#dark (netflix) fanfic

[dragongirlpoet]

Dark Signs 3

Summary: As Alucard grapples with his grief over what he has done, secrets are unveiled and graver foes awaken. Is it too late to save you? (Plot takes off months before *that ending* in part 2. Some parts are off-canon.)

This chapter is written in Alucard’s POV.

Themes: Dark fantasy, horror, romance, angst I Words: 4k

Warnings: MDNI. Horror, blood, gore, violence, religious themes, mentions of suicide, grief, depression, anxiety, slight smut

Pt 1 I Pt 2

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To the lovely folks who are holding out for part 3, thank you! 💛 Sorry I couldn’t put this out sooner.

@s-i-l-v-e @kawaiiskeletoneggsnerd @celly-fahrenheit @skychaser777

I tasted blood, cherry and salt. 

And I wanted more, more, more.

We were tangled in each other, our bodies suspended in the cosmic cerulean of the deep ocean. 

She was my salvation. Her kiss was my atonement. And her blood, oh her blood…it was a gift so heavenly. All my immortal life had desired only that very thing, and now that I had it, I couldn’t let go. 

Every shred of my primordial essence — powerful yet cursed, now entombed in the marrows of her soul. My blood now flowed in hers, as her blood, mine. We were fused as one, we were divine. 

My darling’s fingers traced the sharps of my jaw as she kissed me, our married blood spilling from her mouth, diluting the water. They formed red rivulets around us, as if in symbolic reverence that we were the almighty givers of ichor. 

We were safe, entwined together in eternal damnation.

I love her. I love her so deeply that I’d doomed her with my blood curse, so I could have her by my side till the sun swallowed us whole. And for that, I’d forever fester in my blasphemous sin.

“Adrian…” she seemed to say, but the snare of the ocean strangled her words, slowed our every caress… as if time at all wanted to still for our undying love.

Oh what I would give to hear her voice — seraphic, like a birdsong, my name chaste upon her lips. 

Her ivory chemise clung to her body like sculpted granite, her nipples just peeking through. They were for my eyes only. Yes…her being, her blood, her body…they all belonged to me.

But in that sacred moment, something felt…amiss. There were those jade-green veins, palpable under her eyes… they ran like fine cracks on marble, so like those on a delicately-carved statue.

Raven hair hovered around her tiny frame, resembling venomous serpents held buoyant by witchcraft. They were so in contrast to my gold, like the exact moment dusk bled into dawn.

There was the red rivulet again, this time saturating the white ribbons of her nightdress. They coiled around my arms, binding me to her. Not that I’d ever let go. 

But I had to, for her lingering touch was frost impaling even my vampiric skin. Why was she so cold?

“Adrian…” again she seemed to call out.

Her eyes, despite being underwater, were wide open, the blacks of them bereft of the soul I once knew. She was pale. So pale. And she looked every bit the angel of death. 

My angel…when did she slip from my arms? 

Our fingers entwined one last time, before a sombre gloom dragged her under. Slowly she sank, like a fallen star ousted by the heavens, syphoned of its light. 

But I’m right here, darling. Stay. 

I willed all of my immortal power to reach for her outstretched hands, but my body was deadened, as if held prisoner by spirit shackles. Further and further she sank from me, and I so terribly wanted to tell her that wasn’t where she was supposed to go.

Words evaded me, as my tears had.

The hollow abyss seemed to rise up — impatient, almost — to receive its new sacrifice. 

Blood gushed from her mouth — they were viscid, as if so thickened they had to be forced out or she would choke. The blood kept coming. They streamed out of the sockets of her eyes, running like bloody tears of the living dead. 

They say that monsters like us lack the ability to fear, yet I’d never felt more afraid than I did then. The love of my life, drowning, dying, yet I could do wholly nothing. Alucard, son of Dracula — weak, worthless…

A fissure cracked her chest open, the cavity creeping wide to reveal her beating heart. Her human heart. 

The blood kept coming. 

“Come back to me…” I begged, the futility of it sickening me.

Still, she descended. I watched in horror as the godless ocean buried her in its oblivion, until all I was made to see was the compunction of my sins. 

On her neck that I used to so lavish with kisses, lay the wounds only a wretch like me could inflict. 

I did it. I killed her. 

“Adrian…”

____________

I jolted awake. 

A numbing despair perforated my insides, a feeling I knew all too well. I stared out the window through heavy eyelids, the red moon magnified by sweat teardrops trickling through my eyelashes. 

For a long moment I just sat there, my lungs crushed by torment, my heart shattered by grief. I’d lost count of the nightmares that had plagued me over the decade…no, it’s been 96 years, Adrian. A century. A century she’s been gone.

What was I living for? 

Memories I longed to forget writhed their way into my mind, forcing me to once again relive the hell that fateful night. 

I had sat in the castle hall for days, her lifeless body cradled in my arms. My eyes burned from tears, and I wanted to die. I fed her so much of my blood, my immortal blood, still she slept. I summoned spirits, conjured the most powerful of magicks, still, she slept. My hope hanging by a thread, I fused my father’s sciences with my mother’s elixirs…still, she slept. 

I was about to drive my own sword into my heart — the only one ensorcelled enough to kill a dhampir, when a familiar voice stopped my contemptible deed. 

“Alucard! This place reeks of death, and here I thought we’d gotten rid of your father long ago.”

“Stop it, Belmont!”

“What? He may be pristine but his home sure isn’t. Alucard! Honey, we’re home!”

“Will you stop yelling?”

“Alucard’s probably busy shoving it in her, ha. I need to make sure he can hear me above their grunts and moans. Have you forgotten how loud you get, Sypha?”

“You’re disgusting, Belmont.”

“Alucard! Ah, there you are. In the hall, really? You two really are something. Do you have food? I’m starving. I…”

“Belmont.”

“Fine, fine. Beer is good as w…”

“Belmont!”

It took Belmont a long minute before he alas perceived what Sypha meant. My two dearest friends — immobile in silent trepidation, distress distinct on their faces.   

“What happened, Alucard? Was she attacked?” Sypha was the first to speak. As always, her presence seemed to bring solace, but it dissipated promptly.

“I killed her, Sy…Sypha. She asked mmme… to…tto turn her, and I…I drank too much…I killed her.” 

Mere speaking incinerated my throat, and it was then I’d realised I hadn’t stopped crying. I could scarce breathe through my wheezing, let alone enunciate words.

“I…I tried ever…rything, help me please…ppplease…save her please…”

Belmont, in a rare display of empathy, knelt beside us and took my hand in his. “We will find a way to save her, and we will not stop until we do. I promise.”

At his oath, I collapsed into Belmont’s arms. Anguish, shame, relief…they all coursed through my body — my face buried in his shoulders, weeping. Every emotion that I’d held in, all unfettered at the fact that I had someone, that I wasn’t alone to fight my battles. 

“Fault yourself not, Alucard. She never would’ve blamed you.” Sypha’s voice was soft, soothing, enveloping us in a reassuring embrace. I fell apart completely. 

A loud pounding at the doors disturbed our bittersweet reunion, arousing our every alarm. There seemed to be a clamour of sorts — yelling, mocking…definitely humans. Belmont took to receive the unusual affair, leaving a gap just wide enough to acknowledge a throng of men — bishops, priests and followers of the church. 

“I don’t remember ever calling for your conceited services, Father.” Belmont sneered. 

“It’s Father Caine to you, and I could hardly expect couth coming from especially you. Excommunicated and still, never learning the error of your ways…

I sense a great evil here…more so than I daresay…Dracula himself. Forgive our ruckus, for we, the good men, merely wish to rid the town of all that is malign…Hand the girl over, and all shall be well.” 

Sypha and I exchanged uneasy looks. What was he talking about? 

Belmont, entirely irked by the bishop’s pretentious drivel, was barely holding it in. “Take your horseshit hubris and shove it up your a…”

“Oh, but don’t you want to know why we want the girl? Not the speaker-magician…the dhampir’s lover.” 

What?

The dastardly bishop, words of scorn and malice, continued, “She now has the blood curse of the dhampir, and something in that transformation awoke creatures of the night…dark, hateful creatures…ones that possess an ancient evil…It is easy. We exorcise and burn her body, and as I’ve said…all shall be well.”

Blood searing in my veins, I raced past Belmont, the parasite parish’s body dangling midair in my chokehold. Eyes bloodshot and fangs hungry, I crushed his throat harder. He let out pathetic struggles of breath, rosary still firmly clasped in his hand. 

“Where is your God now, Father? If we are the impurity you so seek to vanquish, then what of the innocents you slaughtered unrepentently, all because they did not fit your cause?” 

I thought of my mother, the Belmonts, the heathens who simply held their own beliefs…and most of all, I thought of my sweet angel, so kind and full of love…

“What the…” Belmont cursed when we were doused with buckets of Holy Water. The “Men of God” started chanting prayers, as if their contrived communion would somehow free their pious leader. 

I let out a laugh. 

“The absolute gall you have, Father. Despite my mourning, I shall grant you this last mercy. Command your men to leave and never again return, and I shall kill only you. Fail to do so, and I’ll rip the tendons from all your wicked hearts. After all, I am a monster, am I not?”

A few men flinched at my words, casting hesitant glances to the others, while some implored Father Caine to choose wisely. Such cowards.

The bishop shifted a little in my grip, a faint smirk splayed across his face. “M…ark my words, vampire. Dark times ar…are ahead…The girl must di…” 

I tore his heart right out of his ribs.

He was right. I was a vampire. I was omni-sentient. I was a monster and a God all at the same time. The farcical impudence he had to order the execution of my beloved…Anyone who touches her will die.

With his blood on my hands, I felt my hunger creep in once again, ripping off the human mask I wore like a virtue. I needed to feed.

It wasn’t until Belmont started swinging his Morningstar than I realised the tumult that had ensued. “And God shits in my dinner once again…Alucard! Left!”

Veins palpitating from the heart I’d just consumed, I saw that the rest of the church, quite possibly under the predetermined order of the bishop, lit a pyre that massacred the foliage we used to read under, devoured the quince fruit trees we so loved to frolic around.

They will all die. 

“Get back!” Sypha cried, mutating the fire into swirls that wavered to her bidding. She channelled them towards the men, trapping them in rings of flame. Out of nowhere, fire arrows flew in our direction, narrowly missing Sypha’s face. That was enough to send Belmont into a scalding rage. 

His Morningstar cleaved through half of the men, dismembering some, dissecting others. My estoc weaved through throats and hearts, beheading some, mutilating others. The tragic irony of it all — the very men whose sole mission was to protect mankind, to do good, on an aimless rampage to kill because of a misguided prophecy.

And so the fighting went on for months, years... Night creatures, more members of the parish, vampires seeking a new world order…valiant efforts, alas they were no more than vermins effortlessly exterminated by us three. 

We weren’t certain why they had kept showing up. Whether it was a curse set off by my turning her, or the fact that they simply wanted us dead…it mattered not, nor did I make it my business to find out. I was going to kill them all. 

Sypha and Belmont had kept to their promise. Come hell or high water, they stuck with me, even moving into the castle with their son. We battled foes, and never once did they abandon their cause to revive the love of my life.

“Alucard, you need to seal her. Keep her somewhere safe, where no one but you can find,” Sypha had one day told me. I was no fool, I’d known they wouldn’t be around forever, and if I’d succumbed to my grief, all their efforts would’ve been in vain. 

“Promise me that when she wakes, you two will look after our kids, and grandkids, and great-grandkids, and…” Belmont trailed off, seemingly stumped by staple discourse.

“They’re called descendants, you idiot.” Sypha rolled her eyes. 

Managing a genuine smile I haven’t had in a long while, I replied, “I promise.”

“My lord.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to yet leave my reverie.

“My lord,” Centrio again addressed, this time with more urgency. There, bowing by the door, dressed in fine leather that I had gifted, stood the first human I’d turned after…her. I’d found him by the docks, and he was all but an emanciated vagrant on the brink of death. Perhaps it was the matyr in me, but I thought it more I had wanted to experiment…if he indeed turned, perhaps there was a way…

“The council is ready for you.” 

Donning my guise of Imperious Vampire Overlord — terrifying, deadly, merciless — I made my way down to the great hall with my most loyal emissary. I clutched at the pendant around my neck — a vial forged with obsidian and laced with gold, encased with her blood. It was the only way I could feel her if she woke.  

An excruciating sorrow once again took shape, like an enemy planting tiny splinters in my heart, except those splinters were tainted with the most malevolent of poisons, inching slowly to ravage my vital core. 

“My lord,” 

The council all greeted in unison, heads bowed in utter veneration. Men, women, young, old…I had sired them all. To have a contingency if I ever needed one, to delegate my task of finding a cure, to have some goddamn chatter in the forsaken castle…

“We’ve received word that the denomination led by Gwyth is storming in from the highlands of Brasov. They are…angered by the vampires you’ve sired. She thinks just because…” 

“Just because what?” 

The gathering fell silent, as if fearful to draw my ire. Good…that’s how I intended it to be.

“Tell me, Finnor, does your gallantry waver in my presence? If so, perhaps it was my oversight in appointing you General?” 

“Forgive me, my lord. She thinks it’s a travesty that we, vampires a mere century old, are…” Finnor cleared his throat before continuing, “...exhausting all the human blood supply here in Braila. Some of our own have gone over to bordering cities, and they’re most displeased. She thinks that just because you’re… Dracula’s son, doesn’t give you the right…”

“Dracula’s son?” I scoffed. 

“Did I not sire you all? If Dracula is my father, then does his blood not also run in your veins? 

“Yes!” My council concurred in earnest. 

Does that not make you powerful?”

“Yes!”

“Good! Then let them come. We will defend what is rightfully ours, will we not?”

“Yes!” 

At that, they broke into a resounding cheer, half howling, the rest pounding staffs, swords and what have you on the marble floor. Contrary to the revelry below, I, worshipped like a God on my throne, felt wholly insentient. I cared not for war, nor truimphs, nor reign. If I’d created bloodthirsty monsters, it was merely a means to an end. 

I wanted only one thing. 

Was this how my father felt when my mother died?

“Kindly see to it, Centrio. I wish not to be bothered.”

“At your service, my lord.”

There she was — immaculate in white, clutching the garland of daffodils I’d made her, so detached from the pain I’d caused…I had all but little choice when I’d sealed her in the underground castle chambers. I had cast a spell so powerful, that save for the both of us, no one could enter, or find, our fortress in Wallachia.

Living in the castle without my friends, without her, seeing her lifeless body…it went on for months, years…I couldn’t bear it. Her lying there, bereft of a heartbeat, of a breath, broke me in ways I never knew existed. 

And so I resolved to start over in Braila, it was the only way to keep her safe, it was the only way I could honour my vow to save her.

Cape dragging behind my lifeless steps, I trudged back to my study, thoughts once again lost in her. Innumerable letters I’d written, infinite words I wanted to say — all frozen and wayward like misplaced luminaries in an interstellar void. 

What have I done, darling? I’ve created…abominations... so many innocent lives lost because of me…Will you still love me when you see what I’ve become?

“Adrian…”

I spun round, completely entranced by her voice. 

In the doorway, against the crimson glow of the stained-glass window, wearing the white chemise just as she always had, awaited my beloved. It suddenly became daunting to breathe, my mind apprehensive to behold the sight.

“Darling? Is it really you?” I uttered, my words close to a tremble.

She said nothing, but merely moved to me with such litheness I was taken aback. Her steps were languid, like a lone willow swaying in a bleak winter tempest. 

“H…how did you find me? You don’t look well, do you need to feed? Here,” I offered my bloodslit wrists to her. She pressed her lips to them at once, as though thoroughly acquainted with my gesture. 

“I missed you so much, I…”

“Shhh…” she hushed, sinking to her knees. 

Her hands made quick work of my trousers, and too soon had my entire length in her mouth. My cock twitched as her tongue lapped over the ridges of my growing erection, licking hurried circles around my tip.

“Fuck…baby…I missed you so fucking much…” I panted, pushing her face deeper between my thighs. “Ahhh…that feels so good…” and threw my head back, shutting my eyes, relishing in the absolute ecstasy of her eagerness. 

Pumping my sex in rapid fervour, she took it further down her throat, sucking, constricting…the weight of my every burden reduced to an indistinct drone.

“Slow down, darling,” 

“Yes, my lord…”

My eyes flew open. My lord?

From where I was, I alas saw it. The sable of her tresses ran an incomparable lustre to my darling’s raven. I flung the devil thrall into the windows at once, shattering the glass, red fragments giving way to golden gleams of the inconspicuous sun. 

“How very dare you,” my voice dropping to a haunting hiss as I stalked towards her. “The audacity you possess to employ such pitious artifice…who sent you?” 

The thrall quivered at my unrestrained wrath, straining to speak against the bleeding shards skewered in her throat.

“Y…you…did…m…my l..ord…” 

I froze, the lunacy of my suffering clear as day. I must already be dead. 

Refusing to bear the yoke of that truth, I instead directed all my shame and hurt at the dying vampire whom I’d sired. 

“Why do you get to live, but she doesn’t? Why do all of you get to persist in endlessness, possess my blood gift, but she is doomed to sleep for all eternity? Why!”

All that remained was the anguished aftershock of my tirade, and the spurting of blood that had slivered their way to the soles of my boots. 

“F…forrr…give me, mmy…lord…”

“I want you to listen closely. She transcends your every breath. You will never be her.” 

I compelled my estoc to sever her head. 

____________

I liked it out here. At times the ocean waves would susurrate, tonight it was a thunder against the cliffs. It offered a quiet respite from my heartbreak, the inane vampire politics, and the endless blood war of the undead.

My hair whipped in the frigid windstorm, yet I felt nothing. I was a lighthouse abandoned — hollow, crepuscular — fleeting through the years devoid of purpose. There were nights where I would see her in the middle of the violent sea — so alone, so tormented — does she know? I would cross oceans of time to find her.

Something snapped. 

I remained still as death, my gaze shifting calculatedly to the untimely intruder foolish enough to trespass into my castle grounds. Their steps, though fairly distant and furtive, stood little chance against my heightened hearing. 

The clanging of chains reached my ears long before my sword ensnared the metal. Holding it mere inches from my face, I studied the peculiar weapon — intricate weaving of iron, spikes flared at the tip…and that leather whip. 

“Simon Belmont. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Save that garb for someone who gives a shit, vampire.”

I smirked at his salutation, perhaps a little more than necessary. “I see the Belmonts have a tradition.”

Unlike his forefathers, Simon had fallen out of favour with the Belmonts, insisting that vampires, regardless of their intent and relationship, are considered foe and should, at all costs, be exterminated with their bodies wrung out to dry. 

“The odious horde you have sired are arrogant beyond their means. Do you not care for the turmoil they have caused? The innocent lives they have claimed?” 

I no longer have the capacity to, I wanted to tell him. 

“I come here not to befriend, or beg, or ask. Halt the atrocities of your vampires, or I shall finish what my grandfather so failed to do — kill you.”

“Are you threatening me, Belmont?”

Taking advantage of my affront, he wielded the Combat Cross — one I’d noticed too late — for it struck the pendant around my collar, barely missing my chest. I watched as the vial containing her blood fracture into pieces, her lifesource splattered and devoured by the earth below. 

Seething, I lunged for Simon, teleporting behind him while coiling the Morningstar around his neck. He threshed around his imminent asphyxiation, blindly stabbing his dagger, attempting to find purchase on any of my organs. 

The tip of his Morningstar however, managed to etch itself onto my arm, igniting an unsteady glow. It would not combust in me, for I was neither human nor demon. Still, a searing pain barelled through the recesses of my body.

I released Simon as he collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving from the lack of air. Hovering my sword above his heart, I recalled the promise I had made to Belmont. 

“This is a fight for another day, Belmont. Take your weapons and leave, for I have little forbearance for charity such as now.”

Flinging a shard of the Transmission Mirror next to Simon, he was pulled into its magic before he could contend. As the mirror engulfed him in its sorcery, he glared at me with such loathing I thought it incredulous I had loved his grandparents dearly.

But it was his last words ahead of being teleported that unnerved me, roused me back to the verity of that very moment — “I know what you’re searching for, Alucard.”

I stared at the spot where Simon was, now an insignificant mass of rocks, amongst them lay fragments of my obsidian vial.

An uncanny cold snaked about my heart. Clutching at it, the hammering intensified to a booming knell, in the same manner as nights where the parish would pound at my castle doors with boulders, clamouring to burn her. My breathing soon withered to a wheeze, then a gasp, and I fell to my knees.

Without the pendant, I could feel her no longer. 

What if she woke? The indefinite dangers she would face outside the castle walls…Simon…what if he knew a way to find her…to kill her…

I was sickened with fear. Haste was of the essence, but the Transmission Mirror teleported at random — there was no telling where I would end up. Trembling, I raced to ready my stallion. 

I was going back to Castlevania. 

Pt 1 I Pt 2

[crookedteethed]

18+ Thinking about how the Rafe's would react to reader telling him she’s pregnant.

Season one Rafe would first definitely act like he doesn't remember sleeping with you, especially if you tell him while you're both at a party and all his friends are around, and he's got a cocaine nose job and he thinks everything's funny. You both know that this is a lie because the night you two had sex--straight up fucked--your cunt had Rafe totally whipped. He was coming back for more ( 4 more times, to be exact. Late nights on his boat, in secluded areas on the beach.).

Afterward, whenever you two would see each other on the island, you'd catch him staring at you; he caught himself trying to see if he could spot your baby bump; he'd totally deny this, though. When Topper goes to ask whose the chick he'd been staring down, Rafe would say:

"That's the slut that claims she's having my baby, but it ain't mine."

Season two Rafe would straight up tell you to abort it, and if you didn't listen to him the first time, he'd ask you if you wanted him to abort it for you. Also, I feel like he would go into a frenzy/have a panic attack when three months pass, and he sees you kept the baby. So now he has to explain to his father that he was the dope that got a chick pregnant during a one-night stand. But instead of taking the anger out on you, the baby, or even the pogues, he'd take it out on himself and go on a seven-day party bender.

Season three Rafe would like the idea of being a father and starting a family, especially with you, because you're the first girl he's been with for seven consecutive months (that's a lifetime for Rafe). He would get himself excited about the thought of having a baby (he hopes a boy) so he could officially embody the role of being the "Man of the house." (having a baby to Rafe is like an accessory to him.) He'd take the opportunity to raise his child differently than Ward had raised him, and then he'd show Ward how his offspring became such an outstanding person—something Ward could never do.

During your pregnancy, you both get yourselves excited about baby shopping and coming up with baby names; you and Rafe would also start thinking about marriage, I feel like he'd become more of a tits guy than an ass guy because of how plump your breast got, and I also feel like he would develop a slight breeding kink too during this time, touching and kissing your round belly whenever you two made love, knowing he's the one responsible for making you look like this.

But when the baby comes (It's a pretty little girl--he wanted a boy, but a girl would do. His logic: Girls are boys without a dick. He'd just have to make sure his little girl doesn't turn out such a pogue slut like his sister, Sarah.) Rafe realizes that he doesn't want to be a father anymore. It's too restrictive and time-consuming. How many years does he have to do this? 18?!

Honorable mentions: In each season, the word would spread to Ward, and whether or not Rafe wanted to keep the baby, Ward would force Rafe to take responsibility. "Take responsibility" in a Ward Cameron way; He'd bride you and your family. He is giving you all the desired amount of cash to either get an abortion or move away (or both) because he wouldn't want to ruin the Cameron image. Lord knows how the island would see his family if his bastard son gave birth to a bastard child.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

​GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

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

Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

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

It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

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

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

[simsim54]

“Falling in love with you was easy. Staying in love with you despite all of our differences, that was the hard part.”

Nothing relates more to Young Royals Season 3 than this quote!

[cabe0512]

Hector, as he appears in my fanfic: The Curse of Darkness.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Hob Gadling lets his lover practice his needlework on him. He's also been shot three times, which is rather part of it, but a little bit less important at the moment than a creature with tentacles helpfully digging out the bullets and trying to sew him shut again.

Author: @moorishflower

Note from submitter: It's an fantastic Siren AU with intricately genius worldbuilding, character designs, and adventures. Start buy swimming in the sea, lets go swim in the stars. I simply can never get enough of this series. 

[unknown-writez]

Misfit Toys

Chapter Six: Aftermath- Part One

he reached into his pocket taking out a knife. Twirling it in his hand for a second he then forcefully shoved it into the woman’s abdomen wiggling it a little just for fun before he then pulled it out the blood from her wound now staining her white button up as she groaned in pain saying “Y/N…you really..think..he can…protect you?” “It’s Minx!” Jerome shouted before swiftly kicking her chair off the desk and onto the floor. The wood hitting the ground with a great crash as he tossed her away to die slowly. Turning to me he smiled widely jokingly asking “Is it bad?” making me scoff saying “Nothing we can’t handle.” “Why don’t you do a little decorating while I deal with business.” he said, dropping off the desk. Grabbing a duffle bag near us he reached into it then he threw me some cans of spray paint. I nodded with a smile, taking the paint and going to the different walls. I covered the gcpd with little doodles words and whatever came to mind. Stars, hearts, smiling faces, ect. covered everything along with words like haha, liars and pigs. As I was graffitiing the palace I saw jerome pick up the camera that greenwood dropped on the floor and he started ranting to it. Sending his silly lessons and messages to its viewers as the others shot the people left still alive cleaning house. Guess they didn’t want survivors. Everyone stopped though when we heard distant sirens. “Time to go!” Jerome yelled out to everyone as he put down the camera and rushed over to me grabbing my hand and we both ran out the building and down the street into the same suv from before that came back to pick us up. Out of breath and my heart pounding in my chest I gave out a loud laugh. “Glad you had fun, doll.” Jerome said catching his breath still covered in blood and in his fake uniform “I liked your handy work back there. You’re a true artist.” he joked, making me smile. I knew that I should have probably been sad or traumatized but I didn’t. Maybe it was just the adrenaline but I felt alive. I felt electricity flowing through my veins and it was all thanks to Jerome. “Thank you.” I said putting my legs over his lap. “I’ll take care of your nose when we get back” I finished “Wow. An artist and a nurse. I must have hit the jackpot.” J retorted back laughing while I hit his shoulder. Afterwards both of us relaxed for the rest of the ride just being happy and comfortable sitting with each other. 

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Perv!Xavier Thorpe~Headcanon

warning : minors don't read/interact, dark theme, obsession, obsessive thoughts, obsessive love, yandere behavior, yandere thoughts, stealing your things, use of Y/n one time, implied kidnapping (if you read it closely), one-sided attraction, mention of (m) masturbation, true love, implied mental health problems, drawing you naked without your consent, little comfort, fluff

Part. 2

masterlist

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°What was supposed to be a new school year like any other was for the artist one that changed his whole life. Since he was on the school grounds, the rumour about Wednesday, a serial killer and creepy new girl, had spread around the school. But when another car parked next to the black old one, his eyes settled on it.

°When the passenger door opened he saw you and as if he was completely blind he saw only you. My muse he thought and his hand closed tighter around the stone railing from where he watched the students. Saw the sun illuminate you in just the right light. Saw your smile as you hugged your mother, as you spoke to her and let your gaze wander over the academy.

°Everything about you drew him in like a drug. Everything about you, whether it was your look, your voice, your body, your being, everything about you was the most beautiful and precious thing he had in his shattered world. And he would be the first to claim you. He would be the only one after all this time he had finally found his muse.

°He watched you say goodbye to your mother before grabbing your bag and suitcase and heading for the school entrance. Hastily he pushed himself off the railing and made his way to you. You were looking at the courtyard when you heard a voice next to you. ,,Pretty old, isn't it?" he said and his green-brown eyes went to yours. He could have got lost in your gaze.

°You were only more beautiful and flawless than from afar. He felt his fingers close around the pencil in his jacket pocket. He felt how he wanted to be even closer to you. He felt how he wanted to paint you, to explore more of you. He had never felt anything like this before, but this attraction seemed to give his life meaning.

°He saw you watching him for a moment and he would be lying if he said he didn't like it. ,,Yeah right but I kinda like it...I'm Y/n King" she introduced herself and held her hand out to him. His heart beat faster. He had only known you for about five minutes and already you seemed to want him as much as he wanted you. He returned the gesture and felt your warm soft skin under his fingers. ,,I'm Xavier. Xavier Thorpe" he replied and saw the small birthmark on your middle finger and wondered if you had more of them on your body.

°How would you look under that uniform? His thoughts ran amok as he went from one erotic pose to another. You needed to model for him, he needed to hold you. Needed you on his canvas. How would you react to that? Anticipation arose inside him before he offered to show you around. And you agreed. But all the time his eyes were on you, taking in everything they got.

°As he continued to lead you around the academy, holding on to your emotions. How you looked amazed or even completely fascinated at the old tree in the middle of the playground. Before you stopped in front of its picture with the ravens. ,,That's beautiful" he heard her say and saw her fingers tracing the picture a few centimetres from the wall. You are perfect he thought and he felt his heart beat faster when he saw how her eyes seemed to admire his art with fascination.

°He stepped closer to her before placing his hand over hers, cautiously, to test if she would let him. But she did, looking at him curiously and slightly confused. ,,I drew this...here look" he said calmly before using his powers to make the birds fly. Before he moved his hand and asked her to hold out her finger. ,,Wow, Xavier, that's incredibly beautiful!" she exclaimed in fascination as she watched him guide the raven onto her finger.

°The artist let the bird nestle against her hand before slowly directing the drawing back to the wall. ,,I'm glad you like it," he said, unable to hide the slight blush that crept into his cheeks. She looked at the picture one last time before he escorted her to her room. ,,Thanks again Xavier" and was about to close the door when she seemed to consider. ,,Wait a minute," she said hastily before taking out a small writing pad and grabbing a pen.

°Xavier watched her write something down before she blew on the paper and the leaves spun faster than they should have before the paper formed a flower. ,,Here's a little thank you...you're not the only one who can create something beautiful" she said with a wink and handed him the flower that blossomed in his hand. You are the flower...blossoming beautiful at my side he thought and carefully and gently stroked the single paper blossoms that slowly turned to a dark purple. You had a wonderful gift, he found. You were a muse and an artist at the same time.

°He thanked you before going back to his own room where he placed the flower on his desk. His fingers slowly stroked over the blossoms and he wandered dreamily in his thoughts to you. She understands me...she gives me what I need he thought and decided to think of a plan. Something that would bring him closer to you. He needed-no, he desired-more of you. More of your personality, more of your praise, more of your body. More of your inspiration. More of the calm you had on him.

°A few days passed in which not only the new school year began but in which he continued to observe you. He painted whenever he could, giving himself as many facts and rumours as he could get from Enid while disappearing more and more often into his little studio. At night to protect the darkness. The darkness that left him alone with his imagination. But the more he drew you, the more he took you out of the picture and touched you. The more his greed for you seemed to increase.

°Whenever he touched his drawing, his emotions ran away with him. They were too strong for him to concentrate on the painting, which caused you to dissolve into colour. ,,Don't worry...I'll get you eventually" he murmured as he looked back at the painting. Where you were looking under a tree and smiling at him while in your hand was your notepad.

°As he looked at the centrepiece of his collection next to the endless paintings and drawings. A t-shirt of yours that you had left at the lake when you went swimming with Bianca and the other mermaids. It turned out you were a poor swimmer and wanted to improve your skills. He could still feel himself sitting as innocently as possible against a tree and pretending to enjoy nature.

°But the tug on his groin and the way his hands traced your body fibre-like in his sketchbook. When you were standing there in just your bikini, it almost drove him mad. The sun shone perfectly on you, making him see all the drops of water flowing over your skin. How they disappeared into your cleavage and ran down your belly. He wanted to touch himself, to pleasure himself. See if you would see him. See what you would do. Would you dump him...or even help him? A shaky sigh came over his lips and it took him some effort not to jump into the lake and swim to you as well.

°But he didn't, he kept his composure and continued to watch you for a while before he gave you a slight wave before he was sure that no one was watching you. As quickly as necessary he hurried to the t-shirt you had left behind and slipped into a bathrobe instead. That's how your property came into his possession. Just one of many things. And even though it was in the wooden shed, it still smelled of you. Sweet and fruity like a flower.

°A slight redness crept onto his cheeks as he thought of how many times he had jerked off with the T-shirt in his hand. How he had suppressed his moans, gasps and whimpers with the fabric. How often he had wished you would touch him like this. It was his goal to finally have you, his new work of art.

°And to achieve this he only had to lure you here and take what he wanted. Your whole being. His fingers gripped the brush in his hand tighter as he looked at the picture of you one last time and then at your shirt before he turned off the light bulb and closed the door behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[ficzhub]

Well Then…

Chapter 1

X

"Is there any particular reason that you can't stand spending any time with me?" I ask finally after an excruciatingly awkward and silent dinner over Zoom. Wondering why my father just couldn't be bothered to see me. Not when I got into Nevermore, not when I got my first award for my art, not when Tyler and his shithead friends assaulted me and I was in the hospital with internal bleeding after they vandalized my mural, not when I and everyone else at school almost died last month because a psychopathic herbology teacher decided to reanimate her bigot pilgrim great-grand daddy.

"Please Xavier, can I be spared the dramatics? I've been very busy, you know this." He says, not even bothering to look up at the camera.

"Clearly, for the last ten years or so." I don't know what I did wrong. My older sisters got time with him.

"Enough with the snide commentary. If all you wanted to do on this call was chide me, this could've been done over text. At the very least that wouldn't have pushed back rehearsals." He whines

"What do you even need rehearsals for, oh Great and Talented Vincent Thorpe?"

"Talent isn't perfection. I hope you take that to heart, winning a handful of trinkets passed off as awards isn't enough to prove any kind of prowess at anything."

I can't help but roll my eyes at that. He wouldn't know what awards I have or haven't gotten, he's never seen them.

"Speaking of lack of prowess, your grandfather will be taking you back to school after the break is done in a few days." His voice coated in derision.

"What?"

"Your mother's father, not mine."

Well no shit, he's dead. "How come?"

"If this is another tirade about how it's traumatizing that I'm not holding your hand at all times-".

"Jesus dad, I just mean how come he's coming around? He hasn't been around much since Mom...you know." He cringed at the sentence, my mother is one of his father's least favorite subjects.

"Oh, I'm not sure. I didn't ask."

"Okay, thanks for letting me know."

"You're welcome. Now, I can't push back production anymore. Your report card was fine, you've been keeping your nose clean at school as far as I know and you ended up being some kind of hero last semester. Good on you for that, son. Anything else I should know about?" He asks uninterestedly

"Nope, you're pretty much caught up."

"Alright. I'll be putting some money in your account for school supplies and whatnot. Don't over do it, like last year..." he says still remembering how much I spent on Bianca "Make sure to call your grandfather and iron out your plans with him. Have a good night." He says and hangs up.

"Good night dad..." I say to a blank screen. I close my laptop and sigh. What did I expect?

I take my plate to the kitchen and clean it off to put in the dish washer. Staying alone at the manor always feels lonely. My father got us a maid but it feels so uncomfortable to have a strange woman washing my underwear and replacing my bedsheets or anything else for me. I'd rather just do it myself. She can busy herself sweeping and mopping or something, it's not like she pays me any mind.

I'll call Grandpa Ron tomorrow, I don't feel like talking to anyone. Well, there's one person, I haven't talked to her since my last day at school.

I can't even begin to wrap my head around what I should feel about Wednesday. Obviously she's not an easy person to deal with, she's selfish, manipulative and abrasive, but she's never pretended she's not. It's not like I didn't know to expect that. She's also brave, loyal and apparently fiercely protective. I don't wanna push my luck with her and make her feel suffocated, I wonder if the phone was too much. I send her a single text the day I got back home. Just a simple "See you when term starts." It hadn't marked at delivered, so either she never turned on the phone or she let it die. I wish I could go to therapy about all this but Wednesday's ex boyfriend killed her so, I'm shit outta luck with that. I haven't found another one near enough to school or home. I can't imagine I'd have an easy time building trust with them if I did anyway. New one might just die on me like the last.

That was crass.

Obviously Kinbott's murder wasn't about me, and her dying was senseless. Like that dick just wanted another body under his belt or Thornhill just felt like killing someone that day. Who knows, but I couldn't ignore that her death while tragic, really sucked for me.

I should just get my supplies and toke up. It's not like my dad would ever know and the help doesn't care one way or the other cause I don't leave a mess. I ran up to the studio and took my stuff out. The stash was still fresh from when I bought some with Ajax from some townie.

Keeping the puff in my lungs for as long as I can, I starts prepping my canvas...

This was a good idea. It had been a while since I'd let myself take a break from my own thoughts.

I painted Bianca. Her bright eyes and dark skin popping from each other. I still had so many unanswered questions about her. Seems minor compared to all the other things that have happened, but it's not nothing. I can't remember much right after meeting her. Getting coffee at the Weathervane before that asshole had gotten a job there and she was there too. We'd gotten the same coffee order and I accidentally grabbed hers. We'd cracked a few jokes with each other and exchanged numbers. Then suddenly I'm in a total fog and she's admitted into Nevermore. I'm paying for all her school supplies, and I don't remember offering, or her asking. Then I'm back to normal, we're chatting, she's joining clubs, making friends, we're bonding over our shared experience in neglectful or abusive parents, then I'm in a fog again and she's Ms.Popularity and we're Nevermore's Power Couple. When Divina told me what had happened after her and Bianca got into an argument, things cleared up. I didn't enjoy breaking up with her, I did care about her. I didn't wanna get her in trouble or kicked out of school either, it's not like she didn't deserve to be there. But I couldn't stand that I'd been manipulated for months. Am I really that bad of a judge of character? I mean, I had Tyler pegged right, but that one was hard to miss considering I'd tasted his shoe and one of his friends almost made my testicles reascend. I never really told Wednesday the whole truth, maybe if I had she'd have gotten it sooner. Violence isn't an issue to her, but bigotry never seemed her style. I partly blame myself for not being entirely honest with her all because I didn't wanna seem like a pussy. Maybe I deserved what happened. The beating, Wednesday ignoring me, the imprisonment, all of it. I could've prevented so much of it.

I'm spiraling. Maybe I should go to bed but painting was supposed to get this off my chest. This? What do I mean this? I wanna talk about a million things, there is no this. Shit maybe I can just text Wednesday's phone number. Kinbott's got disconnected so I get back that error message. Or worse, it could be reassigned to someone new, then I'm just traumadumping on some poor stranger who's probably got their own shit going on. What if they get confused and think they did something to me? What if they actually end up being someone I know that coincidentally got assigned the old number? They could trace back the texts to me if they already have my number. I'd never live it down. I know Wednesday clearly isn't using the phone, so no harm no foul.

W

"I'm so glad to hear that Wednesday!" My mother said emphatically, gently clapping her hands together.

"We knew you'd love it at Nevermore, Tormentita." Gomez brags "The flesh never falls far from the bone." as he continues his chess match with Thing.

"Yes well, it's not as if any other school in the country would admit me or be able to instruct me of anything new or useful to me. Why waste anyone's time." Not relishing in proving my parents right, I start walking up towards my bedroom.

"Darling, I suppose now would be as good a time as any to inform you of some new developments if you're set in returning." Mother says with my back to her.
Turning around I see her looking at my father.
"Mon cher, this is more your news than it is mine. You should tell Wednesday."

My father checkmates Thing and smirks "You almost had me old man. Next time."
Thing shrugs and hops off to reach his magazine.
Facing me he rubs his hands together "Do you remember your Aunt Dolores?" He asks

"Vaguely. She's not much older than me, but she was always busy with school."

"That's right, she's 25." My mother adds "She got her master's degree in phytology. Of course that was basically a formality, she's always known everything she'd ever need about plants."

"I still don't understand how she came to be. Mama Esmeralda and Papa Pancho must've been in their 50s when they had her, at the earliest." I ponder out loud.

"Oh both sides of your family have had abnormally long periods of fertility, Wednesday. Your Great-Grandmama Margaret, had my aunt Celia at 56 years old. Completely baffled the local doctor." Mother adds gleefully.

"Anyway, I bring this up because we've been notified that your Aunt Dolores will be joining you at Nevermore."

"How did that happen?"

"Well, as you know she had that big spat with my parents and ran off when she turned 15. She never really got to experience much time at that school, and despite everything she did love it so there. It was truly a pity I couldn't convince her to keep going there and not disappear on us. Fester tried to nab her and get her to see why they did what they did but to no avail."

"Understandable."

"We thought you'd feel that way." Mother smirks

"I meant more so how did she manage to get hired. They haven't even said they've gotten a new Headmaster or Mistress."

"The board would have to be riddled with complete fools if they pass up on Dolores, even despite her...muddled record." Mother says. She's always had an inexplicable soft spot for her little sister-in-law.

"What was their disagreement about anyway? I've never gotten a whole answer about that." I ask

"It would probably be best for you to ask her directly. We wouldn't want to speak for her." Father explains, shakily.

"Right then, what position will she be taking?" Noting how my father looked away and down when he said that

"The new herbology teacher. Oh, and your new house mother."

"Makes sense, the last one was an incompetent murderer. At least this time the teacher will be adequate. Thank you for letting me know. Will Pugsley be joining me as well?" Would be nice to practice my aim while still at school. He'd have a new selection of road signs to steal from.

"His grades aren't quite up to par, unfortunately." Mother grims "Rather like his Uncle Fester, brilliant but not booksmart."

"Pity. Will I be sent to school with Lurch, or will you two be dropping me off again?" I ask, waiting to turn around to finally get to the solitude of my bedroom.

"Actually Wednesday, you'll be carpooling with your aunt. She's bringing her own car so to not rely on buses and whatnot. She'll actually be fetching you a day or two earlier as she'll need to get situated."

"I thought she had an aversion to driving." I said, remembering how my father had tried to teach her to drive but my grandparents had already embittered her to the idea.

"She eventually got over it, not without struggle." My father winces "She got herself an old, red beetle and she's been using that little thing since she was 18. My parents were furious when they heard, of course I didn't let her know I'd told them. She wanted to be taken as dead to them."

"Can't wait to hear why from the source. When will she be coming?"

"Could you call Dolores about that, Darling? I have to see something about your brother and your father has a meeting to go to."

"A meeting? About what?" My father doesn't work really, not necessary for us.

"Some charity nonsense, I'm not entirely sure if I'm being honest. All I usually have to do is sign a check." My father explains, poorly.

"Fine, could I get her phone number?"

My mother scribbles down on a sheet her ten digits and sends me off. I'll finally have a use for Xavier's gift.

I shut my bedroom door and start looking for my cell phone, Thing has been using it to make a "TikTok" and "IG". I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes every time Enid would send him some asinine little video. I'm sure it's dead now as neither of us remembers to charge it. I find it in the dresser next to my bed, on 5% battery and 27 new text messages from Xavier.

******

I can hear her before I've even seen her. She came in her red Volkswagen Beetle, blaring music from its speakers. I'd hope she doesn't plan on maintaining that obnoxious volume, I can feel the migraine coming on already as she gets out to say hello.


"Wednesday, looking as malcontent and gorgeous as always." with her ever present smirk on her lips.
"Should I come in and say hey to the folks?"

"I'm sure they'd appreciate that, Mother hasn't stopped fawning about you since she knew you'd be my new teacher."

"Ugh, I've missed Tishy. I guess you'll wanna wait out here?"

"I'd prefer it."

"Here then," she hands me the keys, takes off her circular sunglasses and puts them on the neckline of her shirt "roll down the windows and do whatcha want. I'll be out in a few."

"Thank you, I'll be waiting. Thing will also be coming, just so you know."

"Aw, sweet. He owes me the story about the safe," She says, walking inside "besides I'll need me a few minutes to talk to Gomey and Morts about your new therapist situation."

My blood pressure rises immensely as a hear her last little blip.

"What are you referring to?"

She turns around to face me and looks more bemused by my expression than I'd like for her to be.


"What? Did you think that just because you saved the outcast population of New England from a bigoted zombie, his inept however many 'greats' granddaughter and your ex-boyfriend that everyone would forget you almost killed that normie kid from your last school? Law still applies to ya, dollface. Even heroes need therapy." She says, with her hands on her hips.

"This is waste of time. It's not like therapy did much the first time around, besides get the therapist killed by one of her patients." I feel my grip around the keys start pinching into my fingers

"And shockingly that patient wasn't you." She quips, smirk still on her face before it relaxes slightly "Jesus kid, you're acting like therapy is an actual punishment. Your talking out your thoughts with someone for an hour, get over it." As she turns around to walk inside and Lurch comes out to put my bags in her car.

She waltzes out just as chipper 20 minutes later

"C'mon, we're going from Princeton to Killington, Vermont, with any luck we'll make good time and get there by this afternoon."

"Five hours isn't so bad."

"I'm not generally fond of being extended company."

"Oh please, this little ride along could end up being a nice time for you." She says, getting in the car and starting it "Did you already say bye to everyone?"

"Yes, and I doubt it."

"Dude are you always this much of a downer? Get in."

I get settled inside "This whole happy-go-lucky thing you're doing isn't making you any happier."

"Is that so?" We take off into the path by my home leading to the main road into town.

"Yes. Happiness, or at least satisfaction in my experience is an equation: reality - high expectations. If you expect people to disappoint you, experiences to be subpar and life in general to not excite you very much, then you're never really disappointed." I finish matter of factly.

"Is that really happiness then? Or even satisfaction, as you say?"

"Sure. Can't miss what I never thought I had."

"Spidey, a lot of life is what you make it. If you go to a party, or say, a long car ride, with the expectation or intention to have a bad time then you'll just go, be moody and have in fact, a bad time." She counters, putting her glasses back on to shield herself from the sun coming off the rear view mirror.

"So I'm either right or pleasantly surprised? Sounds good to me."

"It's bad vibes." She says flatly

"It's realistic vibes."

"Expecting everything to be bad all the time also isn't realistic, Wen. There are so many reasons to be optimistic."

"Are you serious?" I ask, knowing some of her past.

"Yes! Life can be a wonderful thing, especially when you're the one in control of how you're living it."

"I can't agree, the natural state of things is chaos. Violence, war, rape, murder, abuse. Eventually we all end up ashes or worm food, the sooner we contend with that fact the better it helps me linger in the good times." I say, diddling the charm on my bracelet with Nero's stinger.

"Wens how often do you think about death?"

"All the time."

"Your family's? Your friends?"

"Sometimes, and it upsets me."

"Christ."

"Oh deliberately his. You can't deny that most things just don't work out."

"The magic of pessimism." She says sarcastically

"Almost everyone is mediocre at almost everything they do. All relationships we have will end, in death or in life. The only way to feel satiated and move on is to lower your expectations and not let it get to you. Optimism is stupid."

"But the stupid, optimistic conviction that things can and will get better by making it so is what makes positive change possible in the first place. If everyone walked around being almost certain that everything's going to shit then what's the point of trying?"

"Trying to what?"

"Trying. Period. Just trying at anything. Trying to be cleaner, trying to be smarter, trying to be faster. There would be no clear point and everyone would just settle and progress would stall."

I can't deny this.

"Spidey, I get that pessimism can feel safer."

"It's not my personal well-being I'm concerned about."

"Isn't it? When was the last time you had real hope about anything? Not deterministic persistence, not stubbornness, not pettiness and not settling because hey this is as good as it's gonna get let's hope it doesn't get worse. Real, deep hope about something. Or, someone."

"I don't like how often you're turning your head to give me sideways glance."

"Wednesday."

"Isn't hope just blind faith in a nicer tone?" I ask

"Yes. Can you answer the question?"

"...I suppose I'd hoped that Eugene would recover despite the odds of surviving an explosion not being great."

"Eugene is the little beekeeper friend you made last term, right?"

"The entomopathist, yes."

"Okay, I guess that's a good example."

"I'm not hopeless, I'm just selective in where I put my energy or hope."

"So with the Hyde thing. We're you betting that Xavier Thorpe was the Hyde or we're you hoping he was so you could say you're a good judge of character."

"I didn't really think it had much to do with anyone's character at all. When I was under the impression that Xavier was the monster, I thought he was doing it without knowing it. Or that he was doing it unwillingly."

"Guess it was an ugly surprise when you found out Galpin relished in it."

It bothers me how well she can gage me despite not having spent much time with me recently.

Most of the information she has must be second hand and yet she's reaching accurate conclusions.
We're obviously related, we look enough alike where it's clear by just looking.
Not exactly of course but she's small, only two inches taller than me and wears big shoes to compensate for it. Her hair also helps. A big, curly inch of her skull. But still, black hair, black eyes, and her skin is the color mine would be if my vitamin D deficiency didn't leave me with the grey cast palor I like now. A warm tan brown like Father.

"It was unsettling. Albeit certainly made my first kiss memorable."

"I'm sure. Mine was a shit show."

"What? Did the guy have braces and they got caught in yours?" I ask sarcastically, knowing her attempt as sympathizing won't measure up.

"No. His teeth were perfectly straight and white. He'd long past the age where braces would look acceptable."

"Couldn't have been that bad." I shrug off

"He forced it on me."

"...and I'm assuming you broke his teeth in retribution." I add

"Not even close. In the position I was in at the time it would've completely fucked my life up, I showed some disgust and that was enough for me to get a stern 'talking to' from my parents."

"This has something to do with why you ran off."

"Yeah. Well, this and a ton of other shit I don't wanna get into, no use dwelling on what's done." She mutters that last part.

"I'm never having kids."

"Pfft, me neither kid. Pregnancy and childbirth alone sound like a Lovecraftian nightmare."

"Hm...well when you phrase it like that..."

We spent most of the ride in relative silence, her music making so that it's not completely quiet but clearly neither of us felt like speaking. She let me control the music for a few hours and surprisingly, she introduced me to new music I actually enjoyed. Genres I'd written off and artists I'd misjudged. I found that I can enjoy some pop, like Shakira's older sound. My aunt is also obviously angrier than she'd like to seem, given how taken away she got by She Wants Revenge. We stopped once for a bathroom break and coffee at a small coffee shop in New Paltz ironically called The Bakery. As eye-roll inducing as the name is the coffee was good and the bathrooms were clean, so we couldn't complain much. She was nice enough to pay. "I'm your aunt and the adult" and other such nonsense being the excuse. Around half way through the ride I pick up my cell phone and text two people to let them know I'm coming. Enid, as we're still rooming together and I wanted to
make sure she kept her My Little Pony adjacent decor on her side, and Xavier. Might give him a chance to get his explanation clear about these messages. Altogether the ride went by much quicker than I expected. We'd headed out at 5:04 am that morning and got to the school at 9:50 am. Of course she drives like a mad woman constantly surpassing the speed limit, only pausing for a second at stop signs and hardly getting any red lights helps. Impressive that her car hasn't been totaled.

"So when are the rest of us meeting your aunt?" Enid asks over FaceTime while I unpack, I hadn't realized she wouldn't be at the school for another two days.

"The day you get here, I suppose. Unless you've other plans. I'd introduce you to her now on this call but she's in her room working on the lesson plan, I believe."

"Than to hang out with my bestie and her super cool aunt? Never. Well, except maybe spend some quality time with Ajax."

"Good to know he's still doing well with you."

"Total gentleman, no complaints here. He's been a little worried about Xavier though. I know he's a little moody, tortured artist persona and all. But during the break he barely communicated with Jax, or anyone else as far as I know."

As far as you know is a good way to phrase it, Enid. She doesn't need to know about his messages to me, I'm not even sure how to take them myself. The only thing he responded to me after my text was "Oh, cool."

"I let him know I was on my way here this morning, I didn't get a very enthusiastic responce from. Figured that was just his nature over text." Not even close

"Really? That's surprising. I thought if anyone could get more outta him it'd be you."

"Why's that?"

"No one believes you're that oblivious, Wednesday. His not-so-subtle crush on you? Maybe that's why?"

"Maybe the events last year sobered him up and he got over it."

"Or he's just depressed."

"Also possible. Not necessarily our business though, is it?"

"I mean, it kinda is. We're his friends and all, and most of us know what it's like to not have a whole hell of a lot of support at home. He needs to get it from somewhere." She clarifies

"Wasn't his father with him during this break?"

"Ha, yeah. I'm sure he was a whole lotta help." She says sarcastically

"Wasn't he? Xavier could've died last term." I point out

"Hm, I'm not sure that's all that important to the all too busy Vincent Thorpe."

"Well, that's mildly upsetting."

"Yeah, you could say that. I know he and I aren't close but I know what it's like to feel like the family you were born into isn't the one you're supposed to be in. At least sometimes." I can empathize with that. My parents are the epitome of present, supportive parents. Almost to a fault, that's what makes it strange. In my eyes, they border on intrusive sometimes, and lacking physical boundaries most times.

"I understand. Do you know if he's an only child?"

"Good question. I'll ask Ajax, I'm not sure. I know his mom wasn't his first wife so it's a possibility he's not. Well, I have my flight at 1:00 am tonight so I gotta get going. See ya in the morning, Bestie."

"Goodbye Enid, have a safe flight.”

<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/50759830"><strong>Well Then</strong></a> (69569 words) by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliTerren"><strong>AliTerren</strong></a><br />Chapters: 13/20<br />Fandom: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Wednesday%20(TV%202022)">Wednesday (TV 2022)</a><br />Rating: Explicit<br />Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings<br />Relationships: Wednesday Addams & Xavier Thorpe, Wednesday Addams/Xavier Thorpe, Xavier Thorpe & Wednesday Addams, Xavier Thorpe/Wednesday Addams, Xavier Thorpe/Original Female Character(s), Xavier Thorpe and Original Female Character(s), Wednesday Addams/Original Female Character(s), Tyler Galpin/Original Female Character(s), Wednesday Addams & Enid Sinclair, Ajax Petropolus/Enid Sinclair, Ajax Petropolus & Xavier Thorpe, Wednesday Addams & Original Female Character<br />Characters: Xavier Thorpe, Wednesday Addams, Enid Sinclair, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Non-Human Character(s), Ajax Petropolus, Eugene Ottinger, Morticia Addams, Gomez Addams, Tyler Galpin, Donovan Galpin, Garrett Gates, Marilyn Thornhill | Laurel Gates, Vincent Thorpe<br />Additional Tags: Mildly Dubious Consent, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Wednesday is soft for Xavier, Xavier Thorpe is Whipped, POV Xavier Thorpe, POV Wednesday Addams, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Xavier Thorpe Needs a Hug, Xavier Thorpe switch, Jealous Wednesday Addams, Pining, Yearning, Lonely Xavier Thorpe, Smut, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Fantasizing, Prophetic Visions, Sharing a Bed, Sharing Clothes, Xavier Thorpe Has Daddy Issues, Xavier Thorpe has Mommy Issues, Xavier Thorpe has a praise kink, Discussion of sexual assault, Discussion of rape kits, succubi, Demonic Possession, Demonic Sacrifice, soul eating, Bisexual Wednesday Addams, Creepy Tyler Galpin, wet dreams, Our season 2, Subby Xavier Thorpe, Sub Xavier Thorpe<br />Summary: <p>New term has started, with it comes new people, new feelings and new duties. Let’s hope the unresolved doesn’t get in the way.</p><p>(This might be a part one, might make sequels. Also, take this as season 2 if you also miss having Xavier in the show.)</p>

[sabindark]

“ I don’t know if you can hear me, Belmonts. Nor do I particularly care,” Dracula spoke, his voice practically booming across the empty clearing, “but rest assured, your son is safe. Of that you have my word.”

Ao3

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 8)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

GIF: Originally posted by @darklinsblog

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nightmares. Violence. Dub/non con. Kissing. Nudity. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex. Plot related cigarette use. Language.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Hello there! I wasn't intending on posting this chapter until I had the others finished but I guess Tumblr took that decision away from me and published instead of saving! Oh well, guess I'll roll with it. As always, I hope you enjoy and would be very happy to hear your thoughts. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

The combination of the darkened clouds and the even more desaturated décor is making the room despairingly claustrophobic.

Sporadic breaths rattle up and down your trachea; a remnant of the fear that had been created by the tail end of that conversation. You are struggling to make sense of the direction it had taken; the barrelling downward spiral whereby you discovered your newfound status.

No longer do you hold the lone title of soulmate. You are a captive.

At least that's what Morpheus made it sound like. The word is shudder inducing and a fresh trickle of bile spills into your mouth.

The door he left through, the one blocking your freedom, you are standing close enough to it that you can see every grain and groove of the ebony wood - and the curious absence of a handle or lock. With a flattened hand you gingerly press against the varnished surface, upping the pressure when you don't appear to have tripped any alarms. There's no movement no matter how hard you push, not that you really anticipated any. Morpheus said locked in for a reason. Regardless, you feel that you needed to try just in case he had changed his mind. Again, an eventuality that you do not expect.

You get the sense that Morpheus' grasp of stubbornness would rival that belonging to a group of at least 100,000 people; he is a ruler, and a centuries-old one at that. Accustomed to being in control, well versed in the art of exerting it.

He's chilling too. That nightmare quality really won out just now. You have seen darkness in his eyes before, (brought on by intense moments including sexual desire) and the effects he can have on the environments surrounding him, but this was a whole new breed.

The deflection. The disdain. The remorselessness. How the shadows had danced around him like crude oil twisting in water, a cloak of obscurity and energy to drive you away and leave you isolated.

And your relentlessness was the catalyst for it being unleashed. You're unsure as to why you brought up the theoretical consequences of refusing to be his soulmate. It had just slipped out. There were numerous other ways in which you could have handled the situation yet that was the conversational path you took.

You shudder again, wrapping your arms around your middle in an attempt to self-soothe. It provides a measure of relief but also draws attention to the fact that he should be doing this. Morpheus should be holding you. Talking this through with you.

Instead he left you standing on the marble floor, the intrinsically endothermic nature of the material causing iciness to seep up your legs via your bare feet.

Seeking warmth, you move back to the bed and dejectedly lie down.

The usual covered plate of food has appeared on the bedside table; your expression is so obviously rattled that you can see every detail despite the metal's distortion. You roll over, not wanting to contemplate eating for even a second.

Your entire body is tense, with epicentres in your tight chest and thought-clogged brain, the latter of which is showing signs of inducing a migraine. You breathe with steady intent, a review of the encounter relentlessly replaying.

One question keeps rising to the surface, getting louder and more insistent with each iteration:

Why was he doing this?

He had said it was to protect you. That it was dangerous outside. Was the dream world suddenly that different now that you had free will? Surely he would have led with that if it were true. Found a way to make it safe...

He's been unfalteringly devoted to you in every other way thus far. The aftercare looked to be proof enough of his character. The reassurance, and explanations during the soul-tying. Holding you. Staying beside you while you slept, even though he did not require the rest himself.

But then there is the distinct lack of sharing, both of his internal and external worlds, and of course the 'it is not your place to do so' comment.

That one really stings. You had been convinced that you were his equal. Yet the way the words fell so easily from his mouth, without hesitation nor any sign of an underpinning emotion - it sounded like a response that was not uttered in the heat of the moment.

How were you to know though?

You've not known him for that long and it's not like you can tell from the bond between you, even now after days of longing to and trying to pick up on something, anything that would inform you of his heart. The one thing you can attempt to read into is the state of the ceiling sky; you are getting a sense that it is linked directly to his moods. Its sudden deterioration the moment you had voiced your concerns couldn't have been a coincidence, could it?

The more you grapple for meaning, the harder you are finding it to reconcile the evidence before you, so conflicted on your opinion of him, of the situation. Yet no amount of speculation and reframing could take away from the few facts you have:

The Fates had told you of an unfathomably long imprisonment that Morpheus had endured and suffered in.

So why was he putting you in a parallel of that?

How can someone who is supposed to be your soulmate be so unreadable to you, and so inexplicably cruel?

You curl into a ball, groaning out loud in frustration.

You ponder if there is something defective within you, if he can see something that you are too human to perceive. Maybe you deserve this on some level because you are not quite enough for him.

"No," you say out loud, firmly casting that contemptuous thought out of your mind.

You will not go in for self-loathing or self-pity. You are strong and capable and compassionate. Morpheus is still your soulmate. You can fix this. Once he's back, you will talk about this.

The resolution seems to lessen the lingering despair enough that you unwittingly fall asleep.

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

There's an anticipatory undercurrent to the chatter being passed back and forth across the circular tables spaced evenly across the function room.

You're sat at one such table, the hands folded in your lap occasionally brushing against the heavy dark blue velvet draped over the wood, the feel of the material's sumptuous pile triggering pleasant goosebumps.

Ice laden water jugs and bowls of savoury snacks occupy the middle of the table, and each seat is designated by a placeholder. Your name is displayed in a bold font across the folded piece of stiff card in front of you and the names of all your colleagues have been typed out on matching markers.

The lighting could be described as ambient, moody even - a strange choice for such a celebratory event. The strongest source of light is directed towards a projection screen, where the order of events are being presented.

You thumb the lock screen button on the right hand side of your phone to check the time. 20:28. The scheduled break is due to end soon. You take a sip of water from the tumbler stamped with your lipstick and wait.

The microphone on the podium clicks and crackles as it is brought back to life and all heads turn in unison towards the man standing there. A spotlight provided by the professional lighting rig suspended above is ignited, the light from it so bright that it obscures every feature on his face.

His tone is light as he reels off a few formalities, making a joke about the speed of which some individuals had headed to the bar come the start of the interval, eliciting a sequence of throaty laughs from the crowd. He then jumps back into the award giving.

"This person, I know for a fact has really been putting in the effort with developing the traits required to truly embody this accolade and everything it stands for. Taking gullible to the next level, allowing themself to be debased and shutting down all logical reasoning. A veritable inspiration of inconsequentiality; therefore, it comes as no surprise that the award for most worthless human goes to -"

He pauses for effect, and the entire room watches on with baited breath.

Condensation beads slip down the outside of the jug closest to you, mirroring a perspiration bead that has begun to slide from your nape. You look away from the stage, feeling an impending sense of doom slink into your stomach with the nausea that suddenly washes over you. Your intuition is well-founded.

The microphone wheezes as the man inhales the breath needed to deliver the announcement.

He says your name.

The applause that follows is rapturous; a chorus of hollers and whistles punctuating the clapping. It's like you're at a rock concert.

None of it aligns with the damning description of the award name. Under no circumstance do you want to go and accept it; doing so would show that you agree with the committee.

You sneak a glance over your shoulder, wincing at the harsh fluorescents spilling in from the foyer through the set of double doors - that is where you quietly need to get to.

You're pushing your chair back slowly and carefully, about to attempt this surreptitious exit when a spotlight hits you. The hand going for your bag freezes mid-reach.

It's as if a tractor beam has been activated. You cannot stop yourself from standing, cannot stop yourself from walking on the scuffed wooden floor, made that way from years of dancing.

The journey to the stage on your shaky legs is long, given your distance from it, intensified even further by the stares of your peers. You go up the steps at the side of the stage, jelly legs adding risk with the slight elevation. You grip the handrail in a white-knuckled fist.

The award waits on the podium: an oversized key on a black plinth, the golden colour of the metal glints temptingly. With your gaze turned downwards, the man shakes your hand with the pressure of a constrictor, praising you with words that you can't hear above the continued applause.

You force your mouth into a smile and ready yourself to take the award, telling yourself that being gracious is the best approach you can take.

Unfortunately, in your moment of acceptance, someone decides to take advantage.

There's a blow to the back of your knee caps.

You cry out from shock and pain; the sound doesn't last long for as soon as your knees make impact with the boards, a gag is forced into your mouth.

The situation and the gag make it hard to breathe in any way other than frantically, pulse just as agitated in your tight-feeling chest.

The crowd's clapping doesn't stop even as intricate restraints are added at your wrists, even as burning tears and sticky snot stream down your face.

The agony intensifies when you are hauled up by your hair and then herded by several pairs of hands towards the wings of the stage. Your eyes fall on the opaque box that stands just out of view of the crowd.

Its purpose is clear. It is to be your cage.

You're now screaming despite the gag, thrashing as you're dragged towards your doom. Not even allowing yourself to be a dead weight can save you; the cloying fingers are too numerous, too zealous.

The door to the cage opens and the presence of the oppressive void within ekes out towards you like a disturbing fog. Whatever is in there, you can sense it will smother you. Obliterate you slowly. And the people in this room seem to believe you are worthy of such a fate.

The hands anchored on your body begin their last pushes. You whip your head around, making a last attempt to search for an escape when you see a figure out the corner of your eye.

There's no questioning who it is; the person who has been on the periphery of so many dreams these past weeks, you would know him anywhere.

You see a glimpse of movement. Perhaps the raising of a hand. A ripple of power courses through the scene - you feel it vibrate in your chest. Everything freezes, and in that sudden silence you hear Morpheus' solemn and decisive words:

"This dream is over."

You startle, a shriek echoing about the sunless space as you are ripped from the dream. The sheets have you wrapped up like a python; you try with desperation to get free, half-convinced that those relentless hands are still trying to ferry you into that cage.

Floundering, you work and work against the fabric, crying out again when your progress is minimal.

"Soulmate."

Morpheus' deep voice sounds, speaking your name next in such an intimate and gentle way that you instantly halt in your struggle.

He is beside you.

All the attributes of concern are in his facial expression and body language, eyes glistening with an emotion you can't quite place.

"It is over now," he confirms, dissolving the sheet into nothing.

He comes closer, stroking your face with one hand, the other atop your chest with the palm centred on your soul. It's a welcome feeling, his attentions and being free from the tangle of sheets, but you are too far gone for it to stop the fear that the nightmare has set in motion.

"When you said that it was not my place to accompany you, is it because you think I'm less than you?" You ask in a cracking, pitiful voice.

Morpheus stills for a heartbeat, before bending his head to look you straight in the eyes. "No," he breathes. "My soulmate, I could never think that."

He kisses you softly.

It's not what you expected but nevertheless your hands cling to him on instinct, kissing him back and then he's suddenly straddling you. Covering your body with his own to give you a feeling of safety and it's exactly what you require.

You're on the verge of tears from it all, touching the back of his neck, gripping his shoulders to keep him close.

"Morpheus," you call.

"I am here. I am not going anywhere."

He kisses you deeper this time as if to corroborate his statement. It incrementally lessens your doubts and anxieties but there's a call for communication too.

"We need to talk about what happened," you say with quiet assertion.

For a moment, you wonder if he has even heard you for he claims your mouth again.

"I do not wish to talk," he eventually replies, immediately diving back in for yet another kiss. "I wish to take away your anguish."

"But -"

He hushes you, a soothing shut down that would be infuriating if not for the lingering unease of the nightmare clogging your emotions. "Let us forget what was said. Let us instead indulge in the pleasure of each other's bodies."

You blink, slowly processing his explicit inference, taken aback by the very obvious physical reactions they inspire. You force yourself to adopt a professional expression as your arousal begins to leak onto your gown.

"I want to talk to you."

He's smiling smugly as he tilts his head to the side. "Your emotions betray you dearest, as does your body. I know exactly what you want and it is not conversation."

Shame rises but is quickly blotted out by Morpheus' next action.

You feel bare skin against yours; he's used his power to disrobe you as well as him. A protest forms - he stifles it with his mouth. Your eyes are wide as you take it, as he shifts his weight ever so slightly to align your hips.

His own eyes stare you down after he pulls back, unblinking like an apex predator who has caught sight of its favourite prey.

Easy prey.

That's what you are.

He arranges you as such too; grasping your legs and moving your knees to your chest to bend you in half. Pinning you underneath him.

Neither of you last long with the tightness of the angle once you allow him to enter you.

To say you are dazed afterwards would be an understatement. The events of the past few hours have been persistently erratic. If Morpheus feels the same then it isn't apparent. The colour of his eyes are as clear and stable as the weather above, hand warming his favoured spot on your chest.

Your own hands wander up and down his body, running smoothly over his enticing skin.

"You have not touched your food," he comments quietly.

One of your palms moves absentmindedly to trail lazily across your abdomen. "If I'm being honest, I've been struggling to eat since I got here. For some reason I have no appetite or thirst."

"That would be a result of the immortality."

Your hands freeze up, brain doing the opposite as it spins out in a hundred directions.

"W-what did you say?" You stammer, praying you have misheard him.

"The immortality," he clarifies. "My power is within you and with it, comes certain endurances."

You sit up and put some space between you both. This was a serious matter. Despite your empty stomach you feel like you are going to vomit.

"How long have you known that?"

"It does not matter."

Red rag to a bull doesn't come close to covering what his dismissive reply makes you feel. The set of your jaw is so tight that a section on the left side begins to feather. You talk through gritted teeth, levelling a furious glare at him - making it transparent that you are not going to tolerate his evasiveness any longer:

"Tell me how long."

He makes the smart decision to pause to select his reply, though you decipher from the suddenly overcast sky that it is not going to be one that you will like.

"Since our souls joined."

Your hand flies to your chest, to your soul as tears start to brew.

"That was days ago!"

Morpheus simply looks at you.

"Did you not think that I had a right to know about something as life changing as that?"

He opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can issue a syllable.

"Please can you give me some time alone?"

Morpheus' intense stare - the one that had gone from intimidating to exhilarating - has now become distressing and you need to get out from under it.

To his credit, he does what you asked and the moment the door is closed, the tears you have been holding back start to flow freely. The ceiling sky is so crowded with dark clouds that you are convinced that it's going to do the same as your eyes.

You feel like you've been tricked. You didn't ask for this, nor were you consulted.

The gilding has fully tarnished now, revealing that things were too good to be true. And had been from the very beginning. You had been swept up in the haze of sexual satisfaction, too blinded by the soul bond to see clearly. The nightmare had spelled it out flawlessly: gullible, debased and without logical reasoning.

The previous success in derailing your self-loathing falls short now. You are bolting down the path of internal admonishment.

How could you have been so naïve?

The answer is your hubris. It had felt good to be finally wanted, chosen to be a part of something bigger than yourself by making a difference to the Dreaming. Unless you had misunderstood.

No, the Fates had told you it in no uncertain terms. What they hadn't done however was provide a time frame. You had stupidly assumed it would be effective immediately. Instead you could be looking at decades, centuries even with this newfound information.

Even with the promise of eventual fulfilment, there was little chance that you would last for years in this room with your sanity intact.

You need distraction from the demoralising thought so you bluster through your bathroom routine like a whirlwind, slamming containers down where possible and huffing out exasperated sounds.

While the gown has re-materialised on the hook by the shower, you are dead set against putting it back on. You go to the bedside table and dive into the drawers to find your clothes from the night of the award ceremony, uncovering the cigarettes and lighter you forgot had been hidden there.

You don't even think before lighting one up, hoping that the nicotine will take the edge off your despair. You are quick to finish it and the clarity it brings encourages you to have a second. And then a third.

From the combination of your reclined position on the sheets and the dainty way you hold each cigarette, you can't help but feel like a 1940s starlet. It injects a bit of delirious humour, and also gumption into the mix.

"You are not at fault here," you whisper out loud. "He is the one who has an understanding of how soulmates work. He withheld that. You are allowed to be pissed off with him and you should let him see it."

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

By the time Morpheus returns, you are in full possession of your wits and sit perched at the foot of the bed. You regard each other; he appears a touch drawn out, eyes subdued and a small line marking the space between his eyebrows.

"You have been smoking," he states flatly.

Buoyed by the confidence gifted to you by said activity, you inhale the scent of the lingering bluish fog, flashing a sardonic smile as you audibly breathe out, labouring the point with the pleasurable sigh.

"What else was I supposed to do while I waited for you to come back?" You cross your legs and smooth out a non-existent wrinkle in the bedclothes you meticulously rearranged.

The effects of your sarcasm are immediate; the air is becoming ominously dense, threatening to unleash a storm of epic proportions. Morpheus' fists clench and the pressure is dampened a fraction.

"Give them to me," he asks in a monotone.

"No."

Your connection is so devoid of dissonance at this point. Morpheus is stone carved. The kind of impenetrable that would shred and destroy finger nails; there is no point in trying to claw your way to the being beneath. The apathy sends your anger to new heights, compelling that shamefully vindictive part of you into lashing out. You want to hurt him just as he has hurt you.

"They're the only thing I have left from my real life."

A lethal quality seeps into his reply, "That life ended the moment you stepped out onto that street."

"Well then I should have run from you that night," you provoke further, tone biting as glacial ice on exposed skin.

The same shadows from before are crowding about his person, settling in his eyes - a tell that you have unleashed the nightmare form. You have to actively remind yourself to breathe at an even pace. All things you had queued up to say to him are long gone as you gaze upon his dark majesty.

"Even if you had been able to evade me, hide your physical body, I would have found you the moment you fell asleep."

The tether on his control slips as a single bolt of lightning turns the room to a white-out. The thunder never comes, instead the rumble of his voice.

"Do not think that I had not anticipated a refusal. I was more than prepared to use force to get what I wanted. What I was promised. I will not share you with anyone. You are mine. My soulmate. You -"

He stops unexpectedly and head snapping to look at the door.

You roll your eyes. "Let me guess, something requires your attention."

He takes in a deep breath. "I will return shortly."

You watch sullenly as he leaves you behind yet again, about to resume smoking when you feel an urge to re-examine the door. It is as pointless as before; no handle nor locks. Your fists hit the mahogany once, then twice before your composure fully deteriorates and you begin to hammer on it. Not because you are hoping to snag someone's awareness, for you heard it from Morpheus that no one could find this place. Sadly, you do it because you are losing hope.

Dejection momentarily quelled, you resort to staring at the door with such concentration that you fear it may trigger another headache.

"How the fuck do you work?" You ask it.

If there is no tangible way of holding it then that left the metaphysical as its locking mechanism. Metaphysical power that came from him - that now resided in you.

Maybe you could use it to break out...

You huff out a laugh at your optimism. There is no harm in trying.

Decision made, you make a quick trip to the bathroom to get the ruby ring you put by the sink. There's no chance you're escaping and leaving a beloved family heirloom behind.

You walk confidently to the door and plant yourself a forearm's length from it. The gold of the ring glimmers on your right hand as your press your palm to the glossy wood.

You do not want to be the person you were in the nightmare; forced into a box-encased void and cut off from the universe. You want to learn, to experience, to love. You want to have dreams and you're willing to make them with or without their master.

You are going to get out of here.

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

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind. On the borderline of the edge, and where I walk alone."

[simsim54]

Simon has passions, hobbies, and interests. Wilhelm has Simon.

I said what I said.

[journal1]

“the Effect becomes a Cause… of course. our memory grants us insight into the past, and with hindsight comes foresight… a microcosmic ascension to a higher plane … a single line of divinity knitted into the fabric of ordinary matter.”

Based on The Principle of Cause and Effect by @dragneto [ ~10k words - a truly wonderful read ] Bonus under cut

Bonus: “did you know that scars can tell you about someone’s future? ... they can also sense things that we don’t always notice. [they react to] aspects of the natural world around us, and we don’t understand why until later. so we assume they’ve seen the future. really, they’ve only told us things we’re too busy or too blind to see.”

[cabe0512]

Hector, a Forgemaster: I have the power to turn the dead into night creatures.

Rosalie, a Priestess: I have the power to heal grievous wounds and curses, and dispel various illusions.

Julia, an Alchemist: I have the power to create various potions and talismans, transmute matter to my will, envision the future, and teleport instantaneously.

Grant, a Pirate: I have this knife, my pirate ship-slash-armored tank, this backup knife, my cloak made out of throwing knives, my collection of bombs and firecrackers I stole from the Chinese, this emergency knife under my wristbands, these guns I stole from the Ottomans, this knife on my ankle, this knife hiding under my hat, eight demon wargs that used to be my pirate crew, this wicked sword I stole from the Japanese...

[violetmuses]

Lestat + Female Reader 🥀

“You are breathtaking.” Lestat grinned despite his fangs as you entered the room, dressed impeccably this evening.

“Thank you for the compliment, but I'm clumsy regardless of lifetimes.” You joined this dance, eternally grateful to your maker.

Love indeed runs wild forever.

[unknown-writez]

Misfit Toys

Chapter Five: Creation of Minx- Part Nine

“Y/N?!” the commissioner asked, confused “That’s me!” I said loudly joking as I turned to stare at the lady that was now tied to a chair and placed on top of Gordon and Harvey’s desk. Jerome not letting go as he hugged me from behind. “How could you do this to your friends?” the woman said  “Friends?” I repeated in air quotes laughing as I stepped towards the lady jumping onto the desk while Jerome’s hands slipped from my body. “You guys were never my friends! you just wanted to use me like everyone else. The second any of you got what you wanted you left. They threw me away like trash. No. How’s your day? No. What’s going on in your life? Anytime I tried to have a real conversation with any of you guess what happened? You guys brushed me off like I was nothing! Hell I’m surprised you even know my name.” I said, getting in her face, anger rising in my tone of voice “It’s not too late.” she spoke in a soft voice “The girl who used to help solve crimes, help save people, is still in you. The people at this precinct know you and will want to help.” “Liar!” I screamed out “Y/N-“ she started to say with pleading eyes but I cut her off “Stop!” I said loudly “Y/N fell down a well! She is gone! I’m what’s left.” I finished the rage and pain seeping through my words. “And isn’t she fantastic now! My little minx. ohhh! I like the sound of that! Minx!” Jerome said, laughing a little, cutting the growing tension trying to lighten my mood “It’s better than your old name.” he continued. Joining me up on the desk he started rubbing my shoulders and I could feel myself calming down with his touch. “New and improved just like my girl …Greenwood! Here! Bring the camera over here. Get a better angle of the room.” Jerome said to me then to the man behind him in the corner who was holding a large camera that I hadn’t noticed. He walked up doing as told. “Why are you doing this?” Essen said bringing the attention back to her. “To rule the world blah blah blah…” Jerome spoke jokingly nonchalant using his hands to express himself “..but we’ll settle for some dead cops and some good PR.” he said laughing at the end then saying “Kidding.” “Yeah whatever. I get it, you're just crazy.” Essen said back in retaliation “Crazy?” Jerome repeated crouching down to her level “Look at me. You can see I’m not crazy.” Jerome said pointing to himself “Very soon little man you will be dead and the world will go on without you. You will be nothing. No one will even remember your name.” Essen said back as Jerome listened, resting his chin on his fist “Hm…” Jerome retorted standing up “See that’s where you're wrong old lady. We will leave a mark on this city!” he announced moving close to her ear as she turned her head trying to get away from him “We will spread across it like a virus… You want to know why?” he asked rhetorically, backing away “There’s nothing more contagious than laughter.” Greenwood sounded from behind us. Jerome let out an irritated grunt grabbing his gun on his pants. He pointed it at Greenwood and fired the trigger swiftly saying “My line.” as the man’s body hit the floor. Quickly he turned back to the commissioner and continued “There’s nothing more contagious than laughter.” He said a loud ha ha ha following after the words left his lips but it didn’t last long as Essen spat in his face. Jerome made a weird look and sound before turning to me saying “That was strangely pleasant.” turning back he leaned towards Esssen saying “Do it again.” but instead of spitting at him this time the lady pulled back her head and smashed her forehead into Jerome’s nose sending him back with the force of the blow as he lost his balance. “That’s gonna leave a mark!” the women taunted as Jerome recovered. A little out of rage and half out of instinct I sent a punch flying across the woman’s cheekbone giving out a frustrated and annoyed growl as Jerome stood up straight, his nose now gushing with blood the red liquid streaming down his face and dripping off his chin and onto his shirt.