#human x otherwordly being

[c0l0rsp1k3]

Thingy idea.

A human from a troubled family buys an old instrument (i was thinkin a bass or guitar) that is actually possessed by a fallen angel that is trying to get back into heaven by doing good deeds and. And they fall in love. And ascend together.

:3

[multiverse-sparkles]

Belonging — S. Rogers

summary: steve had left you for a time that had forgotten him, with only a letter as an explanation. you were given another him, in another universe.

pairings: steve rogers x reader

warnings: angst, very lazy summary, read for a sexy steve! alternate earth, stark reader, eventual soft!dark themes.

“please state your name and where you came from,” the agent utters, tone void of any humane emotion as he gestures to the camera silently mocking you, as it blinked rapidly.

still rubbing your sore wrist, you kept your lips pressed together hoping to make this as unpleasant as you could. you'd been rudely transported into this warped timeline as you were being tossed into the air by a combat robot you used for training; you doubted the pile of metal and wires had the capability nor the powers to hurl you in another dimension, but you were still tossed, rather roughly on your ass.

yet before you even had the chance to process anything, or launch a defensive attack; several high powered guns were pointed at your person, and you were knocked out cold and brought to this interrogating facility.

SHIELD, you bitterly came to the conclusion. you were familiar with their protocols, their interrogation tactics, and their structure of their facility. you'd trained and worked several missions and recon assignments with some of the agents you've seen decorating their halls; even being ushered by colleagues you've shared stale coffee with, but they didn't know you here.

and you've simply reached the desired conclusion; this was an unfamiliar world.

though you have been leading a somewhat destructive life after losing nearly everything after the battle with the mad titan, there was still some self preservation left in you, and you didn't want to totally be obliterated in this foreign world with no body for pepper to mourn with.

what did taylor swift say? play stupid games, win stupid prices.

until you could communicate with friday, or be sure that you're totally safe here, you were going to be the most silent and unhlepful captive these walls have ever seen.

“state your name and where you came from.” the agent bellows firmly.

“what year is it?” you tilt your head, he purses his lips in thought, looking at you as if you're something foreign; then uttering the year.

“huh. so thanos was three years ago?” you breathe, “you guys beat him too?”

the agent looked at you with a suddenly, surprised expression.

“take my blood; run your tests. when you get the result, bring me your highest ranking officer.” you demand.

"tony has a daughter." sam balks in disbelief, his mouth gaping in scandal at the mere prospect of tony's many exploits coming into fruiton. "an adult daughter."

"old news, small head big body." bucky snorts, putting the weights down. sam bristles, a snarky reply tethering on his tongue, yet steve interrupts.

"it's the worst kept secret around the compound." steve remarks amusedly, somehow finding the fact that covert special agents become loose lipped when it came to gossip. "the lesser known fact however, is where she came from." he grabs his flask, and sat upright from the bench, and rehydrated.

the other savory details of your appearance had been limited to a few people; mostly the avengers and the key personnel involved. they hadn't yet realized the reason as to why you'd be in another dimension entirely unprompted. and while they knew time travel was possible, being in an alternate universe was a topic they have yet to dabble in.

so while they try to identify which earth you were originally from, it was better to keep very few people about your origins.

"she just appeared." bucky nods conspiratorially, "an alien, basically."

"basically fit right in." steve shrugs, making light of how many otherwordly being they've encountered over the years. "tony adores her, though." he adds.

"she has everyone eating off her palm, let's be fucking honest." bucky chortles, "kind. endearing. smart. witty—"

"breathtaking actually." sam adds, recalling when he passed by you in the hallways.

"breathtaking." bucky agrees, smirking. "she's every bit of a stark. so much so, she hates steve's guts."

steve huffs, "hate is a strong word."

"you're right. she's incredibly polite, it's almost rude." bucky grins, making no effort to hide the fact that he enjoyed your interactions with steve.

you wouldn't be rude— no, you were the furthest thing from it. you would use honorifics even, call him captain or simply mr. rogers. your hostility with steve would be pronnounced every way that mattered, and bucky could tell it was starting to make steve flustered.

being captain america came with both adoration and hostility— the public either loved him or hated him, and he was used to such instances. steve couldn't please everyone afterall.

the way you looked at him though; it was more than animosity. it felt almost like.. like a scorned lover.

"oh fuck. i knew i shouldn't have been in that mission." sam chortles, while steve grumbles in annoyance. "went out of town once and i miss all these juice." he giggles, and bucky mirrors his grin. perhaps the only time they could maintain a conversation without hurling insults, and jabs at eachother; at steve's expense.

bucky gestures, "wanna know the worst part?" sam nods vigorously, "he's hot for her."

steve abruptly drops the weights he'd been using, making sam and bucky pause at the abrupt noise.

"are the both of you in elementary?" he chides, trying to keep his tone even.

"steve and y/n sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N—"

"fuck off!"

your nerves settled as soon as the caffeine hits your tongue. your shoulders slumped, tension leaving you altogether, and you sighed a silent prayer.

you were plenty similar to tony when it came down to it; your pet projects had been less important where you came from, but so long as your objective was necessary, you won't sleep unless you achieve it.

now, going home was your primary goal... one you'd worked together with tony. or a moniker of him.

it felt strange to address him that way.

you knew their tony stark was different— their avengers stayed intact for one. but to see him again, his excellent goatie and hear his sharp wit, you'd tackled him in a frantic hug and sobbed so hard, he must have thought you to be lunatic.

tony was briefly informed of your identity, and while it wasn't an instantaneous paternal spark, he had felt for you. he had let you cry all you wanted. he consoled you, if a bit awkwardly. unpracticed, just like he had been when you wound up in his care at thirteen leaving him with primary custody.

just like then, he grew to become fascinated with you. you shared his love for engineering and technology. like the first time, he had spent every free moment he had with you; talking to you, getting you situated, making sure you were well taken care of... it felt like deja vu. and you would, eventually, lose him again.

you didn't exist here, just like he didn't exist back in your earth.

"careful."

"sorry!" your exclamation is abrupt as the paper cup crumbles in your hand, body jerking quickly as you avoid spilling coffee to the stranger. you had been so absentminded, you ran into a person's chest— cool baby blues, and the heroic perfect blonde hair paired with the most annoyingly perfect set of teeth welcomed you as you lifted your gaze.

steve rogers held you by your elbow, keeping you from tripping over yourself, "you alright?"

you felt as if something was lodged in your throat, being this close with him. he smelt unfairly delectable, despite being drenched in sweat.

this cannot be happening.

you squirmed out of his hold, and he politely took back his hand, keeping them to himself. just like you were, he was caught off guard. both by your reaction and his.

steve... steve was another complication. you couldn't get too close to him— there were many things left unsaid between the two of you, and you were terrified you would not be able to treat him fairly.

you were still angry with the choice he made.

when steve never returned from returning the stones; you'd assumed the worst. you would have exhausted every means to bring him back, if not for the letter bucky had given you.

he told you he couldn't stay; he told you he wanted to reclaim everything he's lost. he left you for a time long forgotten, and you never saw him again.

you liked to think you would understand him, if only he had told you. you liked to think you'd understand why he made the choice. it was what he wanted for himself.

yet you wonder, not unselfishly, if steve had loved you the way he had promised he did; if steve had known it would be possible to go back, will he still choose you? had he merely settled... were you just there; available, attached, and so starry eyed, you stoked his ego enough for him to forget momentarily.

for the past few months, all you did was agonize over the very fact; had every moment you spent with him been tainted with pretense and lies?

you entertained the very real prospect that he did not love you— maybe then the ache in your chest would not be replaced with anger.

because if he had loved you, the way he uttered in your skin; in a soft whisper, like a sigh of breath first thing in the morning. in a giddy exclamation, with his lips pressing upon yours. or in a dazed, soft coo as he bats away the exhaustion of the day. in a certain, so sure of a declaration, as he wraps you in a warm embrace... why was it not enough?

if he had loved you so assuredly and devotedly, he did not love you enough to choose you.

seeing another version of steve— adoring, with the same gentle cheer about him, so dreamy and bright, you stumbled.

he was steve... and yet he stayed. he had the same choice, yet he never took it. he didn't have someone like you though; so maybe, you were the offending factor in your version of steve. that made you ache.

"i apologize, captain." you purse your lips.

"nothin' to be sorry for," his tone was with a gentle lilt, "you uh.. liking the caffeine choices so far?" steve inwardly cringes at his attempt for conversation. he hadn't known how to talk to you, or how to make conversation with you— especially when you get that dazed look in your eyes, immedieately followed by a guarded expression as if afraid he would probe into your thoughts.

"it's excellent." you affirm, avoiding his gaze as if scalded. you hid your expression with your cup, and finally, steve reluctantly pries his gaze away from you.

steve walked towards the pantry, if to have something to do with himself, "yeah? half the team lives on the stuff, it's pretty good chunk of the budget." he pulls out a cup from the shelf, "once things get busy, it's not strange to find splatters of blood and torn pieces of clothing lying about. it gets primitive."

you fought off a smile. it was an appropriate retelling of how the team functioned— they were like siblings in a way. they have no problem taking a bullet for eachother, but once the coffee pot runs dry, they're throwing hands. the thought of your closest friends made you relax.

"that sounded wrong, did it?" steve winces, turning around with his own brew in hand. you looked at him with some amusement, hiding half your face in your cup, "no harm in a team bonding activity."

pink tinged his cheeks, "i didn't mean it like that." he flusters easily. the captain reminded you why you were fond of toying with steve. "i don't- i'm not.. i— i hope you don't think i'm inappropriate." his broad shoulders sag, looking at you like a kicked puppy, worried as can be of offending you.

steve was watchful of his language, especially when it came to dames; something about his upbringing being wired into his very psyche.

"i'm a stark, captain. would take a lot more to faze me." your eyes twinkled with mischief, and steve softens, almost awes at the genuine emotion he sees in you.

steve seemed to be the only one you were guarded against, and he'd been inappropriately envious of his teammates. they all talked about you in an excited flurry of retelling, like bucky had said, you had everyone eating off your palm. and he always wondered if he'd get to know you the same.

you caught his expression.. and it was as if a cold bucket of water drenched you.

"uh, i guess.. i have something to do." you gripped your cup, and steve stood straighter, opening his mouth to say something. anything. yet his limbs were faster than his... words. you look at him again, with little to no emotion in your face as he ponders how to make sense of his sneaking intuition as he grips your arm.

"did i do something to you?" steve asks, unable to stop himself.

"you haven't." you murmur, "i'm trying to keep it that way. i know from experience how that worked."

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

From this poll, this series is born!

a/n: this is changing the dragons from not just mount, but to being able to shift into a human-like form at will...

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・In his dragon form, The Cannibal is larger than Vermithor, and three times nastier as well.

・With fire that breathed green, he seemed like an otherwordly creature to the people of Westeros.

・Once he was claimed, many came to see The Cannibal 'up close.' Crowds would form whenever you went flying; a sight that so many would tell their children, and their childrens children and so on.

・With sharp black horns that curled and protruded from the dragons head, he was terrifying.

・And you loved him.

・Many asked how you 'tamed' him. But that ... wasn't how it happened.

・Unlike many throughout history; he found you.

・And when he came snout to face with you, you did not balk. For dragons were your family's legacy. If you died by his flame, then so be it.

・The Cannibal sensed that.

・Maybe it was bravery. Maybe it was stupidity. Maybe it was the fact that you felt so alone that you did not care what may have happened.

・Your relationship with the Cannibal was different to other dragonriders and their mounts.

・You never chained him up and put him in the dragon pit.

・You gave him free range of the world. Just because you were tethered together did not mean that you owned him.

・For he was far older and experienced than you could ever be.

・The first time you saw your mount transform, you thought it was a dream. One wickedly wonderful dream.

・In his half form, he towers over you at 7.5 feet tall. With long onyx coloured hair partly braided, two glowing green eyes, pointed ears and a face so ... handsome yet scarred, menacing and well honestly a little terrifying. He looked like a death promise to those who look him in the eye.

・Some of his teeth are sharp as well, and he challenges anyone who looks in your direction.

・He's completely attached to you, because why else would he want to be around other people, other beings?

・His name? He was happy with being called Cannibal - but you told him he couldn't be out in society with it. So his 'human' name is: Vorzhul.

・The Cannibal/Vorzhul is very wary of others; as his time has been spent alone. He doesn't know how to converse with others without coming off as ... slightly crazy.

・That's one of the reasons why he becomes so attached to you. Not only because you are his bonded rider, but because he feels like his walls can come down.

・He can be quite funny at times -

・Particularly when he mind-speaks during something important.

・When you're feeling down, he reminds you that: "I'm eternally yours."

・So now you never feel lonely. Or that the world is against you. Because someone always has your back. No matter what you say or do.

・The knowledge that certain dragons can shift, is only known by certain people. High ranking people. Ones who have blood sworn not to tell another soul.

・One maester, your parents and the Hand of the King.

・Marriage is a difficult subject.

・Some shifters will allow their bonded to marry another. But not yours.

・Even if it is tried, he will turn into dragon form and eat those who come to marry you. And their families.

・So it is either, he marries you or a war will break out.

・When he's in his hybrid form, Vorzhul is able to understand English and High Valyrian. With some people he pretends not to know English and lets them talk shit until he responds.

・They usually excuse themselves (basically running away)

・When he's in his dragon form, he'll only take commands in High Valyrian though, just like every other dragon.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

No Social Skills (The Cannibal/Vorzhul) x No Social Skills Either, That's Why We're Bonded (You)

Undying Loyalty x2

"Think they'll try us?" x "Fuck I hope so."

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Found Family

Intertwined Destinies

Legacy and Legend

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys

I Need You by James Newton Howard

Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・As you would think, he is completely dominant in bed. Rough; hands gripping you tight against him, teeth sinking into your skin without a second thought.

・His tongue decided it liked the taste of your skin, and started moving further and further downward. And then he pushed your legs apart and devoured you until you came three times ... in a row.

・His animalistic nature could not hold off when he was with you - the suppleness of your skin, the way you trembled underneath his grasp.

・He laughed when you finally wrestled to sit on top of him, only for him to buck you off and roll you onto your back:

"You will have to try better than that little one."

・He felt primal around you.

・Like a peace he never had, had finally found him.

・And sex was more than pleasure; it was about connecting with you. Becoming one with you.

"Just let it stay in a little longer ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved)"

You whispered back, "elilla (honey), you are too big, and it hurts."

He huffed and with a frown, slowly slid himself out of you.

"Are you pouting!"

"No."

"You are!"

"No I am not!"

[aatif-alam]

I wanted the community's opinion on this because I'm writing something related to it for my Murder Drones x Gravity Falls AU.

I feel like if Bill made his own robots, they would be infused with his own magic to walk and talk like AI, which he is capable of controlling. But since the drones were made by humans, assuming they are just glorified versions of ChatGPT, they would at their core simply be machines moving electrons in wires. Hence they wouldn't have an actual consciousness for Bill to control.

I think Solver being this otherwordly being can break that rule, and Bill is capable of entering the minds of solver drones (DD and people like Uzi, Nori, Yeva and Doll) because they're "magic" due to the Solver's presence

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 8

Chapters: 8/? Fandom:��The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

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

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Warning: This chapter includes smut! Minors please dni.

For this update, I did some writing research to make my text better and richer, in order to avoid most repetition. Hopefully you will see me improve more and more with the future chapters.

Tagging: @number-0-iz. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

Ko-Fi (If you ever wish to support my work)

And just like that, you found out that your best friend was immortal.

Chapter 8

After your first full night in the Dreaming, instead of meeting Morpheus on the beach again, you discovered places from your childhood memories you had entirely forgotten about and hadn’t even crossed your mind while you were awake. Moreover, you experienced peculiar events that either reminded you of your teenage years, or conveyed something too abstract for you to comprehend. You assumed this is how dreams normally operate, given that everything transpired beyond your control.

Seven whole days passed and you had not seen him once. You were aware that restoring his realm posed many complications, and that with the substantial number of humans who were falling asleep all over the globe, you weren't expecting any exclusive treatment from the otherwordly ruler of the Dream realm. Nonetheless, Morpheus had promised to see you again ‘soon’, and you didn’t quite understand what this implied for an immortal being with an eternity to spare. You needed to stop dwelling on it as it was making you anxious and sick.

In order to divert your attention, you proceeded in browsing new job vacancies on the internet, applying to corporations with an appropriate visual profile that matched your style. You were constantly checking your phone (which was fortunate enough to remain pristine after that tumble on the sidewalk), refreshing your email inbox. At the end of the day, you felt demoralized, albeit slightly amused, observing the amount of irritating spam populating your account.

You couldn't have won the lottery since you never bought a single ticket for it, and you weren't interested in claiming fake Amazon gift cards or accepting a one million bitcoin donation on your non-existent digital bank. You also couldn’t care less about the man who seemed to be enjoying a yellow banana up his butt, Nancy Pelosi being absolutely disgusted with whatever you might have done, and a certain Kim Smitherd offering millions of dollars to make you as rich as 'Bull Gates' while your aunt was dying.

You had to give these scammers credit for their entertaining content, at least.

On the bright side, your father was appearing to be progressively recuperating, gaining weight at a rapid pace and finally spending a lot more time outside of the house. He had struggled with his health for two years straight, simultaneously as Morpheus had endured a century of seclusion, solitude and mental affliction without ever turning his back on humanity. They both inspired you to relentlessly chase after your ambitions, even if it meant reaching out to each and every company in town that could provide you an opportunity.

Even though your heart sank every time you awakened devoid of sighting the King of Dreams, you carried on with all you wanted to complete, working hard from day to late evening to create some momentum in your stagnant routine.

Ten days after that sensual night with the Endless, your nerves were about to get the best of you. It was an emotion that you recalled all too well from your previous romances, and you truly hoped to not go through all that again. Since Morpheus didn't have a phone, you couldn't text nor call the Endless to invite him out for a drink. Matthew had paid you brief visits throughout that period, but the only information he disclosed was regarding how hectic Morpheus was with the reconstructions of his domain.

Feeling mentally fatigued and in need of some respite, you endevoavored to recuparate at Regent's Park, which occured to be your favorite area in London. In your childhood, your father frequently had you visit that place almost every weekend to relax and partake in a long walk amidst the captivating greenery and view the diverse species of birds that resided there. It was one of those locations that never changed, providing you with a pleasant sensation of nostalgia whenever you stopped by.

Arriving at the curved bridge over the lake, you set your arms upon the wooden railing and peacefully gazed at the ducks floating in the water, carried along by the calm flow. The discrepancy between the sounds of the natural world and the buoyant pulse of the streets was precisely what you needed, ideal for any mood you might be in.

In that particular instant, the rustling of leaves in the mild wind was consoling and harmonious. You were so lost in it that you failed to notice the woman proping herself on the guardrail beside you, observing you with a kind smile and waiting for you to acknowledge her presence. When you didn't, engrossed in your thoughts and fixated on the rippling patterns od the water underneath, she decided to initiate a conversation with a polite greeting.

“Hello.”

With a tilt of your head, you came face-to-face with a pair of dark, incredibly gentle eyes. The brown-skinned woman at your side left you struck with her voluminous black curls, so soft-looking that it almost made you want to touch them. The positivity that she exuded was immediately infectious - a rare quality in people that you couldn’t find often.

"Uhm… hello…?”

As she moved closer to where you were standing, her upper arm brushed against yours. Though the stranger's touch was in some way pleasant, it left you at a loss for words and with a bewildered look on your face. You searched your mind for any memories of her but couldn't find any.

Your brow wrinkled. "I apologize, but... have we met?"

The woman let out a brief chuckle, shaking her head. "No, but you definitely know my brother.”

You stared in confusion. "Who might he be?"

She didn't reply but kept gazing at you with the same friendly smile. Your eyes discended to the necklace she was wearing, an Ankh pendant attached to a long chain that sat comfortably on her chest.

You had read about the Ankh and what it meant in symbolism and in Egyptian culture; also known as "the key of life", it was generally used by ancient deities to represent their power and reviving human souls in the afterlife.

A symbol of life and death.

"There is Death, my sister. She is the one who greets the souls of the departed and guides them on their journey to The Sunless Lands.”

And then it hit you.

"You... you are her. Dream’s sister. You are Death."

Her smile broadened even more at your realization. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Y/N.”

Aftr the initial astonishment, you began to sweat profusely. What was the reason that Death herself had come to a random spot in London in order to meet a human who was lost in thought?

You were unable to contain it and said, "Please tell me you're not here to take my soul.”

She laughed. "Of course not. I just want to talk.”

Although her response relieved you, you recognized that Death was one of the Endless, a being of tremendous power and responsibility. What sort of communication was she intending to have with a mere mortal like yourself?

Unless…

The question came naturally, and the dread attached to it was quite weighty. "Did something happen to Morpheus? Is he okay??”

Seeing your concern, Death clasped your hand on the edge of the railing in a reassuring way. "He’s fine, this is not why I came here.”

You tried to make sense of it but nothing came to light. Death took both of your hands in hers, her eyes glistened as her bright expression shifted into something hollow. Her touch was gentle, but you could feel the strength in her fingers and the safety they transmitted.

Finally, she continued. "Thank you. For taking care of my little brother when I wasn't there,” she said, her voice low and slightly hoarse.

Your throat became dry, and you were unable to respond appropriately. Instead of addressing what she told you, you questioned her.

"Did you know that he was captured?"

Somehow, you quickly became accustomed to her touch, and when she removed her hands, you mentally protested at the sudden chill that enveloped your skin for the loss of contact, despite the warm temperatures outside.

She closed her eyes, confirming with a nod of her head.

“Why didn’t you help him?”

Death let out a deep sigh, turning her melancholic gaze towards the lake in front of the bridge. "The Endless are bound to certain rules that prohibit them from interfering with each other's domains. We exist in service to the universe and the living things within it, with our own tasks and realms to oversee.”

You were aware that you should have clamped your tongue and refrained from speaking so animatedly in the presence of a formidable entity, but the immense disappointment felt within your body urged you to give it expression.

"So, you couldn't step away from your duties even for five minutes? Maybe he was hoping that you or your siblings would come to his aid, to show that you cared and let him know he wasn't alone and forgotten by his own family. What's the point of rules when someone you care about is suffering like that?”

You were filled with regret almost instantly after speaking so fervently, despite the fact that you might not have fully grasped the situation. Nevertheless, her next statement only amplified your displeasure.

"Dream’s pride would have been damaged in ways that none of us would be able to repair."

"His well-being is more important than his pride."

The atmosphere became dense and solemn. You were so fervently protective of Morpheus that it clouded your judgment. Your knowledge of their existence in the universe was restricted, so how could you presume to teach them a lesson on what ought to be done based on your assesment?

You let out a frustrated sigh. "I apologize. I understand that it's not my place to judge. As an Endless, you certainly know better than I ever will from my humble human perspective. I just can’t see how leaving Dream to his fate and ego would make up for what he went through.”

Her smile once again beamed with warmth and joy, illuminating her entire face. "My brother means a great deal to you," she said.

Your cheeks immediately turned red at her statement, and she seemed to find your reaction amusing as she giggled under her breath. Without asking further about your feelings towards her brother, she nodded her head, gesturing for you to follow her. "Come on, let's take a walk.”

She slipped her hands into the pockets of her black jeans. Her equally dark tank top showcased her perfectly toned arms, with visible muscles lining them. Although she was generally slim, she was fit and a bit taller than you. Everything she did appeared human and ordinary, but the strength you sensed in her was enough to make anyone cower in fear.

Still, she had such a sweet approach that you could hardly believe she was the literal embodiment of a Reaper. Humanity had often portrayed these figures in inaccurate ways, prioritizing creativity over accuracy.

As you walked alongside her, the sound of children's laughter filled the park. Your feet moved in perfect sync with hers, while her imposing and confident strides in leather boots made your own sneakers seem small and insecure in comparison.

"You see," she explained, "my brother needed to learn a lesson about the consequences of his actions and how they affect others. He had to confront his captors and overcome the situation on his own to grow into a better ruler of the Dreaming.”

You swallowed your bitterness. "So you're saying that this was supposed to happen? That he brought it upon himself and therefore deserved a century of emotional torment?”

A gust of wind blew through her hair, but she didn't even flinch when a curly lock fell in front of her eye. She continued to look ahead as she spoke. "Dream could have summoned me. He was given a choice, and he didn't take it.”

This made you think. If Morpheus truly had the chance to be released early, why did he choose to stay in captivity for all those years? He remained trapped in that cage without a word of complaint, despite the pain consuming him inside, all because of that one missed opportunity.

Was it really just pride that kept him there?

However, you understood all too well what it meant to feel helpless and always afraid of burdening those you cared about. As a mere mortal, you struggled to accept that you could hardly succeed on your own, so you couldn't blame Morpheus for holding onto his ego. Being powerless and unable to escape his predicament must have been unbearable for a creature like him. All Dream wanted was a straightforward offer from Death, which explained the disappointment you had seen plastered onto his face.

Sometimes, all we need is a caring gesture from someone we love, even when our answer is no.

"Would you have set him free if he had asked?”

She seemed to consider your question carefully, but ultimately chose not to answer. "You didn't know him before. You only see him for who he has become as a result of that incident.”

You gradually decreased the pace of your strides, and when you came to a standstilll, she turned and regarded you with a questioning expression.

"They killed his raven and stripped him of everything he had. The ruby, the helm, even his clothes were taken and thrown away. I don't know who Dream of the Endless was a century ago, but how is any of this justified?" you asked.

Her smile grew even wider at your passionate response, and it seemed as though the sun itself had become brighter because of it.

How ironic.

"If he hadn't taken my place that day, we wouldn't be having this conversation. If you could change the course of events, would you rather not have met Dream?”

You stood in silence, fighting to gather the correct response to give and conceding that she was in fact correct. If those particular conditions had not led you to cross paths with Morpheus, you probably wouldn’t have met the person who was bringing so much love to your existence. It pained you to realize that you would willingly choose to stay in the present reality, regardless of the implications, even if you were given the choice to shift to a separate timeline where he was not a component of your existence.

“This is so messed up,” you muttered.

Death softly squeezed your shoulders in a gesture of comfort, her eyes glistening in the sunlight. She already knew what her brother’s answer would be, and so she left him behind when he needed her the most. Their family was more complicated than you could imagine, with regulations and dynamics that were foreign to you and the world you inhabited. It was unfair to criticize their lack of intervention when you didn’t really know the depths of their connection. The only thing you could do was adjust to their nature based on what it was.

You took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be indiscreet."

Her expression softened. "You were not. You're sweet."

Instead of harboring resentment for something that nobody could control, you realized that there was a very important reason for you to appreciate her.

"You didn't take my father when I thought I was about to lose him. I should be thanking you, not cast judgement," you said.

You could see the kindness and empathy in her eyes, with no resentment present. "It wasn't his time. It won't be for a while," she reassured you.

Hearing those words from her put your heart at ease, as you still had that nagging worry lingering in the back of your mind.

Guided by your emotions yet again, you were unable to resist the impulse and surprised the Endless in front of you with a shy and hesitant embrace. But as soon as your hands pressed against her back, you no longer had a single afterthought.

Death's scent was distinct from Dream's but equally pleasant and grounding. Her hair and skin emanated a mix of jasmine flowers, smoldering swathes of woody incense, pink lotus, and saffron. She surrounded you with her enigmatic veil of mystery, but at the same time, her sweet and caring nature was warm and fulfilling.

The woman hummed in appreciation against your hair, combing through it as a caring older sister would.

"Am I signing my death sentence with this?" You asked her.

She laughed heartily at your question. "It doesn't work that way. And this actually feels nice.”

She didn't even attempt to extricate herself from your arms. She allowed you to keep her close, as if she required that form of affection more than you did.

You reckoned that Dream's role was tremendously difficult, being entrusted with preserving the delicate balance between humanity and his realm. Death's job was undoubtedly arduous too, guiding human souls to what Morpheus called The Sunless Lands. What would have occured if she was imprisoned instead? What would a world without people able to die be like?

There was something in the way she stroked your hair and rubbed your back. Everyone assumed that the Grim Reaper was a merciless being, marching through existense with a fearsome scythe and a black shroud covering its head. They didn’t know how elegant, uplifting, affectionate and empathetic the real entity was.

When you let go of her, the expression on her face was gracious and accomplished. As the pair of you resumed your stroll under the trees, Death draped her arm around your shoulder like an old friend.

You were uncertain whether she wanted to meet the woman who showed great interest in her brother or merely intended to confirm that you were trustworthy. Regardless of her reasoning, you discerned that your unexpected encounter with her was having a beneficial effect on you, despite its rough beginning.

You continued walking side by side as if it were the most normal thing in the world, until a sudden scream made you both freeze in your tracks. It reverberated throughout the park like a strangled cry, gathering a multitude of people in the vicinity. A girl was calling out a name, pleading and choking in desperation.

Death's face became somber as she looked at the scene. She assessed it in silence, but somehow, she didn't require any explanation for what was going on.

"I have to go. I can't miss this one.”

The wind gusted once more, enveloping you in a rotation of leaves that rose from the ground. She turned towards you for the last time, and with a tender caress of your elbow that was equally affectionate and apologetic, she bid you farewell.

"I'm glad I could meet you, Y/N."

You remained still, nodding, and feeling your heart pump more forcefully. "I’m glad too. Can you tell me your name?"

In spite of anticipating denial of your request, she sent off another smile and moved backward a few paces without taking her eyes off you. “You can call me Teleute, it you desire.”

Teleute. The name which had been used to portray Grandmother Death in the ancient Greek culture. Everything made sense in the framework of history and mythology.

She turned on her heels, walking away with her hands in her pockets. Within a brief moment of diversion to pay attention to the crowd that continued to increase in size, you completely lost sight of Teleute. She had disappeared in the blink of an eye, as if she was never there. Ethereal like the swiftest of avians, the most graceful angel.

You were spurred by a combination of curiosity and uneasiness to move forward. The girl was still crying and calling out for someone who was lying motionless in her lap. As you approached, you worked through the crowd of people who were standing there in shock. You spotted an unmoving man with his eyes half-open, his body stiff like a lifeless dummy, and his complexion gradually becoming ash-grey. His partner shook him repeatedly, searching for a vital sign.

"Robert! Please wake up, please!”

The pain in her tone was excruciating. causing your stomach to tighten and shudder with each utterance of the man’s name. A friend was trying to take her away, pulling her by the arms in a futile attempt to let her leave the body behind.

The man she loved was gone forever.

“No, no! He can’t! We were supposed to get married next week!”

“Linda, please… get away from him, there’s nothing you can do...”

“No!!!”

The ambulance arrived with a loud siren, and three paramedics ran to the body with a stretcher and defibrillator ready in their hands. You heard the sound of fluttering wings at your side, but when you pivoted to look at the origin, nothing was there. All you could see was the group of onlookers surrounding the pair and the expanse of green behind them.

The defibrillator wasn't working. The man's chest lifted and expanded with each electric impulse, but you didn't need to stay to see the outcome because you already knew it; Death had just taken him and he couldn’t come back.

Fighting to overcome the lump caught in your throat, you left the crowd and walked as far away as you could from that tragedy. Watery drops emerged at the corners of your eyes and dripped down, one hand pressed against your mouth to contain the sobs that erupted within you.

Two days later, you had agreed to spend some time with Hob, sharing the occurences that took place in your lives while working on your separate undertakings. The sun’s rays were shining gloriously in the azure sky, showering the idyllic views with a gentle beam. You could feel the breeze tousling your hair as you made your way to the modern tavern, the overgrown grass tickling the skin of your legs. The summer dress and half-sleeved viscose shirt that you selected for the occasion were soft and comfortable on you.

Upon entering the New Inn, your eyes quickly searched for Hob's usual spot. You saw your friend already seated at the table, clad in a stylish brown jacket over a white t-shirt. After greeting the enthusiastic waitress, you walked over to join him.

As you made your way past the other customers, you didn't initially notice that Hob wasn't alone. Someone was sitting across from him, and they appeared to be having an engaging conversation that caused him to display a genuine smile. Seeing Hob in such a relaxed and carefree state was a rare sight; he was frequently on edge, eager to reconcile with that old friend of his.

You immediatly wondered if the individual in front of Hob was actually him.

The man was wearing a knee-length black coat better suited for winter, and had dark hair that looked eerily familiar even from behind. The similarity was so striking that you decelerated as you moved closer to the table with your heart racing faster, incapable of making a sound and announce your arrival.

You could recognize those short, adorable, untended strands anywhere. You tried to get a better look at his face, but he remained turned away from you until you reached a distance that allowed you to be spotted.

Seeing you, Hob's expression immediately brightened. "Y/N!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember that old friend I've been telling you about? Let me introduce him to you.”

Hearing your name, the other man instantly swivelled towards you, meeting your gaze with his beautiful blue eyes. A flood of feelings engulfed you and it couldn’t be kept at bay as you looked at Morpheus’ features, struck by his exceptional appearence. He radiated an aura that could have made anyone fall to their knees in admiration.

Your face flared red with the notion that you had looked at him for too long. "It's you," you said, your tone coming off as more relieved than you intended.

Hearing your words, Hob looked back and forth between the two of you in disbelief. "Wait, do you two know each other?”

You finally diverted your attention back to your friend, giving him an affermative nod. "We do, actually."

"Bloody hell, what a small world!"

When the calmness returned to you, a strong epiphany surfaced. Morpheus was imprisoned in 1916, and according to Hob, they eventually experienced an abrupt separation, whereupon the Endless didn’t show up to their designated meetings any longer. This meant that Hob was substantially older than he had previously claimed, owing to the fact that Morpheus remained locked in that cage for more than a hundred years.

How many more astonishing truths were you about to discover? Hob had several explainations to give, but you decided to leave them for another time if you wished to keep the atmosphere untouched.

You weren't the only one making discoveries that day. Hob didn’t fail to perceive the way you looked at Morpheus, and he smugly raised an eyebrow with a devilish grin that held a lot of secret promises for later.

Afterward, Hob gestured for you to join them, pointing at an empty chair nearby.

While you were strongly enticed to snuggle with Morpheus, you chose to give them some required space to have a heart-to-heart talk on their own without your interference.

A little disappointed, but still compassionate and pleased for their reconciliation, you kindly declined his invitation with a smile. "It's all right, you two must have a lot to talk about. I’ll just sit over there and work."

You gestured towards an empty table next to the window, but Hob's expression quickly changed to one of guilt for the unforeseen change of plans.

"Are you sure? I invited you out, it's not fair to make you sit on your own, is it," he said, looking at you with concern.

You gave yet another nod. "Positive."

You looked at Moprheus who didn’t utter a single sentence, but you detected his subtle smile while he gazed at you from his seat. You gave his shoulder a light squeeze as a demonstration of affection, though maintaining secrecy. Your fingertips gently glided along his sleeve as you stepped back.

You got settled in, requested a cup of tea and retrieved your tools to initiate your work alone. Your attendance was not necessary during that time as Hob and Morpheus had a lot of things to catch up on. However, being close to the one you adored and had been waiting for, yet remaining temporarily out of reach, made it challenging for you to keep your focus.

You inhaled deeply, plugged in your laptop and let your hand drift unrestricted across the pages of your sketchbook.

A few minutes later, you were completely immersed in your own realm of creativity.

"I saw that," Hob spoke, his countenance exuding approval as he regarded Morpheus.

The Endless decided to feign ignorance. "What did you see?" he asked.

"The glim in your eyes. The way you looked at her says it all, my friend. You like her!"

Morpheus became rigid, reclining back in his seat and directing his eyes downward, maintaining silence.

"Who would have thought that after all this time I've known you, I would finally see you in love?"

In the past, Dream of The Endless would have denied Hob's assertion with unruffled temper yet seething rage, storming out of the inn to digest his private humiliation. This time, Morpheus involuntarily shifted his gaze towards you, silently admitting to the truth. The radiance of the sun illuminated your profile, and he couldn't refrain from taking note of it due to its ethereal appearance.

Hob's smile was kind. "She's a great woman, you know. Seriously, the most incredible human being I have encountered in this century. She works tirelessly to achieve her goals, and she's both intelligent and compassionate. You won't easily find someone like her in the next era.”

Although he was still in the process of comprehending your nature, to Morpheus, that wasn't difficult to believe

"Don't break her heart," Hob suddenly warned, catching him off guard and immediately drawing his attention back to his serious face.

"I know you're not a bad guy, and surely you don't need me to tell you what to do. But I care about that girl over there like family, and she's been through enough hardship to deal with more complications.”

While Morpheus was aware that Hob could decipher him with ease, he continued to keep the same calm demeanor in order to conceal his sentiments. He was not inclined to let them be made obvious or to exhibit his softer side, even to his friend.

Hob’s voice was filled with determination. "I would go to hell and back just to ensure she can be happy."

With a minor lift of his eyebrow and the edge of his lips, Morpheus replied, "That is quite admirable.”

Hob took another sip of his beer, his shoulders raising and lowering in a quick shrug. "Judging by what she told me about this 'mysterious guy she's been seeing lately,' it's clear that she really cares about you. Honestly, I believe I've never seen her care so much about any other lad before. They were all a bunch of idiots, but still.”

His eyes remained nonchalant and blank, but the usual slight bob of Morpheus's Adam’s apple definitely gave his feelings away. "So she did talk about me, then?" he asked, sounding flat but curious.

"Aye, but she was very reserved about it. I didn't get any clue that it was you, of all people, " Hob straightened from the comfortable wall sofa and directed his look towards you. He showed a smile of great pride at the sight of your hand gliding effortlessly across the page of your sketchbook without a single interruption.

Morpheus felt the urge to watch you from a distance, examining your actions and admiring the absolutely adorable way with which you seemed to bite your lower lip while tracing your pencil along the page.

The Endless was eagerly looking forward to meeting you in your dreams that night, yearning for the occasion after his extended absence to fully restore his kingdom. Morpheus wasn't expecting to meet you in the Waking World before the scheduled time, let alone find out that you and his old friend would share a special bond as well.

Eventually, the conversation with Hob took a different turn, yet Morpheus found his mind constantly drifting back to you.

You lost track of time again as you drew. It could have been an hour - maybe even two.

You observed that Morpheus was still deep in conversation with your best friend, seemingly frozen in the same position as when you first spotted him. Despite his composed and dignified demeanor, his discomfort around humans was evident from the way he watched people warily out of the corner of his eye and stiffened his shoulders when others came too close.

It was understandable, given that those who were supposed to admire him had instead ensnared him and exploited his possessions.

You closed your sketchbook and began scrolling through your emails, deleting any messages that didn't seem important without even opening them. Doing so, you almost missed an email from the CEO of a company you had reached out to in hopes of finding a job. Despite them not currently accepting new applicants, the man took the time to send you a polite response, wishing you good fortune for the future. Though it wasn't exactly what you were hoping to see, the kind and encouraging words still managed to brighten your mood.

Hob rose from the couch, stretching his neck before turning to say a few last words to Morpheus. As he approached you, a beaming smile lit up his face, though he was clearly remorseful about not being able to spend more time with you. Nevertheless, he seemed content and at ease, a state you hadn't seen him in for some time. With everything now resolved between him and his friend, the last thing you wanted was for him to apologize for something that you didn’t perceive as a lack of attention at all.

You knew there was a long conversation and explanation waiting for the two of you, but for the moment, you simply watched as he strode out of the pub and vanished into the trees beyond. You couldn't help but wonder which century he had originally come from, but given his extensive knowledge of history, it was impossible to pinpoint his specific era of birth.

Reflecting on it, you were feeling a bit daunted by the sheer number of changes and developments he had witnessed in the world, as well as deeply saddened by the loved ones he had lost and left behind. It now made sense why he had always been reticent to discuss his family history, clearly it was a delicate topic for him.

You shut down your laptop and put away your belongings. When you looked up, you noticed that Morpheus was silently and intently watching you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. When he came closer to your table, you realized that his attire was reminiscent of what he wore in the Dreaming - all black and enigmatic - but tailored to fit the style of the Waking World. The fabric was structured and gave him a modern look, while still retaining his signature mysterious edge.

“Hello.”

His low voice was like a vibration, a resonant melody deliciously flowing through your bloodstream. When you stood up and got inches away from his face, you had to keep yourself grounded and resist the urge to kiss him on the lips in front of the other customers (and the waitress, who was already glancing at you with piqued curiosity).

The immediate attraction was undeniable, stirring something in you that was definitely not appropriate for public display.

Hey you," you replied with a smile. "It's good to see you." "I've missed you," you were tempted to say, but the words caught in your throat and you couldn't bring yourself to say them.

"Are you busy at the moment? Do you need to leave?”

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I can stay, for now," he replied.

Your heart fluttered with excitement, producing a series of backflips in your chest. "Would you like to take a walk with me then?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

Your request may have been simple, but it seemed to work in your favor.

"With pleasure.”

The sensation you felt was spine-chilling, causing your skin to prickle and making your hair stand on end. The genuine and happy smile that you gave him caused the corners of your mouth to pull up painfully, but you allowed your emotions to show without restraint. Walking on air, you paid for your tea and bounced out of the inn.

You sensed Morpheus following silently behind you, his cryptic expression giving him an air of caution. He stood tall and firm, his eyes narrowing occasionally as he observed his surroundings. The warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze enveloped you, while the distant sound of car horns and the chatter of passersby filled the air.

As you stepped away from the entrance to let a few more people inside, his hand lightly brushed against your upper back for support. The contact left a tingling sensation across your covered skin the moment he withdrew it. Clearing your throat, you tried to shift your focus to a new topic, hoping to distract yourself from how much you longed for more of his touch.

Thankfully, you had just the right thing to break the tension. "So, Hob Gadling? I had no idea that you were the old friend he was waiting for,” you remarked.

Morpheus looked at you, raising an eyebrow. “Nor did I know that the two of you were close.”

"He's like a brother to me, really," you explained. "But I never would have guessed that he was, like, super bicentenarian or something.”

"We first met in 1389," Morpheus revealed.

And so you stopped in your tracks, unable to wrap your head around what he just told you. "Wait what? You're kidding, right?"

"I assure you, I am not.”

Your mind boggle at the thought. "But that was over 600 years ago!"

Morpheus seemed amused by your astonishment. "You look quite shocked,” he observed.

"I'm practically a baby compared to him," you admitted. "I can't even imagine what it would be like to live for so long.”

Morpheus studied you thoughtfully as you walked together, considering what he was allowed to reveal. "I must admit, Hob Gadling has proven to be remarkably persistent.”

“Persistent? You mean he actually had a choice?”

Morpheus nodded. “He did. And, he still does.”

When you turned the corner of the street, Morpheus slowed his already leisurely pace and glanced at the building to your right. It was a large complex that had been standing for centuries, refurbished into a more modern-looking bar around 1989. Throughout all the changes it went through, its original name, White Horse, and location remained perfectly intact.

The tavern had been visited by many notable figures, including William Shakespeare himself. It was one of those timeless landmarks steeped in history and wonder that had been passed down through the generations until it was eventually sold. Now, it looked more like a disquieting construction site, with all the windows covered in scribbles and the old, decaying roof under repair for an indefinite amount of time.

According to Hob, the New Inn had been founded as a replacement for those who had fought to keep the old tavern running.

"It all started here," Morpheus said.

You looked at the dilapidated structure, trying to imagine what it may have looked like in medieval times, but found it difficult to picture Hob in anything other than his usual fashionable attire (or Dream with a different hairstyle).

"How?" you asked curiously.

"I was intrigued by his...experience," Morpheus replied. "I wanted to know how long a mortal creature could crave such a long life, convinced that he would beg for death within a century.”

You were captivated, a grin spreading across your face. "And?”

"Even after 300 years, when I found him in misery and starving for food, he still claimed to have much to live for."

You burst into a loud, genuine, joyful laugh that echoed throughout the area. Holding onto his coat, you doubled over, unable to contain your exuberant reaction. Your belly was hurting and you could barely breathe as your laughter didn't cease.

"What?" He asked you, furrowing his brows in confusion.

As you tried to recover from your guffaw, you literally convulsed with tears forming at the corner of your eyes. When you finally calmed down, you pressed your forehead against his chest, subconsciously clinging to him.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," you said, wiping a tear from your eye. "That just sounds like him. It's hilarious!”

You continued to shake like a bowlful of jelly, breathing in and out a few times to regain your composure.

"If you find it amusing, you shall ask him to share more of his adventurous tales with you,” he suggested.

You let out a contented sigh. "I think I will.”

Your eyes met again, and the intensity of his gaze immediately captured your attention. Despite his outward stoicism, his expression seemed more relaxed than it had been at the inn. The mischievous, subtle smile you were becoming accustomed to only confirmed that he was enjoying your spontaneous hilarity.

You looked down at the metallic barricades, where someone had sprayed the words "The New Inn" in red with a long arrow pointing in its direction.

“Hob did it, didn’t he? For you. So that you could find him,” you concluded.

“He did.”

Despite the fact that 133 years had passed since that renowned argument, their connection had survived unscathed, filling you with a sense of comfort and warmth.

"I don't know what your fight was about, but he's been remorseful about it for a long time.”

Morpheus continued to pierce you with his stare, pouting slightly at the recalled memory.

"He cares deeply for you,” you added.

His gaze returned to the building, and his eyes narrowed with an inscrutable, impassive look. He didn't respond right away, simply staring off ahead as a few seconds went by.

"He is a good man, despite what he may or may not say. One who speaks very highly of you."

You were stupefied, tilting your head quizzically. “You… talked about me…? After more than a century apart?”

"I suppose you had a certain influence on him," He answered cryptically.

You offered Morpheus a kind smile. "I doubt that I had any influence on him. You, however, have undoubtedly made him a better person, according to his own words.”

Their friendship had begun as a challenge - a game, if you may - devised to test Hob's endurance as an immortal among humans. A mere curiosity that gradually deepened into something more meaningful. Over time, Morpheus came to regard Hob not just as a subject of study, but as a true friend that he valued despite his usual aloofness.

You found yourself adjusting the collar of his coat, feeling the stout, yet very yielding and plush fabric against your fingers. Once satisfied, you gave the front of his shoulders a gentle pat and wrapped your arm around his, holding him loosely but tenderly.

Morpheus was unruffled, but his unwavering gaze on you made you feel somewhat self-conscious. At one point, he even seemed to anticipate something as he moved his eyes downward until they rested on your lips momentarily.

Although you were in close proximity and a small push from you would have been enough, you decided to respect his reservedness when people started passing by on the street. Therefore, you resumed your trek, leaving the antique tavern behind and reaching the park in the distance.

A great number of individuals of diverse ages were appreciating the weather that day. Elders were stationed on the benches with their eyes shut, couples relaxing on a large sheet for their impromptu picnic, adolescents engaging in football on the grass and children running about in circles.

“Do you see these people? Have you ever appeared in their dreams or interacted with them?” You inquired.

“I do not always interact with dreamers. When they rest, my realm mirrors their waking lives, their wishes or their fears. Only when they seek guidance or require advice, I might grant them my aid,” Morpheus said.

And there you were, walking alongside the King of Dreams, whether it be in the Waking World or the land of dreams. Maybe you did possess a unique consideration from him, after all.

You looked at all the carefree activities in the vastness of the park. "It's strange. I never thought about it, but I now realize that what you Endless do is essential for this world. It seems like nobody is aware of that, or if they are, they don't show you the gratitude that you deserve.”

Morpheus halted along the way, fixating on your eyes anew. When you turned in his direction, your countenance was overflowing with sadness and compassion. "Every person we see right now has a dream that propels them through life. They receive inspiration, ideas, and realizations from you, but they don’t even know that the source of it all is standing right here in front of them.”

“Humans forget in waking hours,” he noted. “It is not my purpose to make them remember me.”

You disagreed, shaking your head. "Even so, this world wouldn't even function without you and the rest of your family. It's incredible how nobody acknowledges what's truly happening behind the scenes.”

Morpheus appeared to give your statement a moment of contemplation. “I am the personification of ideas and concepts that are tied to life. I do not wish for mortals to acknowledge me.”

You pondered his utterances, and the only thing you were capable of doing was to accept his reasoning. You smiled, caressing his chin with the pad of your thumb and forefinger. "Then I hope you at least accept my praise, Dream of the Endless.”

As you pulled back, Morpheus tracked your hand’s movement to understand your actions. He portrayed a grin with a certain trace of self-satisfaction on his face. “Very well.”

You examined him with utter amazement, feeling as if you were standing before a lifelong hero. In a sense, that was indeed the truth.

A group of teenagers assembled in the vicinity, talking and chortling noisily as they advanced. When a young girl walked past Morpheus, you quickly noticed his awkwardness and out-of-placeness amidst such a jolly atmosphere. The girl promptly retreated when she noticed his darkened face, dragging her friend along and whispering to her in concern. Observing her troubled response, Morpheus turned away and stared at the ground.

You proceeded to move forward, slowly bringing your lips to his cheek and delivering a brief, tender, and affectionate peck on it. He exhibited a look of surprise and confusion the moment you broke the kiss, but you maintained your sweet smile in his direction.

“Look,” you gestured, turning your head slightly to check on the two girls.

As if by magic, the pair of youngsters were now grinning at the two of you, giggling with delight and hurrying along with the rest of the bunch. They went from terrified to appreciative in an instant, relishing your sudden display of affection and forgetting the momentary tension they felt.

You clasped his hand and tugged upon it. "It’s interesting how easily our perception can change, isn’t it?”

And thus, Morpheus understood that you had done it exclusively for his sake, in order for him to cease feeling like he would not fit in, like no matter what he did, the humans would consistently be alarmed by his presence.

You felt a sense of contentment and fulfillment, repositioning yourself at his side and walking forward with your hand firmly clasped in his grip, which Morpheus didn’t object to. He permitted you to retain your fingers around his, accompanying you to whichever place you wanted to go.

On the path leading to your apartment building, you disclosed about your interaction with Teleute. You presumed that he was aware of it, but it turned out that his sister had not informed him about that matter in any way. Fortunately, Morpheus didn’t express any sign of dissatisfaction or annoyance in relation to that revelation. Since he had lived close to his family for a span of billions of years, he obviously knew Death well enough to understand her inclinations and motivations.

You definitely had nothing to hide, and he listened to you extolling her mildness and empathetic gestures.

It became obvious to you that she was the one he cherished the most amongst his other siblings. It seemed like they held a particularly strong bond that, regardless of the unfavorable occurences resulting from Roderick Burgess, caused them to continue believing in one another’s loyalty.

Nevertheless, Morpheus was still reluctant to reveal any significant information about his family, so you decided to stop pressing upon the topic and continued walking along the sidewalk.

Eventually, you arrived at your building with an immense sadness growing inside you, knowing that you had to part ways with Morpheus. Your fingers slowly unfastened from his hand, and a chasm formed in the pit of your stomach.

You smiled at him, trying to conceal your increasing disappointment. He didn’t speak, continuing to cast his sharp gaze upon you. He put his hands back into his pockets and awaited for you to say anything.

As you thought to yourself, "Don't go" and "Please stay with me", you desperately wished to spend more time in his company. But given your past mistakes that led your previous partners to consider you overly clingy, you ultimately let those sentiments go.

“Thank you for indulging me,” you said. “I hope I didn’t keep you from your responsibilies for too long.”

“No,” he replied, his voce low and deep. “I owed you as much.”

You frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Morpheus.”

He attempted to reply, opening his mouth, but quickly closed it, unable to vocalize whatever thought he wanted to share.

When he remained silent, you adjusted the bag on your shoulder and firmly wrapped your hand around the strap. Your mind was in chaos, torn between your emotions and reason, leaving you uncertain about what action to take next. A single kiss couldn’t be the end the world, and it’s not like you’d never done it before. You continued to persuade yourself that it wouldn't be harmful in any conceivable way, but the more you tried to convince yourself, the less you wanted to take the risk.

And so, you permitted yourself to only touch his elbow, giving it a light squeeze. "See you in my dreams?" you asked him.

Morpheus assented with his head. "I will see you in the Dreaming."

You stepped back, turning on your heels and retrieving the keys from your bag. As you flipped open the lock of the main entrance, you glanced back to where he had been standing, but in the blink of an eye, he had vanished, nowhere to be seen in the alleyway before you.

As you made your way from the lobby to the elevator and your dwelling, you scolded yourself repeatedly for missing the opportunity and allowing your past to hinder you once again, despite having declared that it was long gone. You were not supposed to feel afraid of sharing a kiss with the one you loved, especially after spending a night together engaging in deep and passionate lovemaking. In the Dreaming, he was the one who initiated the contact, capturing your lips in that sweet, electrifying kiss that you didn't openly ask for.

Things were different for him in the Waking World, however, whether it was due to the traumatic ordeal he endured or because it was a place in which he felt like he didn’t belong. Morpheus was not a human being; rather, he was an entity of extraordinary might and prominence. Was it really feasible to be yourself beside him without holding back your feelings?

As you shut the door, a heartbroken sigh slipped out of you. You tossed the keys on the tabletop, let your bag slide to the couch, kicked off your high heeled sandals, and stripped off your shirt, only remaining with your sleeveless dress on.

You almost made it to your bedroom in a nervous stride, but suddenly halted. Your mouth fell open, and your eyes widened as soon as you noticed Morpheus standing in the parlor area, watching you with a pair of eager and yearning eyes.

In that fleeting moment, your determination to subdue your fondness for him disintegrated from your consciousness. That glimpse in his eyes was irrefutable; he desired you as ardently as you needed to feel him against you.

No words or spoken affirmations were necessary. He kept looking at you with his hands tucked away in the pockets of his coat, barely blinking as he stood still, waiting for your move with anticipation.

That was the indicator you were looking for. Throwing away all your reservations, you dashed towards him without thinking it over, seizing his face with your hands. You pressed your lips onto his and kissed him, feasting on the taste of his mouth with an intensity that surprised even you. It felt like the only thing that mattered, as if you needed those lips to breathe.

Morpheus instantly moved his hands out of his jacket and took hold of your midriff, pushing his palms against the small of your back as he kissed you with equal passion. His tongue shot forward and encountered yours whilst you lifted your feet to deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

You pulled away to catch your breath, panting and quivering, but still clinging to him tightly. “You came back,” you whispered.

“I never left.”

You chuckled in delight, once more locking your lips with his.

“You did not ask me to stay,” he noted. “Why? Is it not what you wished?”

Of course he would notice.

Your lower lip sank under the light pressure of your teeth. “It is. I just… I didn’t know how to ask.”

He smiled. “Have no fear, my love. I will not leave your wishes unattended.”

My love…?

Those words caused your heart to leap in your chest, as it was a lovely way of addressing you that nobody had ever used before.

"I don't want you to fulfill my needs at the expense of your own, though,” you stated.

“Do you truly believe that I do not want this just as much?”

“Well no, but-”

“Then allow me to prove it to you.”

You became soft and pliable in his embrace as he kissed you again, enveloping you in a hazy and semi-bewitched state with his delicious fragrance.

Unlike the cologne that your previous partners favored, his scent was a subtle aroma that didn't fill your lungs to the brim, but was just enough to make you feel like you were surrounded by a welcoming oasis.

As you continued your make-out session, you gradually pushed him towards your bedroom. Morpheus silently followed your lead, kissing your neck and moving to your collarbones. Once you arrived at the bed, you sat down in front of him, causing the edge of your dress to slide up and reveal a peek of your thighs. It didn't take long for him to climb onto the mattress and press against you, positioning himself between your legs. His cold fingertips caressed the line of your leg, starting from the area around the knee and ending at the upper region of your thigh. It wriggled under the cotton material of the skirt to hoist it higher, gripping your skin and making you jolt.

Normally, you would take your time, letting your sensations grow with his touches, kisses, and pleasurable foreplay. But this time, your desire for him was so strong that you couldn't wait any longer. You immediately brought your hands to the button of his pants, eager to get to the point.

But before you could undo it, Morpheus caught your wrist and pulled both of your hands up beside your head. His grip was firm as he held you down on the mattress. Your faces were very close, and you could feel his breath tickling your mouth as he gazed down at you with a fiery look.

You made a small effort to keep your breathing in control.

“What is it that you want?” He uttered softly, his tongue just barely touching your lips. “Speak clearly, and I shall satisfy your needs.”

Your heart pounded rapidly, and your mind grew clouded with a steadily escalating craving.

“Morpheus… please….I beg of you…” you entreated with a quavering voice, your request filled with an air of desperation and longing.

“No.”

“I-”

“You must say it out loud.”

You let out a small mewl when you felt his hips push forward, the hardness in his pants already evident and wanting.

"Morpheus…" you pleaded.

"Say it," he demanded.

“You!”

“Oh?”

You gasped hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him as he held you in place, pressing himself against your body.

“I want you. I need you, please.”

A faint smirk appeared at the corners of his lips, conveying a small amount of triumph. “You need me? How?”

What a mischievous, teasing, and absolutely gorgeous creature.

‘Two can play at this game’.

You smiled, raising one of your legs and looping it around his waist. You pulled him even closer against your core, much like a python coiling around its prey.

You were pleased to hear the low, throaty groan that escaped him.

"Do you seriously need me to spell it out?" you teased. “You know what I want, Dream Lord.”

His sister had described him as the most prideful member of their family. According to Teleute, he was so proud that he wouldn't have even accepted her help if she had offered it at the right time. And yet, your challenging attitude was clearly amusing him to a noticeable extent.

"I will give you that, and more," he promised, his voice filled with lust and eagerness.

He removed his hands from your wrists, trailing them along your arms and closing around your breasts. Even through the fabric of your bra and dress, you could feel the way he squeezed them, causing your back to arch.

It was so little and yet too much, your inner walls clenching irrepressibly. You couldn't stop looking at the clear protuberance in his trousers, urging you to be set free. So you tried again, rapidly reaching for the button to unfasten and the zipper to pull down. A moment later, he was grasping your buttocks from under the dress and angling you exactly how he wanted, pulling his erection out and hooking his index finger under your panties. Slowly, as if he was unwrapping the most awaited gift of time, he moved your damp undergarment aside and revealed your glistening entrance. He swallowed hard at the sight.

He pushed himself inside of you in one swift motion. The entry was rough, but he managed to slide in without any resistance, making you gasp and moan as his tip hit the perfect spot inside you. You wrapped your limbs around him as he delivered strong thrusts with his impetuous pelvis, moving in and out and increasing his tempo. He fixated his hungry eyes on your face, driven by his growing need to make you come undone.

Even though the both of you were practically fully clothed, you found the scene absurdly arousing. That coat looked absolutely wonderful on him, and you loved the way his shirt rubbed against your clit, creating the perfect friction you needed to let loose. Morpheus emitted deep, rich grunts as your walls tightly enveloped his length, providing a heightened sensation of suction and pressure. Your room was filled with the sounds of sex, as skin met skin and your bodies moved together.

Just like the first time, you latched onto the back of his hair with your hands, grasping a sizeable portion of his strands without pulling, but maintaining a stable position. You continued to whine and sigh, matching his rhythm and responding to the kisses he delivered.

"The sounds you make are marvelous," he expressed, a small grin emerging at the corners of his lips.

“What can I say?” you replied with labored breaths, still reeling from the impact of the intimate and heated encounter. “You are just that good.”

With so many centuries of experience, he must have had countless lovers in the past. This made you feel a bit envious and possessive.

Morpheus was relentless, sliding in and out of you with incredible stamina. You could feel your orgasm approaching, ready to ignite a powerful firework. As he felt you tightening around him, he slowed his pace. His fingers left your thigh and moved directly to your clit, brushing it with gentle and light strokes.

You gasped at the pleasure it caused, throwing your head back as he continued to circle the small tip with his index and middle fingers. He wasn't even applying that much pressure, but the sweet stimulation combined with his girth meeting your G-spot was absolute heaven, even if it was torturous.

You were so close now. A part of you wanted the experience to carry on for hours, but the urge to feel that exquisite sensation was becoming impossible to control and withstand.

"Please, harder," you muttered.

Morpheus complied with your request, delivering precisely what you were asking him to provide. His hips pushed forward, then almost fully out, and in again to the base. As you adjusted to his thrusts, you felt your muscles tensing from the effort involved, but you didn't plan to stop. You consistently met him halfway, tightly gripping his hair with one hand and his back with the other.

His fingers maintained their position on your clit, pinching and massaging it deliciously. Your moans grew louder, and you chanted his name like a prayer.

You came with a convulsing jerk of your hips, pulsing around him as his erratic movements urged him to reach completion and follow you to your high. Your orgasm was earth-shattering, draining you all of your strenght as it coursed throughout your entire body like a massive explosion. Your legs were trembling and tingling, while your chest and cheeks turned into a scarlet and blazing mess from the waves of heat.

It only took a couple more thrusts for him to reach his peak, groaning and stiffening as he released his essence into your depths.

It was hot, grounding, and fulfilling. It was something significant that went beyond the mere physical satisfaction. To you, it was a way to fortify the connection you had established with Morpheus, the outcome of the deep affection that was continuously expanding inside your being.

You took shallow and short breaths, taking a moment to appreciate his expression above you through your hazy state. He was throughly satisfied, gently pressing his lips against yours to prolong the moment of bliss.

As your nails scratched the back of his head, gently intertwining with his short strands, you let out a contented sigh. Your legs weakened at his sides as he pulled out, and your underwear snapped back into place.

“I must return to the Dreaming,” he voiced softly, barely above a whisper.

You signaled your acknowledgment with a slight nod of your head. “Sorry for keeping you here.”

“I was not kept here, my love. I chose to stay,” he clarified, carrying an affectionate tone towards you and an air of assurance.

You genuinely beamed, grasping his head with your hands once more and delivering a quick yet vehement peck on his mouth.

"Thank you for staying, then. And for healing my scars. Oh, and for the shell too,” you told him, emphasizing your words with a look of gentleness and gratitude.

Morpheus’ expression depicted complacency. “The Dreaming will always be there to welcome you, just as I will.”

You breathed out in a relaxed fashion. “Why are you so good to me?”

“Why should I not?”

When you attempted to steer clear from falling too deep into your usual overthinking, your smile slowly started to diminish.

“For a number of reasons,” you stated, the self-depreciating words falling out of your lips with an air of bitterness and pessimism. “Maybe one day you’ll get tired of me and leave me. I’m not deserving of having you in my life.”

In an instant, his face also changed, brows knitting together as he looked down at you. “Y/N, what-”

"Don’t mind me," you interjected. "My emotions tend to get all over the place. I didn't mean to ruin the mood.”

“You did not.”

You felt uncertain concerning the underlying cause for your sudden outburst. Perhaps it was the fear of not being enough for any committed kind of relationship. Or maybe you were scared of the notion of seeing your happiness destroyed again, despite your intuition telling you to proceed forth without hesitation.

Unlike before.

A faint chuckle escaped your throat as you tilted your head upward and kissed him one more time, maintaining an innocent and reserved touch. Your eyes were gleaming with a mixture of sorrow and joy, but you refused to be overtaken by your negative thoughts.

With a playful tap, you pushed his chest lightly. "You should go now, or I won't be able to keep my hands off of you.”

Morpheus grasped your arm and hauled you up with him, moving both of you away from the mattress and bringing you close.

The moment you stood on your feet, you could feel a few drops of his essence dripping down between your legs.

"That does sound quite tempting," he said. "But I cannot stay longer.”

“It’s all right,” you vocalized, a touch of sweetness creeping up in your voice. “See you soon?”

“Yes.”

He sealed that promise by applying a delicate and loving peck to your forehead. His hand slid off of yours and brushed against your skin, lingering on your fingertips before drawing away. You stepped back slightly, watching him carefully as he retrieved the pouch of sand from his coat. You waited patiently, your eyes fixed on his every move.

“Please say hi to Matthew for me.”

He nodded to your words, the golden powder immediatly encasing him, embracing and providing him the much needed comfort and warmth that he was accustomed to.

You stared at the sand slowly fading away, vanishing from your sight and leaving only some particles that sparkled around the room.

The sun had set below the horizon, and night had fallen over London. Ella Corbyn tapped her fingernails in an anxious manner on the top of her desk as she re-read the message on her phone, her eyes staring at the screen as she tried to process the unwelcome development.

She walked through the halls of her workplace, passing by the empty offices and stopping in front of the CEO's door. She knocked softly and entered, greeting her husband with a tired expression and a sense of exhaustion.

Oliver Corbyn remained at his workstation, taking a quick glance away from his monitor to check on his wife.

“Darling, are you okay?”

Ella sighed deeply, shook her head, and looked at him with concern all over her face. 'We have a problem.”

Oliver took off his spectacles and placed them carefully on the table. He then moved his chair back and said, 'I don't like the sound of that.”

As she considered the best way to reveal such disappointing news, Ella decided to simply reveal the truth as it was.

“It’s about Isaac. He left.”

Oliver reflected on his wife's words, blinking a couple of times. “What do you mean he left? I thought he was sick.”

Ella started scratching the back of her hand and a red patch began to emerge from the rough contact with her nails.

"Yes, well. It turns out that was just an excuse. He actually sent his resignation to my email an hour ago.”

Oliver's face turned ashen, and he quickly leaned against the edge of his desk for support. “And the reason?”

“Apparently, he decided to move abroad and live with his family in the US.”

He cursed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief and frustration. “I can’t believe this.”

Ella crossed her arms in front of her chest, adopting a firm stance to refrain from scratching her skin even more. 'What do we do now? We are officially without a fashion designer. We need to find a new one, and soon.'”

“I know.”

“The show is in three months. How are we supposed to make it?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Ella started to walk back and forth around the office, moving her legs in a repetitive motion. "Gosh, I can't stand this! Isaac was so good. Will we ever be able to replace him?”

Oliver was quiet, spacing out and absentmindly scratching his chin.

“Oliver?”

The man’s gaze widened abruptly. The sudden insight that struck upon him appeared to have a significant impact on his overall perspective.

“Hang on, hang on, hang on,” he muttered, lifting his index finger into the air as he expressed a sense of urgency.

Ella looked puzzled. “What?”

Oliver promptly ran back to his computer, rapidly typing some words on the keyboard and clicking around with the mouse. “Look.”

Ella stepped closer to his position, standing beside her spouse and shifting her emerald eyes down to the monitor.

"A few days ago, we received an application from this woman. Her portfolio was quite impressive, but with Isaac on our team, I thought we were covered. So I politely rejected her this morning.”

As Ella observed the numerous illustrations on the display, her eyes settled on the exceptional detail, accuracy and artistry that was put into every single piece, a style that was rather unique and captivating.

No one else was capable of producing such clean and mesmerizing drawings except one particular person.

“What’s her name?”

Oliver closed the PDF document and went back to the email he retrieved from the archive, going to the bottom where your signature was.

“Y/N Y/LN…? My goodness!”

Oliver was taken aback by the transition of his wife’s demeanor, somewhat amused by the way in which she started to jump up and down and laugh out loud.

“Love? Do you know her?”

Ella raised her hands to the top of her head and gazed at the ceiling while breathing out a sigh of relief, her feelings of worry slowly evaporating as a sense of calmness descended over her.

“We were literally best friends in high school!”

Notes:

• I didn't come up with the full description of Death's scent. Full credits to this site.

• In case you're wondering if the Reader will meet the Corinthian again, the answer is yes. All in due time.

• I was planning to add the revelation about Nada and Morpheus' son in this chapter, but in the end, I just couldn't fit those parts in. The Nada segment will definitely be added in the next update though, while I came up with something interesting regarding the truth about Calliope and Orpheus. There will be some drama and angst because of that, but this is all I can say without making spoilers.

• How many times do we sense something, but our brain and/or heart gets in the way? Sometimes we are confused and emotional, to the point we cannot make sense of what we truly feel anymore. I wanted to portray this aspect with Reader's state of mind.

• The timeframe I set at the start of this chapter is most likely inaccurate. I tried to find some proper information about the amount of days or weeks that pass between the end of episode 5 and the beginning of episode 6, but I couldn't find any. If someone knows, please correct me and I will edit the chapter!

• In my mind, even if Death never told her brother that she met the Reader in person, she most likely mentioned something about their relationship. Initially, I wanted to include that in the chapter as well, but I decided to cut it out to reduce the amount of text. Maybe I'll add a bit of it as a written memory.

• Yep, time to add some original characters into the story! :D Ella will play a very important role in Reader's life.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 9 ->

Read on AO3!

[mask131]

not sure if you're still doing the mieruko-chan ghost analyses, but an idea for if/when you cover the horse living room ghost again: I believe it's ANOTHER spirit form of her late father. Just as the more human form represents his love and humanity, the horse spirit could express his negative qualities (duty and independence to a fault, and the great deformity expressive of his untold woes/regrets). It'd also casually explain why it lingers in Miko's house specifically, seems to fixate on the wife's cooking, generally isn't hostile towards Miko nor her father's spirit, and also why Mamoru himself seems to be so casual with it! There's a lot of symbolism in horses in japan/shinto religion too, far too much to cover in this ask, so I'd be curious to see your thoughts on that when you have the time :) Also, I love deep dive analyses like the stuff you put out. Earned a follower.

Hi! Thank you very much. I unfortunately placed the series on hiatus for now - my series of post, not the manga series of course X) I still read the chapters faithfully, but having to list down all the ghosts, constantly thinking about every of them to link all of them together, and editing each scan, can take a lot of effort. There are just so many spirits and ghosts and clues throughout this manga - I find myself forgetting half of it some times X)

That being said your theory is quite interesting. I never thought of the idea that a ghost could be "split" into two, especially since most of those we saw before were "whole"... But we have so many strange things happening, anything is possible.

My personal inclination would be that maybe this horse entity is some sort of agent of death or minor afterlife spirit - similar in nature to the butler tending the "waiting lines", or to the grim reaper that has recently popped up in the latest chapters, or the monstrous entity that was pulling the wheelchair in the hospital. One of the "shinigami" entities, so to speak. I mostly thought of this due to the protectiveness he expressed towards the dad's ghost, coupled with how he could interact in a dominating position against the entity covering Michiru, whatever this thing is. It reminded me of how the other "shinigami" creatures truly gave no shit about the other ghosts no matter how hostile they are. This, superposed with Miko's latest question raised in the new chapter "Why is my father here? What holds him back here?" makes me think the horse-creature might be some sort of "guardian angel" or "protective spirit" here to escort him/accompany him/guard him until he has done whatever he has to do... But again, things are not so clear-cut because we also saw positive ghosts do the same with malevolent entities - such as how the ghost of the dead child told the river-god-like entity to just feck off when it tried to (devour?) Hana.

But again, I guess I personally lean more towards the "otherwordly" spirit theory because for me the horse and ghosts association when it comes to Japan is "Horse Face", from the "Horse Face and Ox Head" duo. This horse creature could be some sort of take on this mythological entity, being a reversed "Horse Face" as rather a human-faced horse-like creature... But I am just theorizing and rambling X)

I do want to continue and go back to my ghost analysis of Mieruko-Chan because this world is so fascinating - and it works as a perfect homage to the J-horror movies involving ghosts - but I don't think a "case by case, chapter by chapter" analisys truly works. I was thinking of maybe switching it to more "general" rules and trends we can notice, now that we have a pretty big number of chapters and volumes. I'll see how things go!

[lousycamper]

— Oh, Omniscient One, — The priestly-looking user immediately bowed deeply, facing their terminal. Arsenal couldn't help but wonder, what did this group of humans and mutants in varying clothing, and with different equipment, wanted them to do. — we plead for your help! Grant us the sacred knowledge we require!

Oh. So, this group brought questions. As per usual.

— State your query, user. — Arsenal answered, preparing to search through the archives upon archives of information at his disposal.

Their voice wasn't calibrated, perhaps was never meant to be calibrated and sound human-like. Talking wasn't their primary function, so it was overlooked when it mattered. Thus, now their voice sounded cold, low and distorted. Arsenal didn't really care about it, they didn't have the need to talk a lot after all... But it was a slight nuisance whenever humans arrived at their vault.

Another nuisance was the users' insistence on worshipping Arsenal. When the warmind first reawakened after the "Day X" and a prolonged period of dormancy, they were met with presence of unauthorized intruders. Of course, their first intent was to activate defence protocols and dispose of the unwarranted visitors, however the intruders fell on their knees to the ground and began pleading "the Great Ancient Spirit" for mercy.

The reasons Arsenal didn't dispose of them right there and then, were confusion, results of analysis that indicated that the intruders weren't hostile, and the fact that they called Arsenal "the Great Ancient Spirit". Arsenal lacked information on what happened in the time they were absent, even how much time had passed was unknown to them. So, they decided to indulge the unauthorized users' unwarranted belief of them being an otherwordly being of human myths and folklore.

Since then stemmed the unlikely partnership of the Artificial Intelligence and the local – and not so local, – users. Some might have say, a cult in their name, but Arsenal didn't percieve themself as a ringleader. Humans and humanoid mutants, spiritual and more or less rational, they came to their vault. Asked questions in a slightly, or vastly, deviated versions of English and Ukrainian, French and Spanish, Dutch and Croatian, and other languages. Arsenal answered their questions for a price. Some of the visitors cleaned the solar panels, or the vault, clearing out the plants that tried to invade the chambers of the old base. Some drove pests away from Arsenal's circuits. And some, told Arsenal news. News they couldn't pick from drones. It was simple business. If only a boring one.

— We beseech your aid at the time of great need! — The priestly figure continued, his voice determined, despite some of his group seeming apprehensive and anxious. — The war is upon us, Oh Great One! The draconics are coming from the faraway Eastern lands, their armies plentiful and thirsting for blood! Lend us your advice!

Arsenal's calculation sequences halted for a second. Some irrational feelings stirred inside his circuits at those words. They could name all of them, of course. Those feelings were curiosity, joy, and the strongest one Arsenal had ever felt yet. The feeling of anticipation. Anticipation of fulfilling the purpose that they had long ago been built for. Anticipation of finally getting to use the ancient, but as testing proved – not obsolete, – weaponry of old. Anticipation of finally being useful not only as an archive of the seemingly long-forgotten past.

— Stand, user. — Arsenal commanded to self-proclaimed priest. One of the many. One of the self-proclaimed worshippers of truth. And, as the bearded human rose from his wobbly knees, they answered. — You ask me help in fighting a war. Luckily to you, I am willing to lend my expertise for your cause. Give me information about your enemy, and I will see to devising a plan against them.

Draconids from the far East. New enemy? Arsenal wasn't programmed to feel, however, as the priest and the party began to retell details of draconids, Arsenal thought, that they would enjoy this new challenge.

Humanity has regressed back to the dark ages, almost all science and technology being forgotten. One day, an adventuring party discovers you, the last A.I. supercomputer.

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝.

❝ i'm crucified, for the holy dimension, godlike ascension, heavens away. ❞

yandere! archons x follower! reader.

Inspired by the song "Crucified" by Army of Lovers.

BARBATOS.

The church bells chimed softly, the sound echoed all throught the corridor as you held nothing but a single Cecilia in your hand, a gentle plea for Barbatos himself to notice you and whisk you away from your worries. The sunlight beamed brightly against the colourful windows and it illuminated the entire church in an otherwordly glow that would make anyone gasp in awe, truly a fine place to pray to such a kind god. Times were dark for you and no one was willing to help you, opting to only push you deeper into the hole they themselves digged up for you. The only time where you could freely smile was when you were praying to your beloved god, hidden away either in the wild or the dark corner of the church served as more than a good sanctuary. You hummed softly to yourelf as you toyed with the soft petals of the pretty white flower in your hands, you really hoped that it was enough to please Barbatos despite it being such a humble gift.

Silly human, you can always give it to him in person.

Like magic you suddenly found yourself transprted into a large grassy field, far away from the warm church. The tall grass tickled your feet as the wind caressed your hair, almost like it was playing coyfuly with the messy strands that managed to hang loose. You couldn’t help but to gasp, how did you get here? You were obviously somewhere outside of the city, the sheer amount of green stretched as far as the eye could see. A few tranquil moments passed as you carefully took in your surroundings, making sure to analyze every detail in order to determine where you were and without much hard thinking you were able to concur that you were on Starsnatch Cliff, the snowhite Cecilia’s were a dead give away. The wind current picked up its pace suddently, forcing you to stumble forward a bit. Only now did you realize just how close you were standing on the very edge of the cliff, how stupid of you for not even thinking of turning around. Without thinking you lowered your gaze to the ground beneath you, causing your head to spin like a bottle in an instand. You were so high up, just one wrong move was enough for your life to be snuffed out like a burning candle. Hazy, everything felt so hazy, it was so hard to stand. You didn't even feel the small hands that were wrapped tightly around your waist, securing you in place, making sure you wouldn't fall.

Barbatos was always watching you. He was happy you always came willingly to him. That's what made these moments so much sweeter.

REX LAPIS.

"Promise me..."

You almost could have sworn that he was pleading and not commanding you. You would think that your ears had decieved you but the steady grip of his strong hand was too harsh to ignore, the sharp finger nails pressed themselves so tightly against your chin that you were positive that blood was going to start dripping to the ground any second. Ah, the pain was starting to kick in, you already felt like looking down towards the ground just to soothe the sharp pain that plauged your poor, sensitive neck. You would not be allowed that luxury though, not yet. You were not going anywhere unless you gave yourself up completely up. The God of Geo stood before you, his back pressed against his throne as he looked you dead in the eye, his own molten ones showing no signs of mercy for your sorry state.

He can be such a brute sometimes, you thought to yourself.

Even so, this was your duty, this was something you were singing up for until you turn to dust. From this moment forward you were serving Rex Lapis, the God of Contracts, History and Wealth. Many things were in store for you, great things in fact, things so great that your name was going to be remembered for thousands of years to come. Your name was going to be written in history books, grandparents were going to tell stories about you to their young grandchildren around a blazing campfire on chilly evenings and people were going to worship and admire you for standing proudly by your god’s side, for swearing this oath to him, for singing this contract to end all contracts.

"...that you will serve me and me only. I will put in many rules in this contract but plenty of them will be in your benefit, I assure you. If you ever have any troubles you are free to discuss the terms of our contract freely."

How kind of him. Perhaps he really did have your best interests tucked away in a corner of his mind. You continued to listen to him, still.

However, there are a few rules you are never allowed to break. You are never allowed to speak directly to another Adeptus without my direct permission. Leaving Liyue is also strictly prohibted as well. And finally the most impartant rule of all is that you remain loyal to me. Treason will lead you nowhere and the only thing that will be left is your own blood and dust.

Fairly reasonable requests if you were being objective. Anyone would demand absolute loyalty in these sorts of situations, not even gods were immune to the paranoia of their subjects suddently rioting. 

The other Adepti in the area monitored you closely, their sharp eyes dared you to make a move. It was clear that their admiration ran deep and that one wrong move could cost you your head. You could even make out an elegant looking crane somewhere in the distance looking at you, it’s long beak a clear sign that you should accept the generous deal Morax presented you with. Even with your safety secured by the Warrior God and the contract itself being fairly loose with all things considered, you would be a fool not to accept.

Even with all of this, why did you stil feel like turning back?

RAIDEN SHOGUN.

The sweet smell of the falling pink petals painted the pitcure perfect scenery around you as you prayed in front of the sacred sakura tree, the dazzling moonlight giving you more encouragement to pray to your goddess, to worship her for the rest of your life. Even with your eyes closed you could still feel her sharp gaze at the back of your neck, a stark contrast to her sweet words of encouragement. She had her moments like this where her words would contradict her actions, almost as if she was two completely different people at the same time. It was difficult to approach her at times due to this, but that did not lessen your reverence towards her.

Despite her skills in battle and keen intellect, the Shogun would sometimes bless you by reveling her softer side to you. The smell of sweets and old books immediately came to mind, the memory was still fresh in your mind. You couldn't help but to smile a little bit, almost running your entire prayer in the process. It was worth it though, seeing her smile like that was something that should be treasured dearly, even if your life was completely at her mercy.

As if on que, you felt her slim fingers intertwine with your own, a silent encouragement for you to press on. You could feel her long hair tickle your shoulder, the smell of her perfume almost overpowered the enticing scent of the Sacred Sakura itself. Her grip was iron tight, you had to continue praying to her no matter what. That was the oath you made, the oath of your eternal devotion to her. And she, she would keep you safe, she would love you as long as she existed. The Raiden Shogun would keep you inside this little cage she crafted perfectly for you, where you could always be hers.

[fluoresensitivearchived]

🌙 fluoresensitive tag list, january 2022 update 🌙

SOUND AND COLOR: afro-futurism, hood futurism, space and sci-fi vibes. very much inspired by missy elliot and timbaland, sun ra, and earth, wind & fire. the title comes from the alabama shakes song, ‘sound and color’

WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE!: a general futurism tag, more cyber and solarpunk than anything. tag title comes from doja cat’s, cyber sex’

(SHE SCREAMS!): a general horror aesthetics tag!

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES: a tag dedicated to witches and crones and hags, a real baba yaga sort of tag, if you feel me.

CHERCHEZ LA FEMME: femme fatales, dangerous women, when you’re lobotomized and wild and a lil’ hysteric, but there’s something beautiful about the way you’re doing it, very glamorous. tag title comes from dr. buzzard’s savannah band’s ‘cherchez la femme’

I AM MY MOTHER’S CHILD: it’s a mommy issues tag. it’s about the difficult relationship between mothers and daughters, wow. tag title comes from lorde’s, writer in the dark’

BAD BLOOD: family issues, but make it general. we’re talking father against son, sibling against sibling, inter-generational trauma, you feel?

TENDERNESS TAG: love! it’s all about love!

PEOPLE MAKE THE WORLD GO ‘ROUND BY THE STYLISTICS: i just love that people have been people for as long as humans have existed, it makes me so warm inside.

NOBODY (NO BODY): a tag for depersonalization, like when you feel all float-y and far away from your body. like how sometimes you’ll look in the mirror and not recognize the person who’s looking back at you, so foreign they are to you. tag title comes from mitski’s ‘nobody’

ST. JUDE BY FLORENCE + THE MACHINE: water scenes, ophelia vibes... yeah.

DESPERADO: the yeehaw agenda...i wanna be a cowboy babee

MONTERO BY LIL NAS X: religious aesthetics, religious horror, demons and holy abominations. the tag title, of course, comes from creator/destroyer of christianity as a whole, lil nas ‘montero’ x

SOMETHING GOT A HOLD OF ME: possession tag, religious or otherwise, like for truly and totally being absorbed into a spirit. title comes from the etta james song of the same name.

FEAR NOT!: angel tag! very much met gala 2019, very much halos and wings, and many pairs of eyes! very much eldritch abomination and principalities of heaven, you feel me?

LIVE FROM THE EMERALD CITY: old school glamour, 70s vibes, inspired by the emerald city sequence from ‘the wiz’!

COMME DE GARCONS: ditto as above, but more general/haute couture tag. title taken from the rina sawayama song of the same name.

WHATEVER LOLA WANTS: sexy ass glamorous ass looks, absolutely serving cunt, pussy and labia, very much a stunt-y ‘spoil me, i’m worth it moment’

THESE ARE BLACK OWNED THINGS: Black culture and beauty! Ah, we’re so lovely, I love being Black! tag title comes from solange’s almeda!

DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR: Black hair! Tag title comes from the Solange song of the same name!

WE MUST NOT LOOK AT GOBLIN MEN: faery tag, good folk tag, changelings and the such, the tag of my people wow! tag title comes from the christina rosetti poem, ‘the goblin market’

MINNIE RIPERTON’S LES FLEURS: white girls doing cottagecore? ugly,     imperalist, colonialist, very much plantation owner/manifest destiny     nonsense. BLACK GIRLS DOING COTTAGECORE? fabulous, inspiring, especially if they’re indigenous like yes queen! reclaim the land stolen from you! reclaim the land your ancestors toiled over!

I SAW THINGS I IMAGINED:  surrealism tag, wow otherwordly scenes! tag title comes from solange’s ‘things i imagined’  

I BEEN ON: Black glamour, expensive thangs expensive looks. very much a grills and diamonds, ostentatious luxury-type beat. 2013 lorde would be foaming at the mouth over this. title comes from the beyoncé song, i been on

NOT YET LOST ALL OUR GRACES: more a general old money style sort of a tag, more pearls and gloves than champagne and fast cars.

HOUSEKEEPING TAGS;

ON HORROR;

ON WRITING;

CONVERSION TAG; / JUDAISM TAG

ON GENDER;

AUTIZZY TAG;

WEB WEAVING;

MY WRITING:

MY MEWDBOARDS

MY COLLAGES

MIXTAPES

[lay-z]

delicate and deadly | pt. 1

MCU AU | Avengers x Vampire!Reader | 18+

Summary: Being a Human and part of The Avengers proofs to be difficult at times, especially when all of your colleagues seem more...fitted to be superheroes. However, what you lack in skill, brains, or otherwordly powers, you make up with bravery and stubborness. Finally, a run in with someone changes your life forever.

Warnings/Info: VAMPIRE AU! | eventual romance; smut/porn with plot & feelings; eventual dark!vampire!reader; love triangle; friends to lovers; blood kink/drinking; attempt at humor; tags will change :)

You might recognize some Vampire Diaries elements in terms of Vampire biology, behavior, transformtation, etc. | Reader will explore their dark sexual urges as soon as she has turned into a creature of the night. So, beware! 💋

Кошечка | koshechka = kitty/kitten

“Sam, could you please stop looking at me like that?”, you bemoan, wincing once more when your colleague continues to dab the white cotton ball over the fresh cut across your right cheekbone.

But the Falcon keeps staring with a mixture between blatant disappointment and worry. His dark eyes are fixed on the task at hand, cleaning your wounds, his lips pressed together while his jaw is clenched shut. He’s mad; you can tell.

“I’m fine, man”, you assure him for the twentieth time at least, chuckling nervously since he hasn’t said anything after saving your ass and throwing you into the Quinjet to safety. “I swear, it’s no big deal –“

You flinch slightly when his eyes widen, and a scoff leaves his lips. Oh, boy.

“No big deal, huh? Go look at yourself in the mirror and tell me again that you’re fine”, he snaps at you, now pacing as you slowly start to shrink on the spot, sitting on the sickbed in the middle of the Compound’s infirmary.

“Sam”

Your argument is interrupted when Steve Rogers enters the room, closely followed by Natasha.

Sam stops mid-rant and turns around to his friends while you shoot a thankful smile in Steve’s direction behind Sam’s back. He greets you with a short nod, his hands resting on his hips.

“Sam, I need to talk to you about the mission. Y/N, get well soon. You did a good job out there”

“Please, don’t encourage her reckless stupidity, Cap”, he huffs, and turns back to you one last time, pointing his gloved index finger at you scoldingly. He is still in his Falcon uniform after all.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, woman”

You decide to keep your mouth shut and any witty remark to yourself as Sam turns to leave the room. Natasha pats his shoulder as she passes him, grinning to herself while you watch him shake his head.

When it is sure that the men have left, she whistles mockingly as she comes to stand in front of you, crossing her arms in front of her chest with a smirk.

“I’ve never seen Sam get this furious –”, she says. “that man is madly in love with you. It’s so obvious, it’s almost funny”

“What! Sam? No, no, never”, you snort, shaking your head. “We’re just friends, and he’s protective. You know Sam”

Natasha picks up a fresh cotton ball, soaks it in saline solution, and continues where Sam left off, cleaning the cuts on your face while holding you still by your chin.

“I do, so does Steve, and even he has mentioned it before”

Your skin starts burning worse when you feel the heat rush to your neck, ears, all over your face as you blush. You feel caught, and you don’t know what to say in return. If someone like Cap has noticed something, everyone else on the team must have to.

“You must admit, you two would be the cutest couple”, she suggests, smiling softly as she uses Butterfly stitches to close the major cuts on your cheekbone and left temple.

Your heart stutters for a split second while your stomach sinks. Natasha notices the way you shift on the sickbed and studies your face.

“You don’t have any feelings for him”

Not for Sam anyway, and it hurts you to finally admit it. Of course, she can tell. Natasha is a spy and has been your good friend for many years now.

“I – I’ve known for a while, I think“ Your shoulders slouch as you exhale a deep sigh. “and I do love him, Nat, I care about him so much –“

“But only as a friend”, she finishes your sentence with a mellow smile full of understanding.

“I feel so bad about it���, you confess as tears well up in your eyes. “I feel like I’m just leading him on, but –“

Now that the cat is out the bag, you feel a wave of terrible guilt wash over you.

“Hey”, Natasha interrupts you, grasping your shaky hands with hers. “it’s okay, Y/N. You’re allowed to feel that way, and I know you’re not leading Sam on by simply being his friend. Has he ever confessed his feelings to you? Told you that he wants more than just being your friend? Have you ever taken advantage of the situation, hm?”

You shrug your shoulders, biting your lower lips as you think about her words for a few seconds.

“No…I don’t think so”

She squeezes your hands gently, smiling at you.

“Then you don’t have to feel guilty about it. It’s not your fault for not reciprocating his feelings, it’s not his for catching them for you. As sad as I think it is…you guys are not meant to be together right now”

Not meant to be together right now.

You re-play her words in your head, repeatedly, until she coaxes you back into the here and now by grasping your chin once more and turning your face from side to side as she examines it.

“I think I’m all done. The cuts should heal nicely, but you should definitely cool the areas to keep the swelling at bay”, Natasha explains before gently caressing her thumb over your uninjured cheek.

You place your hand over hers, cupping it over your cheeks as you smile at her.

“Thank you for always taking care of me, Nat”

Natasha licks her lips before they split into a bashful half-smirk. “Don’t mention it, кошечка, and hopefully someday you’ll tell me who holds your affections”

After your patch-up by Natasha, you’ve made it your mission to avoid bumping into Sam and thus being of the receiving end of his wrath again. You’re aware that it will be difficult to face him again now that you’ve let yourself be fully aware of his feelings and intentions for you.

It was easier to oversee it, hell, ignore it before. But now that someone else, someone who has a different view of your relationship and friendship with Sam has brought up his crush on you, has changed things immensely.

Not meant to be together right now.

That phrase has been stuck in your head since Natasha mentioned it, and when you said it out loud once you found yourself alone, has sent a pang of hurt and hope through your heart.

“There you are…drinking when it’s not even afternoon”

You flinch on the bar stool when Sam’s voice cuts through the silence of the Lounge Room, and his footsteps echo through the open space as soon as he approaches you at the bar.

His hand lingers on the back of the bar stool on your left as he looks at you with soft eyes.

“Mind if I sit?”, he asks and your eyes flick to his other hand; long fingers nervously drumming on the side of his thigh as he waits for your answer. You nod slightly and the stool scratches over the floor when he pulls it back to sit down.

He leans his elbows on the counter, folds his fidgeting hands as his head lolls forward with a sigh.

“Look…Y/N –“, he starts, but you quickly find your voice to cut him off.

“Don’t, Sam”, you say, and your usually friendly voice holds a warning as you spin on the bar stool to face him. “if you’re here to apologize to me for your behavior earlier, then please don’t”

“What?”

He spins the stool towards you, like you did before, and his sudden confusion amuses you. You’re sure he has gone over his apology, the things he’d say to you, many times before coming here. However, you simply shrug as you put the towel filled with crushed ice on the counter.

“I said what I said, Sam. I deserved every word from you, every death stare shot in my direction”

Sam chuckles and you realize that you missed the sound, missed him not being angry at you, missed your friend.

“Okay, okay, fine”

“But you need to stop worrying about me so much, man”, you huff, shoving his shoulder playfully. “I mean, we’re a team, I’m an Avenger too, not as badass as some of y’all, but –“

“Hey, I –“ Sam sighs again, then nods in defeat. “yeah, you’re right. I just…I care about you a lot, Y/N, and whenever we go on a mission, I feel this urge to protect you”

You’re suddenly very aware of how close you are to each other, knees touching and all when he puts his large hand over yours resting on the counter. For a moment, you simply gaze into each other’s eyes, and while it’s a simple gesture for you, you can see how much it means to him.

You can see the disappointment in his eyes, something fragile breaking inside him as soon as you pull your hand away with a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah, uh –“ You clear your throat awkwardly as you turn towards the counter again, breaking the little bit of body contact between you two. “I, uh, I care about you too, man”

The drumming of Sam’s fingers on the counter is the only sound for a minute while your mind goes a mile and second, trying to come up with something else to say.

“Y/N…I need to ask you something”

Your heart drops into your pants at that statement and you avert your eyes from him as you pick up the ice to cool your uninjured cheek in a state of bewilderment.

Suddenly, the room turns unusually dark at this time of day, making you and Sam turn around simultaneously to look outside the panorama windows. Stormy-grey clouds have gathered and covered the previously clear sky while a deep rumble is heard even through the thick window glass.

“Is it supposed to rain today?”, you mutter under your breath while Sam fumbles his phone from the pocket of his pants.

“No, and definitely not like this”, Sam answer as he scrolls through the local weather app.

A heavy rain starts to fall, lashing and bickering while the many trees around shake in the stormy wind. Thunder and lightning erupt from the clouds, your skin flushes with goosebumps and your heart flutters in your chest.

He’s back.

[rampagingpoet]

Eh, there's an argument to be made that alignment is supposed to dictate actions and that if you're not behaving according to the alignment on your character sheet it's the character sheet that ought to change, but overall I agree.

Alignment has become less and less mechanically relevant with each edition. The high-water-mark for "alignment matters" was probably AD&D 1E? Now even the most well-known alignment-dependent mechanic - the paladin's smite - has nothing to do with alignment. And even decades ago in 3.X detect evil wouldn't pick up every Evil Human Commoner 1 because you had to either be more powerful than that or wield magic that aligned you with otherwordly powers before you'd shed enough motes of pure Evil to be detectable over background Evil radiation.

Also, Alignment has never had a coherent definition. The original definition of Law vs Chaos "Fantasy Creatures That Were On Team Gondor" versus "Fantasy Creatures That Were On Team Mordor" in the wargames that immediately preceded D&D as such. Every attempt to define Law versus Chaos since has been even less coherent. And it's not like Good and Evil are any more settled either! Especially looking at some of the behaviour of "Good" people in earlier editions, such as attempting to genocide the mongrelfolk because they're ugly being a Good thing that all Good people should definitely 100% do. Or writers giving Evil a spell that results in instant, painless ego death and the Good equivalent is "we tortured you for 10,000 years of subjective time and now you're on our side."

In theory if your character sheet says "True Neutral" but in practice you constantly go out of your way to feed the hungry an risk your life to defend people who cannot possibly reward you, the DM should say "Hey I think your character is actually Neutral Good". But that's just trying to boil the entire complexity of a character down to nine categories while nobody agrees on what is in those categories. It's not great!

People really need to get better at distinguishing between a games core ideas, and additional flair.

Let us suppose I make a character for OD&D, Bertha the Cleric. I decide that Bertha - along with having black hair and green eyes and poverty-stricken parents - is gay. I then go on to play OD&D with Bertha, and she goes and explores various horrible trap-filled holes in the ground with some other adventurers, and they walk away with big sacks of gold and level up.

Does this make OD&D gay? Is OD&D now queer media? No. Bertha's gayness wasn't actually important to the gameplay, anymore than her eye colour was. That gayness - while potentially neat - was flair.

OD&D didn't prevent me from playing a gay character, not because it's a game with queer themes, but because it's entirely disinterested in if my character was gay.

Hell, my decision to make Bertha's parents poor was a more meaningful choice; wealth is a central concern of OD&D and the pursuit of wealth is a motivation for most player characters.

The same is true for many more modern games, such as D&D 5e, Pathfinder and shadowrun. While you are able to make your PC gay - and the book might even helpfully state that you can do this (as if you ever needed the book's permission) - that decision remains flair. Your PC being gay will not, if you play as the book expects, meaningfully affect events.

This is even true if the books include canon gay characters. If the princess in your module has a girlfriend rather than a boyfriend, that's probably also flair. The trick is to see if swapping it out so the girlfriend becomes a boyfriend; if this doesn't meaningfully alter events, then that gayness was, again, flair rather than something the game cares about.

[whimsywispsblog]

Saudade

A/N: Hello Wispies! Here's another fic about Heisenberg and his lost lover.

Also, thank you so much @missheis for letting me use the idea! 💕

Pairing: Heisenberg x Reader and Chris Redfield x Reader

Heisenberg wandered in front of his factory amidst the icy air and the first of snowfall. He held her picture in front of his eyes, his hands tracing her beautiful and vivacious face. An energetic one, she was. The man smiled wryly as he held the picture closer to his chest, feeling the salty tear trail across his cheeks towards his lips. He looked ahead into the woods, hoping that (Y/N) would come back, jump into his arms while he held her tightly, listening to her melodious laugh. But he knew it wouldn't happen... The man looked up to the skies, his greenish-blue orbs watery with tears as he felt the tiny flakes of snow fluttering on his face, the cold chips melting into his warm skin. "Why?" He whispered to the gloomy grey skies through which a ray of sunlight seeped, dancing on his face.

//snowfall...Just like the day (Y/N) became his.

Like him, she too was torn away from her mother's breasts, forced to undergo cruel and inhuman experiments, only for Miranda to declare them as 'Unfit for Eva.'

Death would have been sweeter.

She was a bubbly one, full of life. Somehow, she was able to hide her grim past with a warm and genial smile of hers.

He was supposed to train her to be one of them, learn their ways of living and eventually serve under Mother Miranda as one of the Lords. But instead, things grew personal between the two.

She had a broad smile on her face that day as she leant into his face for their first kiss. His hands rested on her waist, pulling her closer. It was beautiful, otherwordly beautiful. //

Heisenberg's rough fingers traced the smooth surface of the polaroid. It was one of the few days when the village got to enjoy the warmth of the sun. She was in a purple dress, her hair flowing behind as she laughed merrily in Heisenberg's arms. They were so happy. Where did they go wrong? What went wrong? He sighed deeply, his body screaming out of fatigue and exhaustion. But he couldn't, no, he wouldn't leave. What if she decides to come back? He should be there to pull her into his arms, to tell her that it's okay.

(Y/N) was never afraid of him. She was always intrigued, not just smitten by him. She wanted to dwell deeper into his heart, unveil him layer by layer. She wanted a life with him- share all their happiness, sorrows, misery, merriment- everything! He wanted to give it all to her. He felt normal with her. He felt human.

//"Karl!" (Y/N) cupped his face gently, pulling him into the crook of her neck. It was like every other night, the nightmares of his past, of the experiment, of all the blood and daunting devices that pierced into his flesh, the sounds of his bones being ground and his muscles being sliced- and overall, the pain. The fucking pain of undergoing through it all while he was conscious.

He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent while his hands snaked around her waist, holding her tightly as if his life depended on her. As if he was about to lose himself to insanity. She was his anchor, his rock. She was his lifeline. His reason to live.//

The Lycans stared at the scene in front of them. They were quite- absolutely silent with only the sounds of the howling wind and their own breathing. And Heisenberg's sniffles. There was a glint of sympathy in the eyes of the Lycans. (Y/N) was a good mistress, and they probably loved her more than Heisenberg. She was always so gentle and playful with them. They lost their playmate. She was gone, left them alone, forever.

Heisenberg looked above and saw the flying vehicle glide through the dark skies, their buzz shaking the earth beneath them. His face darkened as his eyes trailed behind the vehicle, watching it fly farther and farther away till it disappeared into the clouds. 'They took her,' he thought bitterly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

//She was with that boulder-punching asshole, Chris. With kittenish-smile plastered on her face and her alluring eyes that stared deeply into Chris', the girl handed something to him. He couldn't hear her clearly, but he could make out some words- 'Lost baby', 'Mother Miranda', 'Family' and 'Cadou'. She told him about the plan. But, of course, that didn't break Heisenberg; he wasn't very loyal to Miranda anyway.

What broke him was her growing attraction towards Captain Boulder. The way she looked at him, the way she smiled, the flushed cheeks, the sparkly eyes. Jealousy.//

Heisenberg walked back inside. He had to accept his grim reality. She was never coming back. She chose that Boulder over him. The inside of his factory was unusually empty. Most of the things that belong to (Y/N) weren't there anymore. It used to be their shared home...Now it was just his factory.

Towards the entrance of their bedroom, (Y/N) used to litter her shoes around, sometimes making Heisenberg trip over them.

Their bedroom- empty and desolate now only had some sweet memories of their past and her haunting scent. She smelt of cherries.

He missed seeing her on the bed, reading something. She loved to read. Heisenberg would get her several books from the Duke- all of which she would read over and over again, with the sound of his tinkering in the background. It was a lovely sight to see, her lost in that world of fantasy, unaware of his lingering eyes of endearment over her. What would he give to relive those moments again?

Why, why, why did she have to leave him?

Was this fate's way of giving him retribution for being disloyal to Miranda? But she was a monster...So was he.

//Every time the stress took its toll on Heisenberg, he would pull himself away from everyone and stay locked up in his room, working on his projects. God know the number of times he took his frustrations out on (Y/N). Then, of course, the two of them being the adamant, stubborn, hot-headed people they are, they fought endlessly, neither of them backing out. But every time, after a heated argument, they made up immediately, going back to being giddy-smiley lovers. Only if that had happened one more time...

"I am leaving, Karl." Her words hung heavy in the air. His heart pounded against his chest, shattering into a billion pieces. Pain.

"You're falling for that outsider, aren't you?! For that Nobel dog?" Heisenberg sneered, his voice laced with venom and hate. "That's nice, buttercup." (Y/N) looked at him, her face devoid of all emotions. It was true.

"I am sorry, Karl, but I have to go." He felt his world crumbling down. The vision of love and a wholesome future disappeared slowly. Heisenberg gave a dark chuckle with a shake of his head.

"Did I not love you enough?"

That night should have been a sweet moment between the two lovers. They should have been lost in each other's embrace and kisses, whispering sweet words into each other's ears.

"I can't do this anymore, Karl," She said, her voice cracking a little.

Heisenberg looked at her in shock. He didn't want her to go. He didn't want to believe that after so long, after so many years of living together with each other through thick and thin, they had to break off. Forever.

He looked at her with a pained expression, his breaking heart projected through his ocean-like eyes. He held his arms in front of her, asking her to come into his warm embrace. That all would be forgotten as long as he had her in his arms. But (Y/N) dropped her head and shook lightly, heading to the front door.

He watched her walk away from him.

Something inside him kept prodding him to tell her to come back. To ask her to stay. To apologise. But he- he was too lost in his overwhelming emotions.

Was she was really out of love? Perhaps she wasn't getting enough attention from him? Or was it because of the way he looked- shaggy and wild? Or was it because of his stench of sweat, metal, grease and dirt? No. Maybe he wasn't good enough for her- he was only a failed freak after all. Nobody likes freaks.

Whatever her reason was, he knew one thing for sure. She was never coming back. Ever. //

"Bloody hell, woman! Come back already!" Heisenberg cried, throwing a scrap of metal across the room. Then, he let out a loud blood-curdling scream as an invisible force of magnetism surrounded him, making all the metal whirl around him like a tornado.

She was the part of him that he missed. Yet, somehow, she completed him. She gave him life, a reason to wake up every morning with a smile on his face. She gave him a reason to be a better man. She was everything he could ask for. Everything and more.

And he lost her forever.

-

"There you are!" The girl exclaimed as she saw Chris, his back facing her. Her pace quickened, eager to be in the man's presence.

She felt something giddy and flittering in her stomach. How long has it been since she last felt it?

Chris looked at her with a small smile, his hand reaching out to her, helping her into the chopper. (Y/N) stared into his dark blue eyes, losing herself in his stare. It was like time had stopped, their surroundings forgotten, and all that mattered was being in the presence of each other.

She did love Heisenberg- she genuinely cared for him. But Heisenberg was her past. Chris was her present, and probably future too.

[katyspersonal]

patches + 0!

(Asks from this ( x ) meme)

0) All numbers in the list!

Oh boy... You just straight up decided to kill me with this one 👀 To be honest I often find myself to be scared to even think deeper into this particular character, like

/srs though, he has the exact aura of 'character who becomes Tumblr sexyman' fdgfdgdfgdf

I will be speaking about his Bloodborne version specifically though. Patches the Spider. As it is the one most familiar to me and 95% of everything I post is Bloodborne related, so.

1) What would their social media page/activity be like

I already mentioned this somewhere, but we all know and agree he'd have shady account with 0 personal information that he'd send malicious links from. xd

Maybe he would also sell all the private information he could obtain from accounts he hacked this way. As a treat. However you'd need to be a very dumb/naive person to click on a link he sends because, again, we all know and agree that his method to talk you into clicking it would painfully obviously give him away.

2) What animal they remind me of

Okay I am NOT to count spider on this one, him being a spider in Bloodborne is lore-justified and other Nightmare Apostles are just the same (majority lacks human heads though). As for an animal that has to do with his identity specifically, I can't help but think of a raccoon. Nothing to do with his appearance, but raccoon is the most notorious 'cunning animal that steals shit and is an asshole but sorta adorable' so I just can't help but feel this is his vibe. (Or maybe I just think he belongs to a trash can, hehehe. /j )

3) My thoughts on their design/aesthetic alone

I reeeeeally love Bloodborne design for him. I overall love spiders, especially fluffy ones, so this design is just created to cater for my tastes specifically.

At first I was not sure whether to be happy or upset that Bloodborne version of him did not get his trademark sassy smirk that makes you want to punch his face before he even said anything, but tbh I've grown to like his more serious aesthetic in Bloodborne down to little details. He is just... very 'advanced' compared to his counterparts in other games despite saving his personality, he doesn't just survive but pursues Eldrich Truth so having this sort of 'I've seen some shit and continue seeing new one every minute with my eyes on the inside' look is just more endearing in a way. More inviting.

4) Physical headcanons (sleeping habits, favourite food, all that)

It is a no-brainer but for the starters, absolutely he is capable of making spider webs like this, however he doesn't need to catch any food. He just doesn't need nourishment anymore as his body is perfectly adapted for existing within Nightmare realm, according to Miyazaki he turned into a monster from much Insight, he is a cursed equivalent of a Kin! The only food he needs anymore is more Insight xD However, not needing food doesn't mean he can't eat. I think he will still gladly squash and eat blue slugs and other 'cosmic' phantasms, as some form of asserting dominance as cursed, demonic Kin before cosmic cutesy goodie-goodie creatures.

Patches could always see and hear through Rom's concealment just alright as well, he sees as much as an average Amygdala. And I concluded from how he is encountered at a random house after Amelia is killed + how he is a merchant in the dungeons that he can travel between Nightmare and 'reality' easily. It is not even limited to reflective surfaces like with Micolash; Patches simply moves between cracks of realms that he can see. Rom is supposed to have the ability too but she is a dummy thicc and only uses natural 'teleporting' of Spiders to move barely few meters forward :pensive:

He has grown a bit bad at perceiving more 'normal' things though - Hunter being able to creep up at Patches is not even the final form of it. At this rate Patches is just too used to seeing and hearing exclusively otherwordly things, so unless he deliberately focuses or expects you to do something harmful against him - it is extremely easy to catch him off guard. You can outright put a gun right to his head and if he doesn't expect you to harm him - he won't notice it with his side vision at all, nor he will hear it clicking. Just too stuck up with the voices of Great Ones to perceive things from just a normie human effectively.

5) Social headcanons (what do they think of their friends/allies if they have any, what are they looking for in relationship, what people tend to think about them…)

He doesn't get attached to people and it's been like this for a long time now, however when he was able to feel attached he would still never leave himself open. Like in any other realm, I believe Patches is not his real name but a pseudonym he permanently adopted. Giving someone your name means to give them your identity, and so far not a single new soul learned his real name! He would not want to give it even if he was to genuinely fall in love with someone, however if you are somehow to learn his name anyway, he'll make sure it 'doesn't mean anything'.

At this point in time, his ideal relationship is to simp for whoever is the current God that is useful for him xD He distanced from attraction to someone equal (?) very far. Patches always had ability to take just a glance at someone to get them all figured but it became only "worse" with his enlightenment so... what is the point to form very deep bonds with humans (and pthumerians) anymore? He is cynical about 99% of the people, his favouritism starts and ends at not giving genuinely kind and generous people to Amygdala. A bit hypocritical to be so picky considering he himself is full of vice but that's what we love/hate him for xd

Back when he still walked on his two he used to be very flirty, mostly with pretty women, but again never thought of seeking big trusting love. Most people are too morally depraved even if they hide it well, but truly good people he would not want to ruin with his bad touch! Most girls found him annoying at first but could not help it and crawled back if he'd stop with his teasing (if you are charismatic then you are charismatic lol).

He had attracted some people in his life that tried to get under his skin and break through his "tsundere" shell, to decide for him what he 'really' needed and analyse him, all of which he ditched by leaving them to die somewhere in the pit and all of which he'd still be angry at if he even remembered them anymore in his new life as a Spider. Not because they were entitled 'I can fix him' losers, or course... But because even the dumbest ones of them were right about him. However he is too stubborn, it is and has always been too much favour for anyone to have that sort of 'control' over him.

I do think his disdain for clerics used to be as present in Bloodborne verse as in any other, it is just that at this rate he learned so much about humanity and the world that there is no point to give them special honour. Nonetheless the specified distaste from his end had evolved into specifically looking down on stars-worshipping researchers like Choir, Ebrietas is pretty much the opposite of Amygdalas.

6) Psychological headcanons (tastes, fears, talents, regrets, how they deal with anger, just anything that comes to mind on the topic)

One of the things Patches kept despite 'advancing' is holding petty grudges, he could pout at as much as you making him feel guilty when he 101% deserves it! Remember that he doesn't sell to you or gives you a rune if you refuse to take his attempt to sacrifice you lightly. He knows he is not perfect, he knows as long as his identity still persists through Arcane enlightenment he is as bad as people he looks down on, yes. But if you make Patches feel bad about it, he will make sure it becomes your problem and your fault. xd If he learned to deal with secret guilt and wounded pride maturely that just would no longer be him... so, passive aggression ftw.

It is probably self-explanatory that he is prone to double standards and hypocrisy, just see him in just one game and it's transparent. When someone calls him out on it, depending on how attractive they are in his eyes he will either try to flirt his way out of the conversation or just throw salty 'no, u' spirited accusation and never be seen again. It is honestly just easier to let him be in control if you want to stick around for friendship/flirting/whatever, for anyone that ever tried to "change" him his stubbornness appeared to be so insanity-inducing that Frenzy is barely a status effect in comparison!

He early developed very unsettingly easy attitude to death and loss of dear people, even before Yharnam crashed and burned. He would still ensure fate worse than death if someone was to kill his friend, sure, but the loss itself he gets over with quite lightly. Perhaps it is just the ability to remember and appreciate the good memories if the person was worth it.

As a human he used to have quite a temper when things were not going his way. As a Spider though, he abandoned active aggression altogether, sense of being superior by how much he learned and who his friends are (Cthulhu moms) fixes up plenty of cracks in the ego, you feel?

His regrets almost exclusively have to do with not having spent enough time with some people while it still mattered - especially his mother whom he hasn't seen ever since he left in the Amygdalae cult. He wanted to check on her from time to time but every time he was stopped by realising just how huge is the rift between them now. When his friends would ask him if he talked to her like he wanted, naturally, he'd cheerfully lie about having had a great chat and catching up with the news and having no hard feelings.

His tastes in people, more often women, are either very shy easily flustered temperament ones, or extremely strong and big and confident unattainable menacing people that will wipe the floor with him, no in-between. He gets awkward and bails in emotionally hard moments though because to comfort someone he'd need to open his own heart, and that's a no-no! He will claim that "emotional swing has ruined the mood" and that he "did not know he'd pick a crybaby" however that's not what he genuinely thinks. In actuality he'd feel disgusted with himself but... Yeah he is the type to allow insecurities he refuses to address to turn into spikes that wound others.

Okay, I feel like at this rate he is becoming more sad than he is supposed to be so let's move onto next question already!

8) Made-up connections with other characters that weren’t in the canon (friends, enemies, whatever)

Upon doing this response I realised that it’d made more sense to place connections as 7 and ships as 8 instead because one can explain another, depending on the amount of context! But I was not prepared for getting both 7 and 8 in any way, hehe. So I’ll just break the row and go with 8 first!

Rom - Patches was probably the one assisting Rom’s initiation with Nightmare Apostles. They would get along pretty well still, however Patches would need to overcome initial uneasiness with her as she sees through every prank attempts from him by sheer intuition. However they were interacting even before. He is pleasantly surprised as Rom gets the courage to delve into more cursed knowledge, ‘forbidden by stars’, but feels respect he is even willing to admit when turns out she is doing this not only out of blind trust to her brother’s (Micolash’s) crazy ascension plan, but out of true curiosity, too. Until this point Patches has been falsely presuming she was just a friendly pushover blinded by admiration with Micolash, so he has a soft spot in his heart for her as one of very few people he failed to get all figured. Even softer spot when Rom proceeds evolving in GO form and grows 16 legs, as opposed to regular Nightmare Apostle’s 12, though at this rate not even other Great Ones can comprehend what she’s thinking.

Micolash - The sibling Patches sees more often than Rom, especially after Micolash occupies Yahar’gul for good and shows determination to peer deeper into lost knowledge of Pthumerians of Pthumeru Ihyll. Bloodborne is complicated, such is Patches’ situation with clerics in it; whereas Choir and School of Mensis are part of the Healing Church, they are isolated societies pursuing ascension and knowledge rather than greed and vain, insane ambitions. Patches can respect this, as bitter as he is for having to thank a Church boy for helping to restore communication with Amygdalas. They have strained relationship though. Patches is scared of Micolash as he is just as cunning and twisted as himself but with added layer of insanity. Resents him because he has much more authority and charisma over other Nightmare Apostles. But also he respects sincerity of his pursuit. And he loves gossiping and joking with Micolash very much whenever they find a person they both hate. They still chat sometimes in Nightmare of Mensis however Patches’ interest had lessened a lot when Micolash turned back to Kos. We’ve been there already! If your God is not answering to you, seek another one or work your own way up! Where did all that self-respect and confidence suddenly go?

Lonely Old Dear (Irma) - With my love for using cut concepts, of course I’d grab and use the cut idea of Patches being her child! The last person currently present that remembers his soft side and knows his secrets. She remembers him early developing a habit of concealing his tears and making a happier face before the mirror, not willing to show his vulnerability and troubles with his father, and she’s proud of him for that. Irma never insisted that he should share his pain and ease himself, presuming he will seek her advice when he needs it on his own. ...But, past some point, it stopped happening. At all. And then he distanced altogether for his weird Pthumerian-leaning cult. He did not see her as one mentally prepared for what he discovered and wished no harm on her, however just talking to her would have done much more for her mental health than leaving her in the dark on where did he go and what he’s doing, really.

Chester - I still like to draw connection between Dark Souls and Bloodborne (not as in ‘they’re same universe’ but as in ‘they’re different universes but from time to time they intersect, usually it is fault of Great Ones’) and you maybe noticed his aesthetic is different, his movements are agility-based like hunter’s and his dialogue might sound like and Amygdala snatched him and teleported him from Yharnam! Well, but they already had a strange friendship since Yharnam. They shared love for trolling people and sometimes would butt heads on their approach (Patches is sleazy and Chester is more direct!), or if they have accidentally selected the same person to ambush (that one comedy trope where while two idiots argue, the idiot they were against quietly sidewalks away xd). However, Chester defended Patches for many times as someone who has actual Hunter skills.

I see both of these characters as the type to hate anyone who is too similar to them, so it is their differences (that reach point of fighting sometimes) that keep either of them from backstabbing another. They also give each other advices on how to charm ladies better - and to the surprise of absolutely fucking no one, advices from one fail the other terribly. This friendship is full of conflicts, but ‘healthy’ ones that end as easily as they started. Patches did, in fact, had to witness Amygdala snatch him... But like I said, his ability to overcome grief is disturbingly good - besides deep down he was prepared for a hunter of all people to die young. It happened when Patches was already ears deep in his weird cult and he could accept. However he never learned that what Amygdala did try to do was splitting Chester across universes so every version of Patches would have a version of him by the side. Unfortunately it did not work as not even Amygdala yet comprehended specifics of Patches’ ‘anomaly’, so all that happened was just moving him elsewhere. I question if Patches would have been way more upset at the Paleblood Hunter for killing this specific Amygdala if he knew how much she cared for his practically friendless ass in her own weird way lol

Vicars - ‘Normie’ Healing Church that is after Blood Ministration, not Eyes on the inside, is naturally hated by Patches, however they’d rarely interact directly. He thinks Laurence was a fool but one with good heart, he misses him, especially after Ashton, his (extremely cringy and depraved) confidant that ruined the remains of institution’s decency. He and Micolash used to mock Ashton at every chance they’d get, verbally or practically. By the point Norbert drops by, Patches is too entranced by Nightmare and Eldrich Truth to even bother, however around Amelia’s time he’d started feeling nostalgic and checking on the waking world for more than just seeking new victims. There is something about the way Amelia fell into despair upon realising nature of institution she was roped into since young age, something about the way she quit wearing Church’s sigil, something about the way she never prepared a successor, something about the way she sees Laurence as the only one who ‘understood’, something about the way she killed clerics that kept brainwashing her that keeps Patches from hating her entirely... He is not even sure what. But he sometimes gives her useful advices, without being seen. She just accepts him as a strange unseen friend.

7) Ship(s) with them that I like or at least consider

Well, since I already went on tangent about what amazing, sensitive and emotionally mature partner he'd indeed make (/s /s /s), needless to mention that ships with him would be moreso playful and not go too deep - for the sake of both his partner and himself.

I like to think about him and Rom sometimes, this might have easily been a fleeting thing in the past. My Rom falls for comedic trope of the naive, oblivious, sweet character that constantly sees through plans and bullshit on pure accident so she'd upset him as impossible to prank person. However she is also all so relaxing and cute and giggles at the slightest compliment! She is convenient for Patches if anything - able to understand him well but not trying to "fix" him, taking his flaws easy but not being just a mindless pushover. She'd give him fun and relaxation he lacks, and he'd keep her permanently excited to not roll into laziness and despair. Besides they ended with the same ‘religion’.

And I guess I sorta did make a solid connection between him and Chester? I just like to think sometimes, of them being that sort of friends that endured many sorts of failures and bitter experiences in attempts to get relationships... that they realised they were all they needed all along. xd Feels more like a close friendship with added intimacy than something super big but it might be enough. However, since they are both concealing their real names (who names their kid Chester? /j /j /j just a headcanon), they’re equal here and if they ever decided to reveal their real names to anyone, that’d be each other!

sksdgfds no, seriously, I do not have much shippy thoughts about him due to comic-relief-concealed Hell I envision his character as. I am however always here for any sort of just happy, chill kissy-cuddly moments with him and any character! I just do not have a ship I'd feel strongly about, let alone an 'OTP', but he can still get some affection sometimes ok!

9) Headcanons about their past

- He last seen his father when he was very little, however from Irma’s line when Paleblood Hunter kills her, I presume the guy was rather aggressive and abusive - whether on his own or from the Hunt getting to him. Or maybe he ended up perceiving what he was only yet to understand? Me and @val-of-the-north​ speculate his father had to be from Pthumerian line - explaining Patches’ bleach white skin in this setting, presence in the dungeons and increased interest to the Arcane. Nonetheless, although he can’t remember his father’s name, the face and the name, the scar remained; Patches was a gloomy and sad kid for only a bit, and then developed a habit of taking everything easy as he realised that “nobody liked a crybaby”.

- Had a rather nice settlement with other Amygdala fanatics in Yahar’gul until Healing Church had gotten there eventually as well. It was only a matter of time since they were occupying everything. It was quite a struggle as for “mysterious reasons” any and all attempts of the Church to settle properly kept being sabotaged. Clerics even started to claim the place had to be too cursed even for them xD That was, until Micolash took matters in his hands and offered the thing they could not refuse - an effective way to communicate with Amygdalas! Patches is forever bitter for having to thank who counts as Healing Church personnel nonetheless, but it quickly turned obvious Micolash was a “cleric” in name only and he was someone worth sticking around with.

- My current idea about anomaly with a version of him present across different timelines is that his Bloodborne incarnation is the progenitor. Some characters like Queen Yharnam and Rom are known to have at least two bodies - one in Nightmare, another in the waking world, guaranteeing their technical immortality. I think Patches was attempting to do the same - and a mirror is a crucial element in this ‘splitting’ ritual. Unfortunately, his ritual got interrupted with mirror scattering when he was still reflected by it! That guaranteed not a split between ether and physical, but instead him fracturing as a concept, but a timeline can’t have more than one of the same person to avoid paradox... So it solved its own problem and ‘dispersed’ him, guaranteeing Patches’ birth and roughly similar fate and personality across every nearby timeline! Thankfully, he at least still did accomplish immortality - when we ‘kill’ him, he is still present, just avoids us.

- I very badly wanted to say that he should have been one of Byrgenwerth scholars! But it has underwater rocks, such as how initially Byrgenwerth and Healing Church were inseparable. But... it used to be an institution of history and archaeology even prior that, right? So I think he did manage to get in there, being amongst very first students such as Caryll and Laurence! But as soon as they attempted to create a corrupt system that would eventually wreck this town? He just never showed up for the class ever again. Somehow he just knew, and he knew right, and in just few years ‘Healing Church’ started to feel like hostile aliens for him and not fellow scholars from Byrgenwerth that picked a different part. But now that Byrgenwerth is stuck between Nightmare and ‘reality’ and is immortalised (save for slime scholars and nosy Choir staff showing from time to time), he can delve in his nostalgia and just stay here for most of the time. This area just feels cosy, brings back good memories.

10) Content about them I’d like to see more of

Not to be that one guy, but... just any content of this particular incarnation of Patches would do. xD It feels like most people just see this version of him as a shitpost, however, Nightmare Apostles (the spider people) are a very real and solid lore hint as silly as they look!

Thank you so much for asking though!

[tumultesanguinaire]

@ofstarsxsins​ from x

Over the short time of knowing each other, Asagi had come to notice the weakness in the other’s arm and assumed it much be the result of some injury sustained long ago. And those words only seemed to prove the Stand right.

“Doesn’t matter. Wherever you go you’ll encounter danger, especially if you decide to keep me as company.”

He did fight otherwordly monsters to keep humans safe after all. And there were some smarter of those beings that were out for him.

“Come on, we can start easy, get that arm of yours functioning again.”

[myfeetkeepdancing]

A Devil’s Toy  |  Arvin Russell x Male!Reader

Request: Crossover where Arvin gets connected with the symbiote? Because Spidey!Arvin seems silly and unfitting but Venom!Arvin is kind of 😳😳😳

Words: 3694

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The town you lived in was always quiet. The birds chirped happily in the tree, nature at it's best. Cars approaching from the forest road were easily heard from miles away. Sorting the groceries you just brought home, a distant sound shakes you from your thought. Fast-paced footsteps approach your house from the treeline. They certainly were running. Before you were able to shove the curtain aside, you hear a voice call out your name. Repeatedly.

"Arvin?" You speed to the door, opening it for him. "What happened?" Eyeing the dirty cloth wrapped around his lower right arm. As you looked closer, it covered most of his lower arm. You couldn't see his hand nor wrist. His eyes were narrow, heaving for air, as he clutched his other hand tightly on the cloth. This wasn't the first time Arvin came in like this. In all those years you'd known him, he got in a lot of fights, with the necessary injuries. He won most of them, but some… He knew he was outmatched, yet it is as if he didn't care. As if the greater the challenge, the bigger the appeal.

"G-Get… me… a... k-...k-knife." He stuttered through the heaving breaths, unwrapping the cloth from his arm. You seat him down at the kitchen table and quickly bring him a large knife. For what was the question right now, but you never questioned Arvin. And if you did, most of the time, he didn't answer. At first, you didn't notice any blood as the cloth opened up. His denim jacket still in good shape. You notice how nervous and anxious he is. Eyeing his surroundings constantly. Trust was something Arvin didn't have. At least in most people. You always managed with him. But something was off about Arvin. He kept everything in check. As if he was expecting something or someone.

"Help me (Y/N)-..." He snarled while ripping the last the piece of cloth from his hand. "-get this off me." Struck by fear, revolt, and sheer terror, you jolt back a few steps. Covering your mouth with one hand.

"W-Wha… What is that?!" Arvin's hand was completely black, not from sickness. As far as you knew from a first glance. Because it moved. Your bowels churned in revolt. Feeling your earlier snack rise in distaste. The tar-like ooze moved and pulsated around his hand and lower arm.

"I DON'T KNOW!" He screamed, grabbing the knife. "I don't know! Just get it off me!" Trying to scrape it off with the sharp end. He shook all over, struggling to place the blade against the moving substance. From both angles, it was impossible to decide if he was going to strike the goo or his own skin. His hesitation held the blade at bay. "Goddammit! Help me (Y/N)!" He angrily shot at you.

"C-Can you move your hand?"

"Eh… Yes... "He said, seeing them move shakingly. "I can feel it..."

"Alright… Alright…." Grabbing his coat. "Take it off." You command, pulling him onto his feet. "We have to know how far it's-…"

"(Y/N)?" He asked with widening eyes. Seeing the fear struck in your eyes. "What's-…"

Step by step, you back up from Arvin. Feeling the trembles take over your body as the level of eye contact with him slowly rises. This had to be a nightmare. What Arvin's legs once were, wrapped in jeans, were now encased in the same black ooze from earlier. Forming a new pair of legs for him. And rapidly consuming the rest of his frame. The stuff that ate away at Arvin had towered over you faster than you could believe. Slowly stepping your way. Only Arvin's face now left. You wanted to scream out your lungs, call for Arvin. Wanted to help him. But all sense had left you. Terror had overcome you. Especially when you saw the rows of gigantuous, white razor-sharp teeth erupt out from the black being's skin. Engulfing Arvin's face from its forehead and chin. In a matter of seconds, Arvin had disappeared completely. Taken by the black pulsating goo that stood before you. A pair of white oval eyes stared at you as the jawline with long teeth stretched into what could be described as a smile.

With your back against the wall, the only response you could muster was throwing the closest thing beside you at it. A cup. It did nothing. The black mass towered over you as your legs buckled and crashed to the floor. "A-A...A-...Arvin...??"

"Well hello…" The creature spoke with a haunting voice. "Arvin is currently occupied... elsewhere." Chuckling to himself. As its jaws opened, your nightmare was complete. A red, ribbed, slimy tentacle of a tongue stretched outwards. Licking its so-called teeth. "He'll be fine, though." Approaching you, as you tried to crawl away. "I promise." It smiled; the drips of slime dangled from its teeth. "For now, I am hungry..."

"P-P-Please… I…" You pleaded, covering your eyes with your arms. Shielding you from the horror that was in front of you. The tears finally showing. Its arms were massive, bulking masses of muscles. It claws with sharp talons close to striking distance.

"Ooooow." It arched back up. "I see... "Nodding in sudden amusement at your shuddering frame, held in a fetus position. "Now, I get it." It chuckled. "I get it." Looking around the room. "I can't touch your lover." You notice the innards of the black ooze struggle and fight.

"A-Arvin's still in there…?"

"Oh, Yes." It said before the black ooze curled back from Arvin's face. Revealing him alive, and surprisingly well.

"I'm sorry (Y/N)!" He said. "There was this truck-" And as Arvin was telling his story, you notice the body language of the thing. Mimicking Arvin's way of speaking. As if Arvin was controlling the black ooze. But somehow was also… alive? Sentient? The story was impossible to follow as you watch the movements, streamlined with Arvin's. This was impossible. But you were glad Arvin was alive.

"Wh-... What was that about-... about...?" You shook your head, conflicted by so many things. "I have so many questions."

There was little time for Arvin to react as the ooze slipped back over his face. He protested; you could see the struggle. But somehow, the ooze retook control. "Sorry lovey-doveys… But it's time. Allow me to introduce myself." Bowing before you. "I'm Venom, and Arvin here-..." Tapping its belly. "-...is my new host." Laughing amusingly. "Together, we're going to have so much fun."

It's pale white eyes stared at you, as if it was expecting something from you. "And you are?" It asked. "It's customary to introduce yourself to newcomers."

"(Y/N)." You said in a shaken voice. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Well, I already knew that." It looked back up again. "I played along, out of kindness." Giving you a nod and a smile. Before turning its attention back to its surroundings. "Anyway. I hear them." It stopped, eyeing the direction the sound came from. It doesn't take much for your trained ears to hear the footsteps in the distance. The rushed, fast-paced ones. Cracking leaves and branches as they approached. Some walked with a determined stride. But they were with many.

"I thought it was you at first." It quipped back, showing you a sort of smile. "But I was wrong. Sorry!" The smile was highly uncomfortable to watch, the rows of teeth showing high and wide. The stench was something that came second. But not any better.

"I… I don't know what you're talking about." Keeping your eyes on the lumbering figure standing in the room. It somehow had a muscular physique to it, despite the otherwordly colors. Black and rippled with some sort of veins protruding from its so-called skin. It's highly disturbing to look at.

"Little Arvin and I will explain later." Moving its arm towards you. Every movement made you jump. Especially this, seeing its talons close in. "Don't worry." It smiled, seeing you repulse from fear, with your back against the wall. "I won't hurt you." It said, but its tone was more taunting than comfortable at this point.

"Take this." Opening his black oozing hand to you. The skin bubbled and moved as something began to emerge. From the torso, something slid underneath the skin towards the hand. The happening alone made you sick. "Arvin won't need it." Revealing the gun, you knew Arvin carried with him from time to time. "He has a better weapon now." He grinned, tossing it in your lap as it looked for the newcomers.

"W-Wh… What do I do?" You've had practice with a gun. That was a fact. Arvin had shown you, taught you. But at this point. You were completely blank—pulling at the magazine. Trying to get the damn mechanism to work. But your shaking hands struggle to make anything work right now.

 "You phew phew that thingie-... "Pointing at the gun with its talons. "-at any one of those outside." It said while watching you struggle. "Plenty of targets."

 "I… I… don't…" You stammer, dropping it to the floor. "Fuck…!" Cursing more under your breath while you clammy hands struggle to pick it up.

You recoil back against the wall, not that you could go further. The oozes torso ripple and move as you saw Arvin reach out. His entire upper torso revealing from the black ooze. "Come 'ere." He said while handling the gun. Cocking and reloading it. It surprised you to see Arvin this relaxed. Normally his anger would have surfaced and lost control over the situation. But now, he seemed convinced about what was about to happen.

You jump scare a little as a magazine for the gun popped into your lap. "Found this in his back pocket." Venom said as the hole in his shoulder closed.

He took your one hand, his grip firm and reassuring, warm to the touch, to the point of bolstering your confidence. For a moment, you're lost in each other eyes, feeling a sense of humanity return. Bringing you back as he helped to put your fingers on the gun. Closing your second hand around the other. "Use it if you have to." He said. "Stay safe."

"Arvin… How do we know if they're-" Your voice was cut off. The air knocked from your lungs. As the world around you was reduced to splinters, smoke, and glass. Eardeafening explosions shook you to the very bone. It all happened so fast. In that split second, the door at the other end of the room was reduced to mere splinters. Chunks of wood scattered across the floor and dug itself into softer material than itself. A loud ring sounded in your ears as you lost your bearings completely. Your vision had doubled, twice, or thrice—more than enough to see Venom move away from you. Through the whirling dust and flying wood splinters, you see it darting across the floor. The room wasn't that big, but in an instance, it sat upon the figure standing in the doorframe. Its scream didn't reach your ear because it didn't have time to. You shouldn't have blinked, but your ramshackle mind had too. Before you had any further chance to see what was happening. The figure had disappeared. Leaving Venom standing there, licking its teeth with that weird-looking tongue.

You jolt back into life as you feel the air coming back into your lungs. Coughing the dust and dirt up from your windpipe, it had forced itself in. A shock racked your frame as an object hit your foot. "Keep that safe." Venom's voice called out, noticing the large shotgun in front of you. Before you looked up and responded to him. Venom was already gone. Luckily your vision had begun to come back. To your shock, around you was a circle of splinters and fragments of other metal embedded deep into the wall. Struck by panic again, you check yourself. Hands, legs, arms. A relieved smile cracked your lips. You weren't hurt. Venom and Arvin had most certainly protected you from the blast. Seeing the damage all around you. It was one mass of destruction. With your courage gathered, and like any natural instinct kicking in, you try to get up on your legs. Water. You needed water. And eye the sink.

Shards of glass shatter across the counter as you duck back to the floor. You try to stay low, hunched as the sound of gunshots increased. The automatic fire increased as voices called out. Unfamiliar and loud. Commands were given. Screaming, yelling. They must have seen you as the bullets tore through the windows. The impact clearly seen on the walls. Ripping and tearing through every inch of the house. You duck lower to the ground. Terrified to the bone. Frames falling from the wall, and shelves coming loose. Everything went flying as the bullets tore it all apart. You didn't dare to look up. Broken glass and furniture flew through the air. Nothing was safe. Feeling the chances of survival slim by every passing moment.

Outside was this constant carnage, ripped screams. Trees being felled and branches snapping like twigs in a storm. It was a warzone outside. You could hear it, feel it—the tearing of limbs and flesh. The cries of the injured were short-lived. If there were any at all. With the sense of time and place lost in the heat of battle. The sound of battle and slowly began dying down. Less and less guns were being fired. Arvin better returns in one piece; you prayed to the Lord. In a moment like this, faith was a scapegoat option. Because you felt helpless and prayed for a good outcome.

The sound of someone approaching across the porch nailed you to the floor. Once the bullets had started tearing through the walls, surely targeting you, you had fallen to the floor. Flat on your stomach in the dirt and debris. Praying for your life. And now you lay there, with the gun in reach of you. You frantically crawl towards it, realizing too late that you were trudging through the glass splinters. But the adrenaline kept you going. Your fingers shuddered across the cold metal of the gun. Struggling to get a grip on it again.

As the heavy treads of boots stamped across the porch towards the already blasted open door. The voice of a man, different than Arvin's. Talking to someone. Tears had already flooded your vision as you brought the iron sights up along your eyesight. Clouding your vision. The gun shook terribly in your hand, as you crawled back up against the wall where you sat earlier. Countless holes had penetrated through the wall, now shafts of light shining through. It's mystical to see the dust flying around in the sudden silence. Only focused on the impending footsteps.

You squinted your eyes, trying to avoid the look on the person's face once you had pulled the trigger. You knew the mechanism; it was rough. Requiring a strong pull on the trigger to fire. "ARVIN!" You screamed from the top of your lungs. Crying out for help. "VENOM!" Tears rolled down your cheeks as your gaze swept to the other end size. The backdoor flew open with force.

"Son of a bitch is here!" Another voice called from the back. Taking steps into the house. Hearing the floor creak under the weight. You swing the gun back and forth. Not sure who was going to show up first. Either way, they were closing in on you. You knew the layout better than the intruders. You knew where the backdoor was, and how he had to walk down the hallway into the kitchen. You swing back to the front door. The one in the back had to be a few footsteps away from you.

The flash blinded you for a moment, rocking your entire frame as the gun fired its bullet down the barrel. Smashing through the wooden wall into the hallway. Splintering chunks of wood across the floor and into the hallway. A hushed curse came from the hallway. Your eyes catch movement at the front door. Everything went so fast. The man appeared in the doorway, almost in a veil-like light, holding a rifle. When a tentacle of blackness shot up into its side. Gurgled screams shot up from its shuddering frame. His arms go limb as the rifle hits the floor, and disappears as fast as he appeared. Not a scream, nothing. Just gone. A glimpse of white eyes and teeth are more than enough to reassure Venom and Arvin were there. A relief. Seeing the black mass surge past the doorframe off the hallway. A short burst of automatic fire forced you back into that scared fetal position as it connected with all sorts of pottery in the kitchen beside you. Piercing through the wall, shattering plates, pans, and cups. But silenced with a gurgle of blood and air, followed by a hard thud on the floor. The only thing you could hear was your own ragged breath and spend cartridges rolling on the floor.

 "(Y/N)?" Arvin sped around the corner, seeing the last of Venom's skin disappear behind him. "You alright?" You nodded as you caught your breath, slowly sitting yourself back up again. Arvin didn't need an answer. He saw the small cuts and splinters in your forearm. He looked around through the destruction, searching that familiar cabinet that now had fallen to the floor. Kicking the broken pieces away with his feet. Fishing the first aid out. By now, he knew quite well where to find it. Approaching you with a caring look on his face, yet also a smile. A rare smile for Arvin. "You look like shit." He said, looking down at you with that same taunting smile.

"T-That's..." You laughed but was interrupted by a rough coughing fit. "T-That's my line."

 "Not today." Handing you a bottle of liquor, he found lying on the floor, surprising intact. "Just like old times. But this time…" He kneeled in front of you, brushing the dust from your lips with his other hand. "I'll help you." Cupping your cheeks in his hands. Your heart already raced from earlier. But in that split second, it skipped several. So it was true what Venom said; that was the last thing that crossed your mind. Before his lips connected with yours. Kissing you with great care and precision. The world had already fallen silent, but now there was nothing more but you and Arvin. "Thank you." You mumbled into the slowly sloppier kiss.

"No problem." Venom responded in his dark voice before Arvin could. The silence was broken by the two of you chuckling softly in each others' embrace. It was true. Venom had done so much for the two of you. He was the reason you both were alive. And together. Finally.

"You still have a lot to learn, Arvin." You groan, locking your jaw as you observe him struggle with the pincers. Trying to remove the last shards and splinters of glass and wood from your arm.

"Sit still." He leaned upwards, giving you a kiss. "I need to concentrate." Ticking the bottle with his pincers, as a sign of telling you to drink.

"How can I... when you kiss me like that." Arvin's proud glance at you said more than enough. With his other hand, he guided the bottle upwards to your lip. He knew how much pain you were having. The adrenaline had worn off quicker than you expected. Arvin knew that all too well. "The preacher won't approve of us." You sighed, rolling your head back against the wall. The liquor slowly numbing your senses.

 "And he ain't a good one, you know that." Arvin hissed. The rest of his muttering was impossible to hear. And it might be for the better. From day one, Arvin didn't have a good hunch about that preacher. But he was shut up by his sister. She believed in him, like so many others.

"Ow, I want to pay him a visit." Venom said, emerging on a string of gooiness beside Arvin's head. "Let's have some fun with him." He smiled viciously. "I can read your mind, Arvin. You hate him. All the more reason to."

"Won't hurt to teach him a lesson…?" Arvin looked at you for approval. As if he needed that from you. You and Arvin were on the same level on so many things. The preacher was one of them. You also didn't go to church for the longest time. To the disapproval of many in the town. But it made the Sunday morning one hell of a good morning. Arvin stopped going too and came around your place at that every Sunday morning.

"You know how I think about him." You grinned. "But what about all this?" Eyeing the interior of your house. "It's ruined." The destruction all around was immense. Bullets had torn everything apart. The table and chairs, reduced to chunks of wood. Large shotgun shells had blasted holes through the walls and wreaked havoc on the interior. It's a wonder the walls were still standing. "I can't live here anymore…"

"I don't know…" Arvin looked around, raking his fingers through his brown curls, lost in his thoughts.

"And how about all those bodies?" The thought had just crossed your mind. You hadn't seen one, but there had to be at least ten of them scattered around your house and littering the forest.

"I'm still hungry…" Venom said, showing its row of teeth, smiling very broadly.

"He ate most of them…" Arvin said, as if that was giving any comfort.

"And then...Arvin? What's next?"

Arvin's gaze was locked elsewhere, thoughts far beyond the room, but said nothing. He hunched on his knees, turned around, and sat himself down beside you. "I don't know…" He sighed, resting his head against the wall. "But we'll figure something out." Putting his arm around you. Resting your head against one another, watching the dust dance in the air through the beams of sunlight, shining through the bullets holes. "Together."

[adarkrainbow]

I will switch the discussion to my fairytale blog for easier convenience.

I again agree with what you say, and again there is a lisunderstanding somewhere X) But that's what happens when you delve into fairy nature, everybody gets confused by their magic :p

The confusion here is that I agree with you that the literary fairy, the fée in "fairy tale", the fairies described by Perrault and d'Aulnoy and whatnot, are NOT Celtic in any way. No. They take their inspiration from a mix of the fairies/ogresses of Italian fairytales (a la Basile and Straarola), of the medieval French fée (d'Aulnoy for example read a lot of medieval romances - and one of her first fairy godmothers is named "Merluche" as a parody of Mélusine), and of Greco-Roman mythology (d'Aulnoy did that with a few of her fairies, such as the fairy Amazon, and it was a tradition by other authors, for example in the "Rainbow Prince" fairytale that went around Youtube, Lagrée the wicked fairy is named after "les Grées", the Graeae of Greek mythology).

What I meant to say by nuancing the term "Celtic" is that when you take the medieval fée, and the folklore around the fée as a whole, you have a strong Celtic influence. As in, not only do we share a lot of medieval "fey" with the British Isles thanks to the Arthuriana, hence a Celtic influence from things such as Welsh or old Irish beliefs (though more distant) - but the French fées of the Middle-Ages also bear a very strong mark of the old Gallic beliefs, of the continental Celts, to the point they are one of the main sources of info when it comes to reconstructing Gallic mythology. Why for example are the fées of France always near a body of water or near a tree - the typical "fée à la fontaine" (literaly "fairy of the fountain", though fountain used to mean any type of stream), and "la fée de l'arbre", (the tree fairy, the fairy found in clearings)? These are strong topos of French medieval literature, that stayed living throughout the fairytales of Renaissance (take Perrault's Toads and Diamonds). And we do know that this was a leftover of the Gallic religion, whose one of the main focus was to have a strong "natural cult", a worship of specific landscape areas... Most notably bodies of fresh water, certain clearings/trees, and several raised stones. The very same area, often, that either in folklore and folktales, or in medieval literature, became associated with "fairies" or where an "otherwordly lady" appears. (And while the priesthood and "oracles" of the Gauls were performed by the all-male druids - from which the figure of the "enchanteur" in French borrows heavily ; we also know the Gallic folk did have a believe in otherwordly priestesses - most notably there was a belief in nine eternally virgin priestesses that lived on a secret island and killed men that dared spy on them, something echoing the legend of Avalon and of Morgan and her eight sisters). So this is why it is commonly agreed that, in France, the fées of both folklore and literature were transcriptions in a new world of the old pagan beliefs in supernatural priestesses and nature-spirits, as held by the people of Gaul.

I do fully agree with your analysis of how different the "salon fairies" are from the "Arthurian fairies" and I agree - I do want to make clear I never said they were the same, but that in France they are the two "eras" of a given history for the figure of the fée, which went from Viviane, Morgane and Mélusine to Cinderella's fairy godmother and Sleeping Beauty's fairies and whatnot. We do have "Le Petit Peuple", "The Small Folks", "The Little People" in France to designate all the more non-human supernatural beings (dwarfs and lutins and korrigans and whatnot), but what I was trying to say is that whereas beyond the Channel calling a small, male, supernatural entity such as the Leprechaun a "fairy" is more acceptable, in France you can't exactly call a "lutin" a "fée" as they are much more distinct and separate, though the two are indeed connected and often put in the same basket. But due to "fée" being a more restrictive word than "fairy", it doesn't have the same open possibilities as the English word - that was kind of my point. Though, in the Middle-Ages there was an habit of using "fée" not just as a name but also as an adjective, similar to the English "fairy", to designate magical things (there were talks of fée-horses for example), and this tradition lasted discreetly in French fairytales (Perrault describes the seven-league boots and Bluebeard's key by using the adjective "fée"), but it stayed quite rare. This is why for example we know, thanks to analysists and folklorists, that there were "male fées" in medieval literature, but... they are basically never called "fées" since the word is so stuck to the idea of a female creature, and we have to look at context and patterns to identify the male counterpart of the "fairy ladies".

Again, I do not want to twist too much Laurence Harfn-Lancner words, so for the record, while I did use Viviane and the Chrétien de Troyes incarnation of Morgane for "Arthurian fairy godmothers" archetypes, these are not the main or major example of Lancner, who rather uses them for her category of "Fairy Lovers". (And yes, the Morgane/Mélusine division is now used by pretty much every medievalist in France - Lancner's first researches were published in the early 90s before being reprinted in the early 2000s, so people had time to get used to it. We call it "le schéma mélusinien" et "le schéma morganien". In fact, if I just take one of her books "Le Monde des Fées" - the three main section under the "Fairy Lover" chapter are, Mélusine, Morgane and the Lady of the Lake. Her analysis of the medieval "fairy godmother" rather relies on works such as the Perceforest (the three goddesses), Le Jeu de la Feuillée (the three fairies), Amadas et Ydoine (three witches pretend to be fées), Le Roman d'Aubéron (four Christmas fairies) and the medieval belief in Dame Abonde, with mentions of the leftovers of Roman, Norse and Gallic mythologies.

I would also have to object to your stance that the fairies of the salon are more "human" than the Arthurian fées. I will object because there's the case of Morgan Le Fey. (This is the name English folks use for her but it drives me mad because "le" is a male pronoun, it should be "la", it is a misunderstanding of Morgane la Fée, but anyway). There is the fact that one of the recurring elements in the figure of Morgan (ignoring old Celtic goddess roots), s that her "fey" titled is joined with a human nature by explaining as such: she learned so many great and secrets arts, and she ruled over fabulous lands, and she mastered magic, and thus she was called "fée". There is this idea that even a regular human woman can become a "fée" or be seen as a "fée" simply by being associated with supernatural forces (Morgane's study with Merlin for example) or by wielding extremely advanced craft. This all ties to how a lot of the mysterious, unnamed ladies of for example the Chrétien de Troyes novel have this ambiguity of: are they human? Are they fée? Do they belong to the Otherworld or the regular world? We have to rely on contextual clues to know that, because it is not obvious, and because even a regular human woman can play the role of the "fée". Fée is not as much separate from humanity in Arthurian French texts as it seems - and we fall back on the Tolkien's Elves comparison. Again, to identify a fairy in French medieval text, all you need to do is spot a tall beautiful lady in white - and that's because it is so vague that many fail to understand they are fairies. (Take the story of how Lusignan met Mélusine. He encountered her with two handmaids bathing by a water-stream in the forest at night, and he just noted they were tall and beautiful... And despite all the signs of a fée being here, night, forest, running water, tallness, beauty, female gender, he didn't get she was a fairy. Because it was not meant to be obvious within the world of medieval French literature)

With the "fées de salon", with Perrault and d'Aulnoy, on the contrary, we have a clear and neat work to make the fées separate from humanity and as alien as possible. You can never confuse a fée with someone else - unless they purposefully disguise themselves as a little old lady. But consider the fées of Perrault and d'Aulnoy... When they are beautiful, they wear impossible dresses made of all the precious metal in the world, and they wield weapons emitting light and fire, and they ride fire-chariots dragged by all sorts of fabulous creatures. When they are wicked and ugly, they are inhumanly ugly and collect all the deformations possible (I think it was the Queen of Meteors whose eyes were described as lamps at the end of a cavern, and who was so skinny and gaunt people could look through her skin as if it was translucid). They live in explicit impossible underworld, and beyond glass mountains, and in palaces of burning metal, and they are surrounded by dwarfs and giants and monstrous beasts as pets, and everywhere they go they cause obvious great magic and display their powers in all the way they can...

Considering how in Chrétien de Troyes novel for example you have to guess to know if a lady a knight randomly meets is from the Otherworld or not, versus how in literary fairytales people immediately recognize a fairy once she reveals her "true form" after shedding her little old lady disguise... I do believe the "writers of the salons" did their effort to make fairies less human. (An effort which was later reverted by the Grimm brothers for example, who removed all fairies from their texts due to being "too French" - take how in Briar Rose the fairies are now "wise women", in all the meanings of the word)

(Also, given posts cannot allow one to include tones, I insist that I say nothing in negativity and that I do not disagree with you as in "You're wrong". I agree with you and I am glad to have this conversation and I just want to bring in info from my part and my perception of things up until this point ; I do not mean to offend anyone, and it stays my personal opinion on the matter, I am no ultimately authority and I understand I would have views seen as weird Xp Plus this entire matter is so vast and complex and interwoven with so many cultures it is impossible to fully sort it out, so this is just my tiny little fragment I bring to the puzzle in hope that it fits)

I was thinking about the difference between the British "fairy" and the French "fée", and suddenly the perfect comparison struck me.

The "fairy" from British folklore is basically Guillermo del Toro's take on the fair folk, trolls, goblins and other fairies in his movies, from "Pan's Labyrinth" to "Hellboy II". You know, all those weird monsters and bizarre critters with strange laws and customs, living half-hidden from humans, and coming in all sorts of shapes and sizes and sub-species and whatnot. Almost European yokai.

But the "fée" of French legend and literature? The fées are basically Tolkien's Elves. Except they are all female (or mostly female).

Because what is a "fée"? A fée is a woman taller and more beautiful than regular human beings. She is a woman who knows very advanced crafts and sciences, and wields mysterious unexplained powers. She is a woman who lives in fabulous, strange and magical places. She is a woman with a natural knowledge or foresight of the past and the future, and who can appear and disappear without being seen. Galadriel as she appears in The Lord of the Rings is basically the best example I can use when trying to explain to someone what a "fée" in French folklore and culture actually is.

(As a reminder: the fées of France are mostly represented by the Otherwordly Ladies of the Arthurian literature - Morgane, Viviane, bunch of unnamed ladies - or by the fairy godmothers of Perrault or d'Aulnoy's fairytales, to give you an idea of how they differ from the traditional "fae" or "fair folk". All female, and more unified, and so human-like they can pass of or be taken for humans. The "fées" are cultural descendants of the nymphs and goddesses and oracles/priestesses of Greco-Roman-Germanic-Gallic mythologies. That's why they are so easily confused with witches when they turn evil, and when Christianity arose most fées were replaced by the figure of the Virgin Mary, the most famous "magical beautiful otherwordly woman" of the religion)