#Container Glass Market Share

[mordorintelligencemarketresearch]

Africa Glass Bottles and Containers Industry: Market Trends, Opportunities, and Future Growth 

Introduction 

The Africa glass bottles and containers industry is a dynamic and growing sector, shaped by evolving consumer preferences, environmental concerns, and regional economic factors. As the demand for sustainable packaging increases, glass containers are becoming a preferred choice across various industries, including food and beverages, pharmaceuticals, and cosmetics. This blog explores the current state of the market, key trends, challenges, and opportunities for growth in Africa’s glass bottles and containers industry. 

Market Overview 

The African glass bottles and containers market has experienced steady growth over the past decade, driven by urbanization, population growth, and rising disposable incomes. Major industries like beverage production, pharmaceuticals, and personal care rely heavily on glass packaging for its sustainability, durability, and ability to preserve the quality of products. 

Key statistics: 

Market Size: The Africa Glass Bottles and Containers Market is projected to reach a size of 4.31 billion units in 2024 and is anticipated to grow to 5.56 billion units by 2029, registering a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 5.21% during the forecast period from 2024 to 2029. 

Regional Leaders: South Africa, Nigeria, Egypt, and Kenya are leading the market, accounting for a significant share of production and consumption. 

End-Use Sectors: The food and beverage sector dominates, with alcoholic beverages like beer, wine, and spirits being the largest consumers of glass containers. 

Key Trends Driving the Market 

Sustainability and Environmental Concerns 

With the global push toward eco-friendly solutions, glass has emerged as a sustainable alternative to plastic. African governments and industries are embracing regulations to reduce plastic waste, creating a conducive environment for glass container manufacturers. 

Rising Demand in the Beverage Industry 

The growing popularity of craft beverages and the premiumization of alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks have boosted demand for aesthetically appealing and durable glass packaging. 

Growth in Pharmaceuticals and Healthcare 

The pharmaceutical industry relies on glass containers for their inert properties, which ensure the safety and efficacy of medications. The growth of healthcare infrastructure across Africa is a significant driver for this segment. 

Technological Innovations 

Modern glass manufacturing technologies have improved production efficiency and the quality of products. Lightweight and custom-designed bottles are gaining traction in the African market. 

Urbanization and Lifestyle Changes 

Rapid urbanization has led to increased consumption of packaged goods. Glass containers, seen as premium and safe, cater to the preferences of a growing middle class. 

Challenges in the Industry 

High Production Costs 

Glass production is energy-intensive, making costs relatively high compared to other packaging materials like plastic. In Africa, energy supply and costs remain key challenges. 

Infrastructure and Logistics 

The lack of robust infrastructure in certain regions can hinder the supply chain, affecting both production and distribution. 

Competition from Alternative Materials 

While glass is sustainable, it faces stiff competition from recyclable plastics, metal cans, and other materials that are often cheaper to produce and transport. 

Opportunities for Growth 

Investment in Recycling Infrastructure 

Developing a robust recycling ecosystem can significantly reduce production costs and environmental impact. Companies that invest in closed-loop recycling systems stand to benefit in the long term. 

Expanding Local Manufacturing 

Africa's reliance on imports for high-quality glass containers presents an opportunity for local manufacturers to scale up production and reduce costs. 

Innovative Packaging Solutions 

Offering customized, lightweight, and uniquely designed bottles can cater to niche markets like luxury beverages and cosmetics. 

Government Policies and Incentives 

Many African governments are offering incentives for sustainable manufacturing practices. This support can boost the growth of eco-friendly glass packaging solutions. 

Partnerships and Joint Ventures 

Collaboration between local companies and international players can bring advanced technologies and expertise to the region, enhancing competitiveness. 

Conclusion 

The Africa glass bottles and containers market is poised for significant growth as it navigates challenges and capitalizes on opportunities. With increasing demand for sustainable and high-quality packaging, the industry is set to play a pivotal role in Africa’s economic development. By investing in innovation, local manufacturing, and recycling initiatives, stakeholders can position themselves at the forefront of this evolving market.    For a detailed overview and more insights, you can refer to the full market research report by Mordor Intelligence: https://www.mordorintelligence.com/industry-reports/africa-glass-bottles-and-containers-market 

[simstorian-blog]

Residential Floorplan Suggestions

New York City: TWO

(CC List + Links)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Spice Market – Waterside Warble

Lot Size:  30 x 30

Capacity:

A Dive Bar

An Internet Café

A Pizzeria

A Tattoo Parlor

Bonus: 6 residential rental units floorplans completed – not assigned

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Discover University

For Rent

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Dream Home Decorator

Jungle Adventure

Outdoor Retreat

Parenthood

Spa Day

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

Strangerville

Vampires

Stuff Packs

Crystal Creations

Home chef Hustle

Laundry Day

Moschino

Kits

Castle Estate

Courtyard Oasis

Cozy Bistro

Desert Luxe

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

Carl’s Dine Out Reloaded

City Vibes Lot Traits

Functional Tattoo Parlor

Functional Venue Lot Traits

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

Spawn Refresh

Use Residential Rentals shared areas as Community Lots & Create Multi-Purpose Community Lots

Build Mode

CharlyPancakes

Chalk Pt.2 (Tiles)

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 1 (Stone Foundation)

Chateau Pt. 2 (Doors, Metal Pieces, Tiles, Walls)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Fence 2, Plaster Foundation 2, Railing 2)

Florence Pt. 1 (Fresco Mural)

Grove Pt. 4 (Plaster Column, Plaster Floor)

London Interior (Dining Chair, Stool, Walls)

Paris (Cartouche Large, Corbel, Swag)

Schwerin (Terracotta Female)

SOHO Pt. 2

SOHO Pt. 3

SOHO Pt. 4

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 2 (Traditional Door Frame – Med, Traditional Door – Med, Traditional Window 2 - Med)

Coastal Pt. 2 (Column)

Klean Pt. 3 (Concrete Floor, Painted Walls)

Kwatei Pt. 1 (3x1 BiFold, Double Arch, Single Interior Door)

Mutske

Stairs Add-on

Lijoue

Louer Collection (Iron Fence, Railing, Stone Stairs)

Peacemaker

Bistro Expanded (Awning 1x1)

Graffiti Mural 01

Pierisim

Winter Garden Pt. 2 (Double Door High, High Window w Bottom x2)

Sooky88

Checkered Marble Floor

English Country Wall Set (Subway Tiles, Subway Tiles w Wallpaper)

Scandinavian Wall Set (Plain w Tiles)

Syboubou

Neighborly 1 (Ceiling Outdoor Light, Mailbox)

Neighborly 2 (Interphone)

Buy Mode

AroundTheSims4

Laundromat (Seating x3 – Metal Base)

Tattoo Parlor (First Aid Kits, Gloves, Ink, Ink Display, Light, Saddle Stool, Tattoo Gun)

Cepzid

Functional Tattoo Chair

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 1 (Curtain – Tall)

SOHO Pt. 1

Harlix

Baysic (Coffee Table, container, End Table, Kitchen Cabinet, Kitchen Counter, Kitchen Island, Kitchen Sink, Kitchen Trolley, Kitchen Accent Counter 1-3, Sofa)

Jardane (Leather Pouffe)

Kichen (Cabinet, Cups, Glasses, Plant, Shelf)

Kichen 2.0 Pt. 2 (Glasses 2 & 4)

Harrie

Shop The Look 1 (Armchair, Coffee Table)

Shop The Look 2 (Ceramic Side Table)

Shop The Look 3 (Circular Cushion)

Spoons Pt. 2 (2 Tile Glass Pedastal- Short & Tall, Counters, Espresso Bar, Island, Pastry Platter, Pizza Board, Shelving)

Kiwisims4

Blockhouse Dining (Booth Seating)

KKB

The Chilling Home (Module Bar Stool)

LittlleDica

Greasy Foods (Napkins, Salt Shaker, Stalls Door, Stalls Wall, Vents, Wet Floor Sign)

Modern Kitchen Stuff (Soft Breeze)

Rise & Grind (Décor Mural 2, Décor Syrup Bottle, Décor Wall Painting Menu, Dining Tables – All, Wastebun Counter)

Max20

Happily Ever After (Sign of Attention)

NANDO

Fashion Store (Ceiling Lamp)

Pierisim

Coldbrew Coffee Shop Pt. 3 (Menu, Paper Cup, Tea Box, Tips Jar)

MCM Pt. 1 (Simstudio Display)

MCM Pt. 4 (Kitchen Island)

Ravasheen

Shake and Shimmy Dance Floor

Shop Chef (Drink Dispenser)

Severinka

Industrial Light II

Simkoos

Clutter Dump Pt. 2  (Boba Notepad, Boba Stacked Cups V1, Cafeteria Straw Dispenser)

SimspirationBuilds

Toffee Pt. 1 (Art)

Syboubou

Catherine Sushi Restaurant (Wall Shelf 1 & 3)

Contemporary Haven (Armchair, Artworks, End Table, Sofa 3P Left)

Macaron (Counter Display)

TaurusDesign

Lilith Chilling Area Pt. 1 (Bartender Kit, All Drinks, SulSul Sign)

Tuds

Cave (Panel Light 2 x 4)

IND 01

IND 03

Turn Couch

Wondymoon

Fraxinus AIO Computer (DL on Patreon)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 32: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~Beyond the Mundane~

Left alone by the fountain, Nora continued to feed the pigeons, her fingers scattering crumbs on the worn cobblestones. The fountain, an ancient stone basin adorned with moss-kissed cherubs, whispered with the ceaseless murmur of flowing water, a counterpoint to the distant hum of market chatter. The soft cooing of the birds, their iridescent feathers shimmering like scattered jewels in the golden sunlight, offered a gentle rhythm to her thoughts. But her mind wasn’t truly on the birds, nor the tantalizing scent of fresh bread and blooming jasmine that drifted from nearby stalls; it was on the man who had just disappeared Into the ivy-clad house, and the sister who accompanied him.

A warm wave spread through her chest, a familiar, comforting presence that had become as natural as her own breath. Morpheus. Her Sandy. It felt surreal, this vibrant, ordinary world after a century of glass and gloom, each sensation amplified, almost painfully vivid. But even more surreal was the man who now walked freely within it, his presence a living testament to an impossible freedom.

She remembered their first “meeting”. He, a gaunt statue of pale skin and raven hair, suspended in a glass sphere, radiating a silent, ancient fury. And she, a terrified mortal thrown into his cage, spewing curses and apologies in equal measure. Gods, had she really gone on about badgers and rusty nails to the King of Dreams? A faint, mortified smile touched her lips as a particularly bold pigeon pecked at her shoelaces.

He had been so unreadable then, a being of cosmic power held captive, his eyes twin pools of midnight and starlight, blazing with cold fury. She had seen only his stoicism, his immense, contained grief, a sorrow so vast it seemed to consume the very air around him. But over the long, silent decades, as their minds became interwoven, a delicate, almost imperceptible process like two separate streams merging into one, she had seen so much more.

She recalled the time she had described a particularly chaotic dream involving a flock of sentient teacups demanding to be served Earl Grey by a badger wearing a top hat; she’d felt the distinct flicker of amusement in the depths of his being, a ripple in the calm surface of his endless composure. Or the rare, soft chuckle that echoed not just in her mind, but seemed to vibrate through her very bones, a sound she cherished like a hidden treasure. When the phantom ache in her elbow from the glass sphere became too much, a gentle touch, cool yet comforting, would brush against it in their shared mental space, a wordless balm. He had listened to her fears of forgotten family, her mundane worries about the passage of time, and her deeply personal confessions about her own insignificance, offering insights in return that resonated with a quiet wisdom.

He had shared his own ancient burdens, his regrets, the complex, often fraught relationships with his family, particularly the elusive siblings. He had grown… softer. Not weak, never weak, but capable of a tenderness, an unguarded affection she once would have thought impossible for a being of his stature. He was still the King of Dreams, formidable and ancient, but now, he was her King, and he bore the indelible mark of their shared existence, a brand of warmth she wouldn’t trade for anything.

A plump pigeon landed on the edge of the fountain, cocking its head at her. Nora’s gaze drifted to the house where Death, Morpheus’s sister, had just entered. She remembered Morpheus’s description of her: gentle, not the harbinger of terror mortals imagined. And seeing her just now, amidst the vibrant life of the market, Nora felt a  rightness in his description. Death wore simple black jeans and a tank top, an ankh resting against her collarbone. Her eyes, bright and kind, held a wisdom, but none of the chilling finality Nora had once associated with her name. She was indeed soft, almost radiant in her presence.

And duty bound, Death arrived for Roderick Burgess. But the rune circle, an unyielding void, shielded Nora and Morpheus, creating a blind spot in existence that even Death's gaze couldn't pierce. A genuine sorrow filled Death at her inability to free Morpheus, a regret that mirrored Nora's own heartache.

Now, watching the house they had entered, Nora pictured them inside, not just the King of Dreams and Death, but a brother and sister. There was a quiet understanding between them, a shared history that transcended words. Morpheus, usually so reserved, seemed lighter in Death’s presence. A flicker of something akin to familial comfort, a rare glimpse into a bond that had existed for eons. He had mentioned Death’s insistence on family dinners, a detail that had softened his rigid demeanor even then. Family dinners. Even cosmic beings had those. The notion brought a gentle smile to her face.

A warmth settled over Nora as the pigeons continued to flutter around her feet. This unlikely journey, born of fear and desperation, had led her to a place of belonging, a connection with beings she once could only dream of. And in the quiet understanding that passed between her and Morpheus, and in the gentle presence of his sister, Death, Nora realized she wouldn’t trade this strange, unpredictable life for anything. She smiled, a genuine, unburdened smile, as she scattered the last of the crumbs, waiting patiently for their return.

A few minutes later, Morpheus and Death exited the house, stepping out into the late afternoon light. Death looked no different than when she had entered, her vibrant, cheerful presence unwavering. Morpheus, however, carried a slightly more contemplative look on his face, his gaze distant for a moment, as if still processing the echoes of their conversation inside. His eyes held a flicker of introspection, a quiet storm brewing behind them.

Nora, who had instinctively turned to watch their emergence, offered him a soft, questioning smile, her eyebrows subtly arched. Morpheus met her gaze, and a confirming nod, almost imperceptible to anyone but her, was given. A soft thought, like a gentle caress, brushed against her mind: Yes, I’m okay. The unspoken exchange, a silent reassurance, settled between them. Nora then turned back, continuing on her path, a little ahead, allowing the siblings their private space.

Morpheus walked beside his sister, his usual measured pace matching hers. The bustling market around them seemed to dim slightly as he spoke, his voice a low, resonant murmur, almost lost in the cheerful clamor. “When I was captured,” he began, his gaze fixed straight ahead, “it wasn’t me they were looking for.”

Death slowed her steps imperceptibly, her bright eyes softening, the playful glint replaced by sorrow. She turned her head towards Morpheus, her expression etched with ancient pain. “Yeah, I know,” she breathed, her voice a fragile whisper. “I still regret that I could not reach you then, brother. It haunts me, the thought of your suffering, the years you spent in that wretched cage.” A deep sigh escaped her, a sound heavy with the weight of eons. She reached out, her hand hovering, then gently touched his arm, a gesture of empathy. “But know this, my dear brother,” she continued, her voice gaining a quiet intensity, “if it had been me they sought, if I had been the one ensnared… the consequences for the waking world would have been far, far worse.” Her gaze became distant, as if she were seeing the horrific panorama of what could have been. “Life would have choked on its own un-ending. There would have been no release, only an agonizing, eternal stasis, a horror beyond measure. The tapestry of existence would have unraveled in utter chaos, a slow, torturous decay where nothing truly died and nothing truly lived.”

Morpheus, who had grown emotionally, especially since sharing a mind with Nora and gaining her perspective on a myriad of things, understood where she was coming from. The rigid adherence to cosmic law, the terrible necessity of their functions, resonated with him in a way it never had before. He saw the truth in her words, the grim reality of her burden. He surprised Death, truly surprised her, by saying, “I agree with you.”

A beat of astonished silence passed between them. Death’s eyes, wide with disbelief and then a blossoming wonder, fixed on him. Her hand, still resting on his arm, trembled slightly. Morpheus, a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his dark eyes, continued, his voice softer now, imbued with an unexpected warmth. “My absence caused chaos, yes, and suffering, but humanity is resilient. They would, eventually, find a way to adapt, to recover, even if the dreams shifted and reshaped. But if you were gone, sister… there would be no recovery. Only that endless, suffocating existence you spoke of. The true end of all things, not just life, but the very concept of an ending.” He paused, his gaze meeting hers fully. “And if it wasn’t for that… I wouldn’t have met Nora.”

The words hung in the air, a declaration of quiet gratitude that transcended the pain of his capture. Death’s face, already softened by surprise, suddenly broke into an incandescent, radiant smile. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated joy for her brother. Her eyes, so deep with the understanding of all life, sparkled with an almost childlike delight. With a happy gasp, she reached out, abandoning all decorum, and grabbed his hand. Her fingers laced with his, and then, with an exuberance that belied her ancient power, she began to swing their clasped hands gently, playfully, between them as they continued to walk, a silent testament to a bond renewed and a future brightened by an unexpected love.

A low, resonant chuckle, rumbled in Morpheus’s chest at his sister’s uninhibited delight, a genuine amusement lighting his dark gaze. At the sound, Death’s already radiant smile widened impossibly, her eyes brimming with an almost tearful happiness. This was more than just amusement; this was genuine joy emanating from her brother, a flicker of true, unburdened delight. It was a sound she had longed to hear for eons, a testament to a thawing heart, and in that moment, she knew, with an absolute certainty, that Nora was the architect of this beautiful, impossible change.

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[formulafanfics13]

All Eyes on Me - Chapter 1

Masterlist

Disclaimer:

I will try to update this when I can. I am currently on a break from university; however, I am enrolled in two college courses, so I am trying to juggle my time with everything. Please be patient. But if I haven't updated in a while, then please ask, as I will most likely have forgotten.

As for my upload schedule: chapters for this book will be published at 9 AM (GMT+1), and I will aim for the updates to be daily (however, they may drop to every two days at times)

I am dyslexic, so I apologise in advance if there are spelling or grammar mistakes! Feel free to let me know. I will not be offended, or if anything doesn't make sense, please leave a comment, and I will make edits.

The chapters will start off shorter, but as the book progresses, they will become longer.

This fanfic will contain mature themes and topics (smut, abuse, power imbalance, drug use, alcohol dependency, control, and eating disorders). There will not be warnings throughout, so if you proceed with this book, please bear this in mind!

Thanks for choosing to read this!! ❤️

I am also be working on a few other fanfics so be sure to keep an eye out for them!

They call her an angel.

Not because she's kind. Not because she's innocent. But because she bleeds behind the scenes and smiles for the camera. And that's what angels do in this world, they suffer quietly, sin beautifully, and look good while doing it.

The room smells like money and MAC Fix+. The lights are hot, the assistant's nervous, and Martha Jones is perfect. Or at least, that's the myth. The legend. The marketable truth. On paper, she is symmetry and statistics: 5'7", 44kg, 22 years old. A Sagittarius sun, fluent in four languages, allergic to compromise.

In reality?

She's a fucked-up fairytale wrapped in $20,000 couture and an NDA.

The camera clicks. Again. Again. Again.

"MJ, tilt your chin." She does.

"Smile, less teeth." She adjusts.

"Beautiful. Stay like that."

She doesn't flinch when a pin pricks her hip. She doesn't wince when someone pulls too tight on her hair. She doesn't scream when her phone buzzes and his name lights up the screen: Jacob 🖤 where the fuck are you

Instead, she smiles.

Because Martha Jones always smiles.

Always.

Her lip gloss is Fenty. Her bruises are covered in Dior. Her lingerie costs more than some people's rent and she hasn't eaten today, not because she forgot, but because she's not allowed. Her nails are perfect, her extensions longer than her attention span, and her voice is honeyed silk dipped in sarcasm.

If someone asked how she feels, she'd say fine.

She always says fine.

***

Flashback.

A party in a Manhattan penthouse. There's cocaine on a coffee table and laughter in the air like static electricity.

"Martha, baby," someone drawls, "you gonna share?"

She smiles, glassy-eyed, smirking as she tips her head back and lets the powder hit. Gigi's dancing in heels too high. Lila's crying in the corner about a text from some B-list actor. Barbara's passed out with her face in a fur coat.

Martha? Martha's glowing. Or maybe she's just sweating.

"Take a picture," she murmurs to no one in particular, "it lasts longer than I do."

They all laugh. No one really hears her.

***

Flashback.

Karen's yelling about waistlines again. Julia's clicking through slides. David's pacing.

"We need skin. We need fire. We need relevance. These girls aren't just models, they're brands. We're selling sex, yes, but also... salvation."

Martha stares at the slideshow of her own face projected twenty feet tall. That's not her. That's the product.

Her phone buzzes again.

Smile more. Fix your hair. Don't embarrass me.

She deletes the message.

She doesn't delete the next one.

Don't forget what I did for you.

Her grip tightens.

"MJ?" Julia's calling. "Thoughts on the new concept?"

She smiles. "I think it's fabulous."

***

Flashback.

Her penthouse is all white marble and glass. Her reflection follows her everywhere. Her heels echo like gunshots across the floor. She strips in silence, leaving a trail of silk and shame.

The shower is scalding. Her skin is red. Not from the heat, from the pressure. She catches sight of herself in the mirror.

Perfect. And yet, so desperately ruined.

She presses her fingers to a mark on her ribs. Purple and blue. Shaped like a warning. She covers it with foundation. Then more gloss. Then more mascara.

[thezeninclan]

darling

author note: this fic contains depictions of DDLG, which may be taboo or triggering to some readers. however, there is neither sexual content nor hint of sexual content. please read at your own discretion.  

from the moment he had talked to you, nanami kento already knew what kind of day it had been. 

he had phoned a few hours earlier, when you were both on your lunch breaks— having long ago aligned your busy work schedules to free up enough time to have a quick chat over a quick sandwich or even quicker bowl of soup. you had answered on the first ring, that was already a surprise. it usually took you a few rings to answer, to save whatever documents you had been working on and wiggle out of the main room with the excuse of a bathroom break or an energy drink run, trying to get just one small bit of privacy.  trying to mask the sounds of sniffling that he could recognise a mile away. you had sounded so small, so sad, so hollow, a plastron of the woman he loved, and it had taken everything in him not to march down there and unleash a curse that would have sent your boss running. 

instead he had listened as you spoke, as you tried not to cry, gripping the leg of his pants so tightly his knuckles had blanched. he had hated hearing you like that, so sad and tired and too far to be soothed by a long hug or a kiss to the temple. you had cried for a moment, and though it had only been a soft moment of muffled cries the sound had seemed as striking as the crash of broken glass. 

nanami left work on time for once, not even a thought of overtime crossing through his mind. not today, not when it was obvious how much you needed him. he took the train to the market, where he easily gathered up the things that he’d need for dinner, having already mentally tallied up a list of ingredients. it was a short walk home from the market, the cold chill in the air making him glad to have brought a heavier coat that day.

by the time he got home, the sun was long ago set— not a trace of sunlight to brighten the blue-black sky. on a normal day a cold winter night would be your favourite. it’s likely that he’d find you sitting before a roaring fire, a pot of tea steaming beside you, a movie on the tv or a book in your hand. but tonight, your shared apartment was cold.

you were curled up on the sofa, snoozing softly under a layer of thick blankets, one of which was laid over a wrinkled cardigan he had worn the day before. nanami set down the groceries before moving to the sofa and sitting gently down beside you and laying a hand on your shoulder. the floor around the couch was littered with balled up tissues and the remnant of an old tissue box.

you moaned softly as you woke up, looking at him over the lip of the blanket with bleary, tired eyes. “kento.” you said, smiling weakly. your nose and cheeks had pinkened from crying, your hands squeezing into the fabric of his shirt as you nuzzled your face against his side. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“of course, darling.” he said. your body curled against his, like a puppy laying around a stuffed toy.

your eyebrows rose instinctively, the word instantly striking you where he knew it would. “darling?” you repeated, seeming almost breathless. your grip tightened, eyes going wide as you looked up at him, pretty and bright as a doe, looking so cute against your little pink nose.

“well?” he said, one hand lifting your chin so your lips could meet his, the other resting gently on your shoulder. his breath was so warm, his kiss so gentle, as he brushed his lips gently against yours, the ghost of a kiss. “you are my darling, aren’t you?”

“yes daddy.” you replied at once, no hesitation in your voice.

“I picked up some things for you.” said nanami.

you perked up, “a present?”

he chuckled, reaching for the bag he had set on the coffee table. “of course, darling. don’t you think you deserve it?”

you bobbed your head and he smiled. you always were such a good girl, even when you didn’t know it. “but first—“ he said, hand pausing as he reached for the bag. “why don’t you go on and get changed before dinner? your cozy pyjamas, I think.”

you nodded enthusiastically, practically running to your bedroom. while you were gone he cleared off the table and began to set out your things. a brand new colouring book and a set of unmarred crayons, a stuffed frog plush toy, a pair of fuzzy blue socks, and the mid sized jewelry box that had been in his jacket pocket all day. he moved on to the fireplace, rearranging the logs to create a ring that caught fire easily as he lit it.

you returned quickly, smiling happily as you did a little spin for him, modeling your clothes to loving eyes. you had shed your work clothes in favour of a knee length nightgown of soft pink, a pair of comfortable lounge pants, and a pair of rainbow slippers with little unicorn horns on the toes. you hadn’t been so comfortable since...well, since the last time he had called you darling and come home with a new toy for you.

you looked so pretty, but most of all you looked happy, and that’s what kento wanted most of all.

“feeling a little better?” he asked. you nodded enthusiastically, sliding into his lap and laying your arms around his neck like a wreath. you sat upon his knee and nuzzled against him, your nose cold against the column of his throat. it was such a relief to be near him at all, let alone this close to him. it was all you had ached for all day long.

“much, much better.” you agreed. “just cold.”

“this morning the weatherman said there’s a front on the way, make sure you carry your mittens with you. you know how your hands get cold.” he said, using a free hand to poke persistently at the fire with the poker, which his other hand held you around the waist, holding you steady. “we can take a bath later, if you’d like.”

you nodded hard. “w-will you wash my hair?” you asked. 

he smiled easily, “of course, darling. after dinner.”

your interest was piqued, and as if on queue your stomach rumbled loudly. “dinner?” you asked nervously, wondering what he had planned.  

kento frowned, the wrinkles between his eyebrows appearing as his brows drew tight. “have you eaten today?” you didn’t answer, already knowing what was coming. “honey...” he started.

“I...I was really busy at work.” you interrupted, cheeks flushing. “I had to work through lunch and tanaka asked me to-” 

your eyes squeezed closed tightly, remembering earlier when your boss had yelled at you, when the contractor had yelled at you, when your parents had— 

“I know, darling.” he muttered, his knee jumping gently beneath you to interrupt you gently. his hand squeezed yours, bringing you back to earth with a soft touch. it was his specialty, so strong yet so soft when it came to you. he brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear and leaning forward to bump his forehead against yours. “it’s very important that you eat every meal. I worry about you, after all. tomorrow, I’ll pack your bento for you. I’ll check it when you get home, so make sure you eat everything.” you nodded, bashful. “even your cauliflower.” he teased, knowing your distaste for the veggie. 

“now, come dear. I brought home karaage.” 

you ate dinner together at the table, your chair pulled right beside his despite the length of the table, and held hands the entire time. you could barely eat you were so happy, feeling the way his shoulder moved beneath your head as you leaned on him, the way he’d switch hands periodically so he could use his chopsticks or hold his tea. he smelled so good, his cologne just strong enough for you to smell as you leaned up against him. 

he disappeared for a moment after dinner, and you could hear the bath running and you shook your head wondering when he had switched on the boiler. soon he returned, with your bathrobe over his arm and a book in the other. he helped you undress, holding your arm as you slipped one leg out of your pants and making sure you didn’t tip over. 

kento slid the robe over your shoulders, holding your hand as he led you to the bath. that was your husband, stable, firm, trustworthy. he was someone you could trust no matter what, who you could trust to the ends of the earth. he’d never hurt you. he’d never hurt you. 

the bath was the perfect temperature as you slid in, the scent of rosewater and lavender wafting through the steam as you sat there. nanami sat at the edge of the tub, running his hand through the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. he handed you your book, once you had made yourself comfortable, leaning against the water pillow. your eyebrows raised at the title, excited to find that he had given you the third in the harry potter series, your favorite. 

you read aloud from the book, giggling as you felt him sit behind you on the lip of the tub. he had rolled his pants up around his knees and cuffed his shirt, reaching for the bottle of shampoo from the shelf. his fingers were nimble and quick as he worked through the knots of your hair, his fingers strong yet gentle as they massage your scalp. it felt so good, the way he moved down from your head to your neck, to your shoulders and back. you weren’t sure how long had passed before the bubbles in your bath had started to pop and evaporate, the boiler switching off and leaving you chilly and pruney. 

nanami drained the water and swept you up into his strong arms, carrying you as easily as he might carry a bag. he enveloped you in the fluffy warmth of your towel, hand drying your hair after brushing it. he set you down in your bed, and you realized with a jolt that he had changed the sheets. you sighed, content. it was always a surprise how sweet your husband was, even though it shouldn’t have been. he had proved it for years, how affectionate he could be, how loving he was, how he was always willing to step into the shoes of the person you needed most. 

you curled up beside him in bed after he changed into his night clothes, your toes curling up against the leg of his pants. your day had transformed easily, from a nightmare that had your head buried in your hands, your brain nearly bursting with the ache that felt like it might split it apart. you crept closer to him, until you had nearly draped yourself across his body, tangling your fingers in his and resting your head against his chest. 

“I love you, daddy.” you sighed, eyes brimming with tears. you should feel his heart beating against your ear, the way it nearly skipped at the sound of those words. you held his hand tightly, squeezing, to try and convey the way you felt, to try to make him understand. 

kento leaned close to kiss your forehead softly as he flipped off the light on the nightstand. “I love you too, baby girl.” he said. “you have no idea how much.” 

[danika-redgrave124]

Quests for Quartz (Ramshackle Dorm)

Yuu Kinsley - Theatrical Intrigue

Quest Name: Behind the Curtain

Objective: Help Yuu set up for an upcoming theater play by gathering props, setting up lights, or assisting in rehearsals.

Reward: Increased reputation with Yuu, access to the Film/Theater Club room (which contains various props that could be used for eliminations, like fake blood, ropes, or breakaway glass).

Alternate Outcome: If Quartz sabotages the play (messing up props or making Yuu trip onstage), Yuu will dislike her, making it harder to gain his trust for future quests.

Quest Name: A Star-Crossed Confession

Objective: Help Yuu figure out how to confess his crush on Skully. Quartz can give him advice, deliver a letter, or set up a moment for them to talk.

Reward: Reputation boost and a backstage key, which allows Quartz to sneak around unnoticed.

Alternate Outcome: If Quartz ruins the confession (by making Yuu embarrass himself or revealing it at the wrong time), Yuu will get frustrated and distrust her, making future interactions more difficult.

Skully J. Graves - Halloween Horrors

Quest Name: Spooky Inspirations

Objective: Help Skully research for his Halloween film project by finding references, suggesting scary stories, or helping him gather materials for his set.

Reward: Access to fake weapons and stage blood (could be used for framing someone or faking a crime scene).

Quest Name: Ghostly Gossip

Objective: Skully has noticed something odd about Quartz and is willing to share what he knows—if she helps him sneak into the student records room at night.

Reward: Access to student records, which might contain dirt on Azul, rival students, or even Crowley’s incompetence.

Alternate Outcome: If Quartz fails, Skully gets caught, and his reputation worsens, making him refuse to work with Quartz again.

Ernesto Foulsworth (Fellow Honest)

Quest Name: An Honest Favor

Objective: Ernesto is suspicious of Azul and wants some information on him. If Quartz can snoop around and bring him dirt, he’ll owe her a favor.

Reward: A forged teacher’s note, which allows Quartz to enter restricted areas without suspicion.

Alternate Outcome: If Quartz betrays him by reporting him to Azul, he will see her as an enemy and may try to sabotage her plans later.

Quest Name: Cigarettes & Secrets

Objective: Ernesto ran out of cigarettes and is cranky. Find a pack for him and he’ll share information about strange dealings happening in the school.

Reward: He gives Quartz info on the black market dealings of the Octavinelle trio, which could be used as leverage.

Gidel Foulsworth

Quest Name: A Cotton Candy Surprise

Objective: Gidel wants to make a gift for Trey but doesn’t know how to bake. Help him create something simple.

Reward: Increased reputation with Gidel and access to the Art Club, where sharp tools like craft knives and sculpting equipment can be found.

Quest Name: Silent Whispers

Objective: Gidel has noticed someone sneaking into the school late at night and is willing to write down what he saw if Quartz helps him carry art supplies.

Reward: A note containing clues about mysterious activities that could be tied to Azul or another student.

Rollo Flamme

Quest Name: Presidential Schemes

Objective: Rollo wants to take over as student council president. If Quartz helps him expose the Azul's corruption, he’ll owe her a favor.

Reward: Rollo turns a blind eye to Quartz’s suspicious activities, making it easier for her to sneak around without interference.

Alternate Outcome: If Quartz fails or betrays him, Rollo will start investigating her, making her life harder.

Quest Name: Burning the Wicked

Objective: Rollo dislikes Azul for his "sinful" behavior and is willing to provide a distraction if Quartz can create a "justifiable" excuse for punishing him (exposing a scandal, framing him, etc.).

Reward: Rollo will organize a school-wide crackdown on Octavinelle, which can weaken Azul’s influence.

Alternate Outcome: If Quartz gets caught, Rollo distances himself and refuses to help her again.

Quartz’s side quests have different paths—she can play nice and gain trust, or be underhanded and sabotage people for her own benefit. Some quests give useful tools, while others can lock out certain characters if she fails.

@quartztwst I saw people having quests for Quartz, so I came up with a few of my own

[literaila]

PETER PARKER ANGST????❤️🫡🛬🤭😍🗣🙀🫡😀🫡🫶😀😟🫶😟❤️ (if you dont write it ill sob violently on the floor ☹️)

we could call it even

tasm!peter x fem!reader

summary:

"peter parker," she says, "you're like a legend around here."

warnings: unspecified angst, series, no fluff, no explanation

a/n: might i introduce a playlist entitled stupid boy which i listened to while writing this (and the other parts????)

*

there's a specific time of night that is appropriate to go to the market. 

or inappropriate, depending on how old you are. 

if you're in your sixties and sometimes feel like your joints are just notches that need to be oiled, midnight probably isn't your designed time for grocery shopping. seven in the morning is typically the best time for swollen lungs and--literal--broken hearts. 

but if you're you, exhausted from running around all day, unpleasant from all of the people you've talked to, and trying to avoid anyone (everyone) you might know--and secrets you don't feel like sharing--then midnight is a perfect time. and perfectly normal, thank you very much.

you're not even sure why meyer's is open this late. there's no way the owner, jerry, is staying up until midnight to check out the lowlifes or drunk teenagers stopping by, and you know that these aren't prime business hours--evident by the crickets you can hear behind the 'fresh produce' section. maybe he forgets that it's open, and that susan--the only person willing to work here--is still on the clock. or maybe he's just taking pity on you. you don’t think he’s ever there, but maybe he hides around corners, noting the new lines on your face so he can report it back to every person in town. gossip is like a disease, and you’re never alone in a place like this. never quite at peace. 

you look around the next shelf for jerry, or a gust of wind that follows him running away. there’s only silence. the echoes of your footsteps. 

it doesn't matter why meyer’s is open. you're thankful for this time alone. or at least by yourself.

it's a welcome change to have no one judge you for your selection of deli cheese and baked goods. or the three containers of instant coffee you've hidden underneath it all. just out of habit. 

tuesday nights are yours, and the market is your chosen domain. 

usually, that is. usually, you're all alone. usually, you can run around on the carts and pick up anything you accidentally knock over. you can spill an entire bottle of wine on the floor and no one will blink an eye. jerry wouldn’t even be able to hear it from three feet away.

but tonight--on this tuesday when your feet hurt a little bit more than necessary, and your eyes are twitching at all of the lights--apparently you're not alone. 

which you wished you would have realized before you started humming 'single ladies' a bit too loudly. 

you wished you would have skipped shopping at all, really, as soon as you see his face. 

his wide eyes--surprised and silvered by age, much like yours--and his open mouth.

in a different world, you would be shocked--shocked instead of scared--and you might run to him. you might ask him why he didn't tell you he was coming? what is he doing here? in a different world, you two would be the only people in the market and it would be fine. 

it might even be great. 

this subtle shift in autonomy wouldn’t hurt the peace you’re looking for on this tuesday night.

there wouldn't be this obvious horror story standing between the two of you, this looming presence. the history of a thousand lies, bruise after bruise, and scars so red that they could burn through the ground. glass shattered around your feet.

the lights might as well start flickering. you should probably call out "hello?" even though he's right in front of you, and if he was going to murder you, he probably wouldn't answer. a door should creak. 

you should probably go. 

you should probably run away before he can take a step closer. you don't look a threat in the eye and smile at it. you don't feed a stray cat. 

it always comes back. 

why is he here? 

you take a step away. as soon as you notice him--behind, between, all over you--silence ensues. you might as well be at a loss for words. you don't have much to say to him. 

not to that look in his eyes, or his receding hairline, or that peak on his mouth. 

because peter would be here. at this time. and he would be trying to hide a smile, a smirk, when he's not even supposed to be within a five-hundred-foot vicinity of you. 

actually, maybe you forgot to mail that restraining order. 

but the words come out anyway because your body has always betrayed you when it comes to him. 

"peter?" you blurt out, and just saying the word stirs the simmering feeling inside of you. just saying his name is enough of a warning. 

"hey," he whispers and takes a step closer. you step back. he leans away like he knows his proximity is toxic. "sorry, i didn't mean to scare you." 

i didn't mean to. 

and yet. 

you breathe and forget how to blink. he might disappear. "peter," you repeat, as a form of masochism. you don't breathe at all. 

"sorry," he says, again. he doesn't say what for. there could be a million things. 

"um," you choke out, looking around--away from him and his manipulative eyes. "what?" you laugh to yourself, hand running over your face. you roll your eyes back into your head and laugh again. you shake your head. 

you look at peter, at his furrowed brow and inward stance, and you snort. look away from him before it's too late. 

you're laughing like something is funny. it's not. 

it's really not. 

"are you..." peter is swallowing. you'd like to pretend that his voice is hollow and cold, much like that cave inside your chest, but it's not. you recognize that concern, that softness in his voice that used to be just yours. "are you okay?" 

you almost giggle at him. it comes out as more of a cough. 

you wonder if you look like a ghost. some remanent of who you used to be--the person that only peter used to know.

"peter," you sigh, and step away from your cart. into the shelf you've been backing yourself into. 

you step away from him, still shaking your head. 

"i've got to--" you trip as you turn around and say to mostly yourself, "i've got to go." 

groceries, and peter, be damned, you think, as you walk out of the building and prepare yourself to never ever come back. 

it wouldn't be the first time. 

*

you are having your daily debate with mrs. brooke about the amount of calories in each pastry, in which you tell her that you only measure the amount of pleasure someone might get out of each one—which earns you a lovely sneer—and that she should try the blueberry scone. 

she always rolls her eyes at you, says something about watching her weight even though she’s looked the same since you were five years old and sneaking through her yard to catch the neighborhood cat. and then she leaves with a breakfast sandwich. 

it’s actually one of the most enjoyable parts of your day. 

here’s the thing about knowing every single person that comes into the shop: you know exactly what they’re going to order, and you know what type of conversation you’re going to have with them. 

mrs. brooke always stresses about her breakfast, her smile a tense sort of pleasant, but by the time she leaves her head is held a little higher. if she chooses the sandwich instead of the scone, then she’s started her day off right. you used to feel exasperated by her indecisive nature, but now you find it kind of adorable. 

mr. meyer—jerry—just comes in so he can complain about the surplus of options on your menu. he wants a black coffee, and he wants to complain. you always smile at him and ask if he’s sure he doesn’t want to try the raspberry green tea. he finds this less than humorous. 

every kid wants some kind of hot chocolate—which you actually have an excessive amount of—and no matter what their parents say, you sneak some extra marshmallows in. and everyone pretends otherwise. 

susan—your kindergarten teacher, now friend—asks if you’ve met anyone special lately. it doesn’t matter that the selection of single people your age is always the same. there’s got to be someone special, she says to you and leaves with a cider she tells everyone is a latte. 

there are the people who want their lattes and mochas, those who want some alternative milk that they complain about—even though you’ve tried every brand on earth—there are the people who don’t ever buy anything, and just come in to pretend they want something and talk to you. they gossip about the other people in town as if you aren’t well aware of everything that goes on.

you roll your eyes, but you appreciate the company. things get pretty boring when you can guess everyone’s schedule. 

but you like your tiny tea shop. you like the consistency. you enjoy the smiles you throw out, and the complaints you receive. it’s a routine, and nothing goes wrong. you're in control of this one thing, and that's just how you like it. 

in control, that is, of course, until you see him when mrs. brooke is walking away. 

“oh!” she says, pausing, her drink shaking in hand, her pink fingernails a smudge against the shadow suddenly coming from right in front of you. she is just a foot too close to him. “is that peter parker?” she asks, saying his voice like an omen, turning around so she can set her cup and bag down, and then hugging him so hard you can see her muscles working beneath her sleeve. 

“hey, mrs. brooke,” peter wheezes out, a strangled smile on his aged face. his same eyes.

he is just as surprised as you at her sudden outburst, the cooing noises she's making as she attempts to crumble him.

“look how handsome you’ve gotten! and so strong. what are those new yorkers doing with you?” 

“definitely not trying to squeeze me to death.” 

mrs. brooke laughs, somewhat vindictively, and she turns back around to look at you, with wide eyes. “did you know he was in town, dear? why didn’t you say anything? i almost had a heart attack.” 

peter clears his throat before you can throw any type of face on. any mask. “it’s a surprise,” he mock whispers, and his eyes dash to yours, then away, just as quick. “don’t tell anyone.” 

“it’s not like they’d believe me anyway,” she scoffs, “you’re a legend around here.” 

“i’m honored.” 

she laughs again, then grabs her cup. “oh,” she whispers, too loud. her eyes are tight, as if she’s intruded. “of course. i’ll leave and let you two talk.” 

and within a blink of an eye, she is running out of the shop, faster than you’ve ever seen anyone escape from here. 

and peter is there, standing in front of you. his face is smooth, calm, his eyes roaming over your face like he still has the privilege of knowing any of it. 

and your heart might be racing, if it was still there. 

"hi," he whispers. it is quiet enough for you to feel it in your chest. his voice and the memory of it. 

does he sound different? has he really changed that much in the last two years? is his face a bit worn? are his eyes a different color? 

but it doesn’t matter what rattles through your head—when you look at peter, you just see him. your peter. 

except that he’s completely different. 

you clear your throat, looking away and pushing off of the counter. “what can i get you?” 

peter blinks. “oh, um…” he looks at the menu above your head, back to you. “what—“ he swallows. “what would you recommend?” 

“it’s all good.” your voice is clipped. you should’ve said pure brewed black tea, no ice, no sweetener, no cup. just to get him out of here. you should've recommended the starbucks three towns over.

he swallows, again. a hand rakes through his hair. “i… just a sec.” 

there is a single second where you grant him the patience you would give every other customer—smile politely and let them know to ask if they have any questions. a single second where you treat him like anybody else. 

and then you say: “do you want a mocha, peter?” with an anger that shouldn’t—can’t—be contained inside of you. 

you wince at his name. the singe of his brand on you, going down your throat. 

peter seems to watch this on your face, because he’s even quieter when he answers, “sure, that’d be great.” 

at least some things haven’t changed.

so you grab a cup, writing his name on it, and move to grab the milk. 

you turn around and pretend like you’ve just forgotten he’s there. 

peter doesn’t take this hint. 

“so…” he says, his feet are loud as they tap on the ground. “you still work here, huh?” 

you barely grunt a response, spilling chocolate in the cup recklessly. if peter dies of a clogged artery it won’t be your fault. 

“that’s nice. felix always loved you. and you loved working here, back in highschool.” you have to face him as you steam the milk, and you try not to pointedly stare. not to roll your eyes or hiss at him. “it’s different though. the decor, i mean. but nice. i like it. did you do it?” 

“yes.” 

you grab his cup, pouring the milk and shoving the cap on it. “here,” your fingertips burn as you pass it to him, and you don’t think it’s because of the drink. 

“thank you.” 

you both stand there; peter blinks and doesn’t leave. 

he coughs. “i didn’t pay.”

“mrs. brooke would kill me if i made you pay for your first drink back home.” 

“well, she knows where you live,” his lip twitches, but he doesn’t laugh. 

and neither do you. 

“is it just you here?” he asks. “no felix?” 

“he sold me the shop a year ago.” 

his eyes widen. “oh. oh! that’s great. congrats.” 

“thank you.” 

you don’t move your eyes from his face, because it’s suddenly not fair that he’s here. that he’s allowed to intrude like this. 

“it’s good to see you,” peter relents, a fake smile playing on his lips. 

you falter. your heart turns in your chest, just so it doesn’t have to look at him anymore. “i’m working, okay?” you say, whispering. “i can't do this right now.” 

“right. yeah.” peter trips on a step back. his eyes are scanning your face again. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t—“ he blows out a breath. “i’m sorry.” 

you nod. watch the ground as he stumbles over it. 

“i mean it though,” he adds, like he hadn’t thought about it. “it’s good to see you.” 

and then peter swallows. you blink at him. 

when he turns around the bell rings as he pushes it. and peter doesn’t look back. 

he’s right about one thing, at least. it is nostalgic. 

*

"when were you going to tell me?" your mom asks, leaning against her kitchen counter--the same one you scribbled on as a kid, smiley faces still apparent. she's doing that fake smile thing. the one that makes you want to storm off and slam the door like some mistreated teenager. 

you don't, but both of you know that you think about it. for at least five seconds

"tell you what?" you ask, instead, setting the groceries you brought for her on the counter. 

"about peter." 

your eyes close. he would follow you around, wherever you go. he's probably hiding in some vent, smiling maliciously. 

there's that teasing voice in your head saying small town, small small town, but you just turn around, ignoring it, and her, and raise a brow. "peter parker?" you repeat, rhetorically. "twenty-six, new york. brown hair, brown eyes. lived here his whole life, has an aunt who lives next door, tried to steal our cat when he was nine..." you drawl off, making a point to smile. "ringing any bells?" 

she throws a dish towel at you. "you know thats not what i meant." 

"do i?" 

you wipe the counter with the towel, then fold it nicely on the counter, all the while avoiding your mother's eyes. 

but you know she won't leave it alone. the same way she hasnt left you alone once in the past four years, like she can dig your feelings up from whatever grave you buried them in.

there's a part of you that wants to crawl over to her and ask her to make you some hot chocolate, to watch some childrens movie on the couch with you. you want to be the little kid who would've depended on that knowing glance she's still giving you. the little kid who idolized her and wasn't afraid to admit the truth--even if you did steal that chocolate bar from under her sink.

but you're grown, and this doesn't matter. not in the long run, anyway. 

you look up, expectant eyes. she has your same eyes, and meets them.

"linda told nancy, who told jerry, who told me over the phone..." she shakes her head. "but may was here earlier." 

"yeah? how is she?" 

"good, busy, i'm guessing, because you know how she dotes over him." 

"yeah..." 

you fold the towel again, running your fingertips over the embrodered flowers. 

"have you seen him?" 

you swallow, and nod absentmindedly. you're not going to tell her about the grocery store. "yeah, he came into the shop yesterday." 

she taps your hand, and you let go of the rag. she hangs it back over the oven, the ebbing silence more like a threat, her hands falling to her hips. "why didn't you say anything?" 

"it's not a big deal. he came in, ordered, and then left." 

"and there were no words between the two of you?" she prods. "no wandering eyes? you just read his mind instead of taking his order?" 

you grit your teeth, rolling your eyes. "he asked for a mocha and i made it for him." 

"nothing else?" 

"he said it was nice to see me." 

she waves a hand at you. 

"and i said that i was working." you sigh, leaning against the counter. "that's all." 

"you're not freaking out?" your mom ducks her head so she can meet your eyes. her face is sullen, but her smile is genuine. 

it's like talking to a counselor. 

"why would i be freaking out? he had to come back sometime." 

she scoffs. the little necklace your dad gave her dangles from her neck, and you watch it. "i don't know," she says, using the same voice you do when she tells you not to take a tone with her. "maybe because you havent spoken to him in the last three years?" 

yeah, the same voice says, rough and patronizing, you haven't spoken to him in five years. why is that, again? 

but you snort at your mom, a defensive smile making its way to your lips as you look at her. "water under the bridge," you say, dismissing it. 

you don't want to talk about this with her. you don't want to talk about this with anyone. 

because the only person who might actually understand is the same person who left three years ago. who came back with no warning at all. 

"did may say when he got here?" you ask, voice escaping before you can stop it. 

"just a day or two ago, i think. why?" 

"is he here for the holidays?" 

"yes. she said he plans to stay until at least january. he's between jobs, i guess." 

"oh." you smack your lips and move away from her, back to the groceries, which is the reason you're here in the first place. you take out the milk jug, walking to the fridge, but a soft hand stops you. 

your mom is smiling when you turn towards her. "you don't have to talk about it," she's saying, her voice smooth and comforting. "i don't--i don't know what happened between the two of you. i just mentioned it because may said he was talking about you. it..." she drops off, wincing. 

"what?" 

"it might be good to talk to him. put the water under the bridge." 

you roll your eyes, nose twitching. you don't need to say anything, you won't. your mother is just another town gossip, and her opinion has no sway over you. 

even ask the words sink in. 

"now put the rest of those away," she says, ruffling your hair, "i know what happens when you take your 'breaks.'" 

you push her and put the milk in the fridge. 

*

you're mopping the floor when the bell rings, and a cold brush of air trails goosebumps up your skin. 

it's late enough in the season to no longer smell like the leaves falling onto the ground, or the grandesur pine needles showing off their lifespan. it's cold in the shop now, and you have three coats in the back. 

but the person who walks in is only wearing one. one you recognize from several years ago, with the holes in the sleeves from when he jumped over your fence and sprained his ankle. the stain on the front when may threw a plum soaked rag at him and you'd laughed so hard that you'd fallen to your knees on the floor and couldn't breathe. 

peter's face is wain. his eyes are cautious as they meet yours. 

you're not used to anyone coming in at 5:55. everyone knows you close at six, and the few people who'd dared to come in and order a drink a minute before you flipped your sign have learned their lesson. 

but peter hasn't learned anything. 

"i know," he says, like tracking your mind. "you close at six. may told me." 

"okay." 

you're still holding the mop, sure that his footprints would leave mud all over your floors. 

"i don't want to buy anything. or--" he breathes out, hands wringing at his sides, probably from the cold. "i will. if you want me to. but that's not why i came. i wanted to see if you..." 

he does a sweep over you, and his words fall in the air, as if he's just realized something. 

you look down at the snowflake apron your mom bought last year. it's not that dirty. 

you look back up, brows furrowed, and peter's expression matches yours. "yes?" you prod, feeling that anger simmer in the core of your chest. but you've been rude enough to him. 

your mom's words ring out in your head. 

it might be good to talk to him. 

peter swallows, whatever emotion on his face fading. "i wanted to see if you would go to dinner with me. or take a walk. or--or i'll buy you groceries, since you left yours the other night. it doesn't matter. i just want to... talk to you." 

"you want to talk to me?" 

peter nods. "i can wait outside, while you finish." he waves a hand, like an explanation. "it doesn't have to be long. just five minutes?" 

you watch peter, his face a world of feeling that you can't recognize anymore. 

and maybe that hurts the most. not him being here, not the distance or the time you've let edge you apart, but the fact that it's changed things. peter has changed and you've just let that happen. he's got a life seperate from you and there's no one to blame. he'd reached out enough, initially. months of letting his calls go to voicemail and ignoring may when you saw her in the street. 

putting yourself back together in the misshaped way you are now. peter probably doesn't even recognize you--not like this.

maybe it's your fault. 

but you find yourself nodding anyway, ignoring the guilt seeping through the cracks of you. you nod, and peter's face changes. 

it's not the first time you've noticed his eyes, or watched relief ease into him, but it's just the same. 

"yes?" peter asks, his voice rough and dry. you look at that jacket again. 

"where's your coat?" 

"my..." peter looks down with you. "oh, my coat. all of the ones aunt may kept were too small, and i thought--" he scratches his neck. "well, i forgot how cold it gets." 

you nod, slowly. 

peter nods back. 

you stare at him a moment longer, and then break away from his unfamiliar gaze. 

"just give me five minutes. i just need to put this away, and grab my stuff, and..." you swallow. 

"okay. great. do you want to me wait outside, or should i?" he gestures around, looking as uncomfortable as you've ever seen him. 

"you can sit. just--don't get any dirt on the tablebases." 

"okay. thank you." 

you nod, one last time, and look away from him. 

your heart runs circles around peter as he sits at one of your tables, his long legs not fitting beneath it. it taunts you again and again as you try not to notice him breathing, try to ignore him completely. 

you dup the mop water, spilling it on your shoes. you wipe down the last counter, the syrup sticking to your hands like a scar. you walk around the shop trying to find something else to do so you can avoid this as long as possible. your feet are cold and your hands feel abnormally dry. maybe you need to go home and shower. maybe you shouldn't be doing this at all. 

you sit in the office for a moment, wishing you could watch peter without him knowing. scope him out before you hear what he has to say. 

and--

okay, maybe there's a part of you that's been waiting three years for this. 

that dream where he's there even though you don't want him; that moment when he apologizes and you forgive him automatically, because your heart has always been small and fragile around him; that fantasy where peter comes home and he's the same teenager you used to walk around town with at two in the morning, the same brown eyes laughing as you both slipped on ice and fell on top of eachother. 

you won't deny that you've thought about this before. what you might say to him if you got the chance. 

but as you grab your bag and hang your apron around the chair in the office, the words have gone some place else. what could you say to him to make any of this make sense? 

still, you clear your throat when you walk out, feet aching from standing all day. you blink at him as he struggles to get up, pushing your chair in, the legs scratching on the floor the only sound between the two of you. 

[asteroidzzzn]

timeless

summary: no matter the decade, you and ellie seem to always find each other

word count: 4.3k

a/n: this ones for all my swifties that also have timeless (the best vault track btw) on repeat

a bustling crowd carried you downtown, where you roamed aimlessly. you tossed a quick few cents to a paperboy in exchange for the daily paper, Evening Standard, 1945.

Now, it is 50 miles to Warshaw, where the—

an unexpected object slammed against your forehead, while you were distracted reading. you stumbled away from the pole, your gaze drawn to the flickering lights of a nearby shop. a quaint little place, seemingly cozy.

something in your head said stop, so you walked in.

the place was a cluttered mess full of memories from countless lives. a cardboard box with a sign read photos, 25 cents each.

your hand reached in, revealing a photo of a woman in a wedding dress, smile bright while her husband next to her gazed at her as if she hung the stars. newlyweds stood proudly in front of their new house.

aged writing on the bottom of the photo stated that the couple, betty and james, bought their first house together in 1934, just a decade prior to present day.

although you had never seen the two before, you could tell one thing about them. their love was a rare kind, the love you were lucky to find just once in your life, for a fleeting second.

you saw yourself and ellie in that photo, in some alternate universe. it was a perfect world, where you could find a farmhouse on a hill, raise animals together, and no one would bat an eye at the fact you were two women in love.

you recalled ten minutes ago, reading the paper which regarded the war, praying to whatever god out there that she would come home safe.

with all the care in the world, you returned the photo to the counter, keeping your head low as the bell rung on your way out.

when you returned to your home, you quickly found your way to your room, lighting a candle and sinking down to the floor. your emotions overtook you, letting out a soft sob.

ellie was one of the few people you cared about. during the harsh conditions of the war, you found comfort with each other. you had a connection that you shared with no other.

the day she got sent across the world, you were devastated. at first, you visited her bakery, left abandoned with dust and broken glass. she assured you she would keep safe, simply serving soldiers their meals, but she could not console you.

your hand found its way under the bed, pulling out a shoebox. it contained letters from the past year.

tears trickled down your cheeks as you gripped the envelopes, reminders of her love and wellbeing.

a sudden warmth washed over you. a calm sense of sureness. you lingered on the beautiful memory of meeting ellie, that one winter day in 1944.

"oh dear, i'm so sorry, ma'am," you had apologized and brushed off the mysterious woman's apron.

"it-it's no worry," she told you, offering a smile.

if it were any other day, you would have figured out something equally as polite to say and be on your way.

but something seemed different today.

if it was any other person, you would have bowed your head in apology once more, and continued your trip to the market.

but you simply could never forget about this woman, let alone leave her for just a couple of tomatoes your mother had beckoned you to retrieve.

the woman adjusted her chef hat, pushing a strand of hair from her face, revealing her eyes, into which you shamelessly admired for probably a moment too long.

a soft chuckle fell from your lips as she struggled to straighten out the hat.

"who do you cook for?" you prompted, curious to know more about her.

"oh, i actually own my own bakery, down on seventh street." she lifted the paper bag in her hand. "i just went to pick up ingredients."

your eyes widened, "that's incredible, i'll have to go there someday!"

she bit her lip, seemingly lost in thought. "i'm heading there right now. would you like to come?"

nodding enthusiastically, you linked your arm with hers, glancing to the side to see the faintest blush dash across her freckled cheeks.

"lead the way," you told her. and she did.

you wiped your tears on the sheets hanging off the side of your bed, you dug through the box to find the most recent envelope you hadn't opened yet.

you read about her past week, a smile creeping up on your face as you saw the way she signed of her name.

yours, for all time, ellie

and you believed it. your love truly would be timeless.

"this is taking forever," you groaned out to yourself, ripping tape of and sealing yet another box shut. it was a gorgeous sunny day during the summer of 1981. however, you were stuck in a dark, hot garage, while all your friends spent the day at the beach.

the door creaked loudly, welcoming a person into the room. you did not look up from the box, assuming the shadow in the corner of your eye was your father, telling you to hurry up.

your family was moving to a new town for his work, and since your parents were extremely busy all day, you were burdened with the task of packing the entire garage.

a familiar, unexpected voice spoke out.

"need some help?" the smile was evident through her words, causing you to turn around swiftly.

"ellie? what are you doing here? how'd you get in? did my parents see—"

she hushed your worries with a kiss, pulling you behind a large shelf, shielding the two of you from the door leading into the house.

"came in through the window in the kitchen," she whispered on your lips, pulling a giggle out of you. "had to see you today," she whispered again, except with a hint of sadness, now.

you pulled yourself closer to her, eyes closed, memorizing the way her hands slipped under your flannel, holding you just as tight. a silent goodbye.

she felt your frame quiver against her and quickly moved her hold from your waist to your face, wiping any evidence of sorrow with her thumbs as you sniffled.

"sorry it's stupid that i'm crying it's just i'll...i'll miss you. a lot," you explained.

"it's okay...we'll be okay," she attempted. her words were as unsure as yours. "i'll write to you, and call you, and i'll visit when your parents are out of town," she promised.

you nodded, stepping away from her and toward the piles upon piles of unboxed items. she came up next to you, sorting through old pictures.

"what's this one?" she asked, holding up a photo, which you judged was very old from the way it had faded brown and had multiple tears along the edges.

in the photo, dated 1958, were your mother and father, when they were your age. they held hands, walking down your sidewalk. her in a dress, and him in a suit, just before their senior prom.

you chuckled, "those are my parents, but i've never seen that one before," grabbing the photo from her to study it, you recalled the night at prom you met ellie.

"we're gonna be late!" your friend, dina, had called upstairs where you were slipping on your shoes. it was the first school dance you had ever been to, making you extremely nervous.

"coming!" you shouted in return.

when you arrived at her mothers' car, you lifted up your dress to step inside. ms. woodward made small conversation with you, which dina suddenly interrupted with a sharp gasp.

"oh my god, i just remembered i heard leon ross asked you to prom! where is he? are you meeting him there?"

"oh, um, i'm not going with him," you replied with hesitance.

dina's eyebrows raised, "why not? he's super hot, nice, and he's the best player on the football team."

you shrugged, turning your head to gaze out the window.

"not my type."

you shortly arrived at school, and stepped into the gym, dina's arm linked with yours so you wouldn't lose each other in the bustling crowd.

the two of you met up with some friends and made your way to the center where everyone danced. at some point, dina nudged you to inform you she was heading to the bathroom. when she returned, she held up a blunt, wiggling her eyebrows.

you made your way outside, the cool air a refreshing contrast from the uncomfortable humidity of the windowless gym. you found a secluded space, yet there was a person leading against a wall who hadn't noticed you.

"who's that?" you asked dina, pointing at the person in a suit who was by themself.

"oh, that's ellie williams. she's the one that's gay, remember?"

"oh, yeah. okay."

you passed the blunt back and forth, chatting with dina. it was a beautiful and quiet night where you laid on your back, giggling and pointing out shapes strung out by the stars.

eventually, dina sighed and stood, noticing how people were exiting the gym in large groups.

"i should probably head home now, it's getting late."

you nodded, glancing at ellie, who was still alone, now sitting and gazing at the night sky.

"you need a ride?"

you glanced one more time. you couldn't let yourself go home without saying something.

"no, i'm fine, my dad should be here soon."

she hugged you, saying goodbye a final time before disappearing behind a building towards the parking lot.

you took a deep breath and headed towards ellie, having a spur of confidence from the weed.

you sat beside her. her eyes were on you, and time was standing still, waiting for one of you to speak up.

"hey," she said. hushed. confused. "do i know you?"

suddenly, this was a very very bad idea.

"oh, uh, no. you don't. i just wanted to say hi. you don't have any of your friends sitting with you," you pointed out, tearing your gaze away from her face to watch the groups of people leaving. soon, it would be just the two of you.

she scoffed at that, bringing her hands into her lap to spin her rings.

"don't have many of those."

"oh," you didn't know what to say. you assumed it was because she was outed as a lesbian just a few months ago. you heard the rumors, the words she was called, and saw the stares she received in the hallway.

you felt horrible for her, but figured she wouldn't want to talk about it anymore.

"i like your rings," you gestured to them. a small, kind compliment, but it didn't get the reaction you were hoping for.

"why are you here?" she lifted her gaze. was staring into you, searching for intention.

"my friend dina kinda forced me to go, so she—"

"no, why are you sitting with me right now? i don't need your sympathy. i know you know, everyone does."

your lips fell apart. you contemplated. it was absolutely ridiculous to tell someone you just met something to personal about yourself, but you felt the need to let her know. it would have helped you to know you have a friend that accepted you. someone who was just like you.

"i'm...i like girls too," a quiet whisper, only for her ears. "oh also, my names y/n," you added with a nervous chuckle. it was freeing to finally be able to tell someone, who you somehow knew would keep your secret safe.

she blinked. "oh."

you nodded, lips pursed. "you're the only one who knows. i can't imagine how it would be to have everyone at school know. especially if i didn't want them to. i just...i think you're brave, honestly, ellie. it's cool you can wear a suit to a dance. i wish i could do that," you rambled, watching as her lips twitched up into a shy smile.

"how'd you know my name?" was her only response.

the dark masked your blush, but the nervousness was still evident in your voice. "dina told me."

she hummed. "well, nice to meet you."

"yeah, you too."

it was a precious, innocent, memory. the start of something unexpected and beautiful, that swept you up like a sudden whirlwind.

in the deepest parts of your mind, there were some days you wished you had never went up to her. the thought that one day you would have to go your separate ways haunted you.

with one final look at the photograph of your parents, young and joyful, you placed it down. upon a shelf, was a photo of them on their wedding day, wearing the same giddy smiles as the day of prom.

one day, you wished, that could be you. finding ellie despite how long you would be apart on separate sides of the country, never letting your love die.

you glanced behind you at the girl who snuck past your parents to help you pack instead of doing anything else. she wanted to spend time with you.

that was all it took. you knew you would find each other again someday. against all odds. and everything would be okay.

you spent your afternoon in the castle's library, the one and only place you could find solitude. where no responsibilities weighed down on your shoulders. it was a peaceful, quiet moment until the doors swung open.

"darling? are you in here?" your father, the king, boomed out, his voice bouncing off the countless towering shelves.

you slammed the book shut, hastily slipping it into its rightful place and standing up, straightening out your dress as you stepped out from your comfortable place on the floor.

"yes, father?" you clasped your hands behind your back, forcing your posture up straight.

he rubbed his eyebrows with his thumb and pointer, as if he knew he could find you in the library off in your own world.

"you cannot continue to do this, dear. you will have responsibilities now."

you tilted your head with furrowed eyebrows, prompting him to explain.

he sent away his two loyal guards to have a private conversation with you.

"you know i would not have agreed to this if it did not depend on the fate of our kingdom," he began.

"father? what do you mean?"

he refused to look you in the eyes as he spoke. "you are to be wed to prince hill, the soon to be king of aragon. they threatened war, and this is the only solution to protect our nation and keep peace.

your eyes welled up with tears. you were left speechless. you swallowed your pride, nodding and wordlessly retreating to your room.

the days were dwindling away to when you would have to leave your home. just the night before you were destined to leave, your father knocked on the door to your room, where you had spent the majority of your days the past week.

you couldn't find any words for him besides politely asking him to let you get a good night's sleep.

your mouth remained sealed in the carriage, passing by endless terrains. you arrived at night, forming excuses so you wouldn't have to see the king. just not yet, i am not ready, you thought.

you slept in a massive room, tossing and turning on your new large mattress, yet you had no one to share it with.

the next day, you slipped past the guards into town. later that day, you figured you would tell them you merely wanted to greet the townspeople you would soon be ruling.

in common clothes, you perfectly blended in. the lack of attention on your presence was new. you could have gotten used to it.

you strolled past shops, observing and taking in the surroundings. the rush of breaking the rules, being where you weren't meant to be, caused you to roam the streets of the kingdom daily, until one morning, guards were stationed outside your room.

"oh, good morning," you greeted him. you couldn't see his face, covered by his helmet, and he stood so perfectly still, you wondered for a moment if he were just a statue.

the knight removed his—her helmet.

fear was not a feeling you experienced often. this was slightly different from fear, however. it was something you could never describe, even if you knew each word in the dictionary.

she was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen. she couldn't have been much older than you, but you could tell her adventures had aged her. you imagined what she had been through in her life, wondering if maybe, one day, she would tell you all about it.

her green eyes shimmered for a fleeting moment, when the sun and the reflection of her helmet met and agreed to place a shine on her.

"good morning, princess. i am knight williams. i have been placed at your service for the next month up to the wedding, and to prevent you from exiting the castle during the day."

"i—but—what? why?" your words failed you, tumbling out in an unorganized mess.

knight williams cleared her throat. "i am to accompany you to breakfast shortly to meet with the prince. i will wait outside until you are ready, princess lowe."

you grimaced, "you do not need to address me so formally. just y/n will do."

her mouth opened to reply, but you swiftly shut the door to prevent a response. when you emerged from your room, the knight gestured for you to follow her.

"i assume you have recently been too busy sneaking away to explore the castle, so allow me to lead the way, princess."

you chuckled at her remark. "that is true, however, i did tell you there is no need to call me princess."

she let out an exasperated sigh, "if that is your wish, y/n."

"and what is your name?" you queried, as you made your way down a winding set of stairs.

her jaw tensed. "it would not be professional to be on a first name basis with each other."

you hummed, finding excitement in challenging her, "it would not be fun if you acted so uptight all the time. it would be nice to have a friend."

"i am your personal guard, not a friend."

discouraged, you remained quiet during the remaining walk to the dining hall. knight williams settled into the seat beside you, while the prince sat in front of you.

he was a handsome man, but there was something that just wasn't there. you remembered when you were a child, when your mother told you love stories. she told you what love felt like. it made you nervous, giddy, and excited, among many other wonderful things.

it was quite a dreadful realization that you did not love the man sitting in front of you, who you would be wed to within the next month.

as the prince bragged of his accomplishments, you smiled and nodded when appropriate. your eyes often found knight williams.

stoic and mysterious, you wanted her facade of being forbearing to crumble away.

through the following days, you tested her patience. you had absolutely no interest in the prince, dreading the wedding day. but even if it was for just a moment, simply the presence knight williams eased your nerves.

you could tell her wall was slipping away, she was slowly letting you in, becoming more comfortable around you. you told her stories of your fathers' battles, your kingdom's drama, and how you wished you were not royalty at all.

"why is that?" she prompted.

you squeezed the pillow in your lap. a ball was scheduled later that night, but opposed to tending to your duties as a soon to be queen, you were laying on your couch with knight williams, chatting on a rainy day.

"sometimes...i wish i were you. you are so brave and strong, and you have been out in the world. been in danger. just once in my life, i want to protect myself, and have a story of an adventure to tell."

she remained silent.

"i suppose that is quite ignorant though. i wish to go through suffering and pain, just to get a taste of it."

she cleared her throat. "i understand. to be honest, i wish that i were you, sometimes. along with everyone in the kingdom," her chuckle following her words was a sound you could have gotten drunk on every night of your life.

your lips lifted into a smile, which she returned, after a moment of hesitance. time slowed, pausing so all there was, and all you hoped would be, was you and knight williams sitting on that couch on that rainy day.

her gaze fell, her shoulders tensing, slicing the frozen moment and returning to reality.

"you should prepare for the ball."

you swallowed, "yes, i should."

it was a horrible night. you shook hands with, curtsied to, and danced with men and women of importance for hours on end.

"sir, i apologize deeply, but i must head outside for a quick moment of fresh air," you bowed without waiting for response from a king of a kingdom you did not care about, and wove your way through the crowd until you pushed the gates to the garden open.

your hand traced the petals of pink flowers on a bush as you strolled through the garden.

the grass behind you rustled.

"it is just me, y/n," knight williams spoke.

you continued to wander in the garden, eventually coming upon a clearing where you fell to the ground, settling on your back.

"you may want to find somewhere else to sit, your dress will be stained—"

"i do not care. come lay with me. please."

the knight removed her helmet. then followed each piece of armor, leaving her in a crinkled white top and brown trousers.

"the stars are beautiful tonight," you told her. "i have seen drawings of constellations in my books, yet i have never been able to recognize them in the sky."

in a swift moment, knight williams took hold of your hand with herrs, pointing up to the sky in a pattern, which helped you to see a constellation which resembled a scorpion.

"wow..." you breathed. "show me more."

the two of you talked of astronomy, which you both had an interest in since you were children.

you giggled and pointed up at the sky, "that one looks like the prince. the star over there is his abnormally large chin jutting out."

you felt accomplished when knight williams let out a loud laugh. you wanted to know what she thought about the prince. did she see what you did? that something was missing from him, that you couldn't quite place?

"have you ever been in love?"

she nearly choked at your words.

"i—i have. why do you wonder?"

"i want to know what it is like. i think i am not in love with prince hills."

"i think you are not either," she whispered. her body adjusted to face yours. you mirrored her action.

"so? what is love like?" you repeated.

"it is...well...you want to spend all your time with that person. and they might make your stomach hurt. and make you very nervous. you may even think they are perfect."

her gaze did not falter, stuck on your curious eyes.

she chewed on her bottom lip. "do you feel that for the prince?"

"i do not," you replied, a chill rushing over your body. it could have been the autumn chill, yet you believed it was something different.

"i would rather spend all my time with you, knight william—"

"my name is ellie."

your heart raced. "and it is you, ellie, who makes me nervous. and i think you are as close to perfect a human could—"

your words died on your tongue, as she inched closer to you, the only noise being the grass which moved under her and your heavy breathing.

when her lips pressed against yours, you suddenly knew what love was. in hidden corridors, nights by the fireplace, away from the sight of prince hills, your love for ellie grew.

on the fateful day when stood in a white gown in a chapel, telling the prince you vowed to marry him, ellie sat with her head down.

you blinked a single tear from your eye.

in the castle, you made a simple excuse that you were exhausted to avoid spending the night with your husband. ellie stood outside your bedroom door, unsure whether or not to enter.

as soon as she heard your sobs, the door was flung open.

"y/n..." she whispered your name, stripping herself of her armor to pull you into her chest.

"can we run away from it all, ellie? i want to leave it all behind."

she held your face, grounding you with her sturdy touch.

"you have a kingdom to rule. i will always be here, though. i will never leave your side."

you nodded. "i know. i will always be yours."

the two of you drifted off to sleep, comforted by promises, trusting, because you just knew.

you blinked awake when the bright sun trickled through your blinds, the book on your chest unfinished. your wife beside you stirred awake.

"mornin'," she rasped, then gestured to the book. "whatcha got there?"

you had found the book with cobwebs and dust, a fairytale of a young couple destined to never be together by fate.

"it's an old romance book. hundreds of years ago they fell in love, despite all odds."

ellie smiled, "just like we did."

you scoffed, playfully hitting her arm. "you're such a sap."

a/n: omg im clinically insane

taglist: @skylerwhitwyo @ximtiredx @ohitsjordynn @gold-dustwomxn @elliesinterlude @fireflyels @trulygnomed @deluluwh-0-re @elliewilliamsmissingfingerss @emluvselandabs @ariianelle @jokerpokimoon @lonelyfooryouonly @lil-elliesgf @yuaaa05 @ourautumn86 @ucannotcompare @lunarpretty @cassharass @uberyellowsheep @444na0m1

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 23

Chapters: 23/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92, @bridkesby If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

As your physical illness persisted, Morpheus's absence from both your dreams and waking life only intensified your distress. Your biggest fear transformed into reality, with even more revelations coming to the surface.

Author's note: I had hoped to finish this chapter before the holidays, but I found myself unable to due to multiple reasons.

I suggest having tissues ready, as this update is quite emotional. While everything will be explained and resolved soon enough, this particular event, though heartbreaking, is necessary. Please bear with me! You'll learn more about the Reader and her "situation" as new details unfold, too.

Also, like I previously mentioned, I'm currently rewriting the old chapters to improve their quality and align them with my current writing style. It may take me a while.

The Dreaming felt strangely eerie and lacked its usual brightness, with rain pouring down as heavily as it had when Morpheus was exiled, sealed away from his realm and unable to control it.

It was disturbing and unnatural. With Morpheus missing for days and a mysterious illness causing your emotions to fluctuate wildly, a growing sense of unease consumed your thoughts day after day.

Although your new creative work assignment provided a much-needed distraction, you couldn't shake the gnawing fear churning in your stomach for multiple reasons. While Ella bounced around the office, checking social media and celebrating each new product request and purchase notification with impromptu dance moves, you felt completely disconnected from the office's upbeat atmosphere. 

Upon receiving an invitation to model for Corbyn&Jones' latest jewelry collection, her infectious enthusiasm compelled acceptance. Through professional makeup artistry and a proper smile, you were confident in your ability to present a polished appearance despite your fatigue.

While the campaign achieved significant market success and engagement, you found yourself experiencing an unexpected sense of detachment from the accomplishment. Despite recognizing the need to schedule a consultation with Doctor Mills, you continued to postpone the appointment, using professional commitments as justification for the delay. 

In truth, you were simply afraid to confront your deepest worries becoming reality.

"I don't want to alarm you, but if you experience stomach problems that last longer than five days, you should let me know right away,” he had warned you during a visit. “With your family history, we can't be too careful."

While your symptoms weren't as severe as your father's had been, the combination of eating difficulties, persistent nausea, and constant exhaustion was deeply concerning. The Dreamstone adorning your neck was intended to provide protection, but you questioned whether its safeguarding properties extended only to external forces, leaving you vulnerable to whatever internal affliction might be manifesting.

You needed Morpheus as much as you needed air to breathe, yet for some reason, he had never felt so far away.

You tried to rationalize his absence, telling yourself it wasn't serious. After all, Dream of the Endless was a powerful being who bore the weight of everyone's wellbeing on his shoulders. Though you longed to have him by your side, you understood his duties took precedence over everything else—perhaps even over his love for you.

You did the best you could to maintain a positive outlook, yet an undeniable sense of foreboding permeated your consciousness. The sensation came both physically and psychologically, particularly evident in the unsettling echoes that resonated through the forested landscapes of your dreams.

The Dreaming lay in turmoil, its mysterious affliction baffling you.

One night, you stood in a vast, barren field beneath a sky that was neither day nor night, just a faint, muted gray. The air hung stifling and oppressive, carrying only a dark silence broken by distant echoes that sounded like a mournful lament. When you turned toward the sound, the horizon stretched endlessly before you, offering no hint of its source. 

Around you, the Dreaming existed in fragments and disrepair. The once-vivid flora had withered to mere shadows, while familiar places—your favorite glade and the garden where you and Morpheus had walked—flickered like dying embers, fading in and out of existence. Though you heard the distant sound of hooves, as if Astra were trying to reach you, the creature stayed hidden from view.

A faint light pierced the gloom like a dying star. You felt drawn to it, a tiny spark of hope against the crushing darkness. With trembling fingers outstretched, you whispered into the void: "Morpheus, please come to me!"

But no answer came. The dream dissolved completely, leaving you to wake in your bed with stinging eyes and a hollowness gnawing inside, the echo of your voice calling his name still lingering in the air.

What in the world was going on?

The library was still, its vast expanse of bookshelves and rolling ladders bathed in soft, melancholic light. At her desk, Lucienne meticulously cataloged a newly arrived tome, her brow furrowed with concern as she reflected of the realm's troubled state.

Outside, a haunting symphony of rain and thunder filled the air. The Dreaming had grown restless, its usual vibrancy dulled and its stability wavering.

The silence shattered as Matthew swooped in, his wings beating frantically and his demeanor uncharacteristically tense. He perched on the edge of Lucienne's desk, shifting nervously before fixing her with concern.

“So, uuhh” he began, his voice low and insistent. “Do you know what’s going on with the boss? He’s been quite... off.”

Lucienne paused, her quill hovering mid-air. “Off?”

"Yeah, you know—gloomy, silent. More than usual," Matthew elaborated. "I mean, he's not exactly Mr. Sunshine on a good day, but this? This is different. Stuff's weird and unstable, like it's feeding off his bad mood.”

Lucienne sighed deeply, setting her quill down. "I've noticed. Lord Morpheus has been unusually withdrawn. He either sends me back to the library or deliberately changes the subject whenever I try to speak with him."

Matthew ruffled his feathers, hopping closer. “Yeah, well, that’s not helping anyone. The Dreaming’s a mess, again. There are storms brewing in places that were peaceful a week ago. Some areas are just... disappearing, like they don’t know whether they should exist or not. And that howling? Yeah, Not creepy at all..."

Lucienne’s eyes darkened, the lines of her face deepening. “The howling...” she murmured. “It’s grief. Pain. And it seems to be coming from him, though he would never admit it.”

Matthew tilted his head. “But why? For what? Did something happen?”

“I suspect it may have something to do with her,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

“Her? You mean Y/N?”

“He hasn’t mentioned her name, but I’ve seen the signs. His avoidance, the strain in his bearing… she hasn't been seen around here at all lately."

Matthew let out a low whistle. “Man, the boss sure knows how to complicate things. So, what do we do? Just let him stew in his misery? If they've had a fight, they'll likely kiss and make up later. I mean, couples go through rough patches all the time.”

Lucienne adjusted her glasses, her expression growing grave. "I don't know. I sense this has to do with something else, something far more troubling."

Matthew tilted his head thoughtfully. “Troubling how?”

"I've yet to determine the cause. Perhaps you could prove useful," Lucienne suggested.

"Wait, me?"

“You have a way of getting through to him,” she said with a faint smile. “You’re blunt, unorthodox. You can say what I cannot.”

Matthew flapped his wings, exhaling a resigned sigh. “Great. No pressure, huh? Alright, I’ll give it a shot. But if he turns me into a puff of smoke, it’s on you.”

Lucienne’s expression softened, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Matthew."

As the raven disappeared into the shadows, caught between determination and dread, Lucienne sank back in her chair with a weary sigh. She could only hope that whatever darkness had seized their lord wasn't beyond the comfort of those who cherished him.

Throughout her extensive tenure as Morpheus’ librarian, she had never observed him in such a deep state of distress. She had been witness to countless moments across the spectrum of his experiences, from triumph to tribulation. The good, the bad, and yes, the utterly dramatic.

However, this situation was unprecedented in its severity and implications. Neither they nor Morpheus himself could grasp just how complex it truly was.

Morpheus sat on his throne, rigid and unmoving, his eyes locked intently on the Book of Paradoxes in his lap. The black leather tome caught the faint light, its obsidian and gold letters writhing across the pages as if alive. His fingers rested motionless on its surface as his mind wandered through a maze of thoughts. He had been consulting the book incessantly, hoping for a new interpretation that never emerged. No matter how the words shifted and molded themselves, their significance remained unchanged.

Avoiding your presence in his realm at night and ignoring your calls was the most excruciating act Morpheus had ever undertaken. His actions were driven solely by a desire to ensure your safety, though he meticulously examined the book's cryptic passages in search of alternative solutions that might alter the predicted course of events.

As time progressed, the possibility of a positive outcome grew increasingly remote, challenging what little hope he had left.

Matthew silently flew in, landing on the throne's armrest. He shuffled his wings, watching nervously as the Dream Lord closed the book and tucked it away. Morpheus appeared silent, offering no acknowledgment of the raven's arrival.

“Uh, hey, boss,” Matthew began, his tone hushed. “You’ve been in here for a while. Just thought I’d check in, y’know? See how you’re holding up.”

Morpheus was as still as marble, his darkened eyes wandering on some distant point, as though the raven's words drifted past him like echoes in darkness.

Matthew cleared his throat and continued. “So... Lucienne’s been worried. And, uh, not to snitch or anything, but the Dreaming’s been acting kinda weird too. You don’t exactly look like you’re winning ‘Most Cheerful Dream Lord of the Year,’ either.”

Morpheus’ fingers idly traced the throne's armrests with a touch both reverent and laden with frustration.

Matthew tentatively shifted closer. “Alright, look. I know something’s eating at you. Is it... her? Did you two have a fight or something?”

At the mention of you, Morpheus' hands froze. His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to reveal he had been listening all along. “I have not quarreled with her,” he said finally, his voice low and clipped.

“You didn’t? Well, that’s good I suppose,” Matthew replied hastily. "You see, Lucienne's been wondering why Y/N hasn't visited the castle these days. We were thinking that maybe—"

“Matthew,” he interrupted. “You will refrain from speaking of her.”

Matthew flinched but held firm, maintaining his position beside the Dream Lord's arm. “Boss, I’m just trying to help here. I mean, this isn’t like you. Even for you. If nothing's wrong between you two, then what is happening here?"

Morpheus rose from his throne with fluid grace, his towering form casting a shadow over the raven. His movements were deliberate and restrained, as if containing a tempest within.

“You presume much,” he said, his deep voice edged with frost. “The matters of my heart are mine alone to bear. And the Dreaming is my responsibility, not yours.” He exhaled a slow, deep breath that resonated with his inner torment. “There are matters that cannot be ignored.”

Matthew cocked his head, his curiosity piqued. “Matters, huh? Are you talking about that book you were reading just now?”

Morpheus' jaw tightened at the question, but he didn’t answer.

“Look, I’m not trying to stick my beak where it doesn’t belong. But whatever’s going on, you’re not exactly handling it great. The Dreaming’s feeling it, and so are the ones who care about you.”

Morpheus's expression flickered, a glimpse of guilt crossing his features momentarily. "That is not your concern," he stated sternly.

“Not my concern?” Matthew repeated, flapping his wings in agitation. “Boss, come on! You think she’s not gonna notice something’s wrong? You think Lucienne and I aren’t gonna notice? You’re shutting everyone out, and it’s not working.”

The Endless’ eyes closed briefly, as if shielding himself from the raven's words. Once more, his tone sliced through the mounting disquiet like a blade of ice. “Leave it, Matthew.”

Torn between pressing further and respecting the Dream Lord's boundaries, the raven huffed, lowering his head with a defeated slump of his shoulders. “Alright, fine,” he muttered. “But for what it’s worth, boss, you’re not doing her—or yourself—any favors by staying in here and brooding. Just think about that, okay?”

Morpheus's gaze drifted into the distance as Matthew departed, the fluttering of his wings echoing softly through the vast emptiness of the throne room, leaving behind a weight of unspoken truths and unresolved pain.

Your throat burned as you hunched over the toilet, retching up what little dinner you'd managed to eat again. The nausea had grown more persistent, becoming so severe that you struggled to hide your condition even at work. With your shortened shifts and frequent naps during quiet moments at the studio, Ella assumed your body was breaking down from physical and mental exhaustion—a result of your Florida trip and the heavy workload you'd taken on without pause.

Out of guilt, she suggested taking a few days off to recover, but you promptly refused. Having too much downtime would only let your mind wander to uncomfortable thoughts, exacerbating symptoms and impeding your ability to cope effectively. 

Multiple times you'd started to reach out to Doctor Mills, drafting emails you never sent and almost calling but finding yourself unable to follow through. Keeping busy with your demanding work schedule meant you could focus on surviving each day without falling into the cycle of anxiety and overthinking.

Making matters more difficult, Morpheus had vanished entirely from both your dreams and waking life. The abandonment stung as deeply as any mortal lover's silent withdrawal, and the Dreaming's deteriorating state only amplified your growing distress.

After the bout of vomiting subsided, you splashed cold water on your face and trudged back to bed. The nausea had barely let up, and an odd pressure weighed heavily in your stomach. Your abdomen had become noticeably distended recently, and it was clear that prolonging this for another week would be inadvisable. The situation warranted a proper medical evaluation, and you resolved to schedule an appointment with your healthcare provider sooner rather than later.

Perhaps it was nothing, just a food intolerance acting up, or a particularly nasty virus that had weakened your immune system. Or more likely it was simply your body's response to mounting stress, a combination of your grueling workdays and Morpheus' unexplained silence.

The symptoms fluctuated in intensity, ranging from mild discomfort to severe episodes that necessitated immediate trips to the bathroom. In those brief intervals of physical relief when eating and resting became manageable, your mind would invariably wander to other pressing concerns.

Morpheus had consistently demonstrated the depth and sincerity of his affection. His declarations of love were always accompanied by meaningful actions, from welcoming you into his realm to crafting extraordinary gifts that showcased his devotion. His sudden withdrawal seemed entirely incongruous with his character, and considering the negative conditions within the Dreaming, it wasn’t difficult to understand that a matter of significant importance demanded his attention. 

Still, you wished he would communicate openly about his troubles, even if you couldn't directly assist with the situation. At minimum, you wanted to offer emotional support and help lighten his burden as you had during the Vortex crisis.

Perhaps this time, Morpheus was deliberately keeping you at a distance, all for your own protection. At the very least, even a short word would have been welcome.

"So," Matthew said, clicking his beak. "What's the plan?"

"I don't know," Lucienne said. "Whatever is troubling Lord Morpheus, it must be something deeply personal for him to maintain such silence."

"Yes, but how much longer will he shut himself away?"

"I cannot say. After all, this is Lord Morpheus we speak of."

The Dreaming's sky had taken on an unsettling shade of gray, neither the soft twilight of contentment nor the ominous darkness of unrest. The realm's usual rhythm was disrupted, driving even Mervyn the Pumpkinhead up the metaphorical wall.

With a huff, he stomped his way to the library, his boots thundering against the marble floor while his carved pumpkin face twisted into a permanent scowl. He shoved the library doors open with excessive force, sending echoes through the vast expanse of shelves.

Lucienne looked up from her desk, maintaining her calm professionalism as her eyebrows arched slightly at Mervyn's dramatic entrance. “Ah, Mervyn. What brings you here?”

“What brings me here?” he repeated, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "Lemme tell ya what brings me here. The Dreaming's gone completely bonkers for days now. DAYS! The sky's throwin' a temper tantrum, can't make up its mind whether to drizzle, shine, or go full tornado on us. And the ground? It's wobblier than a drunk gargoyle on rollerskates! But here's the real kicker; them trees have lost their marbles completely. One of the wise guys actually tried to snatch my rake this mornin'! Can you believe the nerve?"

Lucienne’s lips twitched in amusement. “The realm is reflective of the Dream Lord’s current emotional state.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Mervyn grumbled, crossing his arms. "Now we're all stuck in this screwy limbo situation here. Look, I ain't dense - he got troubles up to his eyeballs. But for cryin' out loud, the rest of us are tryin' to do our jobs in this mess! Can you go knock some sense into him or somethin'?"

Lucienne straightened in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “The Dream Lord has much to contemplate, Mervyn. Matters of great importance weigh heavily on his mind.”

"Heh, not that I haven't tried already," Matthew interjected.

Mervyn rolled his empty eyes. "Can't his lordship deal with it without makin' the whole joint go haywire? I swear, I'm this close to hangin' up my rake and startin' a nice, normal garden topside. Least there I won't have to deal with plants that think they're critics!"

Lucienne stifled a chuckle. “You must remember that the Dreaming and its ruler are intrinsically linked. His moods influence the realm just as the realm influences him.”

"Sheesh, ain't it obvious? What's got his royal nibs all twisted up like a pretzel, anyway? Another one of them Endless family squabbles? Or maybe some mortal mess he's got himself tangled in?"

"I am not certain," she replied.

"Whatever. This whole mess needs fixin', and pronto."

While reviewing the Dreaming record, Lucienne paused mid-nod as something significant caught her attention. Her eyes widened as she studied the page intently, adjusting her spectacles as she stood to examine the text more closely.

"Uh, Lucienne? Everything okay over there?"

Lucienne glanced between Matthew and Mervyn with a grave expression before returning her attention to the volume. “Oh dear.”

"Aw geez, what's got ya spooked now, Luce?"

“I wonder if this is part of the reason,” she murmured.

Matthew hopped closer. "Mind filling us in?"

"A new heartbeat has appeared in the Dreaming," she explained. "It has just been added to the records."

"A new what?"

"Eh? Some kinda fresh face round these parts?"

Lucienne's expression grew solemn as she carefully considered her response. "Not exactly."

"Now you really got me on the edge of my perch here," Matthew quipped.

Lucienne folded her hands on the desk as she sat again. "A new heartbeat signifies the creation of life, fresh energy stirring within the Dreaming."

"Okay. So who's the mystery guest showing up?"

"Not a guest," she clarified. "A newly formed being. One that, as it happens, is directly connected to Y/N."

Mervyn's eye sockets expanded dramatically, his carved expression showing comical astonishment.

Matthew, for his part, stared blankly, still oblivious to the revelation's significance. "You lost me here. What's this gotta do with Y/N?"

Lucienne exchanged a knowing glance with Mervyn before addressing Matthew's query with a soft smile.

The janitor shifted his weight, placing his gloved hands on his bony hips and turning his pumpkin head toward the raven with mild exasperation. "Hey, Luce. Do you want me to spell it out for birdie over here, or should you do the honors?"

The environment around you was bathed in varying shades of purple, from soft lilac to deep violet, creating an ethereal cosmic display. Countless stars and miniature galaxies performed an elegant celestial dance, while a gentle breeze caressed your hair as you ventured forward.

This sanctuary provided a stark contrast to the declining condition of the Dreaming you had grown accustomed to witnessing these recent nights. Though your perception remained slightly hazy, your consciousness sharpened upon detecting a recognizable silhouette in the distance.

Morpheus stood motionless in the purple mist, his commanding presence unmistakable as his dark hair swayed gently in the wind. A wave of relief flooded through you at the sight of him, and you quickened your pace, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your features.

"I've been so worried about you," you breathed, halting in front of him.

As you embraced him, gently kissing his cheek, you noticed an immediate change in his mannerisms. Morpheus remained unresponsive, his arms still at his sides, his entire form becoming rigid and distant.

Stepping back to examine his countenance, you observed the evident tension in his epression as your hands moved from his shoulders to rest against his chest. "Morpheus? What's wrong?"

His eyes flicked down to the starlit ground, shimmering faintly, before meeting yours again with unsettling gravitas.

“We must end this.”

His words seemed to fade into the horizon, becoming nearly imperceptible. Time appeared to pause as your mind struggled to process the weight of his statement.

"End what?" you whispered, your smile fading.

Morpheus swallowed heavily, his lips twitching. "Our... entanglement. It must cease."

You regarded the Lord of Dreams with an unwavering gaze, your expression becoming neutral. His words seemed to shatter the very foundations of your world, the impact reverberating through your being like breaking glass.

"What…?"

“Y/N… I am sorry.”

"I don't understand," you said, your voice turning to ice. "Are you actually ending our relationship?"

Your fingers slipped from his coat, falling limply like dead weight.

"You cannot be with me," he continued. "I will not make the same mistake again."

An incredulous chuckle escaped you, your head shaking as if to erase his declaration. "Wait, this makes no sense to me. We've been through this conversation before."

"It is not merely about fear. What I have discovered, what I now know... it is something I simply cannot allow to happen."

"And what is supposed to happen?" Your voice cut like a knife, yet beneath its sharpness trembled unmistakable pain.

"Y/N, if I remain by your side, your future will be destroyed."

"Says who?" you demanded.

“No matter.”

"Yes, Morpheus, it absolutely matters. I deserve an explanation."

He faltered, his eyes reddening as he blinked rapidly. "Such a fate has been foretold in the Book of Paradoxes, a tome as old as existence itself."

“Hold on, a book?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself protectively, shrinking inward. "So you're breaking up with me because of a book?"

"This is far more than mere words on paper. It is an ancient prophecy, a mystical artifact whose power and purpose transcends even my understanding."

You gave a sardonic nod, pressing your lips together in a bitter smile. "Ah, I see. So you're simply accepting this fate? You won't even let me make my own choice?"

"Not if it means every moment you spend in my presence brings you one step closer to your own destruction."

"Destruction? Morpheus, this is absurd. We've been together for months now, and all I've seen in my life is growth."

"I will not allow another tragedy like Nada to unfold. The burden of what I’ve done... it weighs heavily upon me still."

Your lower lip trembled, but you stood firm. "I am not Nada."

"No, but my duties as Dream of the Endless must come first. The price we would both pay is far too steep."

"In other words, I am a distraction you can't permit yourself to have."

"That is not what I mean. You must understand."

“Well, I don’t.”

Your respiration quickened as an acute sensation of emotional distress surfaced, perceptible even within the confines of the dreamscape.

"There must be something we can do. Instead of pushing me away, let me help you find a solution."

"This is not something within your power to alter. Despite your remarkable strength, your mortal nature remains an inescapable truth."

"Ah, of course. Let's resort to the 'you're just a mortal' excuse."

Morpheus bowed his head, his face pained, yet stood firm despite your earnest protestations.

"I am doing this to keep you safe, to give you a chance at the life you deserve. Even if you cannot accept it now."

"Oh, that's bullshit, Morpheus!"

Your voice reverberated through the space, bouncing off the floating cosmos.

"Why won't you give me any credit? Instead of acting rashly over something you admit you don't fully understand, you could trust in me—in us. We could do this together as partners, seek help. Stop shouldering everything alone."

"It is precisely because we do not understand its nature that I cannot risk having you near it."

You scoffed. "Oh, because that wretched book is going to devour me whole the moment I touch it, right?"

"This is not a matter of levity," he stated, his gravelly voice carrying unmistakable sternness.

"What am I supposed to say? That I should just quietly accept this without question? Being like 'Oh sure, I love you, but it's perfectly fine to pretend you never existed and go back to my normal life in the Waking World. See you never'?"

A solitary tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek.

"Tell me, was it all a lie? Everything you did for me, everything you told me, your feelings for me... was any of it real?"

Morpheus stepped forward. "All of it was real. It remains so."

"Then reconsider," you pleaded. "Don't do this to us. Don't throw everything away over a prophecy."

"My love... know that I shall not stop my search for answers. But what lies ahead may prove far more dire than what we face now. This quest may take an indefinite amount of time. And that is not something I can ask you to sacrifice whilst you await my return."

More tears now flowed freely down your face as your composure crumbled, your breathing becoming increasingly ragged. "But this is my decision to make, Morpheus, not yours."

"I must forbid it. It is for your salvation. This is absolute."

You pressed your fingers to your temples, scanning the surroundings with increasing agitation as you ran your hand through your hair.

"This has to be a nightmare. It must be."

“Y/N—”

"No. None of this is happening, and you're not truly here."

“Y/N, listen to me.”

You shook your head vigorously, retreating as tremors wracked your frame. "I refuse. I need this to end."

With slow, measured motion, Morpheus extended his right hand, dissipating the cosmic panorama before you. The illusory galaxy dissolved to reveal the true scene beneath; a bleak forest stretching into the distance, its withered trees and parched grass crowned by an ominous, thunder-laden sky.

"Do you understand why the Dreaming appears this way?" He asked. "As it is an extension of my very being, every withered leaf, every raging tempest... it reflects the essence of what I am. What you see is but a reflection of the chaos that dwells within."

A shiver ran through you as lightning crashed overhead.

"I take no pleasure in this. But it must be done, nonetheless."

"That's according to you," you corrected bitterly. "It doesn't need to be this way."

"It goes beyond the boundaries of you and me. It surpasses my very identity," he declared with resonating finality. "If I must choose between our individual happiness, if sacrificing my love for you ensures your future remains intact, then I shall bear this burden."

A strangled cry escaped your lips. "How could you possibly think I would accept a future without you in it?!"

"I cannot ask you to keep your waking life on hold for my sake, Y/N. Not when I am uncertain if my return shall ever come to pass."

"So that's it? You're simply abandoning me?"

"I am protecting you," he asserted, his deep, resonant voice carrying both authority and melancholy.

Your exasperation mounted. “Protecting me from what??!?!”

"From any darkness my role as Dream King would inevitably cast upon your existence."

You released a choked, desperate laugh. "How could something as beautiful as you, as your realm, and as what you represent, possibly be destructive to my life??"

"That is something I do not wish to discover," he answered solemnly. "Y/N... you are truly extraordinary. Your radiant spirit illuminates the paths of those around you. Your creative mind shapes dreams with a brilliance that rivals my own. I cannot... I will not be the one to extinguish that flame."

You shook your head, again and again, in vehement denial. “Stop it.”

“Please—”

"No!" The words erupted from you in a piercing tone. "You made me a promise that you would never break my heart. You gave me your word."

Morpheus maintained an impassive expression, though beneath his carefully constructed facade, you sensed the anguish he sought to conceal.

"Yes, I did," he acknowledged with resignation. "I am truly sorry, Y/N,"

Raw emotions overwhelmed you—anger, disappointment, and a blinding sense of betrayal. Unable to contain your fury, you lurched forward and struck his chest repeatedly. Your fists pounded against him, yet he remained unmoved. He grasped your elbows with gentle restraint, softly speaking your name in an attempt to calm you.

“You promised!” You cried out. “You lied to me!”

Your strength gradually ebbed away, leaving you collapsed against him in uncontrollable sobs, your forehead resting against his collarbones. Your trembling fingers clutched the fabric of his coat as tears dampened his shirt.

“Please… don’t do this…” You sank to your knees before him, your hands still grasping desperately at his robes. “Don’t le…ave… m..e…”

"I cannot choose otherwise."

“Morpheus, pl..e..ase. Stay… with me….”

"The Dreaming will always be accessible to you. My castle doors shall remain open, that you may seek guidance with Lucienne among her tomes. Your journey of exploration, of learning, of dreaming... can continue unabated."

The material of his garment slipped from between your fingers as he withdrew, his black silhouette receding with each step.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

A sharp inhalation escaped you as your head snapped upward, your eyes widening with despair. “Morpheus, wai—”

“This dream is over.”

You jolted awake, your breath lodged in your throat as your chest tightened agonizingly. Drenched in cold sweat, with your hair clinging to your skin and your stomach roiling violently, you stumbled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom.

The emotional toll of Morpheus's devastating abandonment had your body purging both the physical and psychological torment that ravaged you, retching and wailing as grief consumed every fiber of your being, mixing with your bile.

You hoped that he would appear to assure you it was nothing more than a cruel nightmare conjured by your subconscious mind. But all you could see was the toilet bowl as you clung to it helplessly, collapsing onto the floor while tears streamed down your face until the break of dawn.

Morpheus stared at the vacant space where your presence had been moments before. As your form dissipated into particles of light, his carefully maintained stoic mask finally shattered. Slowly, he descended to one knee, his hand instinctively clutching the fabric above his chest where an immortal heart bore mortal suffering. His tears fell hot and searing, corroding the soil around him like molten iron.

He was overcome by an unprecedented pain unlike anything he had ever known. Though his long existence had been marked by numerous losses that had rendered him reserved and guarded, your presence had transformed him, awakening emotions he thought forever dormant. 

Never before had someone so earnestly beseeched him to stay and to love. Though he ached to hold you as you wept in front of him, Morpheus knew that even the slightest gesture toward you would have melted his resolve entirely.

Nevertheless, the heartbreak caused by his decision left an irreparable void within his eternal essence. And perhaps, the Dreaming itself would never be the same.

Daylight streamed through the window, illuminating your disheveled form on the bed, surrounded by disarrayed sheets. The dampness of your tear-soaked pillow pressed against your cheek as you lay paralyzed, eyes fixed vacantly on the curtains. In a state of dissociation, you found yourself incapable of stirring. The extended hours spent on the bathroom floor had left your body throbbing, while your eyes remained swollen and tearful.

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, but you couldn’t summon the energy to check it. Time stretched endlessly as you lay there, until catching sight of the shell from your dreams triggered an uncontrollable urge to scream.

With a rapid spurt, you finally pushed yourself in a sitting position to retrieve it, its color and vividness turning bland. You shoved it into the drawer without thinking, slamming it shut to hide it from view.

Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks as you picked up your phone, unlocking the screen between shaky breaths. The display showed three missed calls and an unread text message, all from an anxious Ella. The clock indicated it was well past the start of the business day, meaning you were significantly late for work.

With a heavy exhale, you composed a brief response, informing her that your current state would prevent you from performing your professional duties for the foreseeable future. Since joining the Corbyn&Jones team, you had never taken a sick day unless absolutely necessary. You prided yourself on working diligently even when feeling unwell, always delivering exceptional results. 

Now you were reduced to a complete wreck, barely able to stand long enough for unwanted trips to the bathroom. Perhaps some rest would help your body recover, but you doubted time could ever fully mend your emotional cracks.

Expressing relief, Ella responded with understanding. She granted you the necessary break to recuperate from your illness and exhaustion, apologizing profusely for the heavy workload. You committed to maintaining your responsibilities remotely when your condition permitted, though it made even basic mobility an impossible task to accomplish at the moment.

Despite believing you had no more tears to spill, new drops sprang to your eyes at the thought of Morpheus throughout the day. Although you understood his reasoning and concerns, you couldn't bring yourself to accept or forgive the choice he made. He had professed his devotion in countless ways, filling your dreams and waking days with magic. Could your relationship truly be as doomed as his with Nada? Were you fated to endure suffering and ruin, condemned to face divine retribution if your love had persisted?

The more you dwelt on the breakup, the more you wished to sink into an endless sleep, never to wake. From your current position, you began to resonate with Lyta's motives more than ever before, as if a part of your soul had been completely torn away.

The prospect of moving forward seemed insurmountable, given how deeply intertwined your life had become with his presence.

Later that evening, another incoming call notification displayed Hob's contact information. Your finger lingered over it to respond, but as a sudden burst of tears brought on uncontrollable hiccups, you let the call go unanswered. 

He had already offered extensive assistance over the past couple of years. You felt reluctant to weigh him down with additional concerns or seek further help, as his long-standing friendship with Morpheus spanning several centuries could complicate matters even more.

And so, you resorted to ignoring his subsequent texts, compelling yourself to eat and shower until another night approached. The prospect of visiting the Dreaming filled you with dread, yet you couldn't completely abandon the possibility that Morpheus would reconsider his decision and propose a more viable resolution.

After all, hope dies last.

You traversed a solitary path through the darkness, each footstep emanating a soft luminescence that traced your journey across the desolate expanse. Barefoot, you moved silently through the gloom, the flowing white gown trailing gracefully across scattered leaves. You proceeded with purposeful steps through the unknown, drawn forward by an inexplicable force that beckoned your assistance.

Though conflicting emotions of confusion and despair bore upon your soul, each radiant step dispersed the encroaching shadows, suggesting an innate resilience to mend what had been fractured.

“ʸ/ₙ…”

A distorted yet familiar voice called out your name, though its origin was indistinct and elusive. You waited attentively, yet only silence permeated the air.

Then, once again, the voice returned, its presence growing clearer and more proximate.

"Y/N..."

"Who's there?" you called out, walking without pause, quickening your pace.

“Y/N!!”

Astra suddenly appeared from the blackness ahead, his posture unsteady and frail. His once shining fur was now dull and matted, his antlers brittle, his elegant frame emaciated as it revealed prominent bones beneath his skin. His eyes, once filled with starlight, had taken on an unsettling glassy, grey pallor that suggested possible blindness.

“What… Astra…?”

“Y/N… you’re here…”

His legs gave way, causing him to crumpled onto the ground."At last... I found you."

“Astra!”

Kneeling down, you cradled his face in your hands and gently lifted his heavy muzzle, resting his head in your lap. "What happened?!"

"It's Lord Morpheus," he whispered weakly. "The Dreaming is responding to what lies within him."

"How is this possible? Can't he simply stop it?"

"Ah, my dear... it is far more complicated than that."

Gently, your fingers traced along his cheek, beneath his eyes, and down the elegant line of his neck.

"His choice to leave you has left him wounded. The pain reverberates through the endless halls of dreams. Even through my essence."

"But why, Astra? I told him not to do this. I begged him."

"He wants your happiness and safety above all else. More than anything he has ever crafted, Perhaps even more than the realm itself."

You lifted him to your chest, cradling his upper body in your arms.

"In the end, you were the loveliest dream of all. To him, and to all who exist in the Dreaming."

You released a choked sob, swaying gently back and forth. "Why must he be so stubborn? My poor Astra... I'm so sorry."

A comforting warmth spread through your chest as you embraced your familiar, holding him protectively against you with unwavering care. "What will become of you…?"

"If this continues... everything I am, everything I ever was... could vanish forever."

"No!" you exclaimed in sheer terror. "Astra, please! You can’t leave me too!"

"I'm not going anywhere, Y/N. If anything, you're the one I wished would stay with me... just for a little while longer."

You instinctively held him more tightly, pressing your lips against the crown of his head in a protective gesture. Your warmth coursed through your limbs and down your spine, enveloping both of you in a bright sphere of golden light.

Unbeknownst to you, as your eyes remained closed, glowing threads flowed from your form, intricately weaving through the surrounding environment and seamlessly merging with Astra's being. The energy pulsated rhythmically, suffusing the familiar with restorative power that slowly reversed the deterioration. Astra's appearance transformed as vitality returned; his fur gaining an ethereal brilliance, his antlers casting majestic particles, and his eyes rekindling with crystalline stars.

The ambient light intensified in clarity, transmuting the surrounding darkness into an expansive, natural nocturnal splendor. Golden strands streamed outward from your body, interweaving with the fabric of the Dreaming itself, methodically restoring its deteriorated structure.

Astra gracefully rose from your embrace, regaining his posture before you. As you gazed upward, momentarily dazed by the spectacular display of light, you beheld his magnificent form fully rejuvenated, back to its former glory.

"Wait, what... I thought..."

"Y/N, I never knew you possessed such power. I am deeply grateful."

As he bowed, you blinked in dizziness. "Power? Astra, what do you mean?"

He tilted his head. "Wait, so you didn't do this intentionally?"

"No. I have no idea what just happened."

The familiar's muzzle curved into a gentle smile. "Take a look around."

Upon surveying the environment, you witnessed a remarkable mutation of the dreamscape. The once dreary path had evolved into an elegant thoroughfare, bordered by verdant grass and voluminous moonflowers. Delicate fireflies drifted gracefully near your face, their mystical whispers carrying on gentle currents of air, drawn to your presence like moths to a flame.

The celestial panorama above was breathtaking, an intricate tapestry of bright stars stretching across the infinite dark blue sky. Each constellation pulsed with lively vitality, their patterns seeming to dance and shift in the vast cosmic scenery.

Additionally, tendrils of luminous force circled your sitting form, reminiscent of shimmering ribbons. They coalesced into your hands, imbuing them with an intense glow.

Trembling, you turned your palms in front of you, examining them in incredulity. "Astra... what is happening to me...?"

"Do you truly not know?"

You frantically shook your hands as if trying to switch them off, but the light continued to pulse around them. "I bloody don’t! And frankly, I'm more than a little worried right now. How can I make this stop?"

"This is a dream, nothing is actually going to harm you."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

In time, the light generating from your skin diminished until it completely dissipated, leaving no visible trace of the phenomenon. Despite your racing thoughts and attempts to rationalize the experience, you were reminded that the nature of dreams often defies conventional explanation.

"Are you alright?" Astra asked softly, leaning forward to brush his nose against your chin.

"You're asking about me? Astra, you were practically dying in my arms moments ago."

"Well, technically I'm a dream, so I can't exactly die in the way mortals experience death."

"Still, you were just saying you would disappear."

Astra's head bobbed thoughtfully. "I wasn't expecting this either. But Y/N, whatever you did has restored both this part of the Dreaming and myself to our former state."

"I didn't do anything."

"Perhaps not consciously, but the power definitely came from you."

"Maybe it was the Dreamstone," you concluded. "After all, it contains Morpheus' energy."

"No, it wasn't the Dreamstone, I don’t think" he said resolutely. "It was coming from you—of that I am certain."

You rose to your feet and clasped your hands over your abdomen. "I'm truly relieved you're okay, but I have to admit... I've been feeling strange for a while now."

“Strange, you say?”

With calculated precision, Astra studied you intently, taking measured steps backward to analyze the atmosphere. His heightened senses became evident as his ears detected subtle changes, his penetrating gaze intensifying with each careful assessment. He proceeded to conduct a methodical examination, circling around you while his antlers created streams of light in his path.

Upon completing his examination, Astra halted in front of you, his dark, starry eyes fixating on your midsection. He emanated an aura of profound understanding, and when he spoke, his voice carried a distinct tone of reverence.

"Y/N, you... you are..."

"I am what...?"

"Oh... I see. He hasn't figured it out yet. And apparently, neither have you."

"Astra, what is this all about?" you inquired impatiently.

"You must leave now, to prevent any further... well, light shows. I will maintain vigilant oversight of his wellbeing in your absence."

"Astra, please! I don't understand any of this."

"You will, sooner than you think. Deep inside, I think you already know."

Before you could formulate a response, your voice dissipated into silence. The dream began to shift and distort, merging inexplicably with elements from your waking reality that seemed paradoxically out of place.

"Don't lose hope, Y/N. You are stronger than you realize. Through you, I am reborn."

“As——tra..”

He had already vanished into the distance, receding as he traversed the rolling hills and disappearing into the dense foliage. Your attempts to call after him resulted in nothing more than an inaudible faint breath, as your feet slowly sank into a sparkling pool of liquid gold.

In an instant, consciousness returned, and you found yourself in the familiar stillness of your bedroom.

As time wore on, your heartache deepened, and your physical condition oscillated between periods of relative wellness and severe misery. 

Astra no longer visited your dreams, which had grown lifeless and barren. His words had awakened something in the recesses of your mind that you couldn't comprehend, but all you could focus on was Morpheus and your deep struggle without him in your life.

For most of the day, you curled up in a ball on your couch, letting your tears flow freely as you listlessly surfed through TV channels without really wanting to watch anything. Your cognitive clarity was significantly impaired, making focused work on your laptop particularly arduous. You found yourself experiencing frequent periods of mental fog, moving through the house in a daze, almost on autopilot.

You were barely holding on, eating and sleeping only the minimum necessary, finding even simple tasks like grocery shopping insurmountable without breaking down. The sight of happy couples on the street would leave you weeping unrestrained, with everything reminding you of Morpheus—the paths you'd walked together, the park where he'd shown you your mother's memory through your father's dream, and even your apartment, that still held his scent in every corner.

You strove to maintain regular communication with Ella and your father, but your interactions remained quite superficial as you carefully avoided discussing Morpheus. The prospect of verbalizing the separation seemed too daunting to bear, as though doing so would solidify the reality of the situation.

Outwardly, you laughed, joked, and put on a brave face to fake normalcy. But internally, you were screaming, fighting against invisible barriers, clutching at your hair in raw agony.

Meanwhile, contact with Hob was entirely equal to zero. You distanced yourself from his messages and calls, recognizing that his connection to Morpheus would made your conversations particularly difficult at this time. You knew it was unkind to someone you considered a close confidant, yet you required solitude to process this transition and come to terms with Morpheus' departure.

He had become completely absent, staying unreachable despite your attempts to get in touch with him. Your appeals to reestablish dialogue for the mutual benefit of both parties and the realm's wellbeing had gone unheeded by the Endless, leaving you feeling like you were talking to a wall.

Though hope still lived in your heart, you felt it slowly slipping away.

Inevitably, demonstrating steadfast persistence and recognizing the ineffectiveness of digital correspondence, Hob resorted to making an in-person visit to your residence. When he arrived at your door, frantically ringing and knocking, you knew you could no longer avoid the inevitable explanation.

The last thing you desired was to cause undue concern that might prompt him to contact law enforcement for a welfare check. Reluctantly, you opened the door to find Hob in visible agitation, breathing heavily and looking notably disheveled.

"Shit, I've been going mad with worry!"

You managed a weak smile, silently apologizing.

"What's goin' on here? Been trying to reach you for bloody ages!"

"I'm sorry Hob, I've been sick to the bone,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

"You're looking rather peaky, Shortcake. Still got stomach troubles then?"

“Sort of,” you replied. As you closed the door and wrapped your arms around your chest, you fought to hold back fresh tears that threatened to fall.

"This has been dragging on for quite a stretch now, innit?"

You responded with an affirmative hum, watching as he took off his coat and hung it on the back of a dining chair.

"I was half convinced I'd find you lying dead somewhere. You can't just disappear on me like that."

“Sorry.”

"Have you seen a proper doctor about this yet?”

“Not yet.”

“When's the last time you had a decent meal? You're looking white as a ghost."

"I had lunch today.”

He settled onto the couch with a weary exhale, running his fingers through his hair while you remained stationary.

"I swear. I was about to storm your workplace and demand answers. Would it have killed you to send a quick message? Just a 'piss off Hob, I need space' would've done it if you weren't up for tal—"

His speech halted upon observing your condition—tears cascaded silently down your face, your form quivering with barely contained emotion.

In an instant, he leapt to his feet and rushed to your side, grasping your upper arms and rubbing them soothingly. "Hey! You're not crying because of me, are you? Have I said something wrong?"

Turning your head from side to side, you burst into even harder weeping.

"Then what is it? Come on, this can't all be about some stomach trouble."

You couldn't formulate a coherent sentence, your knees growing wobbly.

"Listen love, if I came across a bit too strong there, I apologize."

“It’s n…ot t..ha…t.”

"Just breathe now. Take your time."

You gasped for air, feeling it being cut off from your lungs. His proximity had you breaking down, erasing what little resistance you had left.

"He’s gone, Hob," you choked out, fingers clutching his shirt. "It's over between us."

“What…?”

"He left me."

Hob's eyes opened impossibly wide, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “He did what?”

His tone became more intense as he held your shoulders, studying your face with incredulity. 

"What do you mean?! You two were mad for each other!"

"It wasn't enough. Not for him."

"What's gotten into that idiot?!"

Finally, your resolve evaporated like dust in the wind. You sank to the floor as every ounce of strength completely drained from your legs, with Hob kneeling beside you, holding you steady.

“Y/N!!”

You wept more intensely than ever before, venting out all your accumulated pain, anger, and utter devastation. Your heart was shrinking and decaying, as though there was a barbed wire built around it.

“I don’t know what to do,” you lamented through shuddering breaths. “I can’t live without him, Hob. I just can’t.”

Hob pulled you into a strong embrace, offering solace against his shoulder, and smoothing your hair with gentle strokes.

"I spend every moment crying. Everything I do reminds me of how much I miss him."

He acknowledged your pain, placing a reassuring kiss on your head.

"I feel like all my dreams have been destroyed. Everything has lost its meaning. I need him! I need him so much I can barely breathe!"

"Let it all out, Shortcake," he told you consolingly, "and when you're ready, tell me everything from the beginning."

You wailed, releasing the raw heartache you had inside, all that was left to give before becoming absolutely depleted.

"This is bullshit.”

"That's exactly what I told him," you commented, sipping the hot tea he had prepared in an attempt to settle your nerves.

"Listen, I've lived through the witch hunts and all that rubbish with prophecies and whatnot,” he stated. “And let me tell you, every single one of these so-called magic books turned out to be complete bollocks."

"I believe this one is different though."

"Different how?"

You gazed into your mug, your tired reflection rippling in the tea's surface. "You've known him for centuries. His powers are real, not fabricated by cultists."

"And how exactly does that prove this book is legit?"

"We both know he wouldn't mistake a fake object for a genuine dangerous artifact. He's not naïve."

Hob frowned pensively. "Right then, let's say this book is exactly what he claims, though you said yourself he doesn’t even know what it means."

“Yes.”

"Maybe we're not seeing the whole picture here. Could be he's got it all wrong, or hell, maybe there's a way to bypass this wretched prophecy."

With a bitter chuckle, you retorted, "It's not that simple, Hob. He said he needs time to understand it fully, and he wasn't willing to take the risk."

“You are worth every risk, Shortcake,” he clarified. "Look, I get it - we all want to protect the ones we love. But pushing you away like that? After I told him to look after you properly? That's really getting on my tits.”

“Wait, you did?”

"Back at the New Inn that day. And I'll tell you what, every time I tried to get a word in with him, his eyes were glued to you like a magnet."

The memory of that day was still vivid in your mind—how he joined you for a walk through Richmond Green before accompanying you home, where you shared an intimate afternoon together filled with tender kisses and ardent passion. You could still feel his touch, his lips on your skin, his playful teasing in your ear... his love.

Nothing more than bittersweet remnants that belonged to the past.

Your bottom lip quivered as grief welled up inside you. "I suppose none of that matters anymore."

"Don't you dare give up. Not yet."

You shrugged helplessly. "What can I do? He refuses to talk to me."

"If I get my hands on him, I swear to God—"

"Don't, please. It won't accomplish anything. And I don't want to be the reason your friendship falls apart."

Hob unleashed an angry growl. "Well, if he thinks I'm gonna sit down and have a drink with him in 100 years like nothing's happened, he can sod right off."

You gave him a faint smile, setting down your mug as another wave of nausea made the room spin through your blurred vision. "I don't have many options left. And I feel like I'm about to be sick."

"Shit, you've gone all pale again, love."

"I'm so sorry, Hob,” you said apologetically, gripping your stomach as you suppressed a surge of queasiness. “You should head home. I promise I'll respond to your texts and calls from now on."

With a determined look, he rose from the couch, strode over to his jacket, and quickly slipped it on. However, instead of saying goodbye and leaving, he dawdled there. With one hand on his hip and the other tapping his chin, he was seemingly formulating a plan of his own.

“Hob?”

"Right then, I'm going to get my things and bring 'em straight back here," he declared with conviction.

You stared blankly. "Eh?"

"I'm not about to bugger off and leave you on your own, not in this state. I'll stick around as long as you need, yeah? That's what friends are for."

"Hob, really, that's not nece—"

"Not budging on this one. End of discussion."

With a defeated sigh, you slumped back into the couch cushions. "What about your job? Your life? Are you seriously going to throw it all out for me?"

"Oh, come on! I'm not moving in permanently or anything. I've survived 700 years of work, think I can manage a short break."

"And your students? Didn't you mention having a new lesson ready for them? You spent so many sleepless nights preparing it. They need you, Hob."

"Right now you need me more than they do, and what I don't teach them tomorrow can wait for another day.”

“Hob, seriousl—”

“Just hang tight. I'll be back before you can say 'Wandering Jew’.”

With your protests dying on your lips, Hob dashed out the door with hurried footsteps, his sneakers echoing on the concrete outside, followed by the roar of his car engine springing to life.

Exhausted beyond measure, you sat motionless as the sound of his vehicle faded into the distance. His self-deprecating historical reference elicited an unexpected reaction, sparking a small grin that quickly erupted into surprising laughter. It was uncontrolled and erratic, exploding in loud, hysterical mirth.

Unfortunately, that fleeting enjoyment rapidly turned into another torrent of tears as your emotions swung wildly, forcing you to leap up and dash to the bathroom with your hand clasped against your mouth.

True to his word, Hob returned an hour later, carrying a backpack containing essential items including clothing and personal care products. Although having a houseguest was quite an adjustment, he assured you he would maintain appropriate boundaries and respect your need for personal and professional space.

During dinner, he provided welcome companionship and ensured proper nutrition by preparing a balanced, stomach-friendly meal for you. As your symptoms had temporarily abated, you were able to spend a peaceful evening watching classic films together, offering lighthearted commentary throughout the viewings. It proved therapeutic, helping you take your mind off things, at least temporarily.

For his overnight accommodation, Hob settled onto the living room couch, which was furnished with comfortable bedding including a plush pillow and warm blanket. The sofa's generous dimensions allowed him to rest comfortably, and as you passed by the living room on your way to bed, his peaceful slumber was evident from the gentle sound of his breathing.

Like a sudden tide, all your negative thoughts and feelings came rushing back in the stillness of the night, causing your heart to ache with a ravenous need for Morpheus's voice and the endless depths of his eyes. You turned to your side, holding back sobs once again as a bone-crushing burnout pulled your eyelids shut.

For a moment, you drifted into a void, your mind weaving together phantom voices and shapeless forms. You surrendered to the sensation, floating into an entirely different world as you crossed through a portal of light that solidified into physical form. You traversed a crystalline bridge, enveloped by clouds soft as cotton and stars that twinkled with life.

Thus commenced your descent into the realm of dreams, as tendrils of golden energy drew you into its embrace.

Towering rows of books and winding spiral staircases stretched before you, with precious artifacts meticulously displayed throughout the library's corners. You moved through the lengthy corridors with purpose, finding no volumes that captured your attention enough to warrant closer examination. You wandered without direction, guided only by the echoing sounds of turning pages and books being returned to their shelves.

Navigating through the passageways, you methodically traced your fingers across the book spines while proceeding deeper into the library. After what seemed an interminable journey, you detected a presence mere steps ahead.

Lucienne was organizing volumes in their designated locations with her characteristic precision and attention to detail, without her customary purple jacket, wearing only a long-sleeved white shirt and suspenders.

Upon seeing her, you were hit by that persistent sense of despondency you found impossible to overcome. Hastening your pace, you moved toward her with urgency, feeling the scent of old books in the air that stirred your tresses.

When she noticed your approach, her face brightened with a radiant smile. "Ah, I was wondering when you might visit. It's quite pleasant to see you here. May I be of any assistance—"

Without waiting for her to finish speaking, you rushed forward and wrapped your arms around her upper frame, causing the librarian to lose balance. The book she was holding fell from her grasp as she steadied herself, returning your gesture with measured restraint.

"My word" she remarked with surprise.

You swallowed, pressing your nose against her shoulder. "I missed you, Lucienne. I missed all of this."

Noting the tremor in your voice, she separated from you with concern. “Are you all right?”

"I wouldn't say that, no," you responded with a wan smile.

Lucienne regarded you with understanding, gently guiding you forward. "Come, let us have a seat."

Leading you with a soft touch on your back, she escorted you to her workspace, where numerous documents and open tomes were arranged across the desk. She gestured for you to take her armchair, its plush cushioning providing immediate alleviation, cradling you like silk.

"Shall I fetch you some tea?” She asked. “It would be my pleasure to serve you a cup."

"Thanks, Lucienne, but I don't feel like having anything right now. How are things holding up here?"

"I am managing to keep things orderly, though it has been rather demanding as of late."

"I expected as much," you said quietly, listening to the rain pattering against the library windows. "And... is there anything else?"

"I am uncertain what additional information you might be seeking. Perhaps you could elaborate?"

You moistened your lips, smoothing the fabric of your gown. "I mean... is he doing okay?"

"Oh... you are referring to Lord Morpheus, I presume?"

“Yes.”

"I am afraid His Lordship has been rather preoccupied these past few days," she replied with careful diplomacy. "Though I had rather hoped you might possess some insight that has eluded me?"

“Insight?”

"He appears to be in quite an... unusual mood, if I may be permitted to make such an observation."

Your gaze darted anxiously between her eyes. "Wait—you don't know?"

"Ah. I see there is something of significance that has not been brought to my attention."

You took a deep breath before speaking, as the words felt impossibly heavy to formulate. "Lucienne, we're not together anymore."

Even saying it aloud was despicable. The very thought was unfathomable, a reality your mind simply refused to accept as a solid fact.

Her composed, tight smile melted into an expression of disbelief. "I’m sorry, what?"

"We broke up last week. I thought you were informed."

"I’m rather confused," she expressed, carefully removing her spectacles. "Not to intrude upon personal matters, but… may I ask what circumstances brought about this decision?"

"If I'm being honest, I don't really know myself. He was the one who ended things.”

“Why would he do that?”

“All he mentioned was something called the 'Book of Paradoxes.'"

“The Book of Paradoxes…?”

You nodded. "Do you know anything about it?"

“I am quite familiar with the text in question, yes. I’ve never had the opportunity to examine it with my own eyes, but it is a most peculiar tome of considerable antiquity,” she began. “Its nature is unclear, perpetually changing its location throughout various planes of existence. The contents are said to reveal most unfortunate destinies to those who chance upon its pages, though its prophecies are invariably encoded in the most abstruse and enigmatic ways. They are written in riddles."

“I see.”

"So… has Lord Morpheus truly come to possess this particular volume?"

Your eyes moved to one of her documents, though you weren't truly reading it. "I suppose so. He said it revealed things about me... about the consequences that would unfold if our relationship continued. I thought he found it here, in the library."

"If such a book did manifest within these walls, I have no record nor recollection of its presence."

"And he never mentioned it to you?"

"Not at all. He has withdrawn entirely from his usual duties, and the Dreaming appears to be reflecting his troubled state. Your revelation does provide some clarity regarding these circumstances, at least."

Morpheus had become entirely reclusive, declining any form of interaction with those around him. The consequences of his sacrifice appeared increasingly severe, negatively impacting not only your wellbeing, but also his own stability and the integrity of the Dreaming itself.

"I had harbored suspicions regarding your involvement, but I was entirely unaware of these developments."

"Lucienne, I know you're busy, but... could you help me out with this?"

Her smile returned. "Rest assured, I shall investigate this matter thoroughly."

Her readiness to look into the book’s nature and prophetic warnings rekindled a glimmer of hope, offering potential understanding into its mysteries and the possibility of persuading Morpheus to reconsider his decision.

"Thank you, Lucienne. It means more than you know."

With a light fluttering of wings, Matthew landed on the table, oblivious to the preceding conversation. His legs nearly slipped on the pile of papers, but he regained his footing with casual grace. "Yo, Y/N! What's crackin'?"

"Matthew! I'm so happy to see you, buddy!"

He hopped closer, allowing you to gently stroke his feathered head with your fingernails. "Hey, looks like I gotta say congrats and all that jazz!"

You blinked in bewilderment. "Congratulations for what?"

Your unexpected query seemed to startle him, and his dark, glassy eyes widened as he quickly glanced at Lucienne. “"Uhhh... whoops?"

"Matthew," Lucienne's calm yet authoritative reproach cut through the air like the sharp edges of the papers on her desk.

"Look, I’m sorry. I thought she knew!"

“Knew what, exactly?”

"Oh, uh… nevermind! Forget I said anything. Just a bird bein' a birdbrain over here!"

When you turned to Lucienne, you took notice of her discomfort as she attempted—unsuccessfully—to redirect the conversation while avoiding eye contact. "Perhaps you would be interested in perusing some works of fantasy? We have recently acquired several rather intriguing tales."

"Lucienne?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. "What aren't you telling me?"

Exhaling in resignation and whispering "Thanks, Matthew" under her breath, she folded her hands together in front of her. "As you know, my duties include maintaining records concerning both the inhabitants of the Dreaming and any perceptible alterations within the realm."

"So?" you pressed, inching closer with anticipation.

She deliberated, selecting her response with care. "While you do not technically qualify as an inhabitant of the Dreaming in the traditional sense, your consistent presence here has resulted in a rather fascinating phenomenon; the gradual integration of your energetic signature into the fabric of the Dreaming itself."

Still not satisfied, you persisted, “Okay. And?”

"I… this is not the most appropriate way in which you should be discovering such delicate information."

"Please, Luce!" you cried out. "At this point, I could expect anything."

Positioning herself at the edge of the table adjacent to your seat, she gazed at you with uncertainty, weighing the gravity of what she was about to disclose. "Are you really sure you wish to receive this from me, rather than through more... appropriate channels?"

You gave a small laugh. "I have no idea what this is about, much less what these 'appropriate channels' might be."

"I mean, since we're spillin' the beans anyway, might as well tell her, right?"

Lucienne drew a deep breath, her expression contemplative. "I suppose there is little alternative." She faltered, composing herself with restraint before meeting your eyes. "The records have indicated the presence of a new heartbeat within the register. It appears there is... a new life, one that belongs to you."

The implications of her revelation eluded your comprehension as you processed her words, your dreaming haziness only serving to compound your mental fog. "A new heartbeat? A new life? What exactly does this have to do with… me…?"

Then, the realization hit you like a bolt of electricity, paralyzing your thoughts and stealing your voice away.

"Y/N, you... you are..."

"I am what...?"

"Oh... I see. He hasn't figured it out yet. And apparently, neither have you."

"Have you perhaps noticed any peculiar changes or symptoms?" She asked.

"I... I did, actually," you murmured, your voice barely audible. "But, Lucienne, that's impossible. This must be some mistake."

"I can assure you that my records are quite reliable."

An incredulous chuckle escaped you. "Okay, but... that's absurd. There's no way I could be pregnant.”

"Are you totally sure about that?" Matthew tilted his head. "Like... you know... one hundred percent absolutely positively sure?"

"I'm always careful," you declared firmly. "I've been on protection for years. I've never..."

You had followed a consistent regimen of contraceptive medication without interruption. The routine had become second nature, with the added benefit of regulating hormonal balance and menstrual malaise. It had been absolutely essential, with one of the highest effectiveness rates among comparable products.

You had never missed a dose or taken a break from it, not even a single time as prescribed.

..Except…

After reflection, there had been a significant lapse.

"I… I wasn't asleep. When Morpheus invited me here, I was awake—physically present. And I didn't have my medication with me. I couldn't take it."

"Well, damn..." Matthew stammered. "So this whole thing was an accident, huh? Talk about a plot twist!"

How could you have been so careless, never questioning the consequences of your actions? The temporal displacement had completely disrupted your biological rhythms, and between the Vortex incidents, the events at Cape Kennedy, and your work responsibilities, the thought hadn't even crossed your mind.

Everything suddenly clicked into place: the recurring dreams of a newborn, the persistent physical symptoms plaguing you, and even Astra's mysterious words all pointed to one undeniable conclusion.

"Astra, please! I don't understand any of this."

"You will, sooner than you think. Deep inside, I think you already know."

"I haven’t informed him yet" Lucienne stated. "But I’m afraid I won’t be able to maintain discretion about this indefinitely. It is only a matter of time before Lord Morpheus discovers the truth on his own."

“I… I understand…”

Shock paralyzed you in the armchair as your breathing grew labored. The space around you began to blur and alter, becoming increasingly surreal and hazy.

"...Y/N..."

A faraway voice called your name from somewhere beyond.

"Y/N... Wa...ke.....u..p...!"

"Uhm… looks like she’s about to go."

"Yes, I can see that."

As you began to fade, suspended between the two dimensions, you addressed Lucienne with a final, desperate request before consciousness pulled you back to the realm of the waking. "Please, find that book, Luce!" you shouted. "Don't leave him alone!"

With a graceful inclination of her head and a reassuring smile that conveyed both understanding and commitment, Lucienne silently affirmed her intentions as you vanished in a brilliant flash of light, leaving behind a sparkling trail of stardust.

"Aaand she's outta here,” Matthew squawked.

"Shit, Y/N! wake up already!"

Awareness gradually returned, your eyes stinging as you awakened to find Hob's face hovering above you. His features were illuminated by the luminescence permeating the room, highlighted by a soft gilt contour.

Strange, you thought. You clearly remembered turning off the nightstand lamp.

“Hob…? What are you doing here?”

As you fully readjusted, darkness reclaimed the room, with only ambient light from the outside world filtering through the curtains. 

"Fuck, sweetheart. What in God's name was that?! You frightened me to death! I thought you were about to burst into flames!"

Rubbing your eyes, you sat up through momentary grogginess. "What are you talking about? Did you have a nightmare?"

“Are you joking? You mean to tell me you haven’t noticed?”

Stifling a yawn, you looked at him through drowsy eyes. "Noticed what?"

His expression betrayed a deep apprehension, staring at you intently, his breathing noticeably rapid and uneven. "Y/N... you were lit up like a bloody Christmas tree!"

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 24 ->

[therivercrow]

Nice Little Things

I was tagged by both @pixiedurango and @antivan-sprig in this cute tag game from @akuma-misery.

I've loved seeing what other people chose for their Rooks - objects can tell you so much about a character.

Rules: Choose 10 objects that you will place in the room of your Rooks on the places intended for customization. These should be small objects that can be placed in the following places: 2 on the tables by the doors, 2 on the tables by the aquarium, 4 on the bookcases and 2 on the walls. Attach a photo of these objects and give a short description of why your Rooks chose them.

Answers for Alana de Riva under the cut:

Tables (2 items)

Elven Bass (in game item)

Much like Antivan Sprig's Lisel, Alana is a bass player. Viago wanted them to learn an instrument as part of their Crow training, in case they needed to go undercover as a musician for an assassination contract. After trying and getting frustrated with the more obvious choices of piano and violin, Teia gave Alana this elven bass that she got from a Dalish contact. Alana picked it up quickly and learned some traditional Antivan and elven tunes. They play it when they need to think, but have never performed with it in front of others.

Vanity Kit

Alana never goes anywhere without their makeup. They favour dramatic purple eyeshadow, smoky eyeliner, and dark black lips. It may not be subtle, it may not be traditionally beautiful, but it makes Alana feel like a badass Crow. For certain battles or contracts, they paint their face with streaks of black and purple, obscuring their features or shading their eyes even further. The kit also contains various perfumes from the Treviso market, another part of Alana's regular preparations to face the day.

Bookcases (4 items)

Novels and Serials

Borrowed from Bellara, mostly, though Alana has taken to buying their own whenever they pass through Minrathous. Reading "trashy" books helps them unwind after a long day. Alana enjoys sapphic romances and whodunnit mysteries. They can't stand books about assassins, though - they always get the details wrong.

Azure Crow Mask (in game item)

Given to Alana on the night they became a fully fledged Crow. This was a deeply significant moment in their life and they keep the mask on display as a reminder of who they are, even when the world seems spiralling out of their control.

Decanter of Antivan Brandy

With two glasses for sharing with a certain detective who may have reason to spend the evening in Alana's room. This is a rare vintage, which Alana stole from Viago's personal collection (after checking for poison of course). It is mellow and sweet, with hints of exotic fruit. A drink for sipping while telling stories long into the night.

Medical and Poison Kit

As a mage, Alana doesn't tend to use poisons as a weapon, but every de Riva fledgling received extensive poison training, to build up immunity and to know how to make antidotes out of common ingredients, as well as basic field medic training to tend to injuries on the job. Alana keeps a medical kit in a small case, in easy reach just in case they ever need it.

Walls (2 items)

Weapons Rack

Alana is meticulously organised. Keeping your weapons clean, polished, sharp and ready was drilled into them in their training. One wall features a number of mageknives, from the first basic blade they were given as a Crow through to ornate enchanted knives with jewels and crystals embedded in their hilts, and carved filigree running down their curving blades. You can tell the ones Alana uses in combat the most from their more worn handles and scuffed metal. Others are purely decorative, or taken as trophies from contracts.

Painting of the Drowned District

A reminder of where they came from - not the gilded spires of Treviso's wealthy core, painted in so many classical landscapes, but the humble poverty of the city's Drowned District, where dockhands and fishermen eke out a living on the edges of the city and the sea.

I chose Van Gogh's lesser-known "starry night" painting, Starry Night over the Rhone (1888) to represent this image. Alana is more drawn to impressionism and the emotional play of light and brushstrokes than the technical accuracy of the classical Antivan Masters.

Aquarium Tables (2 items)

Chess Board

Alana enjoys chess and played it with Viago a lot as a fledgling. He used it as a way of teaching Alana how to read their opponents, getting to know their strategies, their tells, their approach to battle. In the lighthouse, they play mostly with Emmrich who is something of a master, at least when Manfred isn't knocking the pieces off the board.

Vase of Lilacs

Alana keeps this in a position where they can see it when they are sitting on the sofa or meditating. The magic of the Fade keeps the flowers fresh for far longer than they would normally last.

Tagging: @robinsea for either Ivy or Sihu!

[outofangband]

Expanded Noldor (of Valinor) World Building Introduction

I got an anon awhile agoMo asking for more world building on the Teleri, Noldor and Vanyar of Valinor and Tolkien world building is one of my very favorite things so I happily oblige

World building Masterlist

More in the Noldor and Valinor tags

Please feel free to ask more!! General posts are hard because I didn’t have specific categories to cover so feel free to send categories!

More on Noldorin clothes though I'm hoping to expand on it soon!

Tirion upon the green, fertile hill of Túna is the primary home of the Noldor in Valinor. It is located in the Calacirya (“cleft of light”, Quenya) a pass in the Pelóri mountains . It was originally ruled by Ingwë of the Vanyar before his people moved to Taniquetil. The tower of Ingwë with his silver lantern remained one of the most prominent points in the city along with the tree Galathilion which came from Teleperion

The architecture of the Noldor in Valinor is ornate and elaborate. White stone polished to a perfect sheen makes up most of the city of Tirion. Stone steps lead up to many prominent buildings. Steps leading up to smaller buildings are often decorated with bits of marbled glass or even leaves that were cast into the stone. 

Stained glass decorate many of the larger windows of the central buildings of Tirion, showing both stories of the culture as well as natural imagery or even abstract patterns. Small gardens dot the city, both private and public. These often contain water or stone elements as well. 

Despite the grandeur of much of the architecture, the insides of houses and other buildings alike are designed often with a note of whimsy, even mischief. The Noldor are fond of hidden rooms, nooks and passages that might not even appear plainly on the drafts or plans.

Tirion has several impressive libraries and archives where finding various hidden locations throughout is something of a right of passage. 

Formal or scheduled meals are less apart of Noldorin culture than Teleri or Vanyar and it is not uncommon for members of a family (unless their children are very young) to eat at entirely different times. Breads, cheeses, and fruit are commonly eaten for quick nutrients. 

Cheese is produced largely outside of the city near the Pastures and there are small groups of Noldorin experimenters who enjoy culinary exploration. Fruits come from both gardens within the city as well as orchards outside the city, some again near the Pastures, some from the groves mentioned outside Alqualondë. Pears and plums are the most commonly eaten fruits for casual meals

As the hill of Túna was known to be fertile however there are a number of gardens upon it and the surrounding areas. Leafy vegetables and herbs are usually grown in the city itself while root vegetables in the surrounding fields. The Noldor grow and eat root vegetables while the Teleri and Vanyar generally don’t. They also use stocks and broths more even in Valinor

Meat and fish are more commonly eaten for more elaborate meals though this does depend somewhat on household and family. Meat is not usually distributed in the market square except in preserved forms or stocks. It’s typically caught fresh the day of or before the feast

Cooking is a skill and an art form and perfecting and improving skill and art is vital to Amanyar Noldorin culture. Many enjoy presenting meals in ways that are visually striking as well as tasty. Color is often especially important. Flourishes and geometry make their way into presentation.

As I mentioned on the fashion post, experimentation and innovation are central to nearly all aspects of Noldorin life. Pursuit of knowledge, invention and creativity are all highly valued. Word play and riddles are common in poetry and story.

Unlike the communal homes of the Teleri where many families may live and shelter together, Noldorin homes are typically smaller and lived in by one family however there are many houses that are shared by members of a guild, craft, or trade rather than bloodlines. This is true for both younger students in an apprenticeship as well as adults. Though this is common it is not something that is necessarily pressured as those who take part in this sort of communal living do so because of their passion and the sense of camaraderie they get from sharing a space with peers involved in similar work and projects. These sorts of relationships are very important to the Noldor as they are at the source of many significant inventions and discoveries. 

More on this here

As I’ve mentioned before, the Noldor enjoy the concepts of rules, systems and traditions much more than they like remaining in them. This means that both games and philosophy are areas of high interest and enjoyment. Tower defense games both played in person and with pieces are a popular pastime

Gardens are an area I want to make a separate post on but Noldorin gardens are often elaborate, incorporating geometric designs; many have elaborate statue and rock gardens and water formations are common

Once again, Tolkien world building is one of my very favorite things so please feel free to ask more! 

[iamnotyourgodsherald]

Dragon Age boys prompt request: Lucanis and Viago doing something normal together. Like grocery shopping or on a long carriage ride or buying a piece of art. Platonic or romantic! With others or just themselves! Whatever fits the vibes. Just can’t get enough of their dynamic! 🐦‍⬛🥰

Thank you for suggesting those two! 😭 I love Viago and Lucanis shipping and think it's so cute and shy.

"Shopping Trip"

Pairing: Lucanis x Viago

Rating: SFW

THEMES: soft, shyness, slice of life, getting comfortable, semi new relationship.

"How many vials do you need? I think the stall we passed earlier had the small ones on sale." Lucanis spoke up.

"I need ten smaller ones and five medium ones." Viago said, holding Lucanis's hand with his pinky finger. "Thank you for reminding me. I was distracted with new recipes."

Lucanis and Viago were out shopping for supplies on their next contract, and Viago needed to stock up.

Both were being shy in their own way and were out now trying to combat it. Their relationship only started 4 months ago, and Lucanis was nervous to be in his first relationship. He felt he had to be outwardly affectionate with his partner, but once he explained these feelings to Viago, he ended up being very receptive to Lucanis's nervousness and kept their affections private between them. He agreed to take it slow between them until Lucanis felt more comfortable around him as a partner.

A week ago, Viago brought up a contract he was going to go on soon, and it surprised him when Lucanis said he wanted to tag along on it. Viago, while surprised, agreed to let him come along, secretly excited about this change in Lucanis.

Lucanis led them back to the stall with the glass containers, Viago wearing a subtle smile as he was dragged by his pinky, just enjoying Lucanis's presence. As they stood at the stall, Viago looked at Lucanis, admiring Lucanis's body sneakily as he looked at the jars. His eyes glided down Lucanis's back, watching how the outfit hugged Lucanis's curves in all the right ways.

"You look very nice today."

"Thank you, Viago. You do as well. I am wearing the outfit you got repaired for me, and they seemed to make adjustments on it." Lucanis said softly.

"See, I knew my tailor would be a good fit for you." Viago said proudly as he inspected some glass vials in the light. "They are amazing with a sewing needle."

"How do they manage to get clothes fixed so fast?"

"I honestly have no idea. I swear they're secretly a mage, but I've never looked into it. As long as they keep providing me with perfection, I'll keep my nose out of their business."

Lucanis chuckled at that, which made Viagos' heart swell.

Viago quickly recovered and ordered his glass to be sent to his Villa. As he dug out his gold, he noticed a glass figurine up on the vendor's shelf behind him and pointed to it.

"The glass wyvern as well. We'll take that."

"What? Viago, you didn't-"

"It's a gift." Viago interrupted.

"It's... It is very nice. Thank you." Lucanis said bashfully.

The vendor smiled and handed Viago the figurine, who then gave it to Lucanis. Viago handed the bag of gold to the vendor, and turned to see a large smile on Lucanis's face as he looked at the figurine. That smile seemed to radiate with the same warm glow as the lanterns around them and made Viago's heart stir once again.

"You... You are very handsome when you smile."

"Oh... Uh... Thank you, Viago." Lucanis awkwardly.

"Do you like the figurine?"

"This is a very sweet gift, Viago. You're very kind." Lucanis chirped.

Viago smiled back and hooked his pinky with Lucanis's as they walked back into the stream of the market.

"Only to you, Lucanis."

After getting some extra waterskin from a hunters stall, Lucanis tugged on Viagos' pinky.

"I have... a question."

"Go ahead." Viago said.

"Are you nervous?"

"For the contract?"

"Yes."

"At first, no. Now that you're coming, I am. We are going to do a contract together. We're gonna be alone together. Probably sharing an inn room together. Completing a job together. That will let all the Antivan Crows know we're together now. They will be whispering a lot." Viago explained.

"They already do that. Does it bother you that I am going with you?" Lucanis asked.

"To be honest, no."

"Really?"

"I am actually quite excited." Viago proudly said.

"So why are you so nervous about the Crows knowing we're together?" Lucanis asked, perplexed.

"Because I am paranoid and dont trust a lot of people. I have grown to be protective of you and can't trust some members of our order to not get ideas. We both are of powerful houses. Easy targets."

"You want to protect me? I am able to protect myself, you know. The Battle against the Gods should have told you that."

"I really like you, Lucanis. I wouldn't be with you if I thought you were just going to be some kind of "damsel in distress." I just dont like the thought of others hurting you for a boost in power. Even though I know it wouldn't happen. You'd kill them before they even drew their daggers. Knowing that doesn't stop the fear of losing you to a lucky shot."

Lucanis looked surprised and smiled shyly, looking at the ground away from them, squeezing his pinky around Viagos.

They reached an alchemist vendor, and Viago looked through the ingredients carefully, inspecting all of them for any blemish that could weaken the strength of his poison. Any imperfection that would make his poisons less lethal. It wasn't until he went to ask Lucanis's opinion on one that he noticed that Lucanis had disappeared.

"Lucanis?"

He spun around and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Lucanis standing behind him, wearing a subtly impish grin.

"MAKER." Viago jumped.

"It seems you need to be the one getting protected." Lucanis said mischeviously.

Viago twitched his mustache and started going into a lecture.

"You think you're so-"

A pastry was then shoved into Viagos' open mouth, causing him to jolt in surprise.

He looked at the sweet pastry and then at Lucanis with shocked eyes. Lucanis smiled proudly, and his infectious smile made Viagos heart melt a bit. He slowly bit down on the pastry in his mouth and pulled off a bite with his teeth, his face flushing.

Lucanis laughed at Viago as he chewed, and Viago felt his heart thump loudly in his chest hearing him laugh. The world starting to look like a watercolor painting around Lucanis's frame, colors dancing with his laughter. It made Viago warm with joy as a smile slowly creeped onto his lips.

"I think I am very funny." Lucanis said smugly.

Viago blushed a bit and looked away, munching the puffy pastry in silence, feeling his heart racing in his chest at his radiant smile.

"Whatever you say, dear." Viago pouted.

The air seemed to grow more comfortable, more lighter somehow. Both men kept smiling at each other and enjoying each others company a little more openly, slowly forgetting the contract as they ended the night sipping coffee, holding hands on the table.

[jades-typurriter]

Hello, all!

I wanted to share this here because when I'm not writing indulgent furry stuff, I'm making tabletop systems with a couple good friends :)

Agents of Fate is a system we designed to emulate the snappy, back-and-forth action of a choreographed fight scene, as well as the out-of-order, suspense-filled storytelling of movies like Bullet Train and Glass Onion. Another inspiration we wear on our sleeve is The World Ends With You: we thought the urban fantasy aesthetic was perfect for the kinds of stories we wanted players to be able to tell!

We geared it toward one-shot sessions and self-contained storytelling, so if you want to make a new, hyper-niche, gimmicky character for every mission, if you want to introduce new players to something rules-light, or even if you want to treat the system more like a party game, we hope it'll be a good match for you.

It only ever asks you to roll 2d4, so turns go by quick and there are plenty of opportunities to interfere with the other players at the table without it turning into a slow mess of simultaneous interactions. Plus, you can get narrative bonus points for MacGyvering environmental or circumstantial details into your actions!

Please check out the Kickstarter page!

We do a much better job explaining the system's highlights in the properly-scripted video than I did here with my little attempt at marketing, lmao

We hope you enjoy it!

[nanamineedstherapy]

Kaapi Aur Kaand: South Delhi Gangs Edition

Previous Chapter - [Tumblr/Ao3] A/N: This fic is based on true events (i.e. every group project I ever did with men) warning: contains caffeine-fuelled vengeance, parasocial loyalty to filter coffee, Gojo being a chaabi-less himbo, & Nanami praying for god to kill all startups. Inspired by the question: What if capitalism but everyone was hot & needed therapy? If you’ve ever wanted to sue a founder on Shark Tank, this one’s for you 🫡 Anyway enjoy the unhinged startup gore. (p.s. Sukuna is right. Helvetica is the font of war.) No hate to anyone, its all just comedy.

A corporate shootout, but the guns are NDAs and Gojo's chaabi-less Audi.

It started the way most Delhi beef does—on LinkedIn.

A beige-font post with the humility of a CAA student and the subtlety of a banana republic ad:

“Emerging startups need to step back and let legacy brands lead.”

— Eepy Crow’s CEO, apparently inspired by Ambani but mentored by Manav Kaul

He wasn’t even tagged.

Just... posted it.

No context.

But you choked on your espresso.

Because you were the “emerging startup.”

The one roasting beans and egos since 2021.

The one with warehouses in Noida, interns from IIT, and the emotional stamina of a C-section mother running a tech team.

Nanami read the post, looked up from his quarterly report, and muttered, “I’m going to kill him.”

Gojo shared it in the team group chat with, “Should we post a reaction reel or just slash his tyres?”

Suguru shared it to your internal Slack with the caption: “Hahaha, are we allowing war crimes yet?” Then sipping oat milk like a villain in slow motion, added it to his “petty crimes I’m manifesting” list.

Sukuna was already in the parking lot, warming up. “Send me the location.”

Toji was in a towel on the terrace bench-pressing the printer, already on Instagram DMing the CEO’s girlfriend. He saw the post and said, “Say less. Give me 48 hours and a cricket bat.”

You kicked open the glass door of the CP investor roundtable an hour later.

Hair uncombed. Kajal smeared like war paint. Black kurta, silver jhumkas, chappals snapping like gunshots on marble.

Toji followed behind, chewing gum and looking like he’s already committed three minor felonies.

The CEO looked like a law intern turned health startup bro who discovered caffeine after losing his crypto wallet.

Three co-founders. One vision. Zero originality.

Packaging like an Art Deco Spotify ad. Branding like they swallowed the entire Pinterest board of Bon Appétit India.

And now he wanted to talk legacy?

You walked up to him, sipped your espresso, and said: “Who taught you marketing? A 3rd year SRCC frat boy on his second heartbreak? Or was it Akshay Kumar during a pressure cooker ad?”

He blinked. “Can we not—”

You didn't. “Bhaiya, aapne LinkedIn pe post kiya na? Ab face pe sun lo.”

The Eepy Crow boys ran with legacy funding, Gen Z packaging, and Gurgaon dads.

You? You had rage, caffeine, juniors who knew Photoshop, and absolutely no respect for men with sandalwood-beard-oil startups.

Startup War: Day Zero

Their flagship café opened in Defence Colony at 9:00 AM sharp.

By 9:01, your rage was boiling like an underpaid tandoor.

Right across the street from your best-performing kiosk. A kiosk built on insomnia, broken relationships, and two years of unpaid emotional labour. A kiosk where even the pigeons knew better than to shit on your logo.

Then their banner had the audacity to read:

"REAL Coffee. REAL Flavour. Not Filtered By Attitude."

Gojo staired. “Is that... is that about us?”

You didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just sipped your cutting black brew.  “They want smoke. Let’s give them  a gas chamber.”

You gathered the team.

War Room Meeting: 10:00 AM

You walked in like a mafia consigliere in a Fabindia funeral edit. All black kurta. Khol. Gold jhumkas swinging like guillotine blades.

Nanami already had a whiteboard up, graphs stabbing across it like war wounds. Toji brought a cricket bat and a chai thermos filled with vodka. Suguru was hand-roasting beans in a corner like some evil witch auntie. Gojo looked like he hadn't slept since Tinder updated. Sukuna wore a red shirt, silver chains, and that glint in his eye—the one he only got before crime.

You: CEO. Full Wasseypur revenge arc. Hair unbrushed. Eyes sharp. No time for emotional closure.

Gojo: Partnerships lead. Wearing eyeshadow brighter than his career prospects.

Nanami: CFO. Already threatening to call SEBI.

Suguru: Head of R&D. Barista Cult Leader. Quietly planning biological warfare via almond milk.

Sukuna: Brand Head. Has 3 meme drafts ready. All of them slander.

Toji: Logistics. Smirking like he just ran a red light with no number plate.

Ino: On Leave.

Nanami starts the meeting, “They’ve poached two of our vendors. Offered them double. Their cost of production is now 38% higher than ours. They’re losing margin just to spite us.”

Sukuna sipped his Red Bull. “Let me design the revenge poster. I want blood splatter and Helvetica.”

Suguru raised a brow. “Can I poison their almond milk supply chain?”

Toji cracked his knuckles. “I’ve already hacked their founder’s wife’s Pinterest. She now follows a board titled ‘Meat Porn & Failed Marriages.’”

You nodded. “Focus. We have 72 hours. Operation: Caffeine Coup. Begin.”

Gojo raised a hand, hopeful. “Should we... try talking?”

The room turned. “Shut up, Gojo.”

Eepy Crow’s flagship launched with free cappuccinos and poorly timed jazz.

Across the street, your kiosk played Daler Mehndi and gave out free espresso shots with stickers that said:

“Legacy tastes like your dad’s failed dairy business.”

The war had begun.

Their press release hit Mint. Yours hit people’s souls.

Gojo stood behind you, watching you yell into your phone at the B2B manager while eating golgappas.

He didn’t say anything.

Just watched.

Like he used to. Back in college.

When he thought, maybe the world made sense if you were in it.

Suguru fed you a sweet golgappa by hand while you continued seething, “If you ever want to co-found something less stressful—like a poetry café—I’d build it around your rage.”

You chewed it with judgement. “If you ever quote Ghalib at me again, I’ll co-found your funeral.”

Gojo didn’t flirt.

He just... walked beside you.

Followed your orders.

Made your decks prettier.

Answered your 3AM Slacks without asking why you were awake.

The other men wanted you.

He just missed you. His friend he could always talk to.

Day 1: Khan Market Bloodbath

Flash mob. Free cold brew shots. Loudspeakers blasting “Tunak Tunak Tun.”

Yuji and Junpei handed out coupons with QR codes linking to a blog titled:

“How Eepy Crow is Gentrifying Filter Coffee.”

Sukuna tweeted:

“BREAKING: Eepy Crow found guilty of war crimes against South Indian breakfast culture. Source: Rage and receipts.”

Day 2: Twitter Bloodbath

Sukuna’s thread went live:

A THREAD 🧵: Why Eepy Crow is South Delhi’s Theranos. (1/47)

Point #3 included a Google Sheet of their copy-pasted mission statements. Point #19 included a meme of their CEO edited into a sachet of Bru Gold.

Day 3: Biological Warfare

Suguru quietly delivered a “new cinnamon infusion” pack to their Defence Colony outlet.

It had fermented extract from leftover paani puri water and cinnamon grown in some unknown man's Gurgaon balcony.

Their cold brew turned into what could only be described as paani from Lajpat sewage.

You received a cease and desist letter.

Nanami wrote a reply:

“Freedom of Beverage Expression is protected under Article 19(1)(a). Choke on it.”

Day 4: Reels and Revenge

Kokichi directed. Nobara styled. Megumi composed background score.

The revenge reel?

Sunset behind your kiosk. Your juniors laughing. Slow-mo espresso pours. Captioned:

“We didn’t inherit this. We bled for it.”

Zomato reposted. Chuiggy made a sticker pack.

Eepy Crow’s engagement dropped 18%.

Day 5: Merch and Menace

Nobara’s tote bags said:

“F*ck Legacy. Filter Coffee Forever.”

Sold out in six hours. Delhi girls wore it like it was political protest merch.

Megumi added an AI feature to your app. Without telling you.

You found out when Toji asked you, “Why does the POS system say ‘you’re doing amazing, sweetie’ after every transaction?”

You almost smiled.

Almost.

Day 6: Breakdown

It was late.

You were in the war room.

Hair in a bun.

Glasses crooked.

No shoes. Chai untouched.

Toji asleep under the desk.

Sukuna’s meme flagged for hate speech.

Nanami threatening to resign via Excel cell comments.

You were pacing.

The new café promo had just tanked.

You turned—and Gojo was there.

Laptop open. Campaign ideas queued.

Sitting quietly.

He pointed to a single line of copy on the slide:

“For the ones who built it without help. Without names. Just hands.”

You read it.

Then looked up. Slowly.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

Just smiled.

Small. Real.

You didn’t say thank you.

Just handed him a new task. “Fix Ino’s ad. It looks like Google made it during a migraine.”

Day 7: Final Strike

You launched: “Pay What You Want” Weekend.

People queued. Students. Lawyers. Delivery boys. Aunties in nighties. Everyone came.

You made profit.

They made complaints.

Eepy Crow’s CEO posted a long LinkedIn cry:

“We must ask: is this disruption or is this... toxicity?”

You posted a video of Toji beating an espresso machine with a chappal. Caption:

“This is what we do to machines that try to replace us.”

The Final Meet: Lodhi Garden.

You walked in: black shades, printouts, full Delhi 6 swag.

He brought: two angel investors, his gym bro, and a dog in a bandana.

“This isn’t how legacy behaves,” he said.

You didn’t sit. Just dropped the file.

“Legacy doesn’t mean jack if your coffee tastes like Noida divorce court.”

Gojo arrived late with parathas.

Sukuna livestreamed.

Toji flirted with their CFO.

Suguru watched a couple cry beside the pond and whispered, “Romance is dead. So is their funding.”

Nanami finally spoke:

“We’re going D2C exclusive. Six-week drop. Delhi only. Title: Sutta Aur Sudden Espresso.”

You left with a nod.

He left with PTSD.

Results:

Eepy Crow café “closed for rebranding.”

Your kiosk hit record footfall.

Your juniors dropped a rap:

“Chai ho ya coffee, startup toh yahi baap hai.”

Gojo tried to hug you. You ducked.

Nanami quit. Came back. Quit again.

Sukuna’s brand thread got published in The Ken and now has 200K Twitter followers. Fights Aranb Goswami daily.

Suguru got a cold DM from someone who just wrote “marry me.”

Toji is banned from four cafés.

And you drink black coffee on your office rooftop and whisper:

“Iss Dilli mein... revenge aur coffee dono kadak chahiye.”

Gojo watched from the office terrace as you laughed—full chest—with the juniors, sipping chaas and playing Uno.

You were barefoot.

Happy.

Not with him.

Just... in the world again.

He didn’t say anything.

Just sat near the glass door, laptop open.

Still trying.

Still your friend.

Just quietly now.

Bonus:

App Reviews:

“5 stars but Toji stole my scooter”

“Coffee slapped harder than my breakup. Would recommend.”

Gojo’s Bad LinkedIn Bio:

“Digital Nomad | Coffee Cultivator | Part-time Muse | Still finding myself (pls don’t contact HR)”

---

A/N: Thank you for reading this caffeine-drenched, unbrushed-hair revenge arc. I wrote this during a real-life budgeting breakdown & yes, I did threaten to bite someone in finance. Pls let me know in the comments: Who would survive a WeWork docuseries? Which jjk man should be handed over to SEBI? If Gojo should be allowed a driver’s license ever again? comments = legally binding NDAs saying you’ll fight legacy cafés with me hate = filtered like eepy crow’s espresso See you in court (or Khan Market) 💅☕

Next Chapter - Beedi, Budgets, & Bitching - [Tumblr/Ao3]

All Works Masterlist