, and he knows you, and he's talking to you, but you're in pain and you can- not understand him. What are you still doing in this field? Get out of the field! You should be in the hotel room! You should, at least, be try- ing to get back into the hotel room. Ah! Now the field is empty. 21 Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don't make a noise, don't leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights on. Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. I'm in the hallway again, I'm in the hallway. The radio's playing my favorite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I'll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. 22 Someone had a party while you were sleeping but you weren't really sleeping, you were sick, and parts of you were burning, and you couldn't move. Perhaps the party was in your honor. You can't remem- ber. It seems the phone was ringing in the dream you were having but there's no proof. A dish in the sink that might be yours, some clothes on the floor that might belong to someone else. When was the last time you found yourself looking out of this window. Hey! This is a beautiful window! This is a beautiful view! 1 hose trees lined up like that, and the way the stars are spinning over them like that, spinning in the air like that, like wrenches. 23 Let's say that God is the space between two men and the Devil is the space between two men. Here: I'll be all of them-Jeff and Jeff and Jeff and Jeff are standing on the shoulder of the highway, four motorbikes knocked over, two wrenches spinning in the ordinary air. Two of these Jeffs are windows, and two of these Jeffs are doors, and all of these Jeffs are trying to tell you something. Come closer. We'll whisper it in your ear. It's like seeing your face in a bowl of soup, cream of potato, and the eyes shining back like spoons. If we wanted to tell you everything, we would leave more footprints in the snow or kiss you harder. One thing. Come closer. Listen . . . 24 You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terr- ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

[passcridae]

Tuesday 10 November 2020; Nightfall. You come down from the roof of your home to find an envelope has been slipped beneath your door. Upon opening it you find the resistance has given you a new target: Yang Geoffrey, a 124 year old Club shifter who has been masquerading as a Heart Merchant for the better part of seventy years. 

Once the new tattoos appeared his social circle abandoned him when they found out he was really a Club. One of them has (unknowingly) hired the resistance to kill Yang for his charade. Never ones to turn down good coin or the opportunity to rid the world of another highranker, they accepted and passed the job onto you.

Geoffrey is ranked as a Jack of Clubs but is reportedly overweight and out of practice. The resistance urges caution but doesn’t think you should have any problems. This man is not a viable resistance candidate so you should not try to recruit him.

The sky over Sparrow’s head was a finger-painted mess of oily navy and blue, colors blocked and smeared together in clumsy strokes thanks to the sweetness of the powder lingering on his tongue and tinting his breath. Finding creative methods for quieting his thoughts was a necessary evil and, when it came to substances such as Dorian, a thoroughly enjoyable one. There was no space for Sparrow to ruminate on his shortcomings and his solitude when the sunset was painted in such vivid crimson and ochre.

The late evening breeze was spare, chilly but not unpleasant, slipping across the warm planes of Sparrow’s skin with a subtlety he recognized only in delayed appreciation. How long he’d been stretched out with back pressed to the cool tiles of the roof was anyone’s guess, least of all Sparrow’s. He had nowhere to be, no one to see. His detachments were lazily and sloppily described as freedom.

Yellows, oranges and reds had long bled into purple and deep navy by the time Sparrow registered the deepening chill in the air. Judging by the angle of the moon, steadily shedding the weight of the past week’s fullness, it was approaching one A.M. Sparrow pushed the mussed bangs from his forehead, otherwise reluctant to move. He’d fall asleep on the roof (again) if he weren’t careful. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, considering the lack of clouds blotting any of the stars that still flickered with a sheen of brush-stroked halo.

In spite of such thoughts, he slipped back inside. The window was closed and two-fold locked, despite the difficulty of the access point.

A bottle was snagged by inked fingers as he crossed the room, fragrant wine spreading across and amplifying the sweetness still lingering on his tongue. Only when Sparrow noticed the stark contrast of a white envelope against the dark floorboards by his door did he have reason to pause. The ambiguous seal of the revolution was clearer to Sparrow’s eyes, and easily popped open so he could scan the penned lines within.

The orders were simply laid out, as was, oddly enough, the reasoning. Sparrow rarely asked for more information on his targets, and even more rarely was it freely offered. People paid him to kill, not to ask questions; he was executioner, never the jury. Still, in this case, Sparrow couldn’t help himself. He turned the paper over, as if looking for additional explanation. Were people in this city really so petty as to end seventy-year relationships over the difference between a Heart and a Club? Was a new ink-blot of information enough to warrant the murder of an associate?

The new ink (on ink, on ink) on Sparrow’s skin was a blessing, as far as he was concerned; a boon that helped him monitor the purposeful variability of his rank all the more closely. But perhaps he was simply one of the lucky ones. Nothing in his new marking belied anything he tried to hide, like it had for this Club. Sparrow had already thanked his lucky stars he wasn’t a Diamond, or so he’d heard; there probably wouldn’t be room enough on his forehead for that breadth of transgressions.

No, he was still bitterly fortunate to be a Heart.

So while Sparrow might consider contracting a killer over the new margins extreme, the Shifter didn’t much care; he’d killed on others’ behalf for far pettier reasons than this, and it would be one fewer duplicitous highranker walking the land. Sparrow couldn’t find much reason to complain, especially for resistance work. Besides, in Sparrow’s eyes the night was still young. He had little reason not to embark on the task right away; it seemed a preferable distraction to lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for fickle sleep.

Sparrow didn’t even bother waiting for the last of the Dorian to wear off. 

He’d flown over the rooftops under the influence more than once, though usually for the simple enjoyment the swirls of colored lights and dots of crystal lamps brought against ashen brick buildings. Sparrow appreciated the same view now as he took wing towards a higher-ranked district than his own, the smudges of color only growing more vibrant as the money deepened and the dwellings grew more ostentatious. It was nothing compared to the flashiness of Diamond streets, but the warm burst of color against the depth of the navy sky buoyed Sparrow to further heights to witness the scope of it.

Despite the chill November carried on the air, Sparrow could see a cracked window as he broke his flight path to angle towards his destination. It was all the point of entry he ever needed.

Finely-boned feet alit with hardly a skitter on the sill, a few neat hops carrying him past the propped-open glass. A mana lamp had been left on, and Sparrow had to pause as his beaded eyes adjusted to the new swirls and halos of color, a vibrant mural of blissful oblivion in the face of certain death. Thus acclimated, on whisper-soft wings he swept to the floor.

The transition was seamless, with no need to revert back to the common human blueprint in between. Feathers shortened to scales as his spine cracked and elongated, adding vertebrae upon vertebrae, rib after delicately curved rib. Soft walnut melted into a mottled saffron, and Sparrow’s thin tongue flicked to taste the air and ozone, senses shifting, some crawling to heightened as others dulled.

Through it all, he listened to the sluggish heartbeat of the man sprawled on the bed, difficult to discern from under the rumbling snores. Sparrow tasted a sharpness of sour wine on the air. One boneless arm draped over the side, thick fingertips dangling inches from the floor. ‘Exercise caution,’ the order had said. Sparrow would’ve scoffed if he’d been able. The contractors probably could’ve executed this job themselves, but if they wanted to fill the resistance’s coffers with such easily earned gold, Sparrow wouldn’t be the one to argue otherwise.

He took his time slithering closer, rippling muscles working in perfect harmony across the plushness of the carpet. Had the hapless victim been awake he surely would’ve seen Sparrow coming, but even then: there would’ve been little he could have done. As soon as the Shifter finished appreciating the inevitable cleanness of the kill, it was over in seconds.

Sparrow’s coils wound tight before he darted within striking distance, needle-sharp fangs sinking into the soft flesh and latticing of veins that could be seen beneath the tenuity of the man’s skin. The twin pinpricks made purchase centimeters from his newly minted Club tattoo -- an unintentional but somewhat satisfyingly karmic picture painted. Sluggish with wine and slow to awaken despite the sudden burst of pain and inevitable burning, Sparrow’s target didn’t move nearly fast enough to avoid even a drop of the deadliest of liquids spilling directly into his bloodstream.

The man was large, stocky, but Sparrow had venom enough to spare. Even if the ill-fated Heart managed to procure an antivenom under the most unlikely of circumstances, the lingering effects of the current dose would have him laid up for days, weeks; long enough that Sparrow would, if necessary, have ample opportunity to swallow his pride and return to finish the job.

Disengaging, Sparrow darted back into the shadow of a low couch to survey his handiwork. The man sat up in bed, sweating, casting desperately about -- his heart was thundering, no doubt, only serving to spread the venom through his system that much more efficiently. Within the hour his nervous system would start to fail, paralyzing him to the confines of his bed and well out of reach of help if undiscovered. Over time his blood would thicken and clot, blocking essential pathways and dooming his organs to an untimely and agonizing failure. A thin, expertly angled blade slipped between a pair of ribs would’ve been infinitely quicker and more humane, but Sparrow was never hired for the quality of his humanity, nor did his benefactors ever seem to care much for mercy.

Truth be told, neither did Sparrow.

The old man’s panic meant little to him, even as it thickened in the air and carried eddies of unadulterated fear to Sparrow’s sensitive nostrils and flicking tongue. To say he loved his job would be a little too this side of sadistic even for Sparrow to admit, but there was still an odd swelling of pride in his fluttering ribcage as he shifted back to his namesake form.

Leaving the man to his panicked confusion, Sparrow darted on unnoticed wings back to the window and out again, deftly catching an updraft to carry him over the neighboring roof. He’d been in and out in under a manner of minutes, with no reason to suspect even the sharpest of eyes could’ve caught him flitting away -- or assumed he was anything other than he appeared. He was easily the most uncommon of common sparrows.