#(so- you take the bad blood you do know of and justify things especially when he returns the disdain)

[godzexperiment]

~the thoughts about nix's choice of weapon consumed me~

the way, nix's default and go to weapon is knives- how his go to blade in most verses is an pocket knife he swiped on his way out.

-it being an close, personal weapon if he does end up having to use it. *in an case throwing isnt viable* (how interesting that can be as it means when he does an first stabbing especially of the fatal sort- it's rather direct contact to add onto the horror of having done so)

-especially that he is not really violent; despite his demeanor. *most verses at least* so the way he is always fidgeting with knives/throwing them is scary seeming to lots but it's usually just him vibing. (it's noticeable when its an stabby type of intent/mood) -certainly something to be said that it reflects, mirrors his inner turmoil (the desire to be known, closeness. the way it's such an personal/close way of hurting or taking another life even if just for him internally. especially that first time.) -just has an fondness for knives; he can't quite explain why things like twirling one between his fingers is mostly an soothing thing etc but it's habitual formed from time up in heaven too so it's not a habit he can break

-which sure he practiced with say like swords at times, but was permitted to mess around with knives so he did just that and it stuck to him *didn't even quite learn/practice fighting techniques for intended purposes it was mostly boredom+self entertainment* -also! the way nix in 'human' verses namely in vega just opting out overall but favoring knives (no memory- but trusty ole pinprick always with him) however proficient at various weapons/lingering micro adjustments ability etc. pretty often only has his issued side arm on to not get in trouble. -^ the real big thing is his ability as an sniper, rather prefers to be super reliable support from an distance. (not as some say cuz he's an coward) it does mirror, reflect the distance he prefers to keep from people. but also that he'll very much protect others just in his own way.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Your work inspires me so much! Could I request a villain x hero where they’re both mutually in love but the villain, is very much a villain and murders people and the hero feels betrayed, and hates the fact they still love the villain (bonus for the villain doing it out of jealousy 🥺💕) don’t feel pressured to write this ofc! Thank you for taking the time to read and have a good day / evening and thank you for the content you produce ❤️

The hero scrubbed harder at their hands when they heard the bathroom door open behind them. Their shoulders tensed. Their jaw locked.

They didn't look up at the mirror.

"You're upset," the villain said, finally.

The hero snarled, wordlessly. Their skin was beginning to look flayed. Red from the hot water. Clean. Not clean enough.

"You know who I am," the villain pressed. "You know what I'm capable of. I've never hid it, never pretended to be something other than what I am."

"You killed them."

"I've killed before."

"Oh, well. That makes it all so much better then, doesn't it?"

The villain stepped closer. They gently took hold of the hero's wrist with one hand and firmly closed the tap with the other.

The hero whirled, wrenching back and shoving.

Part of them expected the villain to instantly lunge; slam them right back against a wall, leaving the two of them struggling. It was worse that the villain immediately put their hands up in placating, 'okay, I won't touch you', surrender.

It was too damn reasonable.

The villain's expression, through the blurry fury of the hero's tears, was too damn concerned.

The hero swiped at their cheeks, teeth practically bared. "Fuck you."

"Oh, I wish that was the mood, right now."

"You killed them because you were jealous."

The villain's head tilted.

"Don't deny it," the hero snapped.

"I wasn't denying thing. Outside of a court of law, I rarely do."

"This isn't a joke!"

"I wasn't joking, love."

"Don't call me that!"

The villain folded their arms across the chest, and for a moment the hero thought they might walk out and come back later 'after the hero had calmed down'. They leaned back against the bathroom door instead, shutting it.

The hero gulped. They took a step closer, fists raised - wanting to - needing to - they ended up hurling their shaking hands back to their sides.

"You know," their voice cracked. "I defend you to people. Did you know that? I tell them that you're not so bad. Ruthless, yeah, but you're not a monster. You have a code. You love me."

"I do love you, which is why I would never ask you to defend me."

"Like that's the point here!"

"Then what is the point?" the villain asked. Calm. Implacable.

"You're better than this. You're supposed to be better. You don't just - just kill people. Not because of me."

"Ah." The villain's gaze flicked down the hero's arms. "You feel you have blood on your hands."

"No. That's not it."

"Isn't it?"

"It's about you being morally reprehensible."

"Yeah, but we knew I was morally reprehensible, didn't we? Just as we both know I pretend otherwise sometimes when I can make it easy for you."

The hero made a strangled sound. Even if they did know that. Especially because they knew that.

The villain shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, it's not your fault. Yes, I was jealous that you were spending a lot of time fighting them. But on the other hand, they were also a morally reprehensible person, so really if I'm going to kill anyone it should be the people like me. I thought you'd be pleased."

"Pleased?!"

"Well, that I'm channelling my violent tendencies in a societally friendly way. You wanted to stop them too. Does the end not justify the means?"

The hero stared at them, aghast. They genuinely weren't sure if the villain was joking or not. They did not look like they were joking.

"I hate you," the hero said. "So much."

"Yes."

"That's all you have to say? Yes?"

"I'm not an easy creature to love," the villain said, softly. "Of course you hate me sometimes. Otherwise loving me would be unbearable."

"It is unbearable."

Some of the calm slipped from the villain's face; a flinch of pain.

it didn't make the hero feel better. It just made their hands feel more bloodied, more like the villain's hands. Hurting things.

"You know," the villain said. "You're not easy either. I limit my nature a lot for you. I compromise for you all the time."

"It's not a compromise when my demand is asking you not to kill people!"

"I've never asked you to stop risking your life to save people."

"That's not the same thing!"

"Hurts the same amount.," the villain said quietly.

The hero didn't know what to say to that. The two of them stared at each other from across the bathroom, the hero still shaking violently. "I don't want to do this right now," they managed to say, and it was only a little wobbly. "I can't deal with you right now."

"I wanted to check you're alright."

"Yeah? I'm not."

The villain bit their lip. "I really didn't think you'd react this badly. I wouldn't have done it if I thought it would upset you this much."

The hero closed their eyes, because it was true and it was terrible. Another treacherous tear spilled over their cheek. They dashed it away.

"What do you need?" the villain asked. "You should have water or you'll get a headache."

"I want you to leave."

"Are you going to put your hands under the tap again if I leave?"

The hero glared at them.

The villain's defences were back up again, so they merely raised an eyebrow. "I'll be outside, then."

"I thought you were better," the hero said. "You were supposed to be better."

The villain paused, one hand on the door, considering that perhaps.

"No," they said, after a moment, like the hero was the one who had committed some great and grave betrayal. "You just started pretending."

They shut the door behind them.

[notyourhetloki]

freak (Logan x Wade)

/NSFW Logan x Wade/

A/N: Hey theree! This one's a personal project of mine, I'm actually really proud of it and I hope you guys enjoy! It isn't a x reader like I usually write, but I wanted to try something new ;) I love these guys so much ughhh

Tags: nasty porn tbh, rough sex, anal, unprotected sex, bottom!Wade, top!Logan, Wolvie is feral and Wade is really into it, blood, pain play, a bit of feelings (especially in the end :3).

Word Count: 2.7k

—

It is a well-known fact that Wade Wilson doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up. His non-stop banter would take him places he wouldn't go with a gun (but he always brought one just in case), and many times would make him end up in a fight. His Wolverine, on the other hand, appreciated silence.

Logan Howlett was mostly a quiet man, pondering to himself most of the time. He could make a sassy commentary here and there, but in the end, he thrived in introspection.

He knew moving in with Wade would be a challenge, but deep down he liked having his company. He would never admit it, but Wade made the effort to understand him that many people didn't care to make, and Logan valued that... that and the always-present sexual tension between them.

But that doesn't mean Wade wouldn't get on his nerves. The younger man was a shit-talker and a joker, never missing a reference and definitely never missing a chance to comment on what Logan was doing... especially if that meant teasing him.

You see, Logan had a 'bad' habit of scratching himself when he had an itch. Sounds normal, right? It would be... if he didn't do it with his claws.

The first time Wade saw Logan using his claws to scratch his arm, he didn't miss a beat and immediately mocked him about it.

"Got an itch, kitty cat? Be careful ther-"

"I know what the fuck I'm doing." Retorted Logan, already irritated at his roommate.

The second time it happened, Wade witnessed Logan scratching his chin. It was too funny to not point it out, so of course he had to say something. "Trying to shave yourself this time? May I present you to a little gadget called Gillette?"

Logan didn't respond, only glared at him in annoyance.

But the third time... that was when things escalated. Logan was sitting on the couch, manspreading while using his claws to scratch his crotch. It was quick, but of course Wade noticed it. Wade's mouth was left agape at the sight, shocked and amused at the same time.

"Ok... you definitely outdid yourself this time, friend. Thank God for your adamantium balls." He teased while laughing, standing right in front of his target.

"Shut up." Said Logan in a huff, averting his eyes.

"No, really! Like, that was badass! Scratching your ballsack with three super-sharp blades? You're a freak."

Logan momentarily froze at that word, slowly getting up from the sofa and getting close to Wade so he could intimidate him. "Come again?"

"You're a... freak? Just like me, mutton chops. We're both freaks." Wade tried justifying, but to no avail.

"I'm no freak, pal. Call yourself what you want, but don't drag me into it." Logan pointed a finger to the other man's chest, poking him to make his point.

Wade suddenly felt self-conscious for once and realized... Logan probably had a history with that word, and it was definitely not a good one. He quickly recovered and tried explaining himself to him. "Noo, you don't get it... freak is a good thing! The youths say it all the time, it's a slang!"

"I don't care what the youths say, I'm not buying it." Logan protested.

"I say this with love, Wolvie... I get it. But after all, there's nothing wrong with being a freak. Isn't that the whole X-Men premise?"

Logan thought for a moment and realized Wade was right. The X-men taught him to not be ashamed of himself, to not let anyone dictate who he was. But words still had meaning and maybe he could resignify them, empower himself and recognize... maybe he was a bit freakish.

He looked Wade up and down before distancing himself slightly. The realization only made Logan even more aware of the fact Wade wanted to connect with him... and he found that extremely endearing.

That attraction grew with every passing day, like an unwanted visitor, a tumor... gnawing at his chest and consuming every thought he had. He wanted Wade with an intensity he could only describe as needy, feelings getting too loud to ignore.

"Maybe you're right..." Logan admitted, finally making eye contact. Wade smiled sweetly as he crossed his arms, giving his roommate a look that made his breath falter.

Logan hadn't noticed Wade's appearance up to that point, he was wearing shorts and a plain white T-shirt. Wade was showing a lot of his scarred skin in that outfit, and Logan couldn't help but stare... a known heat growing in his belly from the tension rising in the room.

Tension that grew bigger when Wade slightly turned his head sideways, observing Logan's eyes roaming through his body. Logan knew Wade knew, and that only made things worse.

“You know what? I think we match each other’s freak, munchkin.” Breaking the silence, Wade made an effort to maintain eye contact, arms still crossed in a bratty way.

“You sure about that?" Logan licked his lips and also turned his head like a puppy, keeping Wade in his place with his stare.

“Yep! But in reality, I don’t think you could handle my freak, peanut.” Wade tried teasing, feeling his body warm up with anticipation.

Logan scoffed with a laugh, turning to walk away. "Yeah, right."

“But I’m sure you could try!” Desperately said Wade in an effort to keep Logan close... and it worked.

Logan turned towards him and slowly walked in Wade's direction, who had to walk backwards so they wouldn't collide. When Wade's back hit a wall, Logan finally spoke as he got inches close to his face. "And why would I do that?”

They were close enough to breathe each other's air, smell each other's scent and look at their own reflection in each other's eyes. Their hearts were beating fast, and no rational thought could deny what they felt at that moment. It was pure raw tension, a build-up that took ages to finally reach its peak.

“Because it would be fun! And because… I really really want you to.” Wade's voice got serious at that last part and made shivers run down Logan's spine. Was he being honest? Did Wade want Logan as much as Logan wanted him?

He didn't have time to think before acting on impulse, staring at Wade's lips for only a moment before grabbing him by the T-shirt and kissing him hard. Wade immediately reciprocated, tongues meeting halfway while his hands moved to Logan's face.

One of Logan's hands still grabbed Wade's shirt while the other traveled to his waist, pulling him even closer. They kissed roughly and quickly, as if they had wasted so much time. Logan bit on Wade's lip and grunted as the other man moaned in response to the pain, ecstatic with the waves of pleasure that the bite provided.

Logan could taste Wade's blood in his mouth and that only made him hornier, a sudden need for violence and sex that he knew only Wade could handle.

"I wanna hurt you... real bad." Logan groaned at Wade's bruised lips, looking into his eyes while strongly holding him by the waist.

"Show me what you got, babe." Wade was enthusiastic, ready and really horny. Nothing could take that away from him at that moment, and a little bit (or a lot) of pain was definitely a plus in his mind.

Logan's eyes grew darker as he helped Wade take his shirt off before taking his own as well. They both stared at each other's chests before roaming their hands, exploring... it felt electric and so so good.

When he couldn't hold back anymore, he lowered his head to bite on Wade's shoulder, teeth tearing flesh and drawing blood while Wade hissed in pain with his eyes tightly closed. Logan realized he couldn't stop, biting and marking Wade's already scarred skin like he was a hungry dog while the other man clung to him to anchor himself.

Logan’s heightened sense of smell could usually capture people’s fear and anxiety, but Wade didn’t exude that particular scent, no… he was aroused. Logan could smell it coming out of his pores like his very own perfume, it was intoxicating and didn’t fail to drive him even further into his frenzy.

"You like that, huh?" He said between bites, sharp canines piercing rough skin and causing Wade to moan beautifully. "Fucking depraved."

They could feel their boners rubbing on each other as they moved and connected their groins together, their sensitive members absolutely desperate for more direct contact.

"Ha, if I'm depraved then what are you, Mr. Sadomasochist?" Wade's breathing was erratic as Logan abruptly turned him around and pinned him facing the wall, tearing his shorts and underwear with his half-exposed claws as he tried to remove them.

The claws lightly scratched his exposed ass, healing almost immediately as Logan squeezed the tender flesh. He spat on his fingers and promptly started massaging Wade's hole, easing in not-so-gently and fingering the younger man.

"Holy shit, Logan..." Wade's voice trembled as he felt his roommate's fingers in and out of him harshly, the burning sensation felt so good it made his dick throb in anticipation.

The sound of his name coming out of Wade's mouth was enough to wake something dark in him. Logan rarely heard the other man calling out his actual name, but when he did... it always managed to fuck him up.

"You're ready for me, bub?" Logan's deep hoarse voice vibrated into Wade's ear, a last act of gentleness before he knew things would get nasty.

"I was born ready." Wade softly affirmed, his cheek and hands pressed into the wall, bracing himself.

Logan lowered his sweatpants and his cock immediately sprung out as he removed his fingers from the other man. He spat on his hand again and stroked himself a few times before slowly entering Wade's ass until he was balls deep into him.

Wade couldn't see it, but he felt that Logan's cock was huge (just like he had imagined)... filling him up completely and hurting him in the best possible way. "Ah... fuck..." He couldn't stop cursing and moaning, his own dick already dripping with a bit of precum.

"Yeah... so fucking tight..." After Logan buried himself inside Wade for a bit, he finally started moving. It was inconsistent at first, out of rhythm, but soon he found a good hard pace that only got more urgent with every thrust. "I'm gonna fuck you so good you're gonna start seeing stars."

"Oh, God..." Was all Wade managed to say before one of Logan's hands traveled to his neck, squeezing his throat and choking him dizzy.

Logan's other hand grabbed so hard on Wade's waist that his fingertips dug into his skin, leaving bruises that he would definitely remember if it wasn't for his regeneration factor.

Wade arched his back even further at the feeling, matching and meeting Logan's movements causing the man to almost cry out at the sight.

He pulled Wade's hips towards him to meet his every thrust, fucking him like an animal while biting on the other man's ear. Logan grunted from pleasure, taking out all of his frustrations without having to feel guilty about it.

Wade was in pure bliss, getting railed by his super-hot roommate while being choked silly. He couldn't talk, but he could definitely still moan and make obscene noises while his neglected dick achingly throbbed. Logan was right, he was definitely seeing stars at that point.

The bites Wade received were constantly healing, but Logan opened the wounds repeatedly with his teeth while never stopping pounding into his ass. He let out animalistic sounds, feeling out of his mind as Wade squeezed around him and moaned loudly. Everything was so overwhelming but so damn good, he couldn't get enough.

Wade's sweet spot was being abused again and again with every thrust of Logan's cock, achingly getting hit by the member and causing electric pleasure to run through his body. Wade could feel his orgasm growing inside rapidly as Logan squeezed his neck tighter, biting his shoulders while snarling and cussing.

If he could talk at that moment, Wade would be saying "Fucking hell, please don't stop.", but all he could do was shake through his climax. He came untouched, strings of his cum shooting between the wall and his stomach while he closed his eyes in ecstasy.

Logan noticed the whole thing, not letting go of the other man as Wade's legs slightly turned to jelly. "Fuck, Wade..." was all he managed to speak through his ragged breath, still not stopping his hips from moving.

He stopped choking Wade and concentrated on holding the younger man's waist as he furiously rammed his hips forward, barely taking his member out before thrusting again... it was quick, dirty and messy. The slapping sounds their bodies made together only fed into his uncontrollable state, and of course, Wade's moans made him absolutely feral.

Logan was close, quickening up his already wild pace for one last moment before biting on Wade's shoulder again and coming inside him. He growled against Wade's skin as he closed his eyes shut, pleasure waves hitting him in a way he had never felt before.

They stayed in that position for a while, Wade's body flush against the wall as Logan leaned forward, now resting his mouth on the other man's shoulder. They breathed in and out deeply, exhausted and dumb from their respective highs as their bodies tingled with energy.

"Oh, wow... holy shit." Wade started giggling to himself, not believing what just had happened. "Are you alright, peanut?"

Logan inhaled and exhaled through his mouth, eyes still closed in an attempt to ground himself. "Yeah... I'm fine." He was more than fine, in fact, he couldn't remember a time when he felt so fucking satisfied... but of course, he would never admit it.

Logan opened his eyes slowly to see he was still inside Wade, so he slowly retracted himself and watched as cum dripped from his roommate's hole. It was then that he realized what had happened, and a wave of worry hit him like a brick. "Are... are you good, bub?" Logan's voice was serious, a hint of concern that Wade immediately picked up.

"Better than ever! But I appreciate the worry, sweetheart." Wade said, turning around to face the other man and raising his arms to rest on Logan's shoulders.

"I wasn't worried." Logan lied, not willing to give in so easily. He looked at Wade's shining hazel eyes and felt tightness in his chest, and in that moment he knew he had fucked up... he was down bad.

"Sure..." Wade's eyes were fixated on Logan's mouth, not being able to resist as he quickly made his way to kiss the man. That kiss was more tender, slow and sensual and full of feeling. Whatever Logan was repressing at that time came to the surface with such intensity it made him feel dizzy, holding tightly to Wade's waist and drawing him closer.

They kissed for a few good minutes before separating, still panting as they looked into each other's eyes. In a brief moment, Logan closed his eyes and decided to touch foreheads with Wade, who reciprocated the gesture gently.

"You're gonna make me fall for you, Wolvie." Wade whispered earnestly, petting the back of the man's hair. Logan purred at the sensation and felt his chest swell again with feelings he couldn't quite keep secret anymore.

He didn't want to be vulnerable, but honestly... he had tasted Wade's blood, fucked him silly and cummed inside him, maybe being a little vulnerable was only fair at that point.

"Good." Logan responded, opening his eyes at the same time Wade opened his. They looked at each other again, foreheads still touching while Logan drew circles on Wade's skin.

Wade smiled sweetly and Logan smiled back shyly before closing the gap again and kissing him gently.

Logan was never a man to wear his heart on his sleeve, but if there's one conclusion he could take from that experience... it's that he and Wade were freaks, and freaks were meant to stick together.

—

[shesnake]

I wanted to know your thoughts on this but do you think it's fair to say either Louis or Armand are abusive in their relationship? Idek if this is a valid angle to view the characters from because I guess they're all monsters or whatever but a part of me thinks that it's kinda lukewarm to refuse to engage with the complicated themes of the show, which abuse is featured heavily and pretty clearly imo. This isn't aimed at you btw. Something I noticed is people tend to use some of Louis's less favorable moments to justify the violence he experiences. Like that post about Armand just matching Louis energy in ep 5, most of the notes are taking the stance that Louis is a cold, unempathic pimp who doesn't care about sa victims, that Armand genuinely is completely right when he says he is always cleaning up after Louis that he was only worried and tenderhearted and Louis escalated in the worst way and that after Louis said that he deserved everything that happened after. And I may be biased but to me that is so fucking crazy. To me it seems like fans, specially nonblack fans, have zero empathy for black abuse victims, actively enacting abuse culture even. But idk if that is a too reactive view. I don't want to say Louis isn't flawed because he is. But I mean we are watching the season about Armand getting Claudia killed on purpose and somehow people are still like Maybe Armand didn't do it, maybe it was all Louis, maybe Louis really asked for it. All of it. I think there's a problem there but idk I kinda feel a little crazy too. Btw disclaimer I fuckin hate Lestat this is not about comparing Loumand/Loustat lol

hi! and wow there is so much to discuss here...

I think it is fair to describe the actions of both Louis and Armand towards each other as abusive by definition but it's always important to remember that it is Armand in the position of greater power over him. Armand is older, stronger, owns dominion. He can walk in the sun, manipulate memories, and live without constant debilitating hunger for blood - all of which are things that impede Louis from being his own person outside of Armand.

Louis also faced this same predicament when he was with Lestat, but unlike Armand who uses his own innate powers against Louis, Lestat mostly used his social advantages of whiteness, wealth etc in addition to withholding key knowledge about vampirism to keep himself in control and Louis dependent on him.

and sure Louis can lash out all he wants! He can mock Armand's sexual trauma (trauma which Armand himself already gets them both to fetishise... but that's a whole different conversation...) he can hit back when Lestat hits him but when he's with either of those guys he is always going to be the victim. Nothing shitty he does to his partners, or to Claudia, or to Daniel, justifies what is being done to him by these men.

There absolutely has to be anti-blackness involved in any argument that says Louis deserves any of this. (Of course Armand as a brown South Asian man is not immune from fandom racism but his treatment is racialised in a different way that is also a different conversation). Any negative behaviour from a Black man is going to be seen by racists as exponentially more aggressive than it is, especially the cross-section with those you mentioned who aren't engaging with the complicated themes of this show exploring abuse.

They can see that Louis yelling at Armand is bad, but don't notice that Armand is being manipulative. They can see that Louis stabbing Lestat that one time during sex is bad (and still sexualise it), but don't notice that Louis is disassociating in every sex scene he has with Lestat afterwards (because they're too busy sexualising it). They can see that Louis making Daniel upset is bad, but don't notice that Daniel has been leveling dozens of racist and homophobic micro-aggressions at him since episode 1.

Armand got a few minutes to tell his tragic backstory in Louvre, Lestat had 2 or 3 different scenes in season 1 to recall his own. It's just been words. Meanwhile racists erase Louis' experiences with trauma because they never had enough fucking empathy for him to begin with to even register it happening to him! on screen! in real time! right in front of us!

And yeah Louis and Armand and Loumand are incredibly complex and compelling, and I do enjoy seeing Louis' moments of cruelty towards Armand! But he's never going to win against him in the game Armand built for him.

And in terms of Claudia, I do think that Louis failed her, as he has always failed her. And is responsible for her death in that regard. But that failure involved letting those other two fucking sharks eat her!!! I personally haven't seen anyone pushing the blame completely off Armand and onto Louis but I wouldn't be surprised. This week I've more pissed off about people levelling it all on Armand and think of Lestat as an unwilling participant.... this is of course the blonde white vampire show....

anyways sorry this is so long! thanks for the message this was really interesting to think about.

[superectojazzmage]

I really dig Qimir's characterization. He's a Sith and a lot of the brutality of Sith culture is on full display, but he doesn't really come off as necessarily evil or even especially malicious, at the very least no the in the typical way Sith villains are portrayed.

Mae's hunting of the Brendok Jedi seems to have been more of a personal thing for her that he reluctantly went along with as part of her training, and Qimir himself is evidently more concerned with keeping his culture alive than perpetuating old grudges. He hates Jedi because of all the bad blood between them and Sith and the ideological differences and has no issue with killing them, but also mostly just wants to be left alone to practice his faith, use his powers, and rear his own students/children as he sees fit rather than being forced to follow the laws of the nation that destroyed his own.

He bears no delusions about the Sith's current predicament as a tiny husk of it's former self hiding in the cracks of a society dominated by ancestral enemies, like many of the Baneite Sith do. He isn't interested in fantasies of revenge and conquest. As he says to Sol, the only reason he kills the hunting party is because Mae has caused them all to discover the Sith, and if the Jedi Council and Republic learn about Sith still existing they'll default to slaughtering or depowering them all for being "tainted by darkness", the exact same way they've done after every prior conflict with the Sith.

And while he disagrees with the Jedi Code, he also despises when Jedi fail to follow their own stated principles and gladly points out when they're being hypocrites (like how he mocks Sol for being upset over Jecki's death because she's "a child", as if he didn't personally lead said child into lethal combat after rearing her as a warrior and as if the Jedi in general don't use their padawans as child soldiers as a rule). His obvious disdain Sol and the Brendok Jedi specifically over even the other Jedi seems less motivated by the Jedi-Sith feud and more by him knowing about the very bad thing they almost assuredly did on Brendok and being livid about them continuing to act like they have the moral high ground despite it.

In a lot of ways, he's in the same position as the Brendok Coven, someone who wants to be free to live their own way and not be bashed into line by the Jedi and Republic, which would certainly explain why he and Mae gravitated to working together. They see each other as kindred spirits, both people left alone and in hiding by the imperialism of the Republic and the Jedi's refusal to let anyone who challenges their view of the Force exist in the long term, if at all. And that also adds to his anger with Mae when she turns on him; she was trying to throw him under the bus so she can ingratiate herself with the people who killed both her and his people. Even in a culture that values cunning and deceit, that sort of betrayal would probably be seen as unimaginable, the kind of dishonor that can never be atoned for.

All in all, the show is such a nice throwback to the more morally nuanced and even-handed works you used to see more of during the Legends EU days, showing the flaws and issues with all the involved groups while not coming down too hard and deeming any one pure evil, as well as treating the individual characters within those groups as varied in nature but usually sympathetic or at least understandable. The Jedi as an institution and a part of the governmental system are deeply flawed at even the best of times, but most of the Jedi come off as decent folk who are genuinely just trying to do the right thing. The Brendok Witches had their issues, but also justified reasons for everything they did and at the end of the day they just wanted to be allowed to live their lives without fear of outsiders storming in to take their children away and forbid them from passing their ways on. And now, with Qimir, yeah, the Sith culture is shown to be very harsh, ruthless, or even downright savage by the standards of the Jedi (and our own real world values), but they're still people at the end of the day.

[theoldoor]

oh god their hugs… THEIR HUGGSSS AAARRRGGHHH (beats and punch the wllas and dies) (more rambles down below pls read imsick)

theyre so tender and gentle with one another im actually sick and i want to die and i want them to die and i want them to i want them t

FUCKKK THEYRE NOT EVEN CANON i didnt write for aventurine and fenrir to be canonically together romantically and everything i post about them is literally just me acting like a fellow shipper and as if fenrir was canon “theyre so canon” but i literally wrote them to not be canon this post is just going to be indulgences, headcanons abt them bc i know they wont act like this but please let me have some crumbs im literally yearnmaxxing rn

i know i posted this yesterday but i want to expand more on it because yesterday i was in a rush while making that post RUGHGHUG

you know boothill visits talia every now and then, he’s a galaxy ranger and talia from what i’ve seen is going to be western themed or at least like steampunk/western/rdr2 type shit so he’s going to crash by. Fenrir, is there of course, with Hermia. Fenrir has been taking care of Hermia alone for all the years he had been in Talia - Boothill met Hermia once, and she reminded him a lot of how he was when he was younger but she was left alone unlike him being in the care of Graey and Nick. Boothill knows he shouldn’t get attached to the girl, but she was just a little child, so for the short time he had been there he would come visit Avidity often to check up on her - he does miss his daughter.

Though, he when he returned another time, he saw Fenrir. He hated Fenrir at first, considering his cold-blooded and indifference to the situation Avidity was in at the time. However, he would also see how gentle and caring Fenrir was when it comes to Hermia, and then he sees - Fenrir was a survivor, doing everything to live in Talia - especially in such a rugged clan and yet he didn’t let that overshadow his humanity. It’s a hard thing to accept about Fenrir, how he could be so cruel and yet so caring. He was still inherently bad, even if his reasons explains it - it doesn’t justifies.

I want for boothill and Fenrir to have that father-son relationship and Fenrir is Hermia’s brother. You know a little happy family. (IM FUCKIN SICK I HATE FOUDN FAMILY I HATE FOUND FAMILY I FAHATE TAKHTAHHAHTHE). Fenrir is the ‘cool older brother’ who gets you in silly troubles and is awfully attentive and Aventurine would come in later and keep him in line so that he wouldn’t cause too much silly shits.

I never knew Nick and Graey dynamic, but I guess it’s something of the same. Nick being the one who taught Boothill how to ride horses and yk the outdoorsy stuff while Graey took care of the gentler and more domestic skills for Boothill. (theyre so bestfriends am i right) - I could see Nick being the Fenrir and Graey being the Aventurine lol and Boothill seeing them together- it’s kinda like. Even in the worst, there will be humanity. Aventurine and Fenrir are both inherently bad and had blood on their hand, but that doesn’t mean those same hands can care and heals.

i NEED THEM DEAD and theyre literally just comforting each other and taking care the others sh wounds im going to jumpp and die

fenrir would be the type to do some stupid shit or say something so outrageously idiotic that makes u forget u were supposed to have a panic attack i love them i will expand more on this… tmr’s post….

[darkness-follows]

hey! i love your writing! there’s so little for Boyd x reader out there, so if you’re up for it could you maybe write something for him? maybe a little hurt/comfort and smutty?? he’s such a weirdo and i love him sm

thank you! and have a nice day :)

Thank you, thank you !!!! And of course!!! I hope the changes I made and the idea it turned into still all work for this !

Boyd x Female Reader

I'm still not over the end of City Primeval because it was so perfect and makes up for how in my opinion the other 7 episodes were a bit of a tough chew. Not bad! But not fantastic either.. but still, consider giving it a watch especially for the end of episode 8 for this mini multi part fic might spoil some things!!!!

It hurts so good aka a Justified: City Primeval sequal to the OG show with older Boyd and a Prison Guard reader who falls madly in love with him.

TW: Blood. Wounds. Prison stuff. Smut (cavity/strip search). Gross other prisoners.

Enjoy PART 1:

First day on the Job. A Female prison Guard in a men only Penitentiary, it takes a lot to stomach everything, the comments, the looks, the disgusting things prisoners say to you. But you prepared for this, you got trained for this and hell you will make the best of it! You get to meet the non violent prisoners first, the ones who aren't arrested for rape or torture or anything of that kind. It's also the first time you meet Boyd Crowder. Your family being from Harlan Kentucky you heard some stories..

You know of him, but not a whole lot about him.

Though mistakes happen in prison especially on a first day. Your partner accidentally left you alone with Boyd and another prisoner in the back of the kitchen. And men who were locked up for a long time...don't exactly behave the best towards a young, pretty attractive new Guard. "Didn't know they hire models" the prisoner says, it's a mild start but it gets worse and worse. Until he makes a move towards you, he grabs your wrist and tries to pull your hand towards his crotch "let go! Let go of me!!" You try to pull away but he's twice your size.

You hear a loud bang and all of a sudden the prisoner has his eyes snapped on Crowder.

"Jerry! That ain't how we treat women now is it? You better confess what you've done if you wish to sleep in peace tonight" Boyd turns to take the man's shoulder, guiding him slowly out of the kitchen. "You don't want any suprise visits tonight do you Jerry?" He whispers before he shoves him out of the kitchen.

Shaking his head "I'm sorry about that, some of em really don't know how to behave. You okay?" He asks and when your eyes meet his it's almost..magnetic. "hm? Oh! Yeah! Yes thank you, I was ready to get that taser out" You huff.

"Oh please there is no need to thank me, I'm sorry your first day went like that, I sincerely hope one bad Apple doesn't spoil the whole bunch for you now. There are some good men in this place." He points out. The way he speaks and the methaphor.. you heard he has a certain charm to him but seeing it in real life, hearing his buttery accent and the way he carries himself despite the orange prison attire? He's a bit Interesting..

"I'm known to hand out a few chances" You smile and open up the knife drawer with your keys. Your duty is to observe their cooking and Crowder was listed as green when it comes to kitchen supplies such as knives.

"Gotta admit I might be the same way, Lord knows I've been giving away chances like free candy" He takes one of the bigger kitchen knives to start cutting the vegetables Jerry was supposed to take care of. The way he keeps looking over his shoulder at you to talk makes you feel a certain kind of warmth. He's really making sure to adress you respectfully, keeping eye contact and not looking you up and down like the rest of em in this place.

"Well, thanks again Crowder." You nod. Keeping it professional.

🕐

2 weeks into a new job and it's safe to say that you adjusted well, you know who to trust and who to get along with, which prisoners are the nice kind and which ones are the bad. This place works like a perfectly oiled machine, everything is time based and the system of the prison works. You shouldn't have a favorite prisoner but this Crowder guy doesn't seem too bad. You've been through his file a little, it's a hefty record for a man who seems so nice and collected. You also stumbled across some pictures of an injury he got inside.

Graphic pictures of a mean looking burn on his upper arm, investigation showed second degree burns to apparently scorch a hateful Tattoo off of his skin. Ouch. Yet no agressor is listed, apparently, he wouldn't say who did it to him. It was his first week of kitchen duty too.

You see Crowder again in the kitchen, it's easy for New Guards to be posted at Lunch and dinner. Observe everything.

"You've got to try this! For prison chow it really is somethin' " Crowder points out, stirring a pot.

You hesitate at first but you are pretty sure he wouldn't try and poison you. Not like this anyways. "I don't know If..- I'm allowed to" You frown but with a smile. Though no other guards are around so maybe it's fine. The smile on his face when you step closer is almost sweet, he takes a spoon and puts some of the food onto it, holding it out to you. You don't even really think about it when you open your mouth and your lips move around the spoon that he's holding. Too distracted by the taste.

"Wow!" You huff suprised, chewing slowly. "That really is good" How on earth does prison food taste better than the food at your own table at home?

"You like it? It's a old Crowder family recipe. It's easy to make but got quite the kick to it!" He throws you another rather off putting smile, why is he so nice? You read his file you know he's not violent for no reason but it's still a bit unusual.

"Yeah I do like it! You gotta give me that recipe" You take a few steps back again, licking your lips softly. That was really tasty.

"Is that an order, Guard?" He asks, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel and turning to face you. The tension in the room is suddenly different, heated, you don't know what he's getting at but it's best to put a cork in it, now.

"No?" You question. "Now get back to work" .

"That was an order" You tease.

His chuckle rings in your ears for a moment, you really do have a strange relationship with him.

🕒

Its not unusual to play favorites in a place like this but you and Crowder became..close. It's been a month now for you in Kentucky's Tramble Penitentiary. Everytime you interact with Boyd you laugh, you smile, he smiles, it really feels like you starting to develop a crush. Which is bad. Biggest rule in the game. Don't fuck the inmates. Ever. Cooking duty for him means you can always watch him fix up something nice for the other inmates. He really always takes his time, he always makes it great.

Up until today.

"God! Fuckin' damn it!" You hear Boyd curse loudly and when you rush to the kitchen to take a look you can see blood. Your hand moves to your taser.

"Easy! Didn't stab nobody, just cut myself, the fucking cucumber slipped off the board." He holds his fingers and you can see blood slowly running down his hand and arm. Luckily you have some mild medical training.

You radio in the incident and your current Boss gives the clear, your allowed to take care of the injury and put someone else on cooking duty.

You swap out inmates and a coworker takes over the Observation while you take Crowder to the small medicial room at the end of the hallway. A own room for minor things so they don't all end up clogging up the only Hospital wing in the entire prison.

But you've never been in this area or this room before and suddenly it dawns on you, you are new and your alone here with a prisoner known for Manipulation tactics. The fear becomes reality when you finally take a closer look at his injury. No way in hell was that an accidental cut, the placement is way off.

"What's the plan Boyd? Jump me. Take my keycard, my taser, make your way out the back?" You huff.

You hope you are wrong but when he starts to chuckle you can feel your stomach turn.

"No darlin' not quite." He points out.

"God and here I was thinking you weren't like the other's" your hand reaches for your Radio again to call it in when he's suddenly a few steps too close.

"It ain't like that" Boyd takes another step closer.

"Come one now, you need me to spell it out for you?" His voice...his smile.. he's...- is he trying to seduce you?!

"What? Yes. I think you do" your hand leaves off the radio.

"We have been dancin' around reach other for a month now, as nice of a dance as it was, you wanna leap off that stage now don't you? See the Real Deal." He suggests.

You can't help but to burst into a soft laughter "You think I want to sleep with you???" You shake your head and turn away from him, grabbing some rubbing alcohol and a Band aid for his self inflicted dumb cut.

"I don't just think so, I know so" He points out. Stepping behind you while you gather the supplies.

"Your crazy. I really underestimated your Level of crazy. Now give me that hand and then I'll take you back to your cell" You chuckle again. Staring at him when you turn around and he holds up the cut in his hand. Your hands tremble while you pour the alcohol onto a cottonball. Taking his hand into yours, cleaning the cut and then the rest of the blood from his hand and arm. His fingers, his breathing.. He takes another step forward and you take one back. Feeling the wall against your back, shaky hands trying to hold still while you slap the band aid onto his wound. Once that's done his hand closes around yours.

"You mean it? I've been imagining things... you don't want me?" He tries to confirm that he actually might have been wrong about you.

But you can't help it, you let his hand take yours.

Your hesitation speaks volumes.

Your hand presses against his chest, but he leans in to kiss you anyways. His lips are so gentle, so careful, he's not aggressive or demanding. It's almost sweet if you don't think about the fact that this could get you fired and that having a crush or fling with him won't work. Because at the end of the day he's in here and you are out there.

You break the soft kiss with a sigh.

"No..- I don't want to sleep with you, now take a step back Crowder" You raise your shoulders, making yourself a bit taller.

He nods. And he does.

"Apparently im off my game, it's been a while" He frowns. "I deeply apologize." He keeps his head down for a moment.

He genuinely seems sad. As if he can't believe he made such a mistake.

"Your not off your game." You finally say. "Imma have to get a uh, a transfer I think, to another ward, having feelings for an inmate is unacceptable."

His head lifts up slowly.

"Here I was thinkin' all these little things were signs you wanted my flesh. But it aint just that huh?" The smile on his face makes you roll your eyes. "You like me" He grins. "Shut up" You groan.

"As in, a little crush! Or a big crush? Good Lord! Are you in love with me?!" Now he's just being mean.

"I said shut up!" You chuckle.

And then he hugs you.

You expected everything but that...

His arms around you feel so strangely comforting, you know this is wrong, you read his charges, you know very well why he's in here and yet here you are, in his damn arms. Your hands are hesitant, but slowly you stroke your palm over his back and your other holds onto his upper arm, where you feel the scar tissue underneath your finger tips.

"Why did you never tell who did this to you?" You ask, hand soothing over the uneven skin. It's a really bad burn scar, thick and leathery almost in it's texture.

He slowly lets go of your frame, placing his palm onto your face. "Cause I did that myself." He tugs a piece of your hair behind your ear before his lips place a kiss onto your head. "They woulda thrown me into isolation for it, marked me up as a danger to myself, couldn't risk that...-" He adds. Taking a step back then.

"Why did you do it? Apart from the obvious.." your skin feels on fire, you want more, your lips are dying for a kiss that takes your breath away and your hands are aching for a body to cling to.

"Form of self punishment, I guess." Incredible how sane and yet insane such a Statement sounds, you kind of understand. Pointing to his hand "And you did that to sleep with me?" You huff. It's a strange way to go about things, that's for sure.

"Well, had to get you alone somehow didn't I?" His face changes when he looks at you a little while longer, taking a deep breath. "But I gotta admit, this was quite the suprise, might be even been better than a simple, fleeting, lustful exchange. I deeply honor that you.. care about a man such as myself." He likes it, he wouldn't have it any other way actually.

"Doesn't matter much does it? Not like there is anything to be build here" The alarm starts blasting which means Lunch is over and it's back to the cells.

He missed Lunch for you.

You take a hold of his shoulder to walk him back to his cell, his cellmate not being there yet you step inside for a second.

"Don't request a transfer.." He whispers. "Seeing your face every day for the last month while cooking has been the happiest I have been in a while, don't take that from me, please." He seems really sincere.

You nod "Okay." Then you leave his cell.

Fuck, you can't believe you have a crush and that he kissed you, and that he hugged you, hell he even knicked himself with that knife to get to be alone with you and then also asked to not stop seeing you everyday.

Falling for an inmate was not on your list, especially not THE Boyd Crowder.

🕔

Fights happen very very often in tight spaces like these with a bunch of criminals. Unfortunately Crowder was in the room where it happend, which means by the damn book, strip search. Someone could be hiding a self made knive, razorblade glued to a toothbrush..hide drugs.. anything.

"Crowder. Room 3." The guard yells, FUCK. You were hoping he'd be called to a different room, you change your gloves from the last inmates search, leaning against the medical shelf when he steps inside. The instant smirk on his face makes you flush Red.

"Well ain't that somethin' , guess it's your lucky day" He closes the door and takes off his shoes. Not his first strip and not your first search but.. this is pretty damn intimate. Even if you try to not treat it that way, you like him, and he knows you like him, and now you get to do a body search on him? It might really be your lucky damn day.

"Hey now! Im a pro" You wiggle your gloved fingers.

"I bet you are darlin' " He steps closer, opening the buttons on his orange prison jumper. The reveal of his chest and his shoulders is already pretty nice to see but when he drops it lower and you get to see his abs and his hips and his V line it's starting to get steamy in the room. He Strips the jumper and stands in his white boxershorts.

"Don't you worry now, I think I'd be quite alright with a bit of touching" He clicks his tongue, taking off his boxers. And Jesus christ. Seems like Boyd Crowder isn't just all talk, he really got the package to back it up. Good for him!

"You are staring" He comments.

"No! What? Im not! Turn around" You huff, watching him turn around and place his hands against the wall. Fuck, this shouldn't be so damn hot.

"Bend uh, bend over...you know how this goes come on Boyd" You sigh.

His chuckle makes your head spin, you really didn't think this would happen today. But you got a job to do, it's not like you don't trust him but .. you have to do this right?

You take a deep breath before you step behind him, patting down his hair first, armpits, his hips, people get creative. Some even hide blades in their own damn skin. When your hands move to his pretty nice butt you hesitate.

"Oh come on now sweetheart. Ain't my first rodeo. Let's go" He huffs. You nod. Taking the lube from the medical cabinet, you hands spread his buttcheeks apart, when you don't see or feel anything it's time for the uncomfortable finger. You apply enough lube and with a soothing hand on his hip you gently push a finger inside of him.

You don't take him for the type to shove drugs up his damn ass but this is simply part of the job. Of course you don't feel anything so you move to take your finger away again but then he..moans.

A long deep right out of his lungs kind of moan.

You move your finger slowly again in the same motion and his body tightens. "You uh, you okay?" You ask.

He nods. Which is not a yes and not no to you.

"Bit sensitive are we Crowder?" You ask and you could swear to god that he pushes back against your hand. "I think I have to be really thorough here." You slowly push a second finger inside of him.

"Fuck...-" He moans deeply.

"I'm so sorry!" You panic a bit.

"No your fine..- just god please don't stop".

"Don't stop what? That?" You move your fingers the way you did before again and again..- getting a bit deeper each time. His head is resting on the arm that's holding him against the wall, you can tell he's breathing faster, his skin is flush. Someone likes a bit of a prostate massage.. Interesting.

Boyd's breathing sounds so insanely erotic, you never heard a man make these noises before.

His other hand spreads him open a bit, watching your fingers move in and out of him. You never thought you'd be into that but? The way he sounds so broken by how good it feels? The fact that it makes him feel so good makes you feel good in return. That's all that matters right?

You step closer to him, placing a gentle kiss onto his back while your free hand reaches around him. Stroking over his Rock hard cock.

"Good lord, Ain't that some kind of abuse of Power?" He comments but he likes it, he could easily make you stop if he wanted to. Looking at you with big desperate beautiful eyes.

"You wanna file a complaint?" You kiss his shoulder and his back again. His hips starting to meet your pace is incredible.

"Phew aren't you all wound up, how long has it been Boyd? Since you felt a womans touch? Soft lips against your skin, delicate hand around your cock?" You whisper and it feels as if he's crumbling at your words. All desperate and defeated. That certainly is a new look for Boyd Crowder.

"Too long way too long" He breathes out.

"Am I doing a good job?" You ask hopeful.

"The best..." his voice is dripping with something sweet, he sounds so thankful.

When you push your fingers into him harder you can feel his hips shiver. He likes it a little rough too apparently.

You keep the stronger pace of your fingers, hand stroking his cock in the same motion.

The orgasm you get to witness is stunning, breathtaking. He tries to swallow his moans but his body clenches around your fingers and his cock throbs in your hand while rows of cum spray the wall in front of him. It's easy to tell without a vocal Orchestra that he really enjoyed himself. Carefully letting go of him and taking your gloves off.

"God damn Baby." He chuckles when he turns around.

He picks up his clothes and gets dressed again fairly quickly, closing the buttons on his prison jumper. He even has the damn courtesy of taking some paper towels and cleaning up the mess he made, tossing them and washing his hands before he looks at you.

"You really have me question what we are here..." He tilts his head and you can still see the remains of a blush on his skin.

"I've never done this before, all these other guys they are so...uptight, uncomfortable, and then you come along moaning around" You huff.

"Which I never done before either!! No other guard has ever gotten me like this, I think it's more of the person, the person being a woman I rather fancy" He smirks a bit. "I bet any touch of yours would make me sing such tunes darlin' " God the charisma of this man is teeth rotting sweet.

"Your ridiculous" You comment, but you should move on now, you don't want people to question why this is taking so long.

"Ridiculousy smitten, correct." He nods.

"Go now, smitten or not this is still a crime" You nod towards the door but instead of him going both of his hands take your face. Kissing you slow and sweet before he has to let go. "Might get myself into some more trouble if that means I get to be seein' you" he winks before he opens the door.

He's such an idiot but...god you too are pretty damn smitten.

💞🕒💞🕒💞🕒💞

To be continued...

Hey thank you for reading. I hope you liked it. And I hope you are excited for more !

Tags:

@justme12200 @cat-shepard @megangovier

@ivyinthesun @catclaw12

If I wrongly tagged someone or forgot someone im super sorry !!! I gotta start making a damn list hahaha.

[seajelllies]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝟐 ♡︎ not quite, sweetheart masterlist ✎ roll call 1 ✎ roll call 2

"Don't get mad-"

"Every time you say that, my blood pressure rises."

He let out a long nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before clearing his throat. "I kind of uha, have to pick up some things for a project in one of my classes."

"Yuji," You frown, lifting your head from the textbook you've been staring so deeply at he swore you'd burn a hole in it someday. "You were the one who told me to come over to help you."

"I know I know, I'm sorry, I'll be quick, really." He mumbles apologetically. He felt bad, really, and you could tell from the way he kept his eye contact.

You look at the time on your phone for a second before glancing back at him with a sigh. It wouldn't hurt to just stay put for a bit anyways, since he bought you food and all. If anything, you could just continue studying on your own with less distractions anyways- you weren't the one losing any time.

"Yeah, sure that's fine-"

"Thank you! You're the best! I'll be back, I swear!" And before you could even fully finish your sentence he bolted out of the door, and you could hear someone yelp in the hallway- probably bumping into him in the process. You almost forgot he used to do track in high school- surely you wouldn't be waiting for long.

You let out a soft snort, shaking your head with a sigh.

The first thing Sukuna did when he opened the door, was grumble to himself, running his hand through his hair in frustration. Attending classes was annoying, even more so after he already stays behind at his job for 2 hours longer than he should have.

'I should just fucking quit.' His eye twitches at the thought- very tempting, but quitting meant no money. No money meant no classes. No classes meant no potential decent job. No potential decent job meant he was going to be stuck selling drugs again- which he'd much prefer.

But he can't subject Yuji to that kind of association. Detrimental to his future, or whatever he told himself to justify not taking the easy way out.

As he makes his way into the room, there's 3 things wrong.

One. Yuji's bag and jacket are here, but not Yuji. Sure, those two things don't always need to follow him wherever he goes, but he's gotten used to him just lazing around by the time he gets back.

Two. There's another bag next to his. Unfamiliar, just like the shoes that definitely do not belong to his brother sitting neatly at the doorway. Yuji doesn't tend to invite people over, he usually goes to hang out at Kugisaki or even Fushiguro's dorm.

Three. There's a stranger quite literally sitting at their shared table, head in their arms. He can only assume they fell asleep, because he was almost sure they'd turn around the second the door opens if they weren't. Who just falls asleep in someone elses dorm?

Especially on a table that he can't remember the last time was properly cleaned.

He walks closer, frowning as he shoves his hand in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes glanced down at them as he peered over their shoulder, trying to gauge how asleep they were.

"Oi." He sounded irritated and tired- mostly because he actually was, eye twitching at the unfamiliar guest that seemed to be quite comfortable just falling asleep here.

"Brat, wake up." He scoffs, kicking the leg of the chair lightly, hoping it would stir them awake. But it doesn't and their head stays still, the only sign of them even being alive was their body moving up and down from breathing.

"You've got to be joking." He groans, snapping in front of their head, trying to get them to wake up without simply throwing them off the chair. Calm. Calm. Calm. He had to stay calm, he can not cause another issue and risk getting expelled.

He was too tired for this.

He fights the urge to throw his phone at the wall, exasperated sigh leaving his lips again, his scowl deepening when he notices them adjusting slightly, their arms shifting so he could slightly see their face.

His eyes glance down at them, and he plops into the seat next to theirs, elbow leaning on the desk with his chin resting on his hand with an irritated frown.

How someone could look so peaceful sleeping in someone elses room, he would never understand. Especially a dorm with two college guys- were they stupid? Or maybe they really were exhausted, like Yuji said.

Strands of their hair fall onto their eyes, and he reaches out to move it before he catches himself.

He lets out another grunt, eye twitching when he realizes he was staring too closely at a random stranger, and he moves back, leaning against the back of the shitty chair- hands shoved back into his jacket.

But the feeling of the hair in their eyes seems to wake them up, lashes fluttering slowly as they blink to adjust to the sudden light. They seem to realize they aren't alone, rubbing their sleepy eyes as they turn to glance at him.

"Yuji?" Their voice was quiet, and clearly very exhausted. Hair still slightly in their face, eyes blinking in his direction in confusion

Cute. Almost.

"Not quite, sweetheart."

𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔!

︾ There was more writing than there were screenshots even though I told myself there wasn't gonna be as much writing to save myself the pain of thinking 🧍‍♀️ ;;sobbing

︾ Anyways I changed the title from what it was going to be originally and move it to chapter 3 because I feel like it'd fit better there! anyways grumpy sukuna is silly, he's so >:( but he'll warm up soon. probably. 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

︾ ik i already said this was fem/afab!reader but my dumbass brain kept writing they/them/their and i didn't realize till i got to the end. im sorry 😔

𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍! the taglist

@sweetteez

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 [Part 3]

Sometimes you just miss your chance. Sometimes you have to take it.

Tags/Warnings: Non-Idol Jungkook, Dog Hybrid!Reader, former criminal!Jungkook, mentions of past neglect/abuse, reader has some pretty bad psychological problems (OCD, Anxiety, Selective mutism, hints at an eating disorder), hypersomnia, road to recovery, hurt and lots of comfort, angst, Jungkook has some problems with aggression and swears a lot, more TBA in future chapters

Length: I did not count sue me I guess

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: You can have early access to this and other selected fics on my Patreon!

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It's not uncommon for him not to see you much during his work. But today, especially considering how close you've gotten to him and how comfortable, it's weird to him that he doesnt see you at all.

"Jungkook.." Hana says, catching his attention as he mops the floor of the lunch area where all hybrids had just eaten a few minutes prior. "Do you have a moment?" she asks, voice soft and kind, though he's guarded, because he knows that soft-tune she puts on.

She's talking to him like she does to the other hybrids.

Something's up.

"Sure." he shrugs, putting the mop to the side before followong her to the side. "What's up? Did I do something?" he wonders, hands in his pockets while he leans against the wall behind him.

"I think you've already noticed that 268- the hybrid you've been spending time with.. She's not here." Hana says, and she doesn't need to say your name to make his eyes harden. Technically you don't have one after all, only your ID number he's able to recite back by pure instinct. He knows that she's talking about you. There's no one else she could mean.

"what about her?" he asks suspiciously, already irritated because deep down, he's got his fears. Maybe you've been adopted. Then he should be happy, right?

Except he isn't.

"She's been transferred..." Hana says, sighing before she crosses her arms in front of her, a clear sign she's going to try and justify that action while also blocking his for sure incoming anger. "...to a correctional facility in Daegu."

"What the fuck?!" he loudly barks out as soon as he hears that, visibly distressed. "Do you know what they fucking do to hybrids in these shitholes?" he demands to know, fists curled tightly as hed pushed himself off the wall vehind him, walking a step towards her. "She's gonna be even more traumatized in there, good fucking job!" he scoffs.

"please, a bit more quiet-" she tries as she notices some hybrids looking. "-she's gonna be fine. They're trained in cases like hers-"

"and if she doesnt comply she will just be sent to another, and another, and a-fucking-nother! Great solution, really!" he barks out, pulling the nametag from around his neck aggressively. "I'm done participating in this bullshit."

"Jungkook-" she tries, but he's already walking.

"I've got a week left of this work and I've not taken any days off." he says grimly, turning around with angry eyes. "I'm taking them now." He growls angrily, leaving the area to go grab his things- when a young man looks at him, then at his nametag Jungkook is taking off in frustration.

"Jeon Jungkook?" The man says, standing next to him dressed in all black, a facemask covering half of his face. He looks sketchy- and has caught Jungkook during the worst time possible.

"What!?" he snarls more or less, before a letter is pushed into his hand, catching him off guard.

"You're being summoned to court." the man says. Jungkook's blood runs cold at that.

"I've done the community service shit, what the hell?" he argues, but almost weakly so- because he knows he's powerless against the legal system. If they believe he needs further, worse punishment, then he'll have to take it.

"Oh they know, it's not about that." the guy says. "Or at least, not entirely. Read it at home. I think you'll be interested in showing up." the guy almost chuckles, cat-like eyes showing his amusement over the situation.

"..huh." Jungkook doesn't say anything else, turning around to go grab his bag.

"Ah, and Jungkook-ssi." the guy calls out, making the younger man roll his eyes as he turns around. "could you borrow me some of your clothes?"

"..the fuck?" he squints his eyes, unsure what this stranger wants with his clothes of all things. "Why would you want my stuff?" He asks, cringing a bit.

"I think anything that's got your scent on it would do. Just bring something when you visit." the man says, handing him a card, and a plastic.. ID, similar to the one he uses to wear at the center right here. "I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

The card is from the Hybrid Behavioral Therapy Center in Daegu, contact info and location address clearly written down beneath the logo. But it'sthe plastic ID card that makes hus eyes widen, because it clearly spells out;

'Special Clearance Pass: Potential owner for hybrid 268.'

[7-wonders]

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x Reader

Summary: Life has never been the kindest to you, and you've come to expect only the worst from it. But when a golden-eyed stranger shows up at your place of work and promises you that all your dreams will come true if you just trust them, how are you to say no? Get ready—a ball in the Dreaming awaits.

(Based on the below ask)

Word count: 14.2k

Notes: A couple of housekeeping notes before we get into it! First, this is very heavily inspired by the "Season of Mists" plot from the comics. In the wider universe for this story, this replaces the events in that comic arc. There are no spoilers for the actual comics, though. The only thing you need to know about SoM is that there's an event that brings basically every important magical being to the Dreaming. This isn't super important, but I wanted you guys to be aware of the thought process behind what I did.

Also, for all my nonbinary and male readers—this fic features a gender neutral reader! I sincerely hope that everybody enjoys this.

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round (but especially comments and reblogs), so if you enjoyed, show a gal some love!

Desire of the Endless

Desire of the Endless is facing a problem.

For the first time since…well, they can’t remember, actually, that’s how long it’s been since they felt the need to apologize for anything.

Desire has always prided themself on being completely and unapologetically them. If somebody didn’t like that, or if someone’s feelings got hurt, then too bad. That was their fault for not knowing what they were going to get into when they made Desire’s acquaintance.

However, Desire can also recognize when they’ve taken things too far, which is a very steep bar to hit. Practically everything that Desire does, they can justify it completely. This time, though, they finally can’t justify what they’ve done.

So an apology it is. A simple apology, however, is not going to cut it in this situation. Not that it should! But still, it would be a lot easier to patch things up if all it took was a “sorry.” 

Oh well, Desire would just have to get creative in coming up with the apology to end all apologies. Thankfully, they had their dearest twin to turn to when they needed help with a little brainstorming, which is how Despair ends up lounging on a shiny red settee created from the very fabric of the Threshold.

Said anthropomorphic personification watches as her twin continues to pace, back and forth and back and forth, the heels of their shoes clicking against the floor for maximum effect. They perk up every so often before muttering something and shaking their head, discouraged once more. Despair, apparently having finally had enough, lifts her head from the armrest to give her full attention to her twin.

“Your despair is too much for even me to bear, Desire. Please, what is it that troubles you?”

“Our brother troubles me, and not in the way that he normally does.” Desire takes a seat next to their sister. “I find that I…regret the way that I have treated him over the past couple of centuries. I went too far.”

“Was it the ‘helping to trap him in a magician’s basement for a hundred and sixteen years’ or the ‘impregnating a sleeping woman in an attempt to make him spill family blood by killing the new Vortex’ that went too far?” Despair asks dryly.

Desire bares their teeth in a teasing warning, but Despair merely shrugs as if daring their twin to do it and rip her throat out. Desire sighs, knowing that they won’t be able to rattle her, they’ve never been able to accomplish that, and continues. “Regardless, I realize now that I went too far, and I want to make amends with him. Apologize to him.”

“And how are you planning to do that? I doubt a simple ‘I’m sorry’ will patch things up between you two.”

“I realize that too, which is why I seek to give him something to prove just how sorry I am. That’s where you come in, my dearest Despair. I’ve been brainstorming for days, but I have absolutely no idea what to give him as an apology.”

“Hmm.” After a moment, she nods. “I see your problem. Dream’s never exactly been easy to give a gift to.”

Despair begins to think, absentmindedly digging her fish hook into the skin of her face before dragging it down and repeating the process. Desire has always found themself morbidly fascinated by this compulsion that their twin has, unable to look away from the jagged skin that hangs open and the black ichor that drips sluggishly from the wounds.

The hook comes to rest on Despair’s lap, a sign that she’s finished thinking. “Most of your transgressions against our brother have involved you seeking to destroy the two things that control him most. His realm, and his loves. His realm is his duty, his function, his responsibility; he must have control over that, for it’s who he is.”

“Yes, Dream is nothing if not a stickler for his silly little rules,” Desire agrees.

“True, but you’re forgetting that second piece of the puzzle I mentioned. What has Dream always wanted more than anything?”

What was the one thing that Dream wanted, needed, desired, more than anything? The answer, though Despair already said it, hits Desire in the face. “Love,” they gasp. 

Love! A mere step away from, and more often than not, intertwined with, Desire’s very function. 

“But I cannot make somebody love him. Desire him, yes. That’s easy. Though the two are similar, love is something that even I cannot meddle in.”

“I’m not saying that you make somebody love him, nor that you even use your function to acquire this gift.”

Desire’s brows raise from the intrigue of what’s just been said. “Then what?”

“We both know that you’re extremely talented when it comes to meddling in others’ affairs. Instead of using it to harm this time, use it to help. Find Dream’s true love, and make it so that they come together. I believe mortals today call it a ‘meet-cute’?”

At first glance, it seems difficult, if not impossible. While the idea of true love is not rare (at least, to higher beings that know such a thing exists–mortals are still attempting to figure that out for themselves), true love among the Endless is, as of yet, still undiscovered. What if Dream doesn’t have a true love? Even if he does, how is Desire to find out such info—

Their train of thought screeches to a stop as they remember the function of their other brother. Of course! Destiny surely has it in his stupid Book whether or not Dream has some poor soul destined for him. And if he doesn’t, and the rest of his life is meant to be a string of shorter, passionate loves, then it would still be written down. Desire can bring him that happiness sooner as a show of good faith, a way to prove that they’re truly ready and willing to make amends. It’s growth, baby, and Desire’s entering a new era.

So yes, the task does seem difficult. But if there’s one thing Desire loves, it’s getting to play matchmaker. Getting to play matchmaker while meddling in the life of their favorite/least favorite sibling? Even better.

Slowly, a Cheshire Cat grin spreads across their face, and they press a kiss to Despair’s cheek, who begrudgingly accepts the affection. “You, my sister, are a genius.”

“I know.”

After seeing their twin back to their realm, Desire begins their second favorite hobby of scheming as they try to figure out how they’re going to trick Destiny into giving them a peek at his Book. Tough, considering the Book is literally chained to Destiny, but Desire has never been one to back away from a challenge.

Their chance at trickery comes sooner than expected, a mere two weeks later at the first family dinner held since Dream was deposed. None of the six remaining Endless are particularly thrilled to be in the Garden of Forking Ways, and it shows in the guarded way that they hold themselves as they stand around the room and wait to be summoned to the seven-sided table that sits in the middle of it. 

Well, all except for the youngest are guarded. Delirium sits upside down in her chair, creating multicolored butterflies that fly out of the palms of her cupped hands and lazily around the room.

As the shades that serve Destiny move in and out of the room with various platters of food and drink, said Endless finally motions for his siblings to sit down along with him. Even then, they remain in an awkward silence. This family dinner is such a sudden event that none of them are entirely sure if there’s a reason behind it, leaving all feeling a little wary.

Destiny, being the eldest and the host of tonight’s festivities, is the first to speak. Naturally, it answers what none had been brave enough to ask. “I suppose you must be wondering why I called you all here.”

“Yes,” Dream says, even though it’s an obvious question. Of course they’re all wondering why they’re here. 

“The Book has determined that we must meet.”

“Obviously,” Despair sighs. “But why? What are we meant to do while we’re here?”

“Rainbow butterflies!” Delirium throws her hands up into the air, releasing a swarm of rainbow butterflies. “Has everybody been watching the butterflies that I’ve been making? They’re pretty.”

Everybody simply watches the youngest sister, none saying anything. Finally, Destiny shakes his head. “No matter why we’re meant to be here. It clarified much that, previously, made little to no sense. Something important will happen. Something that sparks a chain of events, causing much change and upheaval.”

“And what is that occasion?” Death asks.

“This meeting. That is all.”

“Explain this further, my brother,” Dream prompts. “What must happen?”

“No. I have told you all I tell you. I have brought you all to this place. The rest is up to the five of you. Drink the wines. Eat of the fruit of my garden. Talk. It has been centuries since we were all together. We must have much to discuss.”

Desire sees their opening and takes it. “Mm, I bet we do. Why don’t we start with…Dream!”

Dream looks across the table at his sibling suspiciously. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Tell me...” 

Desire is tempted to say something about his scorned lovers, but since they’re trying to work on making amends and not taking things too far, they refrain. One of the most difficult things they’ve ever had to do, truly.

“Killed any more of your unruly dreams or nightmares lately?”

What? They can still try to get a rise out of Dream in ways that won’t cut so deep. By the way his nose flares as he sits up straighter at the table, they know they’ve accomplished this mission.

“It needed to be done, and I will not take criticism from you on the choices I make regarding my realm,” Dream spits.

“Okay!” Death, ever the peacemaker, attempts to cut the tension. “Why don’t we talk about a different subject. Anything exciting happening for you, Dream?”

“Yes, actually.” Dream sits up in his seat a little straighter. “There is to be a ball in the Dreaming on the next full moon, to celebrate the return of my realm to its full strength. You are, of course, all invited.” 

Ah, so Dream is to show the other monarchs and higher beings, gods and goddesses and deities, that his power has returned and that he is not to be trifled with. Desire can appreciate a good power play, and this is really all that the ball will be. A chance for the Dreaming to pull out all the stops, serve their finest food and drink, offer the most raucous and extravagant party so that every realm in existence will know that the King of Dreams and Nightmares has returned and is more powerful than they will ever be. 

“Oh, how fun!” Death claps her hands together. “I remember when those used to be a regular occurrence in the Dreaming. Your dreams and nightmares do know how to throw a proper party.”

“I like parties,” Delirium chirps, hands chasing after the butterflies. “I’m gonna wear a princess dress!”

The rest of the dinner is fairly boring, compared to other family dinners in the past. Talk of Dream’s visit to Hell and the potential concerns there, minor gods ceasing to exist in the memories of mortals and thus returning to nothing, the problems that the Endless face in their daily lives as they continue their functions: it’s too normal for Desire’s liking, but they’re truly trying their hardest to not cause any major spats. Plus, they need to remain in Destiny’s good graces if they wish to have a chance at momentarily separating him from his Book.

When the dinner finally ends–Death is the first to excuse herself, with an earthquake calling for her to return to her function–the siblings begin to trickle out slowly, one after the other. Desire motions for Despair to go on without them, and while she would normally cause a fuss at having to leave without her beloved twin, she knows that they have an ulterior motive tonight and nods before disappearing back through her portrait.

When Delirium finally tumbles her way into her realm, it’s just Desire and Destiny left remaining in the Garden of Forking Ways. Desire sidles up to their older brother, who sighs wearily and looks with his unseeing eyes at his sibling.

“Desire, shouldn’t you be back at the Threshold by now?”

“Brother Destiny,” Desire coos, trying to seem as laid back as they usually are. “Doesn’t that book of yours ever get too heavy to carry?”

“You’re not going to fool me,” he says. Desire grits their teeth and curses under their breath. “For reasons beyond my understanding, however, the Book dictates that I do this.”

“Do what?”

It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to, but Destiny holds his Book out towards Desire. They can’t believe their luck, and quickly snatch the book from their brother before he can say that the Book said something different and take it back. Their nails–red, of course–run along the plain brown cover before they flip the Book open.

There, laid out as plain as can be, is the answer to Desire’s query. Dream does have a true love, much to Desire’s utter delight, and said true love is a human. A human! If the Universe didn’t want Desire righting their wrongs, then they wouldn’t make Dream’s other half the same species of being as the one whom Desire first meddled with all those years ago.

“Did you find what you were seeking?” Destiny asks, making Desire remember that they’re not alone. When they look up from the Book, they notice their brother’s hands twitching as he fights to snatch back his most precious belongings.

“Yes, I did.” Desire hands the Book back, and Destiny cradles it as if it’s been missing for months and not like he was inches away from it the entire time. “Thank you very much, brother mine. I believe I’ll be going now.”

After all, they have a lot to do between now and the full moon.

You

You’re attempting to sneak a couple of quick bites from your shift meal when the door chimes to signal that it’s been opened, and you sigh before setting down the french fry you were so looking forward to enjoying. Though you want to be disappointed, you know better than that.

Life has taught you better than to enjoy things so that you can find yourself inevitably disappointed by them.

Maybe that’s a little pessimistic for one just entering adulthood. Still, when you’re kicked out and left to fend for yourself in your teen years while your peers are only worrying about homework and if their boyfriend will still be their boyfriend by the time the school formal rolls around, cynicism feels a little warranted. 

You’ve worked anywhere from two to four jobs at a time just to have enough money for a place to live. While you’re now down to only two jobs, which you enjoy, for the most part, it still means that you’re far more stressed and tired than you would wish to be. You’ve made peace with the fact that you’ll seemingly always have to fight to enjoy any quality of life…well, you’ve mostly made peace with it. There are times, like now, where you’re exhausted and hungry and you just want to scream and rage at the cards life has dealt you.

Instead, you just put a smile on your face and get ready for your next customer. When you make your way to the end of the restaurant’s bar where the newcomer has seated themself, they’re already watching you expectantly. Their eyes, golden and piercing, make your skin crawl in the way that it does when it feels like someone knows more about you than you’ve cared to divulge.

“Well, hello,” they greet.

The newest bar patron grins at you with dark purple-painted lips. They’re stunning, and also insanely overdressed (seriously, a fur coat?) for a casual bar. You’d think that they were just coming from a party if it weren’t for the fact that it’s 7 p.m. on a Wednesday. Going to one, then? Mid-week parties are rare, but they seem like a person who just naturally gets invited to every and any party.

“Hi there, how are you?” you greet, cringing at the worn-out sound of your customer service voice after almost 12 hours of using it.

“Oh, just swell.”

“Great! What can I get for you?”

“Hmm, gin and tonic?”

You nod, hands already reaching for the required ingredients. Though it took forever to really get the hang of bartending, it’s kind of like riding a bike; once you learn, you can’t forget. “I’m on it.”

Your patron gratefully takes the glass that you slide across the bar to them, taking a long sip before letting out a satisfied noise. “My, you do know how to make a good drink.”

“Hah, thank you. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, but I’d love it if you could spare a moment to chat.”

“Um–” You scan the bar in a quick check of your other customers, of which there are few now that the dinner rush is over. Just a couple of regulars, so you really have no excuse to say no. “Yeah, sure. Just for a moment, though.”

It’s not uncommon that people want to talk with you. Whether because of your job, that you’re a captive audience, or the fact that you’re providing them with a steady stream of alcohol, customers love spilling their guts to their bartenders. This customer, however, gives you hesitance. They just look like they’re up to no good, like they’re hoping to use you for something that you don’t want to be a part of.

Regardless, you put away the bottles you were using and turn your full attention to the customer, who’s savoring their drink in much smaller sips than they did previously. Although you’re a great multitasker, people think that you’re not fully listening when you’re doing other tasks. And though you try to get your busy work done during your shift so you can get out of here the second you’re scheduled to clock out, you also know how to maximize your tip potentials. You win some, you lose some, you suppose.

When they finally do speak, you’re not expecting them to say, “You look like someone who wants more out of life.”

It’s an odd way to start a conversation, but you’ll bite. Not the first philosophical patron you’ve had. “I mean, who doesn’t? I feel like life is just constantly seeking…more. More money, more knowledge, more connection.”

“A very interesting way of considering the meaning of life. But you, specifically. You have not had a very easy go of things, have you?”

You narrow your eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“You wish for adventure. For a purpose bigger than that which you’ve been led to believe you’re destined for. For something great.”

Swallowing harshly, your pulse thunders in your ears as you grip the wood of the bar, suddenly feeling extremely disconcerted. It could just be a generalization, one that most people would relate to were they called out on it, but it seems like the customer knows you, knows your innermost desires, just from looking at you. Finally, you slowly nod. Their grin somehow seems to grow even bigger.

“Mm, I thought so. Take this.” From within the sleeve of their coat, the stranger produces a business card. “It will help make all your…dreams come true.”

Hesitantly, you take the piece of paper from them. When you look down at it, expecting to see the usual business card information like a name and a phone number, you’re surprised to see that it’s completely blank. Even when you flip it over, the blank back greets you.

“But there’s nothing on—” Your sentence trails off when you look back up, the nameless customer long gone. In their place sits the empty glass, stained with their dark lipstick, of course, and a ten-dollar bill. Other than that, an intoxicating perfume is the only sign that they were even here in the first place.

An indeterminate amount of time passes as you try to figure out what just happened, with the only thing snapping you out of your stupor being the calling of your name. Tate, this evening’s line cook, stares at you expectantly.

“You okay?” she asks. “I’ve called your name three times now, but you’ve just been standing there like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um.” 

Are you okay? Spooked, yes, but there’s nothing that you can really do about that now. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good.” Tate nods, still not looking too convinced. “Table seven’s looking like they’re ready for the check.”

“I’m on it.” 

And you are. Like the good, dutiful worker you’ve always been, you push down any of your actual emotions and thoughts and put on your service face, smiling and ready to accept anything thrown your way.

By the time your shift is over at 11, the encounter with the nameless customer is long forgotten. All that you can think when you finally make it home is about going to bed and sleeping until you have to be up for your other job tomorrow morning. 

Just unlocking the door and stepping into your tiny apartment has your shoulders releasing the tension that had been built up in them all day. Yeah, your apartment is tiny and probably not the best in terms of quality. But it’s yours, and it’s home, and that’s what matters to you. You’ve made the very best of it, and for now, nobody can take that away.

It takes almost all of the remaining energy you have to strip off your work clothes and do some semblance of your nighttime routine, and you mentally thank Tate for insisting you eat something while on the clock. You don’t think you could stay awake long enough to actually eat something right now. When you fall into bed and pull the covers up around you, your only thought is that you hope that you have the type of deep sleep that doesn’t produce any dreams or nightmares. Lord knows you need it.

The hopes that you had are promptly crushed when you open your eyes to find yourself standing on a bridge that leads to a large palace. It’s the oddest place you’ve ever seen, an amalgamation of palaces from all sorts of cultures. Domes and spires and turrets make up the outside architecture, and though it sounds like an eyesore, it’s actually quite beautiful. Strains of music spill out from the open doors, and guests in a variety of finery make their way inside to join what appears to be a party. 

You should be wondering why you’re here, as well as how you’re currently having the most vivid dream you’ve ever had, but all questions seem to be answered by the logic of it being a dream. Of course weird things are going to happen; it’s a dream. Maybe tomorrow, you’ll wake up and think about just how strange the dream actually was. But right now, you’re just going to go with the flow, even if that flow is, apparently, a royal ball.

“Hello, mortal,” a voice as sickly-sweet as honey croons next to you. When you look to your right, you find your golden-eyed customer from earlier in the day standing next to you. This still doesn’t concern you, and if you took the time to be concerned, you’d still just chalk it up to the nature of dreams.

“It’s you!” you exclaim.

They hold their hands out and wave them in an effortless jazz hands. “Yes, it’s me.” 

They’re somehow dressed even more elegantly than they were at the restaurant, wearing a silver corset tucked into a pair of wide-legged, black trousers. Their heeled boots add a couple of inches to their already-tall figure, and you have to look up in order to properly look them in the eye.

“I was beginning to get a little concerned that you weren’t going to take my offer.”

“Uh, sorry? I just got off of work a little bit ago.” 

They wave a hand dismissively. “What, didn’t tell your boss that you had better things to do?”

“You weren’t exactly forthcoming with the details,” you mutter. Your former customer begins to take long, purposeful strides towards the crowds waiting to get into the palace, and you hurry to catch up. “Wait, where are we?”

“This is the Dreaming and you, my dear, are about to attend a ball.”

“What, like in Bridgerton?”

They scoff, obviously offended by your reference. “Please, this is miles better than anything Bridgerton could even hope to come close to. But yes, I suppose so.”

Panic floods you, but not for the reason you’d think. “But I’m not even dressed for a ball!”

They raise a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow at you. “You’re not?”

When you look down at yourself, you find that you are, in fact, dressed for a ball.

An entire galaxy has come down from the heavens in order to settle itself on the champagne-colored fabric of the most fancy clothes you’ve ever worn. The golden stars, all different sizes, shimmer with each twist of your body that you make in order to properly catalog your outfit. The best part of this ensemble, by far, has to be the cape that you’re wearing that’s held on your shoulders by three delicate chains clasped together across your chest.

“Oh my god,” is all you can say, finding it difficult to tear your eyes away from the complete transformation your wardrobe has undergone.

“Close, but not quite,” they say cheekily. “Though, I do enjoy being worshiped.”

You meet their liquid gold stare. “Why are you helping me? Why am I here?”

“Now that’s a long story. Let’s just say that I owe somebody an apology, and you’re a part of said apology.”

There are so many more questions bouncing around in your mind, but they turn on their heel before you can ask any of them, forcing you to keep up with them as they walk to the entrance of the palace. 

“Hello, Wyvern.”

The dragon (a dragon! You’re staring at a dragon!) bows his head at the greeting. “Desire.”

“Is that your name?” They ignore your question.

“You are, as always, welcome in my Lord’s domain.” The wyvern looks at you. “Your guest, however, needs an invitation to enter.”

“Go on, present your invitation,” Your companion prompts.

You furrow your eyebrows. “My invitation?”

Oh! The paper that they had given you back at the bar. But wait, where had you put that stupid paper? You have to think for a second before remembering, and any relief you had felt is washed away by the panic returning in full-force when you remember where it is. Looking at your mysterious benefactor with wide eyes, you grimace as you try to figure out how to explain this to them.

“I left it in the pocket of my work jeans.”

They sigh as if you’re a minor nuisance, which, maybe you are. “Check your pockets, dear one.”

Slipping your hands into your pockets, you’re already preparing an “I told you so” speech. After all, how could that business card have magically moved from one set of pockets to another? When your fingers brush against something very paper-like, you almost can’t believe it. Your mind has already worked out the whole “dream logic” issue, but teleportation seems to be too much even for that.

When your hand emerges holding the paper, your friend smiles smugly at you and nods their head in the direction of the large, mythical animals. “Now present your invitation.”

You hold the paper up towards what had previously been referred to as a wyvern. Even though there’s nothing written on it, he studies it for a moment before nodding. “I bid you welcome on behalf of my Lord. Enjoy the festivities.”

“Uh, thanks!” you say, manners winning out among the insanity of the evening.

The crowd parts for your friend as guests bow their heads politely, which makes you think that there’s a lot that you don’t know about this person who inserted themself into the middle of your life. What did I get myself into?, you wonder as you hurry behind them and into the ballroom.

You haven’t exactly seen very many ballrooms in your life before now, but even if you had, this one would be your favorite. It reminds you of pictures you’ve seen of Russia’s Imperial Palace during the reigns of the tsars, all cathedral ceilings and marble columns. One of the walls is just a line of windows that looks out over a picturesque valley, and breathtaking artwork from some of history’s most exalted artists looms overhead. The guests of this ball, all opulently dressed, mingle below, with many already dancing to the music that comes from an unseen orchestra.

At the top of a long set of stairs sits a stone throne, currently unoccupied. The ruler of this land must be really lonely, you think. Why else would they purposely place themselves so far away from everyone else, if not to feel the sharp sting of being alone?

The pièce de résistance of this entire room, however, has to be the ceiling. You’re not sure whether it’s magic or if the ballroom doesn’t even have a ceiling and instead looks straight up at the most striking view of the sky you’ve ever seen. You can’t tear your eyes away from the swirling galaxy that’s more beautiful than any NASA telescope picture could even begin to capture, and you’re sure that your jaw is hanging open and making you look like an idiot.

You’re so caught up in the wonder that sits directly over your head that you don’t notice when your new friend spots someone or something that they want to go check out. Apparently deciding that it’s a good idea to at least give you a little courtesy warning, they sidle up behind you.

“Have fun,” they whisper into your ear. 

When you turn around, they’re nowhere to be seen, which means you now have to fend for yourself in an unfamiliar situation. Not ideal, but you should be fine. After all, this is just a dream, right?

Since you were given the advice to “have fun,” you decide to try and actually do so. People watching is always fun, made even more so when everyone is dressed up in all manner of finery. As you study the crowd a bit more, you realize that “people watching” is the wrong term to use, because the vast majority of the guests here aren’t human people.

There are beings clothed in white robes with huge wings on their backs that surely must be angels. Some guests wear traditional regalia from Greek, Roman, Japanese, and other historic empires. The most unsettling are the ones that look human, beautiful, even, until you’re able to take an extended look at their faces and realize that the beastly masks they’re wearing, the horns and the snouts and any other combination of monstrous features, aren’t masks at all. Rather, those are their faces, heavily decorated with makeup, but terrifying just the same.

There’s a little girl in an oversized party dress and clown makeup clapping her hands as a gargoyle tries blowing up a balloon, and a literal void with faces in it speaks to a tall, imposing figure with golden curls and black wings. You’re pretty sure one of the guests is even a human-sized cat woman. Not Catwoman, like the supervillain, but a cat woman. You try not to stare, but it’s impossible, and your eyes keep finding your way back to her as you continue to walk around the outskirts of the ballroom.

Even though you’re completely and utterly normal, it’s impossible for anybody attending tonight’s festivities to not feel the sheer power that each and every being here seems to possess. It’s beginning to make you feel self-conscious: if you can sense the magic that all of the guests have, then surely they can tell that you’re not like them. Everywhere you turn, it seems like you’re meeting somebody else’s eyes as they judge you and how out of place you are.

Your chest grows tight as your skin pricks with heat, the room suddenly beginning to be far too crowded for your liking. There must be a way for you to get outside. You need air, or else you’re worried that you’re going to pass out in front of all these partygoers—after a moment of frantically scanning the room, you see the main hallway that you and your strange new friend had entered through. Knowing for a fact that this path will lead you outside, you set out with a determination to make it through the crowd.

This task, however, is much more difficult than you had previously thought it would be. Apparently, the room being so crowded wasn’t just a part of your panicked imagination; there are far more guests here now, and it’s almost impossible to move through all of them. The music, which just minutes ago seemed whimsical and charming, now sounds sinister in your ears as somebody grabs you and begins to dance with your unwilling form.

Like a doll, you’re spun from one person to the next, all of them ignoring your helpless pleas as you beg them to stop. Instead, much to your chagrin, they all seem to take joy in your panic as they laugh and leave you with no choice but to obey their whims. You’re dizzy and breathless, and at this point you can’t tell if it’s from the dancing or the anxiety.

The next set of hands that grab you are much gentler than all the preceding pairs, and they bring you to a stop instead of sweeping you into another dance. Finally, finally, it seems that somebody has taken pity on you, the poor human that’s become nothing more than a glorified plaything. When your vision finally rights itself, you note that your savior’s even managed to pull you out of the maelstrom of people that had so easily claimed you. You go to thank this person, only to have what little breath you’ve regained stolen from you when you look up.

The man standing before you is a classic study in contrast. His chalk-white skin stands out strikingly against his robes and his hair, both as black as pitch. The only difference in shade comes from the flames that you can see licking up the bottom of his robes like they’re meant to be there. Though, in this dream world, it makes total sense that flames would be a good accessory.

He’s objectively one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen, but his features are sharper than that of a normal human’s, from the stately slope of his nose to his high cheekbones that are completely devoid of the flush that normally hides behind skin. The biggest giveaway that he’s not like you are his eyes: black pools in which stars twinkle and sparkle. They should be frightening; after all, nobody should have eyes that look like that. Instead, you just find yourself enraptured as you try not to lose yourself in them.

“I do not know you.” The bluntness with which he makes this statement is so jarring (not even beginning to mention that he has the deepest, smoothest voice you’ve ever heard) that it pulls you out of your daydreaming about his eyes, and you glare up at him.

“Okay? I don’t know you either.”

He seems to realize that he came off like a major jackass, and quickly backpedals. “Apologies, I did not mean to make it sound so accusatory. I simply find myself…curious. I believed that I knew everybody here.”

“Well that makes one of us, because I think I only know one person here.”

“Who?” he asks curiously.

You look around the room to see if you can find your mysterious friend, but they’re nowhere to be seen. “I can’t find them, it’s too crowded in here. You already know that though, considering you just saved me from being crushed or forced to dance until I collapse from exhaustion. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Of course. After all, I could not let one unfamiliar with those here be forced to mingle with Cluracan of the Faerie.”

He nods his head in the direction of a tall, willow-thin man with golden blond hair and pointed ears. If his pompous attitude wasn’t visible even from a distance, then his outfit, a coat and breeches with the same coloring as that of a peacock, would surely clue you in.

“By the looks of it, that would have been a fate worse than death,” you remark solemnly.

The man laughs. It’s a harsh bark of a laugh, one that sounds like it comes from someone who both doesn’t know how to laugh and has never heard a laugh before. People in your general vicinity look your way in alarm and discomfort, but you can only watch with a delighted, albeit confused, grin on your face.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“If you were to meet Death, you would find that she is actually quite pleasant. It is…enjoyable…to spend time with her.”

“Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time with her.”

“I have.” 

His eyes grow soft and distant as he thinks of Death, and it’s obvious that he’s quite fond of her. He shakes his head slightly, pulling himself back to the present. 

“You did not look as though you were enjoying yourself, even before you were forced to dance.”

“So you were watching me?”

He suddenly feels the need to fastidiously study the galaxy ceiling, but you can see how his cheeks flush with embarrassment. To your surprise, it’s not the normal pinkish shade. Instead, it’s a light purple that spreads under his skin.

“You were!” you tease triumphantly.

“As I said, I believed that I knew everyone here. I was curious when I saw that wasn’t the case.” He looks back at you, those starry eyes twinkling. “You have not answered my question.”

It takes you a second to remember what his question was in the first place. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, everything here is so wonderful and fantastical! I guess I’m just not much of a party person. Never have been.”

“I must confess, I also find I am not too fond of these parties.”

“So then what are you doing here?”

“Currently? I am attempting to avoid Queen Titania of the Faerie.” 

He nods his head in the direction of a woman with blue-tinged skin and some of the most frighteningly dainty features you’ve ever seen, almost like those of a china doll. She’s frocked in a midnight blue gown with puffy sleeves, and as she moves through the room in an apparent search for your companion, a whole entourage follows obediently behind her.

“She’s not as good of a time as Death, I’m guessing?” you ask.

A smirk is the only answer that you get from him, apparently deciding to be enough of a gentleman that he won’t outright insult anybody.

It feels like a lightbulb goes off over your head as you think over what he said. “Wait, Queen Titania, like the character from Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

He looks immensely pleased at the connection that you’ve made. “The very same.”

“Huh. I wonder how Shakespeare met her.”

This seems to make him ponder something, and after a moment, he speaks again. “Where were you trying to go? Before you became an unwilling dance partner, that is.”

Oh yeah. You’ve so thoroughly enjoyed talking to this man that you almost forgot that you were on the brink of panic just a few minutes ago. “I was trying to find a way outside so that I could get some air.”

He nods. “Come, then. We shall get you some air, myself a reprieve from hiding, and I will tell you the story of how Shakespeare came to develop his cast of characters.”

When he holds his hand out to you, taking it is one of the easiest decisions you’ve ever made.

Keeping to the walls is a much better strategy than what you had tried before, which was to forge your own path through the crowds and hope for the best. You duck through one of the stone awnings near the back of the room, one that’s partially obscured by a heavy curtain. When you’ve successfully made it out, your companion’s relief at not being caught by the Queen of Faerie is palpable, and it makes you giggle.

You walk with him through the gardens for the rest of the evening, enjoying foliage that absolutely doesn’t exist in the real world and the company of one of the most enigmatic creatures you’ve ever spent time with. Yet, as he asks you question after question about the most mundane of subjects in your daily life, listening with rapt, awed attention as you answer each and every one, you feel like you’re the one that’s mystical and worshiped across all cultures.

(Though he hasn’t said it outright, you get the feeling that he’s some type of deity, which is simultaneously frightening and fascinating)

The flowers continually pull your attention away from the conversation at hand, not that your companion seems to mind too much. He dutifully fills the air with facts about each of the plants that you stop at, which is why it’s such a surprise when you’re suddenly surrounded by silence.

Looking up from a variant of daisy that shimmers as it goes down a gradient of white to red, and back again, you notice that he’s watching you. You smile at him, waiting for him to launch into the tale of how this flower came to be in this garden, and when he still doesn’t move, you grow a little concerned.

“What is it? Are you okay?” you ask. He seems to finally rouse himself from whatever daze he had gotten himself into.

“Yes, I…” He trails off, continuing to stare, before he shakes his head a couple of times and looks back at the party. This time, when he speaks, his voice is somehow softer than before. “I believe I promised you a story, yes?”

When he finally does get around to telling you the promised story, it’s so much better than anything you could have imagined. The man is a truly gifted storyteller. You can practically see the scene as he develops it, of a man in a darkened pub being offered the tantalizing gift of inspiration for works that would live on well past his death. Did Shakespeare worry that he was making a deal with some sort of demon, or was the prospect of everlasting fame more powerful than any fear or trepidation he may have felt?

“Is it a true story?” you ask, when he finishes with the first performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream which was, surprisingly, performed for an audience that included the actual Queen Titania. Apparently, she was thrilled by her portrayal, and gave the play a glowing review.

A coy tilt of the head is the only answer that you get, leaving the true interpretation of the story up to you, the listener. Though you want to say that it’s fake–after all, Shakespeare making a pact with an immortal creature that then helped him to come up with plays that would forever change the course of humanity just sounds ludicrous–another part of you, the part that has spent this impossible night surrounded by Fae and gods and all other manner of fantastical creature, knows that this is, in fact, true.

“Are you the one that gave him inspiration?”

“Perhaps,” is all that he says.

“You’re frustratingly vague, you know that?”

This makes him smile, and he looks down to simultaneously rein his emotions back in (he does that a lot, you notice) and to pull something from the sleeve of his robe. 

“Am I?” he asks.

His pale hand comes up to present you with one of the color-changing daisies you were looking at earlier. Your breath catches in your throat when he tucks the flower behind your ear, and when his hand lingers against your cheek, you think you’ll never establish a normal breathing rhythm ever again.

“And what would you do, were a stranger to come up to you and offer you anything you ever wanted?”

“Well, I–I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

At this point, you can barely do more than whisper. “On who the stranger is.”

Though you try not to, you can’t help yourself from looking down at his plush, pink lips. You dart your eyes back up to his face, worried about being caught, only to see that he’s done the same.

He leans in even closer, nodding his head slightly towards you. “May I…?”

You nod softly, worried that any sudden movements will ruin the perfect little bubble that you seem to have found yourself in. Are you really about to kiss this powerful being, the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on? When he brushes his nose against yours, you know the answer is that yes, yes you are about to kiss him. Just as your lips meet his, a harsh alarm jerks you out of his arms and back to consciousness.

Rolling over in your familiar bed, in your familiar apartment, you hit the screen of your phone harshly until the alarm finally turns off. Laying on your back, you stare up at the ceiling and replay every moment of the dream you just had while it’s still fresh in your mind.

You let out a disbelieving sigh at just how wonderful of a dream you had. The giddy smile is impossible to remove from your face, and you run your hands over your flaming cheeks as you giggle.

What a dream. A royal ball, mythical creatures, a gorgeous outfit, and the most captivating man you’ve ever imagined. You already know that you’ll be thinking about your dream man, and the kiss you almost shared, for days to come.

A second alarm, the one that warns that you really need to get out of bed and get ready if you don’t want to be late, begins to sound from your phone.

“Fine,” you mutter to the inanimate object, sitting up and pulling it off of the charger. “You win. I’m up.”

As you get out of bed, you don’t notice the daisy petals that you leave behind on your pillow.

You go about your day feeling like you’re on cloud 9, unable to stop thinking about last night. Not that you want to stop thinking about any moment of your dream. By the time you’re back at the bar for yet another evening shift (only two more days until you have an actual day off!), somebody finally decides to ask what the hell happened to you.

“What the hell happened to you?” Reese, tonight’s hostess for the restaurant side of the establishment, asks. “You’re walking around like a Disney princess or something.”

You shrug. “Just…had a really, really wonderful dream last night.”

“Like a sex dream? I’ve had a few of those that I’d call ‘really, really wonderful’.” Tate pipes up through the kitchen window, meaning you have no choice but to reach through and shove him.

“Fuck off!”

He laughs and jumps back to avoid your ire. “So it was a sex dream!”

“No! It was just really sweet and romantic, y’know?”

“I get it,” Reese says.

You gesture to her gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Who was the lead? Mine’s usually Harry Styles.”

Though you both sigh a little wistfully, you shake your head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this man before last night.”

“Isn’t it, like, a thing that you can’t dream of people whose faces you’ve never seen?” Tate asks.

“With a face like his, I definitely would have remembered seeing him while I was awake.”

“Fuck,” Reese grumbles when the door opens and a family walks in. “Can’t people be a little kinder and realize that we’re gossiping here?”

“Apparently not.” 

Everybody shares in a “we hate our customer service job” groan before breaking to do their respective tasks. Reese slaps on a big smile and asks “how many are joining you guys this evening?” Tate flips a couple of burgers on the grill, and you turn to check on your regulars that are enjoying a couple of after-work beers.

Sometimes, it really sucks that you can’t just daydream about whatever you want because you’re forced to work in order to survive. But as the night wears on and your plastic tip cup housed beneath the bar continues to grow more stuffed with bills thanks to very generous tippers tonight, you see the importance of not living in your head.

That is, until someone’s standing across from you at the bar and you smile at them in preparation to take their order, only to almost drop the glass you’re cleaning when you lay eyes on your dream man from last night.

He’s traded the long robes for a simple black peacoat, a black shirt, and black jeans, but he still manages to look regal in them. The wardrobe isn’t the main difference, though. That would be his eyes. Where last night they were black pools of stars, tonight, they’re a bright blue. Just as stunning, but in a completely different way.

The only thing about him that’s the same is his hair. The black strands are still just as wild and untamed as they were at the ball, and it makes your heart flutter to see. You have to hold yourself back from reaching across the bar to try and smooth them out a bit, but really, you just want to feel how soft his hair must surely be.

He’s smiling at you, that same shy smile that graced his lips while he was talking to you about plants. You realize that you need to say something, anything, but all you manage to come up with is, “Hi.”

“Hello.” His voice still sounds like what you imagine melted dark chocolate must sound like if it could talk, and your cheeks grow hot from it.

“It’s you. You’re real!” You wince at the stupidity of that statement. Obviously he’s real, he’s standing right in front of you!

He looks very amused by this, and you don’t blame him. “Did you think I was not?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I mean, it was just a dream.”

“It is never ‘just a dream’.”

You come around from the other side of the bar so that you can actually be standing across from him without anything impeding you. 

“I believe we forgot to properly make each other’s acquaintance last night.”

It’s only when he says that that you realize that he’s right. You don’t even know his name, and he doesn’t know yours. A glaring oversight on both of your parts, but one that he looks ready to correct. 

He gently takes one of your hands in one of his, bending just slightly at the waist as he brings your hand up to kiss the back of it.

“I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless. You may call me by either name, dearheart, for either shall sound sweet coming from your lips.”

You entrust him with your name, and he grins so radiantly that you feel as though you’ve been standing in front of the sun. He repeats it back to you, and you could swear that you’ve never heard your name sound so beautiful before now. You’d give anything to hear him say it again and again. Hell, if the last word you ever heard on this Earth was this man–Dream! Morpheus!–saying your name, you’d die happy.

Even though you’re totally sure that this isn’t a dream (you know, you pinched your leg to make sure), part of you is still worried that either he or you will disappear again. Who’s to say that you’ll be able to find each other a second time? Just in case your fears come true, you decide to act before you can remember why you don’t act before thinking.

Dream’s still holding onto one of your hands, and you use it to pull him closer to you, close enough that your noses are almost touching as he bends his head just slightly to look at you. His eyebrows are raised as he waits for you to make your next move. Said next move consists of you wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a long-awaited kiss.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it at all. One hand rests on your waist while the other goes to your chin so that he can tilt your head the way that he likes–you’re certainly not going to stop him from doing that. 

The restaurant patrons all start cheering, and you can hear Tate and Reese wolf-whistling. It’s embarrassing, but you’re too wrapped up in Dream right now to fully care. Maybe after you separate. For now, since both of your arms are over Dream’s shoulders, it makes it easy for you to flip your coworkers off without having to interrupt your kiss. 

Later, you’ll have to see if you can track down your strange, golden-eyed friend and thank them for giving a blank business card to a stranger who worked at a bar. After all, they were right. That card has made all your dreams come true.

Dream of the Endless

Dream of the Endless is not at all thrilled to be playing host to beings from almost every realm that the Dreaming has even the most tentative of alliances with. He received his reputation as a recluse for a reason, and it’s certainly not because he loves being social.

But tonight is not for him, no. It’s for the Dreaming. He had been gone for far too long, even if it was against his will. Not only had the Dreaming crumbled physically, but its standing as one of the most powerful realms in existence had crumbled too. Now that he was back and his kingdom restored to its former glory, if not more powerful than it was before his departure, he intended to remind each and every naysayer just why the Dreaming commanded their respect.

Of course, right as he’s thinking that the night is shaping up to be quite successful, he sees a guest that he most certainly did not invite. He knows this for certain, because he knows everybody and their dreams just by looking at them. Even if he didn’t, when one is alive for as long as the Endless have been, one gets to know most everybody that’s of a higher rank or class of the various realms.

You, with golden stars swimming across your body, are entirely unfamiliar to him. Even more unsettling is the fact that he doesn’t just intuitively know his name, which means there are other forces at play here. And on this night, where the Dreaming is meant to be at its best, he will not allow his enemies any opportunity to take that away from him.

It’s obvious in your demeanor that you’re uncomfortable amongst the crowds, and Dream is not the only one to notice it. When the eyes of the Trickster God, Loki Skywalker, land on you, Dream can almost see the plan formulating in the Norseman’s head. He takes a couple of quick steps, and before you can even blink, he’s swept you unwillingly into a dance.

You’re immediately begging for him to let you go, your fists pounding against his arms as you attempt to free yourself from his embrace. Loki does finally acquiesce to your demands, but simply spins you into another’s arms. Those in the general vicinity all seem to be in on this little joke, all of them laughing and taking their turn to have your resistant self in their embrace.

Suddenly, you don’t look like a threat. You’re simply a person, scared and out of your element, a pawn in the games of beings much more powerful than you. Dream may not know your true intentions, but he can’t continue to let this happen under his purview. With a single thought, he’s across the ballroom and pulling you into his own arms and away from those hoping to be next in line for a dance.

You stumble over your own feet, your body still propelled forward by the inertia of the other dancers that came before Dream. Blinking furiously to try and clear your vision, you’re finally able to look up at him without getting dizzy. 

Dream watches you try to figure out something, anything to say, and in return he studies you as well. It’s still impossible for him to divine any sort of information about you, but he can’t sense any other being’s magic on you that would be blocking his access. Apparently, you’re simply an anomaly, and that’s not including figuring out how you got past the gatekeepers in the first place.

“I do not know you,” he finally settles on saying. Apparently, by the way that you glare at him, it comes out much harsher than he had planned.

“Okay? I don’t know you either.”

He has to apologize, obviously. “Apologies, I did not mean to make it sound so accusatory. I simply find myself…curious. I believed that I knew everybody here.”

“Well that makes one of us, because I think I only know one person here.”

“Who?” he asks, wondering if this is the person that is blocking his access to you.

Though you look around the room, you don’t seem to find whoever it is. “I can’t find them, it’s too crowded in here. You already know that though, considering you just saved me from being crushed or forced to dance until I collapse from exhaustion. Thank you for that, by the way.”

Dream finds himself perturbed. Why wouldn’t he have helped you out of your less-than-ideal situation? It seems like common decency, but perhaps human society has decayed so badly that even this simple act warrants a heartfelt thank you.

“Of course. After all, I could not let one unfamiliar with those here be forced to mingle with Cluracan of the Faerie.”

He nods towards the aforementioned Fae, who is currently strutting around looking for his next conquest. Behind him trails his sister, Nuala, just as fair as her brother but decidedly a much kinder creature. She whispers something in his ear, and he merely brushes her off before continuing his search.

“By the looks of it, that would have been a fate worse than death,” you remark.

The statement, said with the confidence of someone who does not know that there are forces far beyond that which they may believe, is so humorous to Morpheus that he can’t help but laugh. How could anybody regret their time spent with Death? She is the literal oxymoron of her name; in fact, she should be the personification of sunshine instead of death.

Instead of shying away from him, because he does know that his laugh is truly horrific and thus wouldn’t blame you for doing so, you surprise Dream by grinning at the sound and looking rather proud of yourself for eliciting a laugh from him. Oh, he really enjoys this. 

He’s always found himself fond of those able to look beyond his function. As he continues to interact with you, he realizes that you apparently have no clue who he is. He also realizes that talking to you is not the same chore as it is to converse with the others that are here in his realm tonight.

Before he knows it, he’s offering to take you out to the gardens and tell you the tale of how a young Will Shaxberd came to be known as history’s greatest playwright. He shouldn’t be abandoning his guests, for that’s not what a good monarch does. However, it’s too tempting to not try and have you to himself. When you accept, he finds himself thrilled for the first time since before his imprisonment.

Dream takes great pride in the palace’s gardens. Much of the flora there had long since gone extinct, and the only thing keeping them alive in this moment was the Dream Lord’s memory (or, the memories of dreamers long gone whose knowledge Dream had leached from) of when they still flourished. He was happy to share those memories with anyone willing to listen, and you were proving to be one of the most engaged audiences he had entertained when it came to his garden.

Time is a fickle thing in the Dreaming, to be certain. Hours can pass by like minutes, or minutes can be days. It’s why he tends to keep appointments in the Waking to a minimum; he loses track of time far too easily, and often needs multiple reminders that he has an obligation in a realm not his own.

Never has Dream felt Time so keenly in the Dreaming as he does when he finally looks away from the path ahead and towards you, only for Time to seemingly come to a stop. The moon shines down upon you like an ethereal spotlight while you bend just slightly in order to fully study a daisy that was last seen in the Andromeda galaxy two hundred lightyears ago. Softly, so as not to ruin it, you gently run a finger along the edges of the velvety petals. Your smile as you do so is filled with so much kindness that Dream believes he could drown in it, not that he would mind in the slightest.

Dream had experienced love at first sight far too many times for his liking. A secret hopeless romantic, it was far too easy for him to immediately see the best in any potential romantic partner and offer himself up to them on a silver platter. Indeed, he had given lovers the finest jewels or entire worlds created just for them, and every single one had ended up spurning him in the end.

Perhaps that’s why this feels so different. This isn’t love at first sight, for he certainly had held no love in his heart for the strange intruder wandering wide-eyed around the ballroom. He’s had Time on his side, allowing him the chance to actually get to know you.

And after getting to know you, Dream wants. He wants to feel the gentleness of your touch on his skin, he wants your soft smile directed towards him. He wants to hear every thought that goes through your wondrous mind, he wants to know what you like and don’t like. He wants you, in every way that you’ll allow him to have.

Time finally restarts again, and Dream notices that you’re staring curiously at him. Distantly, a small part of him wonders how long you’ve been looking at him like that. A much larger part of him admires the color of your eyes.

“What is it? Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yes, I…” 

He really must stop staring at you, he knows that it’s already far past the point of politeness. Shaking his head, Dream looks back at the ball and tries to contain his emotions once more before speaking again. 

“I believe I promised you a story, yes?”

Dream didn’t earn the title of “Prince of Stories” for no reason. Still, it makes telling stories infinitely more enjoyable when the audience is interested in what he’s saying. You, however, are not just interested. You’re enraptured, hanging on to every word he has to say. This, by far, is his favorite type of person to tell a tale to. The fact that it’s you, the mysterious human who somehow snuck into his palace, makes it even better.

After his tale is finished, you ask him if it’s true. He can’t help but to demur, planting the seeds of doubt even though it’s very much true. After all, if he had wanted you to know that, he would have told you outright during the story.

“And what would you do,” Dream asks, suddenly feeling bold, “were a stranger to come up to you and offer you anything you ever wanted?”

“Well, I–I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On who the stranger is.”

Dream really wants to kiss you right now. By the way that you whisper, and how Dream catches you looking at his lips, he thinks that you feel the same.

He leans in even closer, nodding his head slightly towards you. “May I…?”

You nod, and Dream is so thankful that you do. He’s not sure that he could bear the rejection, not when you’ve gone and made him fall in love with you so effortlessly.

Dream has seen plenty of teenagers dreaming of their first kiss. Mere children on the cusp of adulthood, their emotions are always so palpable. The fear of messing up, of getting this wrong. The exuberance of finally getting to kiss the one they have not been able to stop thinking about. The burgeoning passion of young love, sealed, quite literally, with a kiss.

Right now, as your lips just begin to meet his, Dream feels much like those teenagers. He’s terrified that he’ll move too fast or make some wrong move to push you away, while at the same time, he’s thrilled that you want to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss you. Underneath it all, the embers of something more promise to be fanned into flames once he actually kisses you.

Before Dream can actually do that, though, he feels your lips become less real, less firm, against his. He can only watch as your body fades from within his grasp and you disappear, presumably back to your Waking body. After you’re well and truly gone, with no sign of you falling back asleep and appearing in his embrace once more, Dream can only stare at the spot you once occupied.

When Dream comes out of his stupor, his head falls to his hands in disbelief, unable to believe his truly rotten luck. He remains in this position until the sky begins to grow light and he remembers that he has duties he must attend to, duties that include politely but firmly seeing all of his guests out of his realm.

As Dream nods his head at guests telling him how much they enjoyed the festivities and thanks others for coming and accepts quiet alliances re-formed by those who had believed the Dreaming well and truly gone, he’s quite proud of the fact that he’s somehow pulled himself together enough to not currently have a hurricane that reflects his emotional state sweeping through the Dreaming proper. It doesn’t matter that said hurricane will likely begin to rage the second the doors to the palace close and the hastily-constructed dam holding Dream’s feelings back breaks from the pressure. For now, he has it all under control.

At least, he has it under control up until he walks back into his throne room to find Desire lounging at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sibling,” Dream greets reluctantly, his patience wearing extremely thin. “Do you not have the desires of my guests to chase after and feed off of in your realm?”

“Don’t you worry, big brother, I’m on my way out.” They stand and stretch in a way reminiscent of how a cat stretches. “Great party, by the way. Why, you look really bummed out for somebody who just met the love of his life!”

It should not be nearly as surprising as it is that Dream’s sibling has once again inserted themself into his life, where they do not belong. Regardless, it is as surprising as it is rage-inducing. Between one blink and the next, Dream has Desire pinned against the wall with his hands wrapped around their neck. Desire simply laughs breathlessly.

“I should have known that you were behind that,” Dream spits.

“You don’t have to say it–” Desire’s sentence breaks off with a choking sound, courtesy of Dream squeezing even harder and resisting the urge to wring their neck. “–Like it’s a bad thing.”

“I told you that, were you to mess with me or mine again, I would not hesitate to spill family blood. Are you really so stupid as to disregard our last talk, so soon after we had it?”

Desire looks frightened, and they should be. Dream truly wants to kill right now, to unmake something with his bare hands and feel the carnage that he creates. “No, no, no, you have it all wrong!” they say. “I’m giving you a gift, sweet Dream. No strings attached, nothing you have to do besides say ‘thank you, my favorite sibling’ and accept it!”

“A gift.” Dream’s hands loosen around Desire’s neck, but still remain fixed in place.

“Yep!”

“And why should I trust you?”

“Because I really am sorry, Dream. Truly. I regret how I’ve treated you, especially over the past couple of centuries. You’re a pain in my ass–just as I’m a pain in yours, I’m sure–but you didn’t deserve what I did to you, and for that, I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t believe them, a fact that is plainly clear and causes Desire to roll their eyes. When they push back against Dream, he finally lowers his hands and takes a step back.

“We’ve been siblings for long enough, and you’ve felt my influence on—how many lovers is it? Tell me, did you feel any of that on your little dreamer last night?”

“No,” Dream admits.

“No, exactly. So when I was trying to figure out, ‘how can I say sorry to my beloved big brother and truly mean it,’ I thought it would be nice of me to find out if you had a true love, who said true love was, and then bring your true love to you! You can thank brother Destiny’s little Book for helping me there; he would have never allowed me to look and see if you had a true love if it weren’t for the Book telling him to do so.”

“What?”

This comes as quite the shock to Dream. It’s one thing for Desire to try something as outlandish as looking in Destiny’s Book; it’s another thing entirely for Destiny to let them do so. As Desire said, if the Book did not tell him to do something, then Destiny would not do that thing.

“Mhm,” Desire says, looking entirely too pleased at this situation. “The universe itself wanted me to give you this type of an apology.”

If Desire had used Destiny’s Book to find you, then that means that they know your name. “So, you know…”

“Your little lover’s name? Yes, I do. Why, did you not catch it?” Of course they know that Dream doesn’t know your name; it’s what Dream wants most right now, so naturally, Desire can sense it. “Were you two lovebirds too busy flirting with each other to remember to ask for names?”

“Tell me, Desire,” Dream snaps. He winces, feeling slightly guilty about letting his emotions get the best of him. Not that he’ll apologize, since it’s apparently Desire’s turn to do so.

“Sorry, I had to tease you a little bit.” 

Desire finally feels a modicum of empathy and tells Dream your full name, and a part of Dream that he wasn’t aware he was missing slots into place.

“Well, I suppose I should be off now. Lots of your party guests whose desires I have to chase after and feed off of. You know.” 

They grab the lapels of their opulent fur jacket and smooth out the wrinkles that their altercation with Dream put into their carefully-created ensemble. Dream will feel even more guilt about that tomorrow, he supposes. For now, you’re the only thing on his mind.

However, Dream would be remiss to not acknowledge the effort that they know Desire put into creating this apology. He can’t let his sibling go without having them know that he appreciates it, and so he calls after them. “Desire!”

They turn on their heels. “Yes?”

“Thank you. I…accept your apology.”

Desire grins brightly and nods, which is how Dream knows they’re thankful for this acceptance. They wave their fingers teasingly before continuing on their path out of Dream’s palace. “Have fun with your present,” they say over their shoulder and promptly disappear.

Dream is finally left alone in his throne room which, at the beginning of the night, was all that he wanted. Now, with the silence only 

He knows your name. Not only that, but he knows that you and he are meant to be together. It truly is the greatest gift that anybody could have given him, made more meaningful since it’s Desire who has done this.

There are a number of actual appointments on his docket that he must begrudgingly attend to, even though he wants nothing more than to rush to the Waking and find you. That would be neglectful of his realm, though, and Dream promised himself, back when he believed you to be a threat, that he would not allow you to ruin his realm. 

Now, he would gladly ruin his realm if you were to ask him, which is why he’s so determined to see to everything that must be completed. Though it all feels tedious, the tasks do eventually get completed. Dream leaves almost immediately after the last report, delivered by a young dream in the form of a talking dog, is escorted out of the palace.

(Matthew is extremely confused by his boss’s sudden change of attitude. Lucienne, who’s seen this plenty of times before, simply sighs and hopes that he knows what he’s doing this time.)

When Dream arrives outside of a small restaurant, evening has already fallen in the Waking. It’s been less than 24 hours since you first made your way into his palace, a little over 12 since you were jerked back to consciousness and away from him. Truly not long, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s felt like a lifetime to Dream.

Your attention is divided between one of your patrons, telling a story about a mishap at work and embellishing just slightly, and the drinking glasses you’re pulling from a tray and drying clean. Dream can’t help but watch you in your element for a moment, but Dream is not a patient man, and a moment is all that he can afford before he steps up to the bar and across from you.

A smile is already on your face before you turn to look at Dream, a smile that freezes in place when your eyes meet his. Your hands begin to shake, and the glass nearly slips from your grasp before you manage to firmly set it down on the wooden countertop.

The shock is understandable. After all, most dreamers do not expect to see someone in the Waking that they have previously only seen in their dreams. Dream just hopes that it’s a good shock that you’re feeling, and not the one that he fears.

Your smile turns into something smaller, softer, and those fears that Dream held evaporate when you greet him. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“It’s you. You’re real!” 

After having spent a few moments trying to figure out what to say next, Dream is amused that this was what you decided on. “Did you think I was not?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it was just a dream.”

“It is never ‘just a dream’.” And today, he is so glad that this statement is true.

You round the bar in order to be on the same side as Dream, and it takes every ounce of restraint in him to not immediately gather you up in his arms and sweep you back to the Dreaming.

“I believe we forgot to properly make each other’s acquaintance last night.”

Gently, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it. By the surprised whimper that gets caught in your throat, Dream assumes that courtship rituals have changed since the last time he attempted a relationship. Interesting, and something that he’ll be sure to ask you about later.

“I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless. You may call me by either name, dearheart, for either shall sound sweet coming from your lips.”

Though he already knows your name now, he still allows you to introduce yourself to him, if only for the pleasure of getting to see the starstruck way you look at him when he says it as if to confirm that it truly is your name. If there were any residual worries about your passion for each other not translating to the waking, those are promptly wiped away when you throw your arms around Dream’s neck and pull him to you for a kiss. 

Truly, this is a new age that Dream is entirely unfamiliar with if kissing in public like this is acceptable. By the sounds of patrons’ applause, it appears that it is. What a strange new world Dream has found himself in. Not that he’s complaining. No, he’ll take victories as they come. As he brings a hand to your chin so that he can tilt your face and kiss you even deeper, he thinks that this is the greatest victory he’s ever had, for this victory has brought him you.

His own dream come true.

Desire of the Endless (again)

Desire’s enjoying their second glass of ambrosia, courtesy of the Greek pantheon, when they catch sight of Death, tight curls bouncing around her head, marching straight for them. They look both ways in the hope that there’s some other being who’s about to receive their sister’s wrath, but unfortunately, it looks as though they’re the target.

“Sister, how wonderful it is to see you tonight,” Desire greets. “Are you thirsty? Let me grab you a refreshment.”

Death simply narrows her eyes in suspicion. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

“What?” Desire holds a hand to their chest. “Me? What would make you say such a thing?”

“Mm, the fact that I’m your older sister and I know what you’re like when you’re up to something. You’ve had that look about you all night, the one that says that you’re just waiting for one of your plans to play out.” She nudges her sibling with her shoulder. “So? Out with it.”

“Fine. I’m in the middle of apologizing to our brother.”

“Oh gods,” Death bemoans.

“Don’t say it like that! This is a good thing!”

“When have you ever apologized to anybody for anything?”

“I apologize to Despair quite often.”

“Because she’s your twin.”

“And I’ll have you know, I also recently apologized to Unity Kincaid.” 

Now that gets Death’s attention, as it should. Desire, apologizing to one of their pawns? Death might need to go check and make sure that Hell hasn’t frozen over.

“Alright, then,” Death says. “You do know that apologizing usually involves going up to the other party and saying you’re sorry, right?”

“That comes later. First, Dream gets his apology gift.”

Desire gestures across the room, where you and Dream are currently involved in some sort of contentious stare-down after Dream had come to your aid when you were being forced to dance with anybody wanting a dance. Not the best start to a relationship Desire’s ever seen, but Dream’s always liked a lover that can challenge him.

Death doesn’t see it in the same way as Desire. All she sees is Dream talking to an unknown mortal, one that Desire brought here. Naturally, she gets the wrong idea.

“Oh Desire, you didn’t!” Death scolds. “Have you learned nothing from Alianora, Killala, Nada, or any of the others?”

“This isn’t like that!”

“Really?” Desire nods. “Okay, then tell me what it’s like.”

“I simply brought the mortal here for Dream to find! Those two are doing the rest.”

“And you swear that you have done no meddling to make them have any feelings for each other?”

“Yes, I swear.”

Death continues to glare at her younger sibling, which, okay, Desire supposes that’s fair. Doesn’t mean they have to enjoy the apprehension, though.

“Fine. I swear on my function, as well as the first circle, that I have not manipulated either Dream or the mortal.” 

Desire makes sure to swear on the most solemn and binding of things that an Endless can swear on, both so that Death will realize how serious they are and because they know that they’re not telling any sort of a lie. 

“All I did was find out whether Dream had a true love, which he does, and then I made sure that the mortal would have an invitation to tonight’s festivities.”

Death nods, satisfied. “How did you find that out?”

“Apparently, even the forces of the universe want Dream to get laid. Destiny let me look in his Book.”

Death lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh, he must have hated that!”

“He gave me exactly thirty seconds before snatching it back.” Desire scoffs. “Not as if I could have done anything to it, considering it’s literally chained to him.”

“It’s like his security blankie!”

A harsh, frankly disconcerting laugh echoes from nearby. While others would simply shrug it off, Death and Desire know exactly who that laugh belongs to. When Death finally fails at trying not to spy, she and Desire both see Dream’s shoulders shaking with laughter. Next to him, you’re sporting a pleased grin from the reaction you’ve been able to elicit. It’s quite the sight, and most try not to look so as not to incur the ire of the Dreamlord. His siblings, however, are exempt from that bit of common sense.

“Aw,” Death coos, her eyes shining as she watches the scene.

Desire knows exactly why their sister has such a reaction. Never, even in the early days of his courtship with Calliope, which was easily the “best” of his relationships, have any of the Endless ever seen Dream smile so freely and openly towards someone. They’ve especially never seen him let his guard down enough to laugh–which is probably a good thing, because the few times Desire’s heard his laugh, it’s left them feeling a little unsettled for a couple hours after.

“So this is simply part one of your apology?” Death asks.

“Yes. I truly am sorry for how I’ve treated him, especially over the last couple of centuries. Dream would have every right to not accept my apology, which is why I’m not just giving him a simple ‘I’m sorry’. Instead, I decided to shorten Dream’s path to finding true love, and both find his true love for him and bring said true love straight to him. A genius plan, truly.”

“You decided?”

Damn their oldest sister for being, well, an oldest sister. “Despair gave me the idea.”

“That sounds more like what I expected.”

Desire’s about to go on a diatribe about how this family only ever sees the worst in them (mainly for the fun of it, not because they actually care), when Death squeals, smacks Desire’s chest, grabs their arm and points back towards the two future lovebirds.

Dream is looking up at the ceiling to try and hide the fact that he’s blushing. His cheeks are a light shade of purple, and you look absolutely besotted by the sight.

“Oh, this is going so much better than I could have hoped,” Desire says as Dream levels his gaze with yours once again, the two of you seemingly challenging each other again on something. If the Book hadn’t told Desire that you and Dream were meant to be, this interaction would surely let them know.

“Shut up!” Death smacks Desire’s chest even more when Dream holds out his hand, which you take, before the two of you begin to sneak off like a couple of teenagers.

“What did I say?” Desire posits triumphantly. “Those two are doing all the work.”

“He’s going to be right pissed when he finds out, you know.”

Desire nods, because they do know. They’re expecting all sorts of threats of bodily harm and promises to break the most sacred rule of the Endless, all so that Desire can finally get their perceived comeuppance. If Desire’s being honest, they deserve that rage that Dream will direct towards them. They just hope that Dream will actually listen to what Desire has to say.

“He’ll get over it once I explain it to him,” Desire says.

“For your sake, I hope so. Won’t be too much of an apology if he doesn’t forgive you because he can’t see the validity of it.”

“He will.” Desire’s sure of it, and they grin at their sister. “Even if he doesn’t today, they can both thank me for my hard work at their wedding.”

Desire has enough tact to keep their triumphant “I told you so” to a smug grin when, barely a year later, they find themself back in the Dreaming for your and Dream’s wedding celebrations.

[themadlu]

Do Not Open That Door

Astarion is sure his leader's unflinching morals will lead him to another unwanted grave. He is also sure she is putting on an act because people like her do not exist, clearly. He decides to test his assumptions.

TW: None I think

WC: ~3000 words

Tagging: @spacebarbarianweird for the encouragement!

Astarion is livid. Well, maybe livid was an overstatement—he is annoyed. Annoyed and confused. Such feelings are still a vast improvement over the fear and shame he's been accustomed to, but they make him restless nonetheless. 

Especially because their cause is walking steadily next to him without a care in the world for his inner turmoil. 

Zélie, their oh so great leader, has managed to spoil what could have been a perfectly enjoyable afternoon on multiple fronts. First, she decides to talk to the goblins ambushing them instead of treating them like the savages they are.

(“We don’t know how many of them are in this village Astarion. What if there’s a little army and we’re outnumbered?”)

After confirmation that there were, in fact, quite a few goblins (and a couple orcs to boot), she managed to get free passage through the village by leveraging their wriggly alien parasite. He isn’t happy about it. Not at all. 

He has to begrudgingly admit hers was a wise call after witnessing just how large and hungry those orcs were. And of course they even agree to help a fellow true soul in need. Just what he needs to undermine what little influence he has on her.

(Her blood is in his body after all.)

In the last tendays she had made it her mission to remind him how despicable murder is, under most circumstances, aside from self-defence. This beautifully idiotic mindset of hers almost got her killed twice in front of his very eyes.

(She doesn’t know he has taken to finish off the enemies she leaves unconscious while she isn’t watching.)

When he had pointed out the suicidal flaw in her morals, she had given him her signature scolding look, crossed her arms, and started breathing in that funny way of hers. 

In, hold, out. 

(She says she is not trained as a monk, but he’ll be even more damned than he already is if that is true. The way she fights and holds herself—and those sickening ideals she has—tell a different story.) 

“Honestly, darling,” he hisses at her as they walk through the village, squinty eyes trained on their every move. “I thought we agreed that benevolence and honour,” he spits the words out like a curse, “get you nowhere but to an early grave.”

“Astarion,” she always says his name when she speaks to him—even in annoyance— and he hates his constant surprise at hearing it. His elven name had been replaced with other titles over time, more befitting of his status—boy, spawn, whore, slut, beautiful, toy, love…

Truly, it’s a small miracle he managed to hold on to his name. It’s one of the few things left that are truly his, yet hearing it spoken from that solemn woman's lips makes something in his chest preen. 

“I thought we agreed to disagree on that front. No, don’t give me that look. Killing someone is never justifiable. No matter what we tell ourselves, we are taking away something that wasn’t ours to begin with. Something irreplaceable. Even—” she held up her hand as he started to complain, “in self-defence, even then, I will make sure to exhaust all alternatives, and even then, it will be a failure on my part.”

You moron. 

“Too bad the rest of the world doesn’t think like you, darling,” he snapped. Hers was an act. There was no way in the hells anyone could survive to their…whatever age she was, he was never good with human lifespans, with that mindset. It was ridiculous, because if she actually was like that—if two–hundred years of shit didn’t teach him better—she should either be dead in a ditch or have ascended to godhood on her saintly behaviour alone. The only explanation he has for her standing close to him is that the mask she wears is as fake as his own. That, or she is a child of Ilmater. He bets on the former, given her complete ignorance of any deity on Toril.

“But you lied,” he counters, snapping his fingers. “You said we are here on Absolute business. Doesn’t that go against your precious code of honour?” he singsongs in her ear. 

“I didn’t lie. My tadpole reacted to theirs, and they drew their own conclusions. Technically, we are going to their camp on Absolute business too, if you count removing these,” she tapped her index to her temple. 

He smirks, victorious. “Circumstantial. One day, the tadpole won’t do the work for us and you’ll break your own code or doom us to death. For one, I’d rather not repeat the experience,” he says in a quiet voice, pointing at his chest. 

Their companions are still unaware of his condition—another occasion his holy leader conveniently withheld information. 

(“It’s your secret, it’s your decision.” Hypocrite.)

“Astarion, I know you take me for a fool, and I would normally pay more respect to a man—elf—my senior by centuries, but really. I can be practical and have a moral compass, and that means that when the choice is between lying and killing, I will pick lying any day, even if I don’t like it.” 

Enough. 

Her words incense him, annoyance suddenly turns into rage and something else—what’s that, envy?—he pivots on his left heel and closes the distance between them so fast she has no time to react. Zélie is left pinned to the wall, their bodies a breath away from touching, and he internally celebrates the surprised look on her face. 

He stares at her down his nose, ducking his head and planting a slender hand on the wall beside her head. 

Astarion has to make her stop before he tears her self-righteousness out of her throat. Before she realises how useless it all is—how useless and tainted he is—and either stakes him or banishes him. Because even her sickly, do-gooding self, fake or real it be, must have limits. If he pushes hard enough, they’ll crumble, and then he’ll be proven right. She is not what she says she is because creatures like that aren’t real.  

“Let’s make one thing clear, darling,” he growls, nostrils flaring, “you may be our great leader, but you should get off your high horse before someone shoots you off it. I don’t know what perfect little corner of the universe you grew up in, but you know nothing of this world and its dangers.” 

He flashes his fangs at her to drive his point across. The others are out of sight, looking for supplies in some ruin or cellar. Gods, he misses the city. 

Zélie is staring back at him, bristling, but lets him continue. She never interrupts any of them, not even him.

“I thought humans were all about developing and living fast, but you, my dear, are as ignorant as a babe. I am trying to make sure we keep our collective hides safe and do not get sidetracked by other pitiful creatures on our path.” 

He realises just how close he is to her when she straightens up again and their noses almost touch. 

Pale eyes go darker with a flash of anger. 

There. Come at me. Prove me right. 

“Spoken like a true man of the law, lord magistrate.” 

Why the hells is her tone so collected when she has a literal vampire at her throat?!

“You seem forgetful, so I’ll remind you that it was my ignorance that stopped Shadowheart from connecting her mace with your head. And it was my stupidity that convinced her you could join us, and that we should give you a chance at trust.” 

She makes no move to get closer, but he recoils as if scorched by fire. 

“And it is the same trust I placed in you yesterday when I let you bite me, even though it’s not how I envisioned a night of rest to go. I trusted you to stop, I trusted you to keep your word and not leave me a corpse.”

There it is. Reminding him of what he owes her. Of his debts. They say the quiet ones are the most depraved, and she is the strong and silent type. But he is nothing if not an expert in the art of subservience at this point, and if it gets her to keep giving him blood and protection—

“I trust you.” 

Then you’re doomed.

She says it as if it were a challenge. Her gaze is unwavering and he is left speechless yet again. Cazador would admire this quality of hers.

“I hope you can trust me in return.”

Impossible woman. 

“Well, I suppose you’re not wholly incompetent,” he manages to croak out. His nonchalant mask is harder to slip on this time. 

She huffs a breath of a laugh, a tiny thing, but it’s enough to transform her whole face. The weight she carries on her deceivingly flimsy shoulders seems to lift, leaving behind a young woman smiling softly at a…well, a monster. Talk about inexperience. 

Happiness suits you, little leader. 

The fact it’s his prattling that caused this marvel of a transformation stokes something in chest and in the pit of his stomach that he promptly pushes down. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Zélie says. She moves away and he is left staring at the crusty wall. Her body never touched his own during their exchange. 

Wait. That’s wrong. He was meant to make her see the reason in his ways, not the other way around. So why is he at her heels like a lost puppy the minute she walks away? 

(“You are nothing by yourself boy. You owe everything to me.”)

He is weak. So weak he has leashed himself to a human who can barely read common, fuck's sake. 

His temper rises again once he catches up with Zélie. He doesn’t need her condescension, nor her chiding (she doesn’t even know his full story yet, nor she ever will unless absolutely necessary, so pity isn’t there yet). He’ll show the wretched woman how wrong she is. 

Karlach and Lae’zel jog behind them as they reach a barn with a door locked shut. Zélie thinks nothing of it at first, but Astarion can smell what’s inside.

(His senses born anew from her blood.)

He smells the ogre and bugbear and their horrid affair before the rest of his companions hear the grunts and noises.

“Oh God, someone’s fighting!” exclaims Zélie.

Fighting, you say?

An idea strikes him. 

See what your misplaced goodness gets you when you try to help an ogre.

“I don’t know soldier, they don’t sound like fight noises to me,” says Karlach leaning towards the barn, but even she seems unsure. Astarion’s talents may be limited to a specific area, but in this case it works in his favour. He is very familiar with what those sounds mean. The half-ogres that fucked him into the bed so hard he bled were not so different.

(He still remembers how much it hurt, how he was left in a puddle of mixed releases, sweat, and what little blood he had).

“Well, even if they are fighting, it is clearly not our problem. I say we leave them to it and focus on what’s really important,” he says, using his annoyance as a hook. Zélie may be the most restrained person he’s come across, but he knows how to read people, and he knows she will do the opposite of whatever he says when it concerns morals. 

She falls for it. His smile is harder to suppress.

“Astarion! We’ve just talked about this!” 

Her voice raises a bit, but it’s almost eclipsed by another loud grunt from inside the barn. 

“So long as my blade can be sharpened on my enemies’ bones, I am ready.” Lae’zel is almost as ignorant as Zélie when it comes to their world, which is usually a hindrance, but now it’s the push their little leader needs to run to the rescue. 

Zélie tries to open the barn door (after cutting another withering look at the vampire lazily strolling at her back), finding it jammed.

The crescendo of grunts and bangs coming from inside is extremely loud now. 

Gods, they must be disgusting. 

“Hello?! Help is on the way, hang on!” the little human shouts as she frantically tries to get the door unstuck. 

“Oh hells, let me do it, darling, before we turn into tentacled freaks,” Astarion says in mock-annoyance. She eyes him suspiciously and he shoots her a winning smile. His nimble hands make quick work of the lock, and he pushes the door open. 

He needs just a peek to know his assumption about what was happening in the barn is correct, and turns to face his now horror-stricken companion. 

“Gods, they are disgusting,” he comments with his lips crooked in a satisfied smile. 

Zélie scrambles to compose herself and turns her back from the scene (the prudish) as she fails to find words to explain herself. “I—I am, I apologise, we thought—”

Oh, she’s in a state. Her cheeks flush redder than rubies (he can practically hear her delicious blood pooling there), whilst the rest of her is paler than after Astarion’s feeding. She opens and shuts her eyes as if trying to physically erase what she just witnessed.

The bugbear slides his now soft cock out of the ogre, and looks at them in rage.

“W–what the hells are you doing?!”

Oh, Astarion is thrilled. He doesn’t remember when last had such fun. He hears Lae’zel’s tsk’ and Karlach’s gags behind him, and he closely watches Zélie fumbling as he didn’t think was possible. 

“Apologies! I, you—you were making a lot of noise and I, we, thought you needed help,” she holds her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “I apologise for the intrusion! We’ll leave now—”

“Ruined! SMASH. I’ll smash you!” 

Oh. Astarion didn’t expect that. He just wanted to show Zélie how ungrateful the world is to idiots like her, not have her turn into orc food. 

Before he can think, he is tackling the woman to the ground, the orc’s club crashing a few spaces to his left. Karlach and Lae’zel’s throw themselves at the aggressor, and the fight starts in earnest. Astarion is more a stalker than a fighter, but he had his first fill of human blood only hours before, and his senses have never been that sharp, so he doesn’t miss the bugbear rushing towards their prone form. 

Daggers at hand, he braces to parry the onslaught (this may hurt) when his worldview shifts, his back in on the ground, and chilly afternoon air replaces the heat of his leader on his chest. 

What just happened?

He turns his head to see the bugbear crashing to the ground, Zélie crouched on one leg and tripping him with her other. “Go help the others! I’ve got this!” she shouts, as she wraps her limbs around the assailant in a tight bind. “Wait! It was an honest mistake—”

He doesn’t want to hear her voice now. Doesn’t want to think how the little moron literally threw him away from danger. Even worse, he will refute the idea he protected her from an angry orc till his last breath. He only got his body back recently. That’s it. He still is unsure of how to use it. 

And she's dinner.

He doesn’t want to dwell on what happened, so he nods and throws himself at the female orc while she is distracted by his companions. 

The fight doesn’t last too long after that, and something takes a hold of his insides when he looks at Zélie. She is silent, staring at the large corpse on the ground, bugbear knocked out at her feet. 

“Darling?” He moves towards her and the sadness in her eyes almost makes him apologise. Gods, what has he done? He didn’t think this was going to happen. And why does he care?! This was his intent, this and seeing the real her behind the strong, polite facade. 

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know, darling. I—”

See now, how impossible it is to keep your ideals in this world?

“You knew,” she says, and while he words his excuses (the only real one being he didn’t think they were going to be attacked) her shoulders drop and a defeated huff leaves her mouth. A far cry from her happy smile earlier. 

Astarion can’t wrap his head around how he caused both reactions in such a short span of time. But this look on her, this, he knows. He has seen far worse in the eyes and screams of those fools he lured back to his master, once they had his way with him and realised a bit too late they were as trapped as he was. 

He expects her to shout, to berate him, kick him, punch him, stab him, banish him—but none of that comes. Zélie studies him intently, and something in her demeanour lights up, an internal judgement made.

“I still trust you.” 

No. No no no, he’s not going to let her fool him into believing this—no!

Her face is suddenly level with Astarion’s knees, the now-awake bugbear readying a strike. 

Astarion doesn’t need to think—he falls forward and sinks his dagger into the wretch’s neck. Blood spurts out, but after tasting Zélie’s Astarion has no interest in it; mud compared to a clear sky.

“Soldier!” shouts Karlach, ever the helpful friend. Zélie pants as the dead attacker slides off of her, eye to eye with Astarion again. He can feel her light breath on his face. Karlach pulls her up; he is cleaning his dagger on the bugbear’s clothes when an outstretched hand enters his vision. Hers.

“Come on,” she says, tired but steady again. “Let’s get back to camp.”

Astarion flinches from the hand as if it were a trap (it is always a trap), but Zélie is new territory for him, that much he begrudgingly accepts. She is apparently above the rules of their miserable world because she chooses to trust him, a vampire, a lying one, again. 

He takes her hand, bracing for what may come his way, but she just helps him up. 

“Thank you, by the way. For saving my life before.”

It’s a trick. It’s a trick. Don’t fall for—

She wraps her hand around his so delicately he thinks he may break, and shakes it. His thoughts and words are silenced yet again. 

“Thank you.” 

Fuck. 

[karotka]

I've been rewatching IWTV and what's clicked for me were Armand's motivations for betraying Louis. On first watch I thought it was such a confusing and irrational thing to do. Now, obviously it was capital B Bad etc., but we all know that, boring question. But was it a logical (≠justified) decision to pick the coven? I'm starting to think it kind of was 🤔

The café scene is so heartbreaking, makes me kick and scream at the screen, Armand on his way to end it all and Madeleine asks why Louis doesn't want him to know how much he loves him, and Louis confidently replies, “he knows.” Reader, did he know? I feel like part of the tragedy is that it didn't really matter at that point.

Press pause on the betrayal of it all and look at the facts from Armand's perspective:

Louis is suicidal. He has an expiry date, the coven vampires don't. Louis is suicidal, the coven is forever 😂😂 To quote Lestat, “There is one thing about being a vampire that I most fear above all else... And that is loneliness. You can't imagine the emptiness, a void stretching out for decades at a time.” Armand asks Madeleine, “What will you do, in a few decades, when she throws herself into the fire?” and then finds Louis in a pool of blood, his wrist slashed. He voices this to Louis much later – when he has no right to demand anything from him, but the sentiment stays true – “You left me for death. Will I be on suicide watch for the next 1,000 years?”

Louis straight up murdered his previous lover. Now, we know it wasn't all that, but Armand didn't. Major red flag, anyone? “I killed him and he fucking had it coming.” And he DID, but that's beside the point, isn't it? Especially since we know Armand is just as capable of domestic abuse :') He knew that Louis wasn't the kind of person who would just take his shit forever. If you want somebody to trust you, don't let them know you took part in the murder of your ex, heartfelt advice from both of them.

Speaking of exes, Louis is SO not over Lestat. I mean, neither is Armand, they're such a train wreck of a relationship :D But yeah, Louis is not fully committed to Armand, denying publicly that they're companions, hallucinating his ex in the bedroom or while Armand is sharing his traumatic past and, most damning of all, refusing to join the coven.

From Armand's perspective, he's risking it all for Louis and Louis a) doesn't appreciate it at all, and b) refuses to do the bare minimum of getting along with his family. (If someone treated my daughter-sister the way Armand treated Claudia, I'd kill them with my bare hands, but Louis acts like he doesn't mind. Can you imagine me without the burden of her? :/) (and yeah, he could just leave his shitty cult, the same way they could have left each other during those 70 years. Shitty stability > loneliness, I guess.)

A minor point maybe, but the moment you know that Lestat is out there and wants revenge, that only adds to the expiry date part. Especially once Lestat is cooperating with the coven, because I imagine that while Armand is OP enough to fight the coven, all of them + Lestat might be a bit too much. Maybe Armand even hoped once Louis is out of the picture they could get back together? We don't really know what exactly was going on behind the scenes but Lestat's sheer existence is bad for loumand... It is what it is.

And Louis just... repeatedly ignores Armand's warnings. I mean, they both knew Armand was going to execute him that one time. They tried to make it work but Louis was living on borrowed time from that point. Add Armand's apparent MO of “everything I love must eventually burn down so I will take control of the situation by orchestrating the downfall myself” et voilà. He was given a choice and he chose.

And THEN he betrayed the coven for Louis at his most unwell. Iconic!

[lionheartedmusings]

i saw a post earlier that q!tubbo is the only "moral" character even after purgatory and it's kinda kept me awake, not because i don't agree with the sentiment (i do) but because the idea of morality as intrinsically important in fandom / character analysis is fascinating to me, *especially* when we're talking about the morality of someone who's basically just spent two weeks in some eye guy's budget hunger games.

first off, while i fully agree that by the end of this q!tubbo *is* a character that tried at every turn to be kind and generous even to his own detriment, how does that make him more or less "moral" than q!phil or q!fit? he still killed, the same as them. he still strategized to beat his friends, has blood on his hands — why is he marked above x, y, or z in the moral scale?

well, one could argue that he did what he did for his team, for the eggs, and because he was forced to when he was put in the game in the first place, yeah? it's not his fault he's in this position, and he's doing his best to survive it. i personally think that's totally valid and justifiable, but it leaves a huge elephant in the room.

what about everyone else?

i'm going to use q!bad as an example because he's my main pov, and before i go into this analysis i want it known i'm very much playing the devil's advocate and illustrating a point — i am not saying his actions are "good". good? good.

okay. so, q!bad. here we have a non-human father who was told by his missing child to win regardless of the cost, or whomever he had to run over. he had to win. is it immoral then for him to take that to heart and play the game the way it was presented? is it immoral for him to kill for his child, or to be determined to win even in detriment of others? to want to use the same strategies in the battlefield that everyone else would, even if they're not kind or polite?

i don't fucking know, because morality isn't linear — this situation *isn't* linear bc if people will go on the record saying they would kill for their child and are praised for it, what makes q!bad's actions in the universe he's existing in any different?

you can even say that by some perspectives, q!tubbo extending so much kindness to his competitors over and over again was at times (or could've been) detrimental to his team ergo their childrens' lives and yet he still did it. is it more moral to save children or be nice to someone else?

my point being, i feel that the morality argument while very very interesting is kind of irrelevant bc when push comes to shove, characters aren't compelling bc they have more or less morals — i genuinely think a lot of media / character consumption has *actively* been harmed by everyone's need to have the thing they enjoy be "good" or "moral" or "right" bc if it isn't, what does that say about us?

the answer to that one is: absolutely nothing, but man do i think sometimes people in fandom feel guilty if they like or prefer an immoral or grey character vs a "stereotypical" moral one.

anyway, all this to say that i think by the end of purgatory, q!tubbo is the character that was most true to himself and his values from start to finish, and it's been a great watch. is he the most morally correct? eh. who the fuck knows.

[nagarashi]

Always resented the way Logan was treated in Fable 3, didn't you?

Long post ahead...

Fable 3 has always been an example of controversy, at least I used to stumble upon it all the time. Some branded it a disgrace, while others said it wasn't that bad because of the potential it had, which unfortunately was never realized.

I've always been on the side of the second. Just recently I settled on a marathon and went through the entire trilogy. Just like the first time I was "burned out" from that missed potential. In particular I am always saddened by the king - Logan.

For me, Logan is pretty much the only character I really feel sorry for and care about in Fable 3. Yeah, even Walter I feel pretty cold towards.... but that's partly because I'm on the King's side from the beginning of the game, even though they try hard to turn me against him (which is what turns me away from the other characters). And it's the reason I really dislike the Hero (Princess in my case), she's blind, infantile and driven, she doesn't think with her head (probably like all the Heroes in the fable).

The game does our brother one hell of an injustice. I felt it especially strongly when I finally played Fable 2 after many years. The faceless queen (in my case Sparrow Woman) mentioned in Fable 3 suddenly took on a face for me and became something important... I know what she was like and what her life was like. And I'm sure she would have loved Logan, because she was deprived of parental love early on, and didn't want brother and sister to be against each other, because she lost her sister, her only sibling, at a young age.

Logan was the firstborn son of Sparrow and as the firstborn, the eldest, all expectations were to be placed on him, everything was to be left for him... What does the game tell us?

The game does, however, show and give the impression that Logan was some sort of outcast in the family. And for some reason, the Guild seal was supposed to go to the youngest. You say she's a hero? What was her Heroic talent until she got a gauntlet to use magic? Broke sword in training? I may be biased, but I have a feeling Logan has broken more than one sword in training as well.... But for some reason, all the excitement goes to the youngest one.

Speaking of magic, it used to be used without any gauntlets, does that mean that it weakens the blood of Heroes? That would be... logical. That's where Reaver and his still strong bloodline would come in handy, lol.

Back to Logan. Not only was the seal not for him, but for some reason, even in the Sanctuary, the note from his mother was left for Jasper, not him. What?!

There's a strong and unpleasant feeling of ignoring the fact that Logan even exists. Why does he deserve to be ignored? From a game perspective, I understand that it demonizes our brother, but from a logical perspective, I don't see how it's justified, at least not when it comes to things involving family.

That and the way everyone hates him only made me get more attached to him.... and the fact that he's the closest thing we have to family. You can't just walk away from that fact, giving in to calls for a stupid revolution without even trying to talk to your brother before doing so. Was the princess angry with him? That anger is some kind of unfunny joke. She didn't care about her brother, why should she care about some random dudes she's being asked to execute?

The game shows that even the sister didn't care about Logan. She doesn't notice the changes in him (which by the way even Elliot notices, in my case) and doesn't even try to talk to him to find out what's going on.

And as if that wasn't enough, when we get to a certain point and find out the truth of what's going on with our brother, why he's changed so much, instead of talking to him in person, for some reason we let Walter take him away and have a trial where all those bloodthirsty critters from our allies come out when they wish Logan dead (except Page, surprisingly, I don't like her, but she shows a lot of common sense at the trial).

On top of all that, Logan has seen with his own eyes what Crawler can do, he saw the deaths of all his men when they faced the Darkness for the first time and subsequently experienced the horror that Crawler is capable of, and we have seen what he can do through our example and Walter's. He brings out the deepest nightmares.... Now imagine facing the death of your home, your people, your family, the one person you care about. And then with the knowledge of all this you come back and try to tell people the terrible truth, but they just think you are crazy, you are powerless to convince them. But the sheep have to be saved from the wolves, no matter how stupid they are.

Logan obviously has severe PTSD after the incident, recurring nightmares and obsessive thoughts of what will happen if he fails? Thoughts that he MUST succeed no matter what. Wouldn't that drive you crazy?

It makes everyone think you're a monster and hate you..... Imagine what it's like to live under that kind of constant pressure every day? And then your dearest person, your flesh and blood, goes against you... It's like the last drop to break the stone already broken by despair and depression.

I don't know how Logan can be executed at the end of the trial. Personally, I've never done it, although I watched that scene on youtube for the sake of interest. It's just horrible in my opinion... It's so soulless. I love playing Fable as an evil character, but even by my standards this is just too much... Logan's execution isn't evil or even justice as the crowd screams, it's murder besides being very vile, even for me.

I really dislike that at the end, when he leaves, we aren't given a chance to stop him. He will always be a brother to Hero and they will always need each other. Anyway, after everything that's happened, I wish Logan was by my side so he could finally have peace and love instead of hate and despise. I don't want him to wander the world and die in an unmarked grave somewhere.

P.S: I always liked the moment at the trial, when all those who were crying the whole game, what victims of Logan's cruelty they were, immediately turned into a pack of vicious dogs, as soon as they felt the power and opportunity to grab Logan's throat with no punishment, literally siccing you on your own brother.

P.S.S: Screw Teresa, I hate you for what you did to Sparrow and her kids.

[rewritingcanon]

If you don’t mind me asking? why do you believe that Slytherin is a terrible house? Draco was an asshole and some of the other Slytherins(Crabbe, Goyle). although throughout the entire series the golden trio were practically bullies to most Slytherins for no reason(more so in the books)? Slytherins at hogwarts were usually mistreated due to their reputation of producing dark wizards, as if Ravenclaw doesn’t have almost just as much 🙏 plus how biased the entire school facility were with Slytherins, honestly i wouldn’t expect Slytherins to act the best when the whole schools against them.

And Slytherins being bullied or mistreated isn’t a new thing, especially by Gryffindors(Ex; Golden trio, marauders, fantastic beasts).

And whats your take on Ron? i’m a bit meh on him, as he was a good friend although i still can’t forget or excuse him

-Bullying first years

-Abusing his Prefect status

-Almost calling Ginny a slut

-abusing Crookshanks

kinda confused a bit because i don’t remember ever calling slytherin a terrible house lol. i’ve said that slytherin was written with the mind to make it a bad house, with all its characters being pretty morally bleak. hp is not supposed to be very morally complex, all the work in that is mostly credited to fandom.

as readers, we’re positioned to sympathise with the golden trio being mean to slytherin characters more because they have the moral leverage of not being blood purists or terrorists. maybe harry had no reason to go after them at first, but hermione definitely had as a muggleborn, and ron was constantly getting slandered for either being poor or a blood traitor. granted, this was all mostly from draco. the other slytherins are one-dimensional characters who serve as his lackeys, there’s not one that’s properly fleshed out except maybe severus snape and even that’s iffy for a lot of fans.

yes, ravenclaws did have death eaters, but not to the same extent that slytherin was producing them. most death eater characters have unconfirmed houses, the only ravenclaw we actually know to be a death eater is quirrel and thats it. so they’re actually tying with the amount of death eaters gryffindor produces (pettigrew), not slytherin. everyone else— lestranges, blacks, malfoys, crabbes, snape etc— are slytherins. this is unsurprising as salazar slytherin literally wanted to gatekeep his house from progressive and inclusive ideals.

i have many gripes with the oppressive world jkr has written— i don’t think she understands how oppression operates because i agree with what you say about most of the hogwarts staff treating the slytherins like shit. in reality, the ones who are oppressed should be the ones discriminated against, but in the hpverse you see the oppressors getting treated badly. im not saying i think slytherins should be presented as the oppressed, its just horrid writing on her part.

i really like ron, i think he’s a really well fleshed-out character with realistic flaws and a good arc. i cant remember when he bullied first years and i don’t remember him abusing his prefect status in any extremely terrible way that would lower my opinion of him. i do remember him almost slut-shaming ginny, and though i think it was terrible of him i also think it was a realistic thing to say from an older brother to a younger sister in the 90s. i have a younger brother and you should clock some of the arguments we’ve had over the years in the 2020s. it’s within the same vein. ginny was pressing on ron’s sore spots as little siblings do, and ron was attempting to compensate by biting back in any way he could. it was realistic to me. and its been a while since i read the books but ron bitching about crookshanks read as comedic. granted, i was like 11 years old when i read them, but i remember thinking it was justified because to ron, crookshanks was literally trying to kill his pet. he’s not going to be chill around something thats tried to eat his rat multiple times. when someone is attacking your pet, you get scared and angry and try to fight back in defence of your pet because you want to deter that animal from trying anything like that again. they obviously can’t understand you if you simply lecture them. i once had to do something similar (i did not physically fight anything though LOL) when i got a new cat, and our neighbour’s cat would constantly attack and injure him every time we let him outside. and that was a cat v cat, this is a little mouse versus crookshanks 😭😭

[atlasscrumpit]

Scientist Miguel x Reader

You felt so afraid and alone, the darkened room was cold and suffocating.

The door opened and you shielded your eyes from the bright light.

You whined softly and shook your head.

"Y/N, it's okay. It's just me." You heard a voice sat as you glanced to the doorway to see Miguel, one of the head scientists at the lab. 

"Did you have a bad night?" He asked as you looked away from him.

"I don't wanna go out there." You muttered as Miguel knelt beside you and ran his hand through your hair.

"Don't you want breakfast, baby? You've been such a good girl lately. Why don't you stay here and I bring you some special breakfast only the staff get? Would that cheer you up, darling?" He asked as you looked at him and nodded a little.

He smiled and kissed the side of your head.

"Good girl, I'll be right back." Miguel said before he left the room and locked the door.

You curled up in the corner of the room as the walls around went clear like usual around morning time.

Different scientists walked past and looked in as you continued to shy away.

After a freak accident as a lab assistant you were left with some...odd abilities.

For one you had fangs and your blood seemed to heal faster than a regular humans, but as soon as it happened the scientists had found you.

They weren't going to let you go, every day they took samples, blood, skin, sometimes even teeth.

In just the span of a few days you'd gone from a normal girl with a normal job to a lab rat... That was a year ago now.

Miguel was different than the other doctors and scientists, he treated you like an animal but at least it was in a kind way, unlike the others.

"Are you stealing food for her again? Seriously?" Miguel heard someone say as he grabbed some fruit and croissants.

"She trusts me, I know you see her as a business opportunity but I still see her as a person. I may not have known her before all of this but she's still a person with a life." Miguel grumbled as the other man rolled his eyes and walked away.

Miguel returned to your cell and brought in some breakfast, he pressed some buttons and make the walls dark again so you could have some privacy.

He knelt placed the plate on the small table in your room and came over to help you stand up.

"I want you to take a nap later, okay? It looks like you haven't rested." He said as you sat on the crappy chair and started eating.

"I miss my apartment... What happened to it?" You muttered making Miguel feel sad, he sat across from you.

"I don't know, darling. Maybe they sold it." He said as you nodded a little.

"I just want to go home." You whispered as tears formed in your eyes.

"Oh, Y/N." Miguel whispered as he stood up and knelt beside your chair.

"It's going to be okay, I'm here all week. I'll take good care of you, make sure you're fed well and get some good rest. Maybe I could even get you some more blankets and pillows. Please don't cry, sweetheart." He whispered as you tried to control your tears.

"It's not fair." You replied looking at him, he reached up and gently wiped away your tears.

"I know... I've been trying to justify it myself, but I don't think I can. What we do here is inhumane, especially to you." He continued as he held your cheek in his hand.

"Can't you get me out of here?" You asked making Miguel sigh softly.

"I wish it was that simple, Y/N. Did you have any family?" He asked, trying to divert your question.

"Just a father in prison... Other than that I had no one, I had a fish... Oh god, my fish is probably dead." You whispered starting to cry again. Miguel stood up and you wrapped your arms around his waist, crying into his abdomen.

He ran his hand through your hair while he let you cry.

--

You played on a table with your limbs restrained as you tried to distract your mind.

You wished it was Miguel taking your blood but he had been called away on to another job for the day.

You hated when it wasn't him, because everyone else gave you no dignity or privacy.

"Pretty thing you are, you're going to do a lot of good things, dear." The man said as you glared at him, if there wasn't a muzzle over your mouth you wouldn't called him vulgar names.

You felt him run his hand up your thigh as you tried to squirm away from him.

"Easy, sweetheart. Don't be afraid." He whispered massaging the skin in your thighs as you cried and squirmed.

When his hand went up further, nearing your crotch you broke out of the restraints and hit the doctor across the face.

You grabbed a small knife you found, pushed him to the ground and began stabbing at his eyes over and over.

Suddenly you were grabbed off him and you screamed through the muzzle.

"It's me! It's me!" You heard a familiar voice say as you stopped fighting.

You turned around to see Miguel looking at you in shock.

He took the muzzle off as you lunged forward and hugged him.

"He wouldn't stop touching me!" You screamed as Miguel hugged you back and looked at the suffering man on the ground.

"We have to get you out of here..." He muttered, holding onto you tighter.

"Stay quiet, do what I say and don't talk to anyone, okay? Can you do that?" He asked, brushing your hair out of your face as you cried and nodded.

"Good girl, I'm gonna get you out of here."