#constantin romance

[t-a-l-i-a18]

Sometimes I’m either really mad, or really excited about something so I shout bandom members full names.

For example:

MICHAEL JAMES WAY

GERARD ARTHUR WAY

PETER LEWIS KINGSTON WENTZ III

AWSTEN CONSTANTINE KNIGHT

and of course, my personal favorite:

GEORGE RYAN ROSS III

(honorable mention is Brendon Boyd Urie)

[kristinamae093]

Trick or ... Treat?

Everything else can be found here.

Book/Universe - TRR

Pairing - Liam x OC (Kyla) (not much is going on here though lol).

Summary - Constantine and Kyla enjoy Halloween... at Liam's expense.

Word Count - 2500

Warnings - language, Constantine shenanigains.

A/N 1 - I am participating in @choicesflashfics with prompt number 3, which will appear in bold. I don't think this qualifies for any of the other various Halloween prompts (not the ones I looked at, anyway.)

A/N 2 - Thanks for giving me a little confidence boost about this @ao719! 🥹🫶

Please excuse any errors.

Most characters belong to Pixelberry.

Liam awoke after a restless night’s sleep, tentatively opening one eye to search the area. Constantine enjoyed messing with Liam any day of the year, but a few held special significance for mischief; April Fool’s Day and Halloween. Much to Liam’s dismay, the date was October 31st. 

He enjoyed the 'holiday'; the royal family spent a few hours where they stood atop the front steps of the palace passing out candy. It was a tradition Liam intended to start alone, but Constantine and Regina both liked the idea and wanted to engage. He didn’t dress up but still enjoyed seeing all the costumes the public wore. 

However, he never knew what the day could hold for him. He could handle most of it, but the part he didn’t enjoy was the jump scares; perhaps it was a bit of PTSD, but it made Liam’s soul vacate his body every single time. Constantine took this with a grain of salt; at least on those two days a year, Liam could expect nothing but chaos. 

With utmost caution, Liam sat up. He patted around the mattress to ensure there wasn’t something hidden in his sheets, but there wasn’t. He got up and made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself, and while he did, a brief flicker of relief shot through him; perhaps this year would be different, given the circumstances had changed. Last year Constantine wasn’t sick, but now he didn’t have nearly as much energy. Liam hoped that just this once — that would work to his advantage. 

Liam groggily made his way into the shower. He turned the water on with a yawn and closed his eyes as the soothing heat cascaded down his chest and legs. He submerged his head and ran his palms through his hair; when he opened his eyes to reach for his shampoo, he realized the water was — red. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Liam shouted as he stumbled backward. His back slammed against the wall as he tried to get away. He scrambled out of the shower, leaving the water running behind him. 

When he made it out, Liam was in such a frenzy that he slipped; in a moment of desperation, he grabbed onto a shelf but ended up taking that tumbling down with him. 

A moment later, a frantic knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Sir? Are you alright?” Bastien hollered. 

Liam quickly reached for a towel to cover himself and answered, “NO! Get in here!” 

Bastien came barreling inside; his eyes widened as he saw Liam lying on the floor, surrounded by a pool of crimson liquid. He immediately rushed over and crouched beside him. “What happened? Was someone in here?”

“The shower!” 

“... Pardon?” 

Liam narrowed his eyes. “The fucking shower, Bastien!”

Bastien cautiously approached the glass door with one hand on his holstered weapon. He glanced inside and noticed the colored water coating the floor, but also noted the discoloration of the tub; Bastien knew immediately this substance was not blood. 

He reached in and turned the knobs off; as he did, a sweet aroma filled his senses — fruit punch. Bastien took a wild guess regarding what happened, and as he detached the shower head and popped it open, he realized he was correct. 

Bastien exited the shower, laughing to himself. Liam paced the area but grew irritated at Bastien’s lack of panic. “What did you find? Should we call an exorcist?”

Bastien chuckled. “No, sir. It’s not blood, I assure you.” He held the opened shower head to show Liam the inside. “It would appear as if someone packed this full of a red powder; if I had to take a guess, I would say it’s Kool-Aid.” 

“Kool-Aid?” Liam mimicked in disbelief. “... You’re joking.” 

Bastien nodded, trying to keep his composure as he scanned Liam’s appearance. “I’m afraid not, sir. And unfortunately — it stains.” He motioned to the mirror behind Liam. 

Liam turned around with furrowed brows, but his mouth fell open as he took in his appearance; his face and chest had a noticeable red tint, and his hair a pink hue. “Oh dear God…” 

“It’s not that bad, sir…” 

“What do you mean not that bad?” Liam mocked. “I look like a sick crab! What the hell am I going to do?! I’m supposed to be in a meeting in less than an hour!”

“Perhaps you could tell them it’s a sunburn?” 

Liam narrowed his eyes and let out a huff of air; judging from how his morning started, it was going to be a long day, indeed. 

Further in the afternoon, Constantine and Kyla were finishing the last touches on their concluding prank. Knowing that everything they did throughout the day was constructed for Liam, Kyla felt a sense of guilt. However, she didn’t have the heart to tell Constantine no; when his eyes lit up, she found it hard to resist his child-like elation. She only hoped Liam would forgive her, and appreciate that she kept things much more minimal than Constantine originally intended.

Constantine encouraged Kyla to dress up; the only requirement was that she couldn’t wear scrubs. She looked online and came across a cute Santa outfit and decided that would be her selection; complete with festive tights and black ankle boots, she was the holliest, jolliest person in Cordonia. 

Constantine opted for something more — unconventional for a former monarch. Since the opportunity presented itself, he wanted to be a cowboy; he wore jeans, a flannel shirt, the wide-brimmed hat, and carried a lasso. He’d never dressed up before, but considering this would be his last Halloween, he wanted to experience the full effect. 

“Perfect! Now, stay there and wait, boy,” Constantine ordered Trent. 

Trent gave Constantine an unsure expression. “Are you sure about this?”

“Is it your job to do as you’re told?” 

“Yes, but–” 

“No more malarky; you’re already in costume, and you will not waste all of Kyla’s hard work. Wait until Liam comes, then—” Constantine paused for dramatic effect. “—you know what to do.”

Trent gave a weak salute, nearly knocking his hat off. Constantine slowly drove his scooter away, Kyla strolling beside him.  “You did a marvelous job today, dear. I have to tell you, this stuff is much easier with you around.”

Kyla dipped into an exaggerated curtsy. “It’s my pleasure to serve.” 

Constantine howled with laughter. “I suppose we should give Liam his treat.” 

Kyla shuddered. “You’re seriously doing this?” 

“What? It’s not poison; he’ll be fine.” Constantine waved her off. “It’s funny, and if I can figure out how to work the camcorder on my cellular device, I intend to videotape everything to show Leo; maybe I’ll upload it on that clock webpage the kids use.” 

Kyla furrowed her brows. “... You mean — Tik-Tok?” 

“Yes! That’s the one! Come along, now; it’s time to begin our last operation of the day.” Given that this would likely be his last Halloween, Constantine wanted to go out with a bang. The dynamic duo concocted the perfect scheme to scare Liam’s socks off. Constantine handled the set-up, Kyla advising the punch-line; together they produced a glorious mix of pandemonium and humor — for Constantine, anyway. 

Constantine and Kyla made their way to Liam’s office with their — treat. Constantine knocked on the door with a smirk; as he did, he handed Kyla the box and whispered, “You should probably be the one to give him these. Tell him you made them yourself and make it believable.” 

Kyla’s eyes widened. “What?! Why me?!“ 

“He will know if it comes from me; you need to do it. Don’t worry! It’s Halloween — we’re exempt from punishment today.” 

“I don’t think that’s how that works–” Kyla was cut off as the door crept open. As it did, neither she nor Constantine could control the shrieks of laughter that escaped them at Liam’s appearance; the evidence of their opening prank shined brightly, contrasted to the natural hue of his skin they were used to. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam grumbled. “Laugh it up. Thanks to you, I’ve had three meetings looking like this today.” He spoke to his father. 

“I don’t know what you mean, son.” Constantine feigned innocence. 

Liam grasped Constantine’s hand, flipping it over to look at his palm and noted the tinges of discoloration. “So… you running around red-handed is just a coincidence?” 

Constantine pulled his hand away. “No, it’s a part of the costume; cow people work hard — these are farming hands.” 

“What about the fake mice in my fridge? Or the trash bag stuffed to look like a body? The clown stickers on my mirrors? Or the air horn under my chair?” Liam walked behind his desk and pushed down, a loud honk thundering through the room. 

“Okay, you caught me. But it’s Halloween, Liam.” Constantine gave Liam sad, pleading eyes. 

“You know the expression is trick or treat, not trick or trick–“ 

“I’m aware, William.” Constantine subtly slid his eyes over to Kyla. “If only someone had a treat for you…” 

Kyla realized that was her cue; she presented the box to Liam with the warmest smile she could force, praying he didn’t see her trembling hands. “Actually, I have something for you…” 

“You do?” Liam sought with an arched brow. 

“Yeah,” Kyla returned as she opened the container. “It’s chocolate — balls… I made them myself and even used white chocolate since you prefer vanilla…” 

Liam alternated his gaze between the offered delicacy and Kyla; he couldn’t decide if he could trust her or not at that moment. Any other day he would, hands down; today was different and as much as it pained him to admit, he knew Constantine couldn’t have pulled the day’s shenanigans off on his own. 

He slowly reached into the box and grasped a treat; he experimentally sniffed it first, noting the heavenly aroma invading his nostrils. As he took in Kyla’s innocent smile, Liam shrugged and popped it into his mouth; when he bit down, what he tasted was not sweet as expected, but disgusting. 

“Ugh,” Liam shuddered with a scrunched face. “Wha tha hec is tha?“ He got out as he tried his hardest not to jostle — whatever it was inside his mouth.  

Kyla gave him an apologetic expression. “It’s, uh…” 

“Chocolate-covered brussel sprouts!” Constantine proudly exclaimed as he held up his phone, centered on Liam. “I know how much you’ve always loved your veggies. Oh, and say hello to Leo, son.” 

Liam gagged; he lunged for the trash can and opened his mouth, the mangled ball rolling out with ease. He smacked his lips together, trying to rid himself of the awful taste, but it wouldn’t vacate. When he stood, he used his hands to scrape at his tongue, but that didn’t help either. In a moment of desperation he bolted to the bar cart, only to find it empty. He groaned, but by doing so elevated the horrible sensation. 

Liam rushed out of the room, intent on reaching a bathroom or somewhere with some water. As his thunderous steps made it around the corner, a presence suddenly jumped out at him. It cackled and grasped his arms, sending Liam into an instant state of panic; he only saw their green flesh, the large nose, and glowing red eyes. 

Liam leaned on his body’s natural reaction; with a high-pitched wail, his fist connected with the attacker’s throat, sending them tumbling backward. As the person hit the ground Liam stood over them glaring down, prepared to strike again; they waved one hand, the other cradling the spot of impact. 

“S-sir… Please–” Trent spat out through wheezes. 

“Trent?!” Liam gasped with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” The sound of Constantine’s laughter interrupted him. “Dad, this is not funny!”

“Oh, calm down. It’s just Trent; the boy could use some roughing up, anyway.” Constantine answered from behind his phone. 

“Put that down!” 

Constantine rolled his eyes but complied. “Fine; I suppose the good part is over, anyway.” 

Liam released a deep, steadying breath to keep his composure. It’s nearly over, he thought to himself. “Trent, go visit the physician and take the rest of the day off… And tomorrow.” He softly spoke as he helped him stand. Trent nodded, still cradling his jugular, but made his leave. 

An extended period of silence passed, but Constantine finally broke it. “Trick or treat?” Liam growled and opened his mouth to retort, but Constantine quickly added, “Not to put a fine point on it, but this will most likely be my last Halloween…” 

Liam sighed and his eyes softened; all day, he’d fixated on his worries for what was to come, but Constantine was right. He felt guilty for not embracing the day as he should have, instead of wishing the time away. 

Constantine noticed Liam’s expression shift and felt instant remorse. “I apologize, Liam, I didn’t mean to–” 

“I know what you were trying to do, but — you’re right. I hadn’t thought about it like that, and now I feel terrible for not spending the day with you.”

“But if you were with me, who would the target be?” Constantine expressed, earning him a playful eye roll from Liam. “Listen, life must continue. I’m dying; technically, so are you. Every breath you take is one step closer to the grave. Just because I don’t have as far to go changes nothing. I refuse to spend my time fixated on what’s coming, and I surely don’t want you to, either.”

Liam sharply sniffed and nonchalantly cleared his throat. “Right…” 

“But — given that it’s a holiday, perhaps you could end your day early; hang out with Kyla and me until the candy gifting begins.” 

“Does that mean the pranks will stop?”

“Against you, maybe.” 

Liam smiled. “I’d like that.” 

“But you must be in costume to be seen with us; sorry, it’s a rule.” 

Liam furrowed his brow. “You realize I’m the King now, right?”

“You sure like to remind me of that, son.” Constantine laughed. “I’ll go to the boutique and pick out an outfit for you.” 

“The chances of me wearing whatever you’re thinking are–” 

“Aaaand he’s gone,” Kyla spoke as Constantine sped away on his scooter. 

Liam shook his head. “I’m almost afraid to even think about what he’s going to find.” 

“Should’ve come prepared like the rest of us.” Kyla playfully elbowed his side. 

“Trueché…“ The pair shared a laugh, but as it died down Liam added, "You look cute." 

Kyla brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and ducked her head, trying to hide her flushed cheeks. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome." He smiled at her. “I need to thank you…” 

“For?”

“Making my father's time special. I’m figuring out he didn’t act alone today, but I’m glad he’s got someone to be the Thelma to his Louise.” 

“I’m happy to do it; I love it when he gets excited.” 

“I do too.” 

“He’s taught me a lot about how to relax and enjoy the little things; to make every second count.” 

Liam stared at Kyla with a grin, warmth blossoming in his chest. “Me too.” 

They locked eyes but Constantine quickly re-appeared. "Oh, Li-am…"

"I don't like that tone… or that face you're making…"

"I found you a costume." Constantine answered as he held a garment up. 

Liam stared into his basket and saw the remaining pieces of the getup and shook his head. "I'm not wearing that." 

"Oh, come on! A cowboy needs a steed to wrangle, son! Have you not seen a western film?"

"But I don't want to be your horse!" Liam protested. "What if I wanted to be a superhero or something?" 

Constantine pursed his lip with pleading eyes. "Liam…" 

Liam held his stare for merely a moment before he rolled his eyes. "Fine." 

Constantine's face lit like a Christmas tree but he was quick to shove the garments at Liam, insisting he go get dressed. As Liam disappeared, Constantine gave Kyla a knowing look. "... What did I tell you?"

"I can not believe that worked." 

Constantine snickered. "I never planned on being a horseless cowboy."

"He probably would've done it anyway if you asked him…"

Constantine snorted. "Where's the fun in that?"

HCTS tags - @ao719 @queenrileyrose @angelasscribbles @tessa-liam @kingliam2019 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @bascmve01 @busywoman @belencha77 @mysticalfangirl @nestledonthaveone @lovingchoices14 @lunaseasblog @malblk21 @sfb123 @emersyn-in-cordonia @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @queenmiarys @choicesflashfics @eadanga

[crehador]

floating park artificial somnambulism lets vertin go on a theme park date with tennant at the end of which tennant swindles the shit out of her like first of all thank you ma'am please do it again

but more importantly i'm blown away time and again by how gay this game is in a completely unsubtle way literally all the girls are in yuri with each other it's phenomenal

[blackstaff-blast]

My De Sardet boy as portrait practice <3 he's actually so similar to Constantin i am losing my mind

let's scream greedfall together

[angelasscribbles]

The Crown and the Shield Chapter 7: All Fall Down

Series: The Crown and the Shield

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Constantine x Jackson

Word Count: 740

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Gun violence, blood, death

My other stuff: Master List.

The king of Cordonia approached the podium to thunderous applause. The negotiations had been successful. He was one press conference away from the end of this trip, and the beginning of a new life.

He was nervous, but excited, to confess his love for the head of his King’s Guard to his wife. Jack was right, Eleanor was nothing like Helena. She hadn’t married him for the crown but for their shared love of Leo. She was kind and loving and there was no way she would abandon her child the way his first wife had abandoned hers.

He would tell her about himself and Jackson and she would understand, like Bianca had. He could be more freely himself, Jack could be a bigger part of his life. Everything was going to work out. He just had to get through his part of the press conference.

The peace accords had gone far better than expected and he was confident about the future. He shot a discreet glance at Jackson as he took his place at the podium and cleared his throat.

His parents and his wife were seated on the stage behind him, along with the heads of state of all the attendee nations. Rivala, Auvernall, Monterisso, and Vallenheim. All of them hereditary monarchies. All of them targets of the anti-monarchy terrorist group The Liberation Core.

“I’d like to start by thanking the Spanish government for hosting this summit,” Constantine turned his head to nod politely at the king of Spain. He smiled broadly as he opened his mouth to compliment the culture, the cuisine, and the hospitality they had been shown.

The words never made it to his lips.

Gunshots shattered the bright June morning. Screams erupted from the audience, from the stage, and from the security teams as people scattered and dove for cover.

The crowd that had gathered for the historic announcement descended into complete chaos as panicked people trampled each other in an effort to escape.

The government officials and their families that had been seated on the stage seconds before were being drug from the area by their security teams or already lying on the stage floor, bleeding.

Security team members stumbled and slid through the wetness that now covered the floor as multiple people lay dead or dying.

Seconds stretched out like an eternity as Constantine turned his head wildly trying to find the source of the gunfire. Before he could react, a body hit his full force, tackling him to the ground.

There was a loud ringing in his ears, the gunshots and the screaming sounded dim and far away as darkness clouded the edges of his vision. He blinked rapidly trying to clear his senses as every survival instinct he possessed screamed at him to stay conscious.

He turned his head to the left and felt bile rise in his throat. The king of Auvernall lay mere feet away from him, unseeing eyes fixed and empty, his queen next to him gasping for air as her lifeblood ran out of a gaping hole in her chest.

His eyes swept the stage in horror searching for his own parents. The ground was covered in blood. Bodies lay everywhere. He spotted Eleanor being pulled from the stage by the head of her security detail, hands clutching at her stomach as blood soaked the fabric of her dress.

“No!” The scream tore from his throat as he began to struggle to get free. He had to get to her, to all of them. Why couldn’t he move?

His attention shifted to the body that lay motionless on top of him. Time suddenly sped up again as he gazed up into the face of the man who had shoved him out of the line of fire. The man who wasn’t moving. The man who was bleeding out on top of him.

Hot, sticky blood covered them both, but Constantine wasn’t bleeding.  

“Jack! Jack!” Terror clawed at his insides, panic washing over him as tears and snot smeared his face, “Wake up! Wake up!”

Then he was being pulled off the stage by another member of the King’s Guard as he fought with every ounce of strength he possessed to get back to the man he loved.

Three more guards joined the first and he lost the battle. He was pulled away from the danger as his lover lay in a puddle of blood, limp and unmoving.

[iloveadamlazzara]

honestly im trying to use tumblr more often, so, I will be posting every single day until school starts, and hopefully then, I'll already be using it enough that it'll jus be routine! I also want friends on here. my name is ava , im 15 years old, and some bands I listen to are mcr, taking back sunday, paramore, fall out boy, bring me the horizon, pre spilt panic, the academy is, waterparks, twenty one pilots and so many more, follow me if you wanna be friends! thanks!

[karahalloway]

(Un)Common Attraction: Artwork - Apple Blossom Festival

Fandom: TRR - Book 1

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Masterlists: Main - Artwork

A/N1: Since discovering the AI art generator app, Wonder, I have been on a whirlwind bringing the iconic moments of this story to life. Below you will find some of the key moments - in chronological order - from Chapter 23 - A Bitter Aftertaste.

A/N2: There is always some trial and error with this AI app, as even though you put in prompts, it oftentimes does its own thing. So while I have tried to keep everyone's clothing consistent, this is not always possible, so I have opted for the overall 'feel' of the pic, rather than the minuscule details.

A Bitter Aftertaste - Artwork

Permatags:

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fanfiction-she-wrote @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890

[nocturneindream]

Gallows of the Dreaming

~ Chapter two: The Exorcist ~

~ 18+ | Minors DNI | AFAB Reader | No Y/N ~

AO3 | Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any characters from The Sandman comics or Netflix series. This is purely creative writing.

Word Count: 8.5k

Chapter warnings: Violence, graphic depictions of gore, religious themes (exorcisms & demons), relived trauma (childhood memories of abuse), foul language, Dream unintentionally being a bit of an ass.

If you might be triggered by any of the above, I'd recommend skipping this chapter entirely (especially the gore TW). There will be enough context in the following chapters to understand what happened.

A/N: Strap in, this chapter’s a long one. Could it have been split up into multiple? Probably. But I like my fics long & wordy. I know this took a while (and that’s an understatement) & hope it was worth the wait for those of you who read the first chapter. If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me a DM. They will be listed in the comments just to keep the actual post length manageable.

As always, feel free to comment, send in any questions, and like/re-blog this post. Enjoy!

- Kathryn ;)

Do NOT re-write, translate, copy, re-post, or claim my writing as your own. Thanks!

“It’s a bit late for a cup of coffee.” You remark tiredly, flopping into the opposite end of the small booth. The brunette’s eyes don’t meet yours as you settle into your seat, too engrossed in people-watching through the dew-drenched café window. She rests her head in one hand whilst the other mindlessly sirs her drink. 

“I could do without sleep for a while.” She says, bringing the plain mug to her lips, face scrunching at the bitter taste. You make note of the light purple rings beneath her eyes as she reaches for a miniature cup of half-and-half between you, wondering how long she’s been awake and what’s kept her up. “Besides, I’ve got a job after this.” 

“Well,” You sigh. “Then I won’t keep you for long. Did you find anything?” You hope she did, hope you’ll finally have something - anything - to point you in the right direction. Wordlessly, she snakes a hand into the tote bag at her side, retrieving a manilla envelope and sliding it across the sleek table.

“What’s this?” You question,  pinching open the prongs and pulling out the scraggly piece of yellowed parchment inside. 

“A family heirloom.” A small smile graces her lips as her eyes glaze with memories. “My Gran used to tell me stories all the time. Fairytales, really.” 

You scan over the drawing in your hands: Two men seated at opposite ends of a tavern table, dressed in period clothing. Late eighteen-hundreds if you had to guess. Beneath the sketch, the parchment reads: ‘The Devil and the Wandering Jew.’ 

“What’s the fairytale behind this?” 

“According to my Gran, an ancestor of mine hunted him down.” She pauses to peel open and stir the creamer into her coffee. “She was shit with managing her money. Nearly lost it all to god knows what, and with creditors pounding at the door she was starting to run out of options. By some miracle, she found that drawing stitched inside a dead man’s pocket and figured anything would be worth the gamble to save her from losing her status and being forced to beg on the streets - or worse.” She sips from her mug, a hum of approval sounding in her throat. “So she hunted him down, and when she found him, demanded riches and immortality.”

“What happened then?” You press, and her brown eyes finally meet yours. “Well, obviously he didn’t grant her immortality, or else she’d be the one having this conversation with you. But, he did offer her a few odd jobs. She earned his respect, and his money.” Respect and money from the Devil. An interesting story, but not what you’d asked for. Perceptive eyes catch your disappointment from beyond the rim of her mug as she takes a long swig.

“What’s the matter? You seem a bit edgy.” You fight against the knit of your brows, the disheartened frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. Her mug gently clangs against the table as she sets it down and leans over her elbows into your line of sight, redirecting your attention from the page.

“I appreciate you digging this up but,” You shake your head, slipping the drawing back into its envelope. “I didn’t need information on the Devil. I needed information on the Sandman.” Your former classmate nods in understanding.

“It wasn’t the Devil she’d tracked.” She reaches across the table, swiftly pulling the envelope from under your fingers and back toward her. “Dream, she called him. Dream of the Endless.” Dream. It’s no lead, but it’s certainly more than you’d managed to find out for yourself over the last three weeks, and you’re grateful for her effort.

“Thank you, Johanna.” She waves away your earnest gratitude, pinning you with an inquisitive glare. 

“Tell me why you’re digging about the business of an Endless.” Her demand catches you off guard, though it shouldn’t. She’s always been quick and to the point, never missing a single piece of the puzzle. If there’s information to be gained, she’ll find a way to get it. No matter the cost. Precisely why you’d enlisted her help.

“It’s a long story.” 

“Then make it short.” Frankly, you’re not sure you should tell her. She might think you’ve gone mad. What should it matter to her? But, the truth - with a mind of its own - erupts under her intimidating stare. 

“Roderick and Alexander Burgess are why” You admit, fidgeting with the tag of your coat. “Had him locked in their basement for almost a century, naked and alone in a glass cage.” 

“Jesus fuck.” She hisses, eyes wide. “So you’ve met him?”

“I freed him.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat, eyes cast down toward your twiddling thumbs. If you thought long enough about it, you could still feel the grains of sand against your cheeks - in your eyes, his chilled hand against yours as you tugged him loose. Your palm tingles with remembrance, and you clench your fist. A poor attempt at replacing the sensation. Johanna spots the movement. Nothing gets past her. 

“If you’re as smart as you were back in school, you’ll move on.” She speaks truthfully, as though that’s the obvious - sane -  answer to your situation.

“Why would I do that? I’ve already put so much time and-” “Move on.” She urges, placing a warm hand atop yours. 

“I need to make sure he’s ok.” 

“You want to make sure the immortal personification of nightmares is ‘okay’?” She chides,  eyes rolling at your sentiment. “You’ve lost the plot, mate.” Ouch. 

You yank your hands from under hers, grabbing at the coat in your lap, muttering, “I should go.” You wiggle out of the booth, ready to leave, but nimble fingers catch your arm. 

 “I don’t work for free. You still owe me for getting you that interview,” She takes the envelope between her fingers, waving it near her face. “And for this.”

“How much?” You watch the cogs turn in her mind as she eyes you up and down, determining her price. No doubt expensive.

“Nothing you can’t work off.” Headlights flash through the window, sharpening the shadows of her cheekbones and jaw as she slides out from her seat, gathering her things. “Let’s go. Cab meter’s ticking.”

The London street lights gleam like a beacon off the silver circle on Johanna’s belt as she steps out of the cab, popping the collar of her pristine, white coat. Her sleek hair whips against her cheeks as she turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“If you’re going to be messing about with primordial entities, then it’s time you learn what I do for a living.” She rotates on the heel of her boot, long strides swiftly carrying her up the concrete steps ahead. “Maybe that’ll change your mind.” 

“It won’t.” You stubbornly assert. Her pace slows to a stop as she throws a patronizing glance at you over her shoulder. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but believe me. I already know the risks.” You don’t need a lesson in the dangers of magic. The aftermath of the Sandman’s release had been enough of an example. 

You’d awoken the following morning tucked neatly between your soft sheets, unusually well-rested. The memories of the night before were so…hazy, as though they’d been no more than another nightmare. Until you heard them, the muffled sobs that floated down the hall and into your groggy ears. Only then had you realized the severity of the matter - the countless, horrible possibilities.

Though you shouldn’t have cared - not after all you’d seen and discovered, you shot toward the shared bedroom of your bosses, your heart a lump in your throat. The cries grew louder and louder, and as you flung open the door, you realized they’d been coming from Paul. His shoulders shook as he clung to the clammy hand of his partner, pleading into deaf ears, “Come back to me, Alex.”

Alexander Burgess laid before him, cold sweat dripping from his brows, head thrashing against his damp pillow. Continuous, frightened whimpers fell from his open mouth, as though he’d been trapped within his worst nightmare. A fitting fate, you thought as you stared at him, somehow knowing - sensing - the Sandman had delivered his due punishment. You couldn’t help the guilty satisfaction the sight brought you.

Paul hadn’t noticed your presence at first, not until you’d placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, as he had done for you many times before. For his role in releasing their captive, he’d been granted the small mercy of being spared. Though as you watched the tears cascade down his red, swollen face, you wondered if it could be considered mercy at all. He was utterly powerless, forced to watch as his lover suffered a fate worse than death.

“Do something!” He pleaded. Despite knowing there was likely nothing you could do, you stepped around the bed and peeled back Mr. Burgess’ eyelids. His pupils shifted, dilating and constricting rapidly. Heavy, panted breaths heaved from his chest as his body struggled to adjust to his affliction. 

You shook your head, softly confirming, “There’s nothing I can do, Paul.”

There was no cure for this. Not even trained, award-winning doctors had been able to wake patients with the Sleepy Sickness. Nearly one hundred years had passed and patients still suffered, trapped within their dreams and nightmares. Some never slept at all. No cure, no known recoveries, no miracles. In one night, Mr. Burgess was lost to the world. A resentful, nasty piece of you silently thought, good riddance. 

“What do you mean?” He scoffed. For the first time since you’d met the man, his usual pleasant tone was nowhere to be found. “Aren’t you his caretaker?! Fix this!” He demanded. Your eyes searched his twisted expression for some sense of reason, finding nothing but seething, misplaced rage.

“This is your fault, you know! I’d still have my Alex if it weren’t for you!” Snot dripped from his nose, mixing with the avalanche of tears free-falling from his bleary eyes. “Get out!” He bellowed, voice reverberating throughout the room - rattling your chest. He had never raised his voice at you.

Though the words had been born from grief, you couldn’t shake your outrage. How dare he? You wanted to yell, to stoop to his level and throw his actions back in his sniveling face, but part of you understood his perspective. While he had finally pushed himself to right the wrongs of his past, you had been the catalyst. Had you not snooped through the library, Paul would have lived out the rest of his life with the person he loved most, complacent - happy. You bit your cheek, closed your eyes, and held your tongue as he continued his fit.

“I want you out of this house by nightfall or so help me-” He wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his robe, eyes dulling as he turned back to his lost lover.

You weren’t naive. It had been apparent from the moment you laid eyes on the man in the glass that your time at the mansion would soon run out. Though you’d grown fond of Paul, you knew there was no coming back from what had happened, from the knowledge of what he’d allowed. You blinked away your tears, grabbed your things, and haven’t looked back since. You’d done the right thing, even if the fallout had been difficult to witness. 

“Constantine.” You’re torn from your memories by the familiar depth of the voice that calls, breath catching in your throat at the sight of your stranger. 

He’s clothed this time, clad in an all-black ensemble. Your eyes trail down the buttons of his knee-length coat to his slender hands as he tucks them inside his pockets. He’s focused solely on the woman in front of you, and you’re unsure whether he’s unaware of your presence or has purely chosen not to acknowledge it. Does he even remember you? How could he not? Three weeks. Three weeks of searching tirelessly only for him to stumble upon you. 

“We have business, you and I.” He speaks confidently, demanding her immediate attention. She scoffs, squinting at him as though she can’t decide if they’ve met before. 

“Get in line.” Her shoulder knocks against his as she pushes past him, unaware of who he is and the power he holds. “Can’t keep God waiting.” You remain frozen in place, baffled by the coincidence at hand. 

His eyes settle on your figure, a dazzling shade of light blue, far from the feral, black celestial portals you’d seen behind the glass. The arrogant confusion from his interaction with Johanna ebbs away, replaced with recognition. Though wrapped tight within his gaze, you’re faintly aware of the fact that Johanna’s left you behind, entering the church to attend to her work for the night.

“Hi.” You exhale, forcing yourself to remember how to breathe as butterflies swarm in your stomach. Nearly a month had gone by since his release, and seeing him now - outside the glass - floods you with a sense of victory and relief. 

“We meet again.” He offers a slight tilt of his head toward you in greeting before going after Johanna. The butterflies wither, dropping dead in the pit of your stomach as he nears the church behind her. You’d risked your job - your life - to free him and the most he had to say was ‘We meet again’? 

“Hey!” You call, hot on his heels. “Wait up!” His figure slips through the slim opening of the large doors, and as you catch up, pushing them open further, he’s seemingly vanished. The only beings occupying the room are Johanna and another woman who, based upon the white collar around her neck, you presume works within the church. They speak in hushed tones, Johanna visibly wound up by their conversation as the other woman tries to state her case. 

“No! It’s too risky with the royals. I already told the queen.”

“But-” 

“If this goes sideways we’ll have a dead princess on our hands, a demon on the loose, and I’ll have no one to pay my fee.” You softly clear your throat and their heads whip in your direction. 

“There you are!” Johanna waves you over. “Ric, this is an old university mate of mine. She’ll be assisting tonight.” Ric’s wary eyes skim you from head-to-toe.

“Brave soul you are, working with Johanna. You’d probably be better off with the demon.” She laughs, nudging your arm with her elbow in a failed attempt at lightening the palpable tension. Her joke falls flat, smile dropping as Johanna shoots daggers in her direction. 

“What if I triple your fee?” Ric offers, hands wringing the spines of the leather-bound books she holds as distant screams echo from the far end of the church. The scent of rotten eggs permeates the room and you gag, pulling the collar of your shirt over your nose to block out the stench. 

“What the hell is that?”  You ask, disgusted.

“Sulfur.” The women confirm simultaneously. 

“You’re an exorcist?” You question, remembering a Demonology class you two had shared as part of your undergraduate degrees. You never thought she’d make anything of it beyond research. The unbridled shock on your face doesn’t go unnoticed by Ric. 

“You didn’t tell her?” The older woman’s worry-filled eyes flit between the two of you. Johanna simply shrugs. 

“Well,” Ric sighs. “You’ll be needing these.” She hands a book to you both with a tight-lipped smile and offers - mostly to you, “Good luck.”

The church is nearly empty as you step atop the altar platform, illuminated by the golden glow of the few remaining candle stands. The room had been cleared, pews moved out of sight - out of the path of destruction, as though Ric knew things would get messy. You admire the painted figures within the grand mural, heart thumping to the rhythm of the growing footsteps outside. 

An exorcism. You assumed these were rare occurrences in modern times. But according to Johanna, they’re far more frequent than she’d like. You fiddle apprehensively with the book Ric had given you - the Rītuāle Rōmānum, spine straightening as the doors creak open.

Johanna and the Princess enter with another, unexpected figure lagging behind, his fingers entwined with the Princess’. Her immaculate, white smile matches the sleek, floor-length gown she wears, not one blonde hair out of place on her head. Her partner - you presume - appears less than enthusiastic. He forces a small smile as she turns to share her excitement with him, his face falling as soon as it’s out of her sight. It dawns on you at this moment that you and Johanna are about to ruin what should be the happiest day of their lives. Or at least the happiest day of the Princess’ life. Johanna slips around your side, a white collar now tucked into her black shirt, and lightly grips your arm. 

“Just go along with it.” She speaks to you through pearly, clenched teeth as she grins happily at the couple, stepping forward to begin the ceremony.

“It’s a pleasure to be your officiant tonight, Princess. This,” She waves her hand fluidly in your general direction. “Is my assistant and your legal witness. Any questions before we begin?”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” The question comes from the Princess’ fiancé, followed by cold, calculating silence. 

“Of course I do, Kevin.” She tongues her cheek, a poor attempt to push back her anger. “Why else would we be here?” Her fixed glare pins him in place, a warning that should he press further, there will be hell to pay. 

“I just meant like-” He gulps. “Don’t you want all your family and photographers and stuff and-” 

“No!” She snaps, startling herself and her jumpy partner. She quickly softens her expression and voice, reeling in her irritation. “I just want you.” She nods to Johanna, beckoning her to continue the ceremony.

“Do you, Princess, take-”

“I do.” Johanna’s brow raises at the interruption, but she continues. “Do you, Kevin, take the Princess to be your-” An audible crunch echoes through the room as the Princess’ hand bears down on Kevin’s. You hold in a surprised gasp, feeling awful for the young man before you. He has no idea that he’s hitching himself to a demon.

“Then repeat after me,” Johanna begins, flipping her book open. “Dā locum, dīrissime,” Your mixed voices fill the empty space as the words are recited. 

 “Dā locum, impiissime.” Kevin’s stomach releases a loud gurgle, discomfort overtaking his expression. 

“Sorry,” He grunts out. “Probably just hungry. Y’know how it is before a big game-”

“Kevin!” The Princess whispers sharply. “It doesn’t matter.” She gestures for Johanna to continue. “Keep going.”

“Dā locum, Chrīstō.” Kevin doubles over, coughing and gagging as his hands claw at his throat. The princess is beside herself, scoffing and rolling her eyes at her partners’ obstructive behavior. 

“Kevin, seriously? At our wedding?” Johanna ignores the woman, a lioness targeting her prey as she stalks toward the man, continuing to read from her book. 

“Quī tē spoliāvit, quī rēgnum tuum dē strūxit!” Two large, meaty fingers emerge from Kevin’s mouth. He chokes on them as they slither out, veins protruding from his forehead and neck, eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets as the hands become wrists. 

"Quī tē victum ligāvit, et vāsa tua dīripuit!” The sickening crack of Kevin's jaw echoes throughout the room, his body jerking backward as two full, muscular arms emerge from his mouth. His flesh rips and squelches around them, blood oozing down his neck from every facial orifice. The hands reach around to grip the back of Kevin's head, claws sinking into his scalp as they pull from either side. A loud roar bellows from the Demon inside Kevin as his body shreds in half, leaving the Demon standing amidst a gooey puddle of flesh and shattered bone. 

Intricate, runic scars line its abdomen, spine visible outside its back and pierced between each vertebra with large silver hoops. Blood splatters stain the Princess's white gown, her eyes wide with shock, mouth agape as she stares in horror at the remnants of her fiancé. Pushing your own terror aside, you rush for the Princess, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her out of harm's way. 

"Come with me." You direct her. "It'll be alright, Ric will get you out and safe." You call out for the older woman, guiding the princess toward the nearest exit. Ric promptly takes her from you, stumbling back a step as she fleetingly takes in the gruesome scene. 

"Fucking hell." She gasps, steering the Princess out of your grasp.

"It was Kevin, not the Princess." 

"You don't say." She sarcastically intones, swiftly guiding the Princess out the door. As much as you want to follow them, you - perhaps idiotically -  can't bring yourself to leave Johanna behind.

"Tell me your name!" Johanna demands, Holding a crucifix up to the Demon as it towers over her. The Demon merely laughs, lurching forward and striking Johanna with the back of its massive fist. The impact sends her flying across the room, her back slamming into the mural. She groans as her body drags down the wall and hits the floor, but quickly regains her senses. She rolls over, pushing past the pain to search for her book through blurred vision. Without hesitation, you crack open your copy, hell-bent on finishing what you and Johanna had started, shaking hands making the small text difficult to read.

"Vīsitā, quaesumus," Enraged, the Demon whirls, its long, hoofed legs carrying it in three mere strides across the room. Your knees buckle as it launches toward you. "Domine, habitātiōnem istam et omnis-” 

“Silence!” It snarls at you, surging forward with its giant arm raised like a club, ready to strike again. You shield your head with your arms and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the impact that never comes. 

“Agilieth!” You risk a peak, eyes cracking open to find the Demon’s arm halted just before the top of your head. A wicked, sharp-toothed grin splits across its face as it turns to address its caller - the Sandman. He stands in front of the altar and Johanna, hands casually tucked into his coat, undaunted by the sheer size and strength of the Demon.

"Lord Morpheus," It growls. "You're almost unrecognizable without your helm." It mocks, tone dripping with disdain.

"It was traded to a Demon."

"Yes, but which demon?" Its grin stretches as the Sandman's eyes gleam with hope. In your peripheral vision, you catch Johanna pulling herself upright against the altar. Rītuale Rōmānum back in hand, she cracks open the book, resuming her recitation of the Latin prayer and interrupting whatever business the Sandman seeks with the Demon. Her face is that of the cat that caught the canary. Knowing the Demon's name, she holds the power to condemn it straight back to Hell.

“Constantine, stop this at once!" The Sandman shouts as the ground below Agilieth twists into an open pit of bright-orange fire and smoke. With eyes even more desperate than the night of his escape, he stretches his arm toward Johanna, begging her to stop. Why would he have her free the Demon? What could be worth the risk?

“Dream of the Endless commands you!” Agilieth roars, cursing at her as she ignores their pleas. Tendrils of smoke form into hands that scrape and pull at the Demon's mountainous figure, hauling it inch-by-inch into the pit. “I’ll tell you everything I know, my lord!" Its claws leave tracks on the ground as it sinks deeper, only its head remaining above ground level. "Don't let her send me back!” Ash and embers whirl through the hot air, stinging your cheeks. You hold your breath as Johanna fearlessly stands over the Demon, the reflection of hellfire flaring in her eyes.

“Exī, ergō, Agilieth!” With her final words, the Demon slips into the pit, and the ground seals over. The silence deafens you as you watch the Sandman’s shoulders slump, his face turned solemn, staring at the claw marks left across the wooden flooring.

"You have no idea what you’ve cost me." He speaks softly - defeatedly, and the words are a boulder of guilt crashing into you. You did the right thing. Didn’t you? You couldn’t have let the Demon roam free, free to find its next victim, free to create a larger mess than any mortal could be capable of cleaning up.

"I'm sorry," You stutter, apologizing nonetheless. "I thought-"

"Don't apologize, mate," Johanna winks at you, entirely satisfied with herself as she snaps the book closed and tosses an arm around your shoulders. "We've just tripled our fee." You're reluctant to follow as she guides you out of the church, your eyes still locked with the Sandman’s, but her grip is firm and commanding. 

Thunder rumbles above as you step outside, Johanna pausing in the doorway of the church to converse with Ric, likely discussing payment. You step aside to grant them some privacy, leaning against one of the giant stone columns that uphold the awning, and watch as the lightning within the clouds reveals various shades of lavender and coal.

 You’re lucky, you realize. Lucky to have come out unharmed. Johanna will be lucky if she isn’t as bruised as tonight’s sky tomorrow morning. You wonder how she could willingly subject herself to this on a regular basis. The money must be phenomenal, you think, hands still trembling from the commotion - the rush.

"Why are you here?" Your ears tingle at the pleasant depth of the Sandman’s voice, the whisper of pleasant chills rolling across the top of your skull and down your spine. He’s closer than expected, his shoulder brushing yours as he eases into the open space beside you. Icy, piercing blue eyes shimmer beneath the gloomy night lighting, studying - questioning. 

"Why are you?" You counter, residual adrenaline governing your words. “Dream of the Endless.” A faint smirk curls the corner of his mouth at your boldness, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and that guilt… it gnaws at the last remaining sliver of your confidence.

"Something of mine came into Constantine's possession." He divulges, watching you - reading you.

"What could she possibly have of yours?" 

"I answered your question, you will answer mine." A give and take, so be it. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch on the nervous knot forming in your throat. Your feet shift in place, crunching against the cobblestone as you attempt to clear it away. 

“After everything that happened with Mr. Burgess,” You swallow. “I wondered where you went, what you’d done to him,” His eyes implore you to continue, but you can’t seem to produce another coherent thought under their intensity. So you avert yours, once again finding the colors in the flashing clouds.

 “I-” You take a deep breath, rubbing your arms to settle the goosebumps. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” You admit, embarrassment tingeing your cheeks. You know how silly it sounds given the danger involved in pursuing him, but you had questions that needed answers, and - much like your former classmate - you’ve always been relentless in your quest for knowledge. 

When you find the courage to meet his unwavering gaze, you find him scanning your features. Your reddened cheeks, the tense pull of your brow, your lips as you nip uneasily at the chapped skin. For a moment, he seems as though he may apologize, his small smirk and studious stare softening into concern. But, you’d made your choice. He’s no need to apologize when seeing him outside the glass - free - is enough to resolve any lingering guilt over what happened to Alex and Paul - to you.

“My sand.” He answers your earlier question. 

“The Sandman without his sand.” You find yourself giggling, hardly noticing how close he’d stepped until you could feel the comforting heat radiating from his body, shielding you from the harsh wind like a fluffed blanket, pulled fresh from the dryer. It’s dizzying - distracting.

"Morpheus." He corrects.

"Hm?" You hum, mouth disconnected from your mind as it scrambles to process what he’d said and the sudden, intoxicating warmth. He’d been so cold when you’d first met, when you’d pulled him from the glass, when he’d held and guarded you against the nightmare smoke.

"My name." 

"Hate to interrupt your little chat,” Johanna begins, approaching the two of you. She shoots a cagey glance toward Morpheus before opting to ignore his presence entirely, aiming her words at you. “But it’s about time I bugger off.” Her fingertips tap the back of your arm gently. “I’ll be in touch.” Her eyes speak without words, questioning your safety - your comfortability -  with the Sandman’s proximity. You offer a small nod, simultaneously confirming your security and acknowledging what she’d said.

"Constantine." Her name rumbles from his chest as she moves to scurry away, more of a demand than a request. She begrudgingly turns, hands smacking against her sides as she confronts him.

“What do you want with me?” She sneers, arms crossing over her ribs. “I don’t have time for this.”

"You have something of mine.” His expression hardens. “I'd like it returned." 

“What could I possibly have of yours?" 

“His sand.” You chime, watching in amusement as two of the most strong-willed individuals you’ve ever come across continue their stare-down, wondering who will be the first to concede. You’d never known Johanna to back down for anyone, and Morpheus, well, you’d witnessed his endurance firsthand. 

"That was yours?” Her brows raise. “Couldn't even get the damned drawstrings open." Her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she ruminates on where she left the sand. “I've no idea where it's at. It's been missing for ages." She concludes.

"We must find it." He asserts, towering over the woman as he emphasizes its importance. "Without it, my realm - humanity - will cease to exist." She rolls her eyes, considering his words far too dramatic for the circumstance.

"Alright,”  She tilts her head to look up at him, a playful smirk sliding up her cheeks as she realizes how vital her compliance is. “I'll help you find it first thing tomorrow-"

"No-"

"Tomorrow." She reiterates firmly. "I'll help you. Trust me, I wouldn't want you and your little friend following me all over the place." You and Morpheus share a look of confusion, focusing your attention in the direction Johanna points. A raven, perched on the edge of the base of another nearby column squirms under each of your stares.

"My friend?" He squints at the bird, stepping closer to investigate. Its eyes quickly shift over Morpheus before scooting aside a few inches to gain some space, head twitching side to side, up and down. Morpheus raises his chin, shoulders squaring as he looks down his nose at the raven. “Tell me your name.” He orders.

"Matthew, Sir." This night is full of surprises, you think, delighted by the nasally voice that comes from the talking bird. Morpheus, however, appears rather indifferent - displeased, even.

"Matthew,” He scowls. “Tell Lucienne that I have no need for a raven-" You turn, ready to share your bewilderment with Johanna, searching your surroundings for a glimpse of her dark hair, only to find that she’s disappeared into the night.

"Morpheus." You call. He ignores you - or maybe doesn’t hear you - as he continues lecturing the raven. 

"If I require assistance, I shall ask-" 

"Uh, y-you do, actually, Sir." Matthew stutters, catching on to your distress and Johanna’s absence. 

“Morpheus!” You shout. Tired and frustrated by his blatant disregard, you tug harshly on the sleeve of his coat. His head whips toward you, initial fury at your action quieting as he notices the absence of your friend - his only chance at reclaiming his sand. 

"She's gone." You sigh. He draws his gaze from over your shoulder, down to your fingers, still curled around the soft fabric of his coat, and back to your eyes. You release him immediately, mumbling a curt apology.  

“Go back to the dreaming, Matthew." Morpheus dismisses. 

“With all due respect, sir. The boss lady sent me here to help you because, like it or not, you need me.” Matthew declares, hopping closer to Morpheus. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had thumbs, lived my whole life here. I know how to navigate this world.”

"My last raven was sent to help me too." Morpheus’ cold gaze has the bird’s feet shuffling again, his tone low - warning, rumbling in tune with the rolling thunder.

"Yeah, and what happened to them?” Matthew sasses. “You fire them too? Send them back to the dreaming?" You’re amazed - jealous, even - by Matthew’s confidence as he stands up for himself. 

"She died while trying to save me." You wince as images of the white-bellied raven from your nightmare flicker in your mind's eye. The splattered blood across her bright feathers, her desperate caws as she beat herself against the glass. You doubt you’ll ever be able to rid yourself of the haunting memory. 

"What was her name?" You dare to ask.

"Jessamy." As he meets your pitying gaze, he quickly blinks away the tears that threaten to form, steeling his expression, pretending the memory no longer carries any weight in his heart. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, Morpheus." You feel awful, awful for describing even the smallest crumb of your nightmare to him when you first met. You want to apologize for that too but decide against it, not wanting to push the subject any further.

“Well,” Matthew continues after a moment of respectful silence. “I don’t plan on dying again anytime soon. We'd better get moving if we want to find her by morning. We should have a good eight hours while she sleeps. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can figure out her-”

"Sleep," Morpheus murmurs to himself. "Yes. If she is asleep, I know exactly where to find her." He extends a hand for you to take, and you do so without a second thought, allowing him to pull you into his chest the same way he had the night you’d freed him. His hands skim the small of your back as they circle around your waist, his head dipping beside your ear, voice just above a whisper as he instructs, “Close your eyes.”

You comply, digging your fingers into the side seams of his coat as a vortex of wind envelopes your bodies. Your feet lift and float away from solid ground, the vortex pushing and pulling your limbs in every direction. You hang onto Morpheus as though your life depends on it, daring to open your eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of the black smoke that carries you. Your skin blanches with fear, mind sucked back into that bone-chilling darkness, the nightmare void that had nearly swallowed you whole.

You’re left breathless and wobbly as the smoke clears, continuing to cling to Morpheus’s coat with a death grip. Your mouth opens and shuts, words refusing to flow freely. His hands slide from your back to cup your upper arms, squeezing reassurance and holding you steady as you struggle to pull yourself together. You know the fear is irrational, know that he - as proven before - would not allow the smoke to harm you, but the sensation of the nightmare refuses to leave you in peace.

"Breathe.” He reminds, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your shoulders as he tilts his head down to draw your frightened eyes back to his. “You are unharmed." You savor the touch, your heartbeat gradually slowing to match the pace of the soothing strokes. 

"What was that?"

"A method of travel without my sand." 

"Well, it was awful." He retracts his hands, almost as though the words had offended him, fingertips skimming down the length of your arms as they fall back at his sides. 

"Then you will not experience it again." He promises.

"Wait-" 

"The pouch is here.” He confirms to himself, surveying the apartment building he’d brought you to with assurance. “You will remain outside with Matthew." As if on cue, the raven swoops down beside you. His feathers ruffle and twitch as he settles on the ground, beady eyes darting between you and Morpheus. 

"How do you know? Didn't Johanna say she lost it?" You watch as he glides toward the building, as though being lured by some invisible pull. 

"I can feel its power." Morpheus steps inside the ominously dark building, leaving you alone with Matthew.

 After a while, you find yourself enjoying the raven’s dry, witty humor, chatting to pass the time. But as what should have been no more than a few minutes becomes well over an hour, your playful banter begins to slow, both of your eyes anxiously tracing and examining the apartment complex.

Strange, you think. Something about the building rings every alarm bell within you. Though the hour has hardly passed midnight, not a single light shines from the building. Not from the lobby, the porch lights, or any of the visible windows. As you observe the building, you notice the piles of untouched mail littering the main entrance, moving to pick up a few of the grimy envelopes. 

"Matthew,” You begin, scanning over the unpaid electricity bills, violation notices, and letters dated as far back as three months ago. “Something's not right."

 He titters over, talons faintly clicking across the concrete, and you squat beside him, holding your findings out for him to see. He tilts his head, eyes darting over the envelopes in your hand and all across the floor. After a moment of careful consideration, he opens his beak to say, "I think we should let the boss handle it." You scoff, tossing the mail aside as you stand. 

“What happened to that confidence from earlier? I thought you weren’t afraid to help him.” You shoot for the doors, hands clamping over the sleek, modern handles. Matthew’s caw startles you, winds flapping as he lands on top of your hands. 

“That-That’s not a good idea.” He warns, stalling your movement. “You have no idea what’s in there. The boss said-”

“Your boss, Matthew. Not mine.” You remind, and his feet squeeze around your skin. “If you won’t go in there and help him, I will.” He kicks off your hands, talons scraping the concrete as he lands back on the ground, mumbling under his breath, “He’s not gonna like this.”

You tug open the heavy door, streetlights instantly absorbing into the black hole of the lobby, revealing nothing to your squinted eyes as you cross over the threshold. The door clicks closed behind you, leaving you vulnerable in the dark. There’s a sickly-sweet stench lashing at your nose, rolling in your gut. As much as you’d rather not find out what the smell belongs to, your fear of the dark drives your shaky hands into your pockets, reaching for your phone. 

The contents of your stomach turn to lead as the flashlight winks to life, illuminating the half-decayed corpse of a woman not two feet in front of you. You stumble back, feet squelching and sticking to the floor as acid rises in your throat. Her flesh droops and pools beneath her, melting and mixing with other various fluids into the tiled floor. Hollow cheeks and cloud-white eyes stare up at you. The foul scent strengthens, and suddenly you’re retching up the contents of your stomach, mindful enough to avoid her body. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your coat, willing yourself to face the woman again. How long has she been left here, fusing with the floor? 

“What the fuck happened here?” You breathe feebly, stepping around her. You notice - as you avoid inching too close - the faint twitch of her left eye. “I’m going insane.” But the nearly inaudible gurgles emitting from her throat confirm you’re not. Alive. She’s still alive. How? 

Unable to face her any longer, you shine your light further into the room, revealing a messy trail of gooey footsteps. You follow them, vicious chills spidering down your spine with each step as they lead you up the staircase and down the eerily silent second-story hallway. Some primal instinct inside you screams for you to turn around. You know you should, know that you’d be safer waiting outside with Matthew. But what if Morpheus needs your help? What if he’s been captured again? What if? 

At the end of the long, looming hallway, yellow light flickers beneath a chipped, word-down door. You head for it, ignoring the sticky substance coating the silver knob as you turn it. 

Much like the rest of the building, the room is pitch-black as the door creaks open, no sign of the light you’d spotted. Maybe you’d imagined it. The same way you’d like to believe you’re imagining the slithering, shifting shadows that lurk along the walls and ceiling. Maybe the shock of everything you’ve experienced tonight is finally catching up to you. The flashlight of your phone fizzles out, a red battery symbol mocking you as you frantically shake the device. 

“Just my fucking luck.” You hiss, reaching for the switch on the wall, shuddering at the cold, moist goo that coats your fingers as you flick it upward. 

To your surprise, the room brightens, dimly illuminating the crumb-coated carpet and various discarded dolls strewn about. You carefully step around them, hesitantly following the muffled sound of cartoons playing to your left, the living room - your living room. You lean over the familiar grey couch, mutely stunned, sight caught on the mess of tangled hair poking above it. A little girl, no older than five or six, sways from side to side as she sits on her heels, inches away from the TV screen. Sweet, high-pitched giggles tumble from her belly as she remains unaware of your presence, sucked into her show. Though you cannot see her face, you know - feel - that she is you.

A woman’s voice grates through the laughter, calling your name. Your mother, you realize. Something in your chest tightens with pain as the little girl - little you - doesn’t seem to hear her. Another call of your name, followed by thunderous footsteps. Your sore stomach clenches, heart pausing a beat as you watch your mother’s figure overshadows the young girl. She watches a moment, waiting for little you to notice her in the doorway. When she doesn’t, like a bat from hell, your mother flies into a rage. She snatches little you upright by the collar of her oversized nightshirt, teeth bared as she barks at the child, “You will answer me when I call your name!”

“I-I didn’t hear you! I swear!” Little you stammers, eyes swelling with stinging tears. 

“Of course not! You’re selfish!” Your mother yells, spit stringing between her teeth, the strong smell of alcohol wafting off her hot breath. “You think you can just ignore me whenever you want?!” You close your eyes, body jerking at the sharp smack reverberating in your ears. Your muscles tense, becoming rigid as you listen to the gut-wrenching sobs coming from your younger self.

“I’ll give you something to cry about!” You weren’t selfish or ignorant. You were just a child, completely wrapped up in your favorite escape from this - the abuse. 

Your body relaxes as you hear your mother stomp away from the room, allowing you to open your eyes, to see your younger self. She stands before you, her face cupped inside her palms as she sobs with such soundless intensity that her breath remains stuck in her chest. You round the couch, dropping to your knees before her, your own tears falling as you embrace her. One hand strokes her hair as the other soothingly rubs her back, offering the comfort you wish you’d received. 

“Shhh.” You try to calm her. “It’ll be okay. You’re not alone.” You coo. The pressure in her lungs releases, and she gasps for air, bawling against your shoulder as her small fists curl into your sleeves. 

“I-I didn’t mean to- to-” 

“Shhh…I know. I know.” You hug her firmly, providing as much support as you possibly can. Eventually, as her sobs dwindle into light sniffles, her arms circle around you as best as they can, returning the affection. You rock her gently, swaying from side to side as she had been earlier, humming that special lullaby you’ve always loved. 

Preoccupied with comforting little you - healing that broken shard of your past, you’re inattentive to the preternatural strength of her hold. You rock the child, even as her arms constrict, a boa around a mouse. Your shoulders strain, joints aching under the increasing pressure, threatening to pop from their sockets. As the air begins to thin, you wriggle and writhe against her, leaning back to see her face - its face. 

Sickly green and filled with malice, its mouth - where her cheek once was - opens into a blood-curdling, razor-toothed grin as it says, “We’re ssso hungry.” Its voice is at once one and many, splintering into that of a hundred - a thousand - sneering, distorted children. 

Through your bleary eyes, the facade of your childhood apartment fades away, leaving you in a slime-coated, moldy, abandoned apartment. Choked whimpers bubble from your throat as you watch its face continue to shift, features slipping and sliding across slimy skin. How could you have been so blind, so easily betrayed by your senses? 

"Feed usss." Comes another sinister voice from behind, just above your left shoulder. "Itsss been ssso long." Now above your right as the creature’s nails dig into your skin, warm liquid - blood - dripping down your arms. You hardly register the pain as you watch its eyes roll back into its mutating skull, replaced with glowing, yellow orbs. Its flesh becomes a viscous, gelatinous substance, seeping into your clothes.

Your mind empties of all words except one name, “M-Morpheus!” You rasp, the plea scarcely audible through the many, ravenous voices mimicking and mocking around you. I’m going to die, you think. Your face, heated from the rushing blood and lack of oxygen, twists with dread as you’re suffocated by the creature.

“We’ll devour you whole!” It growls the words as it opens its cavernous mouth, lining you up to ease you down its slick, greasy throat. You thrash in its grasp, hysterical sobs tearing the inside of your throat. 

"Enough!" The creature retracts at the bellowed command, a hand gripping and pulling you up by the back of your neck. Morpheus, you realize, brings you to your feet, shielding your quaking form behind his. His arm lingers protectively across your front, his hand gripping your opposite hip, steadying and reminding you that you are safe now.

"Massster?!" The voices shriek. As you take in the full expanse of the room, you see the many glinting, beady, yellow eyes all along the walls. The creatures cower into their shadows at the sight of Morpheus. You think you might do the same until you feel the gentle, reassuring squeeze of his hand, the only thing holding you upright. 

"We thought you left forever." The monsters chorus, echoing the word over and over.

"You have taken advantage of my absence,” Morpheus says - almost snarls, tone dripping with revulsion. “It ends now." 

With the wave of his free hand, the creatures shrivel, crumbling to dust on the floor until you’re left in the now vacant, dusty room.   Johanna leans against the wall a few feet away, looking almost as shaken as you, teeth gritted, fists clenched and trembling at her sides. 

"You disobeyed me." Your eyes flick up to meet his stormy gaze, blood still pumping loudly in your ears as you throw a weak glare his way. 

“You-” You’re still out of breath, each word a strain to your aching ribs. “You were in-” Your head shakes. “You were in here a while. What-” You force down a deep breath. “What was I supposed to do?”

"Wait. As you were told." You gawk at him incredulously, taking the time to catch your breath. ‘Wait as you were told.’ You’d strangle him if he hadn’t just saved you. You’re not a helpless child. Were you not the one saving his ass no less than three weeks ago, freeing him from nearly a hundred years of captivity? Could he truly fault you for trying to help him again?

“I was trying to help you.” Your voice is hoarse, throat sore as you attempt to defend your actions. “I thought you were in danger.” 

"I do not need saving from a mortal." 

Despite the ache, you square your throbbing shoulders, head held high as you quip back, “You did less than a month ago.”

His mouth folds into a firm line as he breaks your stare-off, sharp profile lit by the moonlight now peaking through the window, eyes darkening into ink-black, cosmic pools.

"Right, can we save the bickering for later?” Johanna intervenes, slicing through the tension. “I'd like to get the hell out of here." 

Rain pours around the stone awning of the building as you limp behind Morpheus and Johanna, nearly drowning out the sound of Matthew’s relieved caws. He swoops up to mount your shoulder chastising, “I told you not to go in there!” His talons dig into your skin for balance as you whip your head to scowl at him. Skittish, he jumps away, hopping after Morpheus. “Boss, I-”

Morpheus gives him a stern look, silencing the raven. His lips purse, brows knitting as he pulls a dark, leather pouch - no larger than the size of his palm - from his coat pocket. The sand. Golden beads glimmer along the strings as he tugs open the pouch, tilting it into his open hand. 

He got what he came here for, and now he’ll leave. He’ll leave you and Johanna behind after all that happened inside that wretched apartment complex, the waking nightmare you’d faced to save him. 

“Morpheus!” You snap, watching in disbelief as grains of sand slip through the gaps of his slender fingers, spinning into a sandstorm around him. He pauses, eyes flicking toward you.

“Where are you going?!” 

“Hell. In search of my helm.” 

In a blink, he’s encased in a swirling tornado of sand, and then…he’s gone. Matthew spirits away in your peripheral vision, a brief fluttering shadow and flap of wings as he follows after his master. You loose a frustrated breath and lean on the opposite wall from Johanna. Whether or not she’s still as shaken as she appeared - as you are - you’ll never know, her face now a mask of perfect calmness. You look to her for any semblance of validation for your discontentment, but she merely shrugs her shoulders.

“I’ll say this once,” She starts. “Only because I consider you a friend.” Her words are steady, not an ounce of residual fear behind them as she warns, “Don’t go after him again. It’ll only get you killed.”

[eleanore-delphinium]

DamiRae Week 2020: First And Last AU

FIRST  (first part)

MATURE/ EXPLICIT

[maribellablack]

I always thought that Nicholas Galitzine was an underrated actor and I'm so happy and excited that he's gained more attention and popularity since the last year... I'm so proud of him...

Also, I don't care how many times he's played a royal or a noble character , it's never enough for me... I can't really explain it but it seems like he was born to play that genre of characters? and for your information, I'm very picky when it comes to the actors and actresses playing historical figures and royals...

Nicholas Dimitri Constantine Galitzine as George Villiers in the new tv series

"Mary and George" (2023)

[nfcomics]

DC'S HARLEY QUINN ROMANCES no.1 (one shot) • cover art • Amanda Conner [Jan 2023]

DC is proud to present a selection of eight stories of rapscallion romance, prodigious passion, and undulating, unbridled affection. Tension builds as Apollo and Midnighter are captured by an unknown alien species who are determined to learn the secrets of their supersoldier success. Harley Quinn gets caught in a scintillating fantasy: What would life have been like if she and Ivy had met in high school? Also featuring Fire and Ice heating things up, fan-favorite heroine Power Girl's romantic tale, John Constantine's mysterious tryst, an amorous Aquaman adventure, and many more! These are lovelorn fantasies as only DC can tell them…but it's not a Harlequin romance…prepare yourself for the Harley Quinn Romances!

[the-nocturnal-writer]

Oh- Who am I kidding, I want to show off Heka and Con's re-designs so bad!

[kristinamae093]

Hey There! I saw this, and I couldn't agree more! Nothing says I love you more than "I'm willing to try this for you." And this works for all kinds of relationships: romance, friends, and family, too.

Would you be able to create something showing this for one of your characters or pairings? It could be a drabble, fic, edit, art - anything at all!

NO PRESSURE AT ALL - only if you want to, but I'd love to see what you could come up with!

Hey @jerzwriter! 👋 Thank you so much for sending this my way! This was a lot of fun and I hope you enjoy this silly nonsense I came up with! 🙂

Baking Memories

Everything else can be found here.

Book - TRR

Characters - Constantine, Liam.

Warnings - There's like, one bad word.

Word Count - 2489

A/N 1 - This is a one-shot from my HCTS AU, but this can absolutely be read as a stand-alone. The only thing you really need to know is Constantine didn't die as he did in canon and beat his cancer, but has been diagnosed a second time. Kyla (F!OC) is mentioned but not present, so I guess this takes place sometime between the previous chapter and the next.

A/N 2 - I slipped in the third @choicesflashfics prompt — “Why are you being so weird?” that will be bolded.

A/N 3 - (last one) - thank you SO MUCH @ao719 for reading through this for me and your suggestions! Any errors found are mine and mine alone, and I didn't really edit this a whole lot to be honest, so...... There's your warning lol 🙃.

Most characters belong to Pixelberry.

Constantine Rys was once a hard man; born and bred for royalty, he never got to enjoy and experience the little things in life. It never bothered him before, considering he was the reigning monarch of an entire nation with the world at his fingertips. However, since his retirement he found himself longing to experience all the things he missed out on. Today specifically, he wanted to learn how to bake; not just anything, a very specific recipe. 

His first wife was clueless in the kitchen and Regina knew very little, but Eleanor spoiled him with various baked goods consistently while she was alive. When she found the time for it Constantine never understood, but she always had warm cookies for him and the children to enjoy. He'll never forget the memories of retiring to his quarters after a long day and opening the door to hear the boys and Eleanor’s laughter, accompanied by the sweet, heavenly smell of whatever she prepared for them that day. 

Now, especially since his time left on earth was limited, he wanted to learn all these things he never had the opportunity to experience before. He found an instructor and Bastien vetted the person before scheduling a private lesson right in his quarters. His intention was to set everything up so Kyla could join him, but the teacher was only available on a specific day and Kyla was off. He knew she would still come if he asked, but he didn't want to impose on her personal time. Regina was his backup, but unfortunately, that day was a no from her as well. 

Even so, Constantine was still excited about his lesson. It may only be a class of one, but he was looking forward to putting his new skill to use. 

A knock sounded on his door and he quickly scurried over to answer it. On the other side stood Bastien, a woman who he assumed to be his 'teacher', and Liam, who Constantine hadn't told. It wasn't that he was trying to hide anything or keep secrets; he initially wanted to recruit Liam for this venture to begin with. However, he knew all too well how busy a Friday afternoon was as a solo monarch and figured it would be of no use to ask. However, his unexpected presence made Constantine hopeful that perhaps they would get to share this experience after all.  

"Son! What're you doing here?"

"I just so happened to be taking my lunch when I saw Bastien with Mrs. Finch." Liam motioned to the woman with a polite smile. "Care to explain to me why you're having bakers come to your quarters?"

"She's going to teach me."

"You want to bake?" Liam asked with an arched brow. 

"Precisely." 

"Why?"

"Do you remember those cookies your mother would make? The molasses ones?"

Liam's mouth involuntarily started watering. "I do… That's what you want to make?"

"Eventually I'd like to try other things, but that's where I’ll start. I haven't had them in years and the staff just can't make them the way she did, anyway. I was hoping if I took some lessons, perhaps I could give it a go." Constantine stopped talking as he took in Liam's nostalgic expression. "Care to join us?"

"I don't bake, or – haven't in quite a while."

"Then this is the ideal time to perfect your skills!" Constantine hopefully suggested.

Liam's face instantly fell at seeing him so excited. "I really wish I could, but I have a meeting soon." 

Constantine was trying his hardest to smile, but on a few occurrences he realized Liam was doing what he'd done to him and Leo for years; putting the crown first. He never realized how much it truly hurts to be left alone when the person you're longing to spend time with is occupied. Of course, he understood Cordonia does ultimately have to come first, but perhaps since his time was limited he was beginning to develop a love-hate relationship with the word duty. 

"Ah, I see... No worries, son." Constantine sadly smiled and motioned for the woman to come in. "If everything goes right, perhaps I can bring you some." 

"Thanks…" 

The woman stepped inside and disappeared with Constantine. Liam remained outside the door, suddenly feeling guilty for leaving. His whole life all he wanted was a genuine relationship with his father, and now that he'd been blessed with it he often had to put the crown first. However, now that his father's time left was dwindling, he found it was practically impossible to walk away.  

"Bastien," Liam started, "Clear my schedule for the day – no, the weekend. I'm unavailable unless it's an emergency." 

Bastien smiled and bowed. "Of course, sir." 

Liam made his way inside his father's quarters to the in-suite kitchen and couldn't help but laugh as he saw his father wearing a white, puffy chef's hat. When Constantine looked up and saw Liam enter, the pure excitement radiating off of him was enough to fill Liam’s heart so full he was sure it would burst any moment. 

"Liam! What're you doing here?" 

"As it turns out, I had a cancellation." Liam winked. 

"Get in here, then! You need a toque as well." 

"I don't think–" 

"We are pastry chefs right now; it's absolutely necessary." Constantine held out a hat to him. 

Liam stared at it for a long moment before he took it and reluctantly put it on. "Happy?"

"Elated. Now, Mrs. Finch, what are we doing?" 

"First we'll start by creaming the sugars and butter together." She showed the pair her measurements, as well as how to soften the butter. Using a hand-held mixer, she swirled the bowl until the task was completed before continuing, "Now, the eggs. The biggest thing to remember is don't over mix, or your cookies won't turn out properly."

Constantine nodded and picked up an egg from the supplies laid before him. “I’ve never done this before…” He held it up with furrowed brows as he intently studied it. "How do we get – inside?" 

Mrs. Finch laughed. "We have to break it, sir. See? Like this." She gently cracked an egg on the counter and emptied it into the bowl. Liam silently chuckled at Constantine's flabbergasted expression; something so simple was blowing his mind, and his elation was incredibly contagious. "It's easy, you just need a hard surface. You try."

Constantine nodded and tried to mimic her by using the counter, but that resulted in multiple yolks in his palm after a number of failed attempts. Finally, he looked around the area searching for a different surface to try when he got the perfect idea. He took the egg and although he intended to lightly tap it, he ended up smashing it against Liam's forehead; the egg splattered but thankfully most of his hair was shielded by his new accessory. However, the yolk and slimy membrane started dripping down his face, accompanied by the remaining shells. 

Liam squeezed his eyes closed as the goo slipped over them and his mouth fell open in shock, but he quickly closed it to not ingest anything. He felt something soft on his forearm and blindly reached out to accept a towel someone offered him. 

After cleaning his face, Liam turned to Constantine with narrowed eyes. "Seriously?!" 

"I guess I do still have some strength left." Constantine nervously chuckled before he added, "I apologize, son, I had no intentions of being so… brute."

"Why my head, though?!"

"She said a hard surface…" 

"Ha. Ha." Liam grabbed an egg and without breaking eye contact used one hand and cracked it perfectly against the side of the bowl. "Gently, grasshopper – and it goes inside the bowl." 

Constantine’s mouth fell open. "You may be upset, but you will not refer to me as a bug–" 

"It's – Nevermind… Mrs. Finch, please continue." 

She did as instructed and walked them through the various steps to make the cookies, plus gave them tips and tricks along the way to help make sure the recipe turned out correctly. They sifted their dry ingredients together in a separate bowl and were preparing to combine everything together, but Constantine insisted he wanted to be the one to use the hand mixer this time. Liam was absolutely reluctant, but ultimately caved after a five-minute debacle. 

Liam stood beside him watching Constantine's every move; so far, he was doing incredibly well with this specific job. Mrs. Finch was slowly adding their dry ingredients and Liam started to relax, thinking that things were smooth sailing from here on out. 

His phone rang and he stepped away to answer it but remained in Constantine's line of sight. Liam spoke with furrowed brows, his face red, and Constantine could tell he was speaking sternly; it instantly piqued his interest. 

The conversation was short and Liam reappeared a moment later completely unfazed. "Who was that?" Constantine practically shouted over the mixer still whirring in his hand. Liam answered, but Constantine couldn't hear him. "What?!" Again, Liam said something, but Constantine couldn't make it out. 

There was text beside each button on the machine, but they were so small Constantine couldn't see which one was labeled power. He ended up increasing the speed to the maximum setting, causing the mixer to shake and vibrate in his hand. Liam walked back beside him and spoke again, but Constantine paid him no attention as he was trying to read the tiny prints. Instead of leaning over to try and find the correct one, he decided to bring the mixer to eye level. 

It happened in slow motion; everything was fine one second, and the next their still very thin batter was flying all over the front of Liam’s suit. Constantine naturally turned his direction to Liam instantaneously as he held the mixer at arm's length, away from his own body. The machine continued to forcefully whirl until the beaters were clean, all its contents now covering the front of Liam’s face, body, and a little of the surrounding area. Liam could only stand there in shock; mouth agape, arms raised, completely flabbergasted. 

Constantine finally pushed the correct button and the mixer slowly stopped. He had a sheepish smile as he lowered it back into the bowl before speaking in a soft, timid voice. "The good news is there's still plenty left…" 

Liam only stared at Constantine with narrowed eyes. Constantine nervously chuckled and swiped his finger across Liam’s cheek before licking the contents. "Mmm – delicious indeed." Liam opened his mouth to speak, but Constantine quickly added, "Don't be mad, son… It was simply a mistake…" 

Liam took a deep breath and slowly let it out to keep his composure. "I'm not upset," A vengeful, mischievous idea struck him. He smirked and said, "matter of fact, perhaps we should hug this out." 

"I don't think that's–" Constantine tried to protest, but soon found himself engulfed in Liam’s strong arms. He looked down and saw Liam rubbing his face on his shirt, thoroughly cleaning it, and couldn't help but chuckle. "I suppose I deserved that." 

Mrs. Finch was quick to take over and simply talked them through the rest of the process to avoid any more mishaps, although they did help form the cookies. The sweet, heavenly aroma that filled the air as their delicacies baked brought back memories for both. Their goods came out of the oven and Mrs. Finch was dismissed, paid very well for her services, and Constantine even insisted she take some with her. 

Now, they were simply relaxing on the couch, enjoying the product of their work, and reminiscing with a cup of hot tea. Although they were missing Leo and Regina, it was nice for just the two of them to relive moments they’d shared while creating new memories at the same time. Constantine expected his ‘class’ to be rather boring but informative; never did he think it would turn into a chaotic, beautiful memory for him to relive for the rest of his limited days.

"Liam," Constantine started as he sat forward and grabbed another cookie. "Thank you for joining me today. I know things didn’t go quite as smoothly as they could have, but I'm thankful you were here… I had fun." 

Liam smiled. "I’m glad… There were definitely some mishaps–” He stopped to rub his forehead. “–but I had fun too. And, these cookies turned out amazing." 

"I concur. Mrs. Finch did an excellent job and I have to say, they are quite close in comparison to your mother's." 

"Here, here," Liam agreed whilst holding his cookie up to Constantine, which he returned before they both took a large bite. Liam swallowed and spoke again, "Listen… I know I'm busy, but I'll always try to make time for stuff like this – especially now…" He trailed off with a sad expression. 

Constantine signed and patted Liam on the knee. "I know. But I'm also aware of how demanding the Crown is. I don't want you canceling obligations on my account – again." He gave Liam a knowing look. 

Liam held his free hand up in surrender. "It wasn't that important! Neville comes here and bitches consistently, I'm sure he'll be back in a few days." 

Constantine couldn't help but chuckle. "Perhaps I could give you a warning next time, then… So you can try to pencil your old man in." He playfully grinned. 

Now, it was Liam’s turn to laugh. "You don't need 'penciled in', but a notice would be appreciated." 

"Done," Constantine suddenly stood and extended his hand. Liam shoved his last bite into his mouth and took it, confused, but Constantine was quick to pull him into a tight hug as Liam rose. "I love you, son." 

"I love you too." 

Their moment hung for a few seconds before Constantine stepped away with a bright smile. "Let's plan our next endeavor! It'll need to be during Kyla's work time, which proves beneficial to the both of us…" He stopped talking to wiggle his eyebrows. "Actually... What would you like to do? Perhaps something to woo her? We could go to a massage–" 

"Why are you being so weird?” Liam interjected. "You decide what you want to do and we'll figure everything out from there." 

"Hmmm…" Constantine trailed off, deep in thought. He snapped his finger a moment later. "We enlist Duchess Olivia and–" 

"I'm going to stop you right there; anything pertaining to Olivia means weapons and that's an automatic no." Constantine tried to retort, but Liam held a hand up. "Do I really have to pull the King card again? Think of something else, and we'll talk." 

Constantine opened and closed his mouth a few times before shaking his head and mumbling something as he sat. "What was that?" Liam asked with an amused grin. 

"I said you can be a bit of a hard ass sometimes." 

Liam smirked and confidently replied, "I learned from the best."

HCTS Tags (If you'd like added or removed, please let me know):

@choicesficwriterscreations @ao719 @queenrileyrose @tessa-liam @angelasscribbles @kingliam2019 @differenttyphoonwerewolf  @bascmve01 @busywoman  @belencha77 @mysticalfangirl @nestledonthaveone @lovingchoices14 @lunaseasblog  @malblk21 @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @emersyn-in-cordonia @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @queenmiarys @choicesflashfics

[spacetimegirls]

Is this okay? It's more than okay prompt.

The quiet hours in the mansion, when it’s just the two of them pressed up against each other, like seperate bodies melted into one - those are his favourite. John Constantine doesn’t think he’s felt fully human in a long time. But Zari curled up on his lap and a Buzzcock record spinning under the needle and he feels human - really, truly human - now.

Zari is half-asleep against him and his fingers absentmindedly run through her hair. Over and over. Rhythmic. John is used to always being on the move, always having something to do, something to fix, or work on, or run away from. He was sure he’d forgotten how to let time stand still, but Zari seems to be proof of the opposite. (Zari is always proving him wrong, in all the right ways. For a cursed man, she is a miracle).

Her face tilts up, eyes meeting his, and he smiles, soft and so, so full of love. He presses a kiss to her temple, and she giggles, before pushing herself up to a sitting position. He studies her face. He tries to figure her out.

“Is this okay, my love?” John asks, and he’s not quite sure what he’s referring to, but he asks it anyway.

And Zari hums, quietly, just for a moment, before she leans in closer, and presses her lips to his.

A gentle kiss, before she pulls away.

“It’s more than enough.” She whispers against him, and John feels his heart swell with a warmth he wasn’t sure he could feel anymore. He smiles, huffs out a chuckle, and pulls her in closer to him.

And in that moment, the rest of the world ceases to be. It’s just the two of them, and it is enough.

[angelasscribbles]

The Crown and the Shield Chapter 8: Healing

Series: The Crown and the Shield

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Constantine x Jackson

Word Count: 922

Rating: PG

Warnings for this chapter: none

Special thanks to @aussiegurl1234 for her input.

A/N: So, we finally come to the final chapter of this “one-shot” lol. I hope it meets expectations.

My other stuff: Master List.

“Today is the one-year anniversary of the Madrid Peace Summit Massacre,” the news anchor addressed the camera.

“It was a dark day for all our countries,” His co-host replied nodding her head sympathetically, “Isabella Hasapis was forced to take the Auverness throne when both her parents were killed, making her the youngest monarch in their history, ascending the throne at only sixteen. In Monterisso, the late queen’s sister was appointed as regent until crown princess Amalas is old enough to rule.”

Constantine turned the volume of the TV up as his mind ran back in time to the worst day of his life.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the white-coated doctor stood with his hands in his pockets as he delivered the news, “We did everything we could. Heroic measures were employed but the injuries from the gunshot wounds were too grievous, and we were unable to save him.”

Constantine’s body shook with sobs. He let himself be led to a chair. He sank into it and dropped his head into his hands. He gathered his emotions as best he could and lifted his head, “And her?”

“I’m sorry, sir, again, the extent of the injuries-“

“So I’ve lost them both?”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. Would you like to see your wife now?”

“Connie, why are you watching this?” Eleanor took the remote from his hand and clicked the TV off just as the footage of his remarks from the south lawn of the palace earlier in the day began to play.

He turned to her with tears in his eyes, “It was the day I lost both my parents. The day I almost lost you. I don’t know how Leo and Liam would have-“

“Hey, we don’t have to worry about that. I’m here. I made it and so did you.”

“Thanks to Jack.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “Thanks to Jack. Speaking of him…don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall and jumped to his feet, “Shit! Yes! I have to go!”

“It’s fine, go!” She shooed him out of their private living room, one hand at the small of her back and the other resting on her burgeoning stomach as she felt the baby kick. “Settle down, Lena. You have a month left in there.”

She missed her in-laws, but she was grateful that both she and her husband had been spared. The bullet had hit her in the side. There had been a lot of blood, but no major organs had been damaged.

She would have joined the king, but she was on partial bedrest for the duration of the pregnancy. She had told Constantine to give her love to the Walker family. She would be forever grateful for the sacrifices made that day.

Constantine stepped out of the limo and approached the group gathered around the gravesite. He made his way to Bianca and swept her into a hug before doing the same with Drake and Savannah in turn.

He stepped forward and touched the cold marble of the marker, his fingers tracing the etching. His throat constricted as he croaked out, “He died a hero.”

“That he did. He stepped right in front of that bullet.”

Constantine turned toward the voice with a solemn expression, “So did you.”

“Damned straight I did! And I’d do it again!”

The king pulled the other man into a tight embrace as he fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, “Don’t joke about that, Jack, I almost lost you that day!”

It had been touch and go for two weeks. Constantine had never left his side.

“I’m not joking,” Jackson hugged him back.

Constantine had tried to get him to transfer to a less dangerous position, but Jackson had refused. There was no one else he trusted to safeguard the man he loved.

“Eleanor sends her love to all of you,” Constantine pushed out of Jackson’s arms and turned back to the monument, “We know how much Bastien meant to you.”

“He was like family,” Bianca agreed.

“He didn’t hesitate to take that bullet for her,” Jackson removed a flask of whiskey from his jacket pocket and held it up to the monument in salute, “Here’s to the best junior officer I ever had the privilege of training.”

“To Bastien!” the little group chorused.

When the gathering was over, Constantine and Jackson walked back to the limo together, hand in hand.

The perpetrators of the attack had all been brought to justice and The Liberation Core dismantled. There was some amount of closure in that.

Eleanor had taken the news of his relationship with Jackson in stride.

“I suspected, Connie. But it doesn’t change anything for me. I love you, and I love our boys.”

The only thing she had asked him for was another child. A chance for a girl and he’d given it to her.

In return, she’d given him complete acceptance of his relationship with Jackson.

He was as happy as he could be while still grieving his parents. He would always miss them, but he had a baby on the way, a queen who understood him, and the love of his life by his side.

Next year for his birthday, Jackson was getting that white water rafting trip. Constantine had already booked it. Just the two of them…give or take a few dozen guardsmen.

He glanced at the man next to him with happiness in his heart. He was healing, Cordonia was healing, and the future looked bright.  

~fin

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From "Grace" in DC's Harley Quinn Romances issue #1 (2023)

Story by Frank Allen

Art by John McCrea

Colours by Mike Spicer

Letters by Becca Carey