#like I would have never dreamed of going for someone's weapon THIS early in the game for Genshin

[nightmareonpeachstreet]

it's coming....the day when I will become a Jinhsi main is soon upon us...

[catmiemy]

Not Work Day (Aitana Bonmatí x Reader)

Summary: Aitana and you spend a rare day off together.

A/N: This is just a silly little story I thought of a while ago and finally wrote in hopes of getting into more of a writting mood again. So many ideas and so little ability to put them on 'paper' lately...

I hope you enjoy this one! :)

Dating a professional football player wasn’t always easy. Whenever you mentioned that to anyone they usually assumed you referred to your girlfriend having to travel a lot or the lack of days off together because of conflicting schedules, or the interest the nosey media and even nosier public had in your relationship.

And sure, all of these things could be tricky at times, but there was something else that was even harder to bear; seeing your girlfriend being worked to the ground with almost no time to recuperate properly. Before you started dating Aitana you had never thought much about it, now it haunted you during the days and disturbed your dreams.

Every new injury you heard about made your stomach drop, always wondering the same thing, what if next time it would be your girlfriend going down with some horrible injury? The guilt always followed close behind, with your berating yourself for being happy in any capacity that someone else got hurt.

More often than not it was a struggle to watch Aitana’s games. You had a tendency to clench every single muscle in your body until the final whistle was blown, and you could be sure that nothing bad had happened.

For a while you did your best to keep these concerns to yourself, not wanting to make Aitana worry about you unnecessarily. Convinced that if you just wanted it enough, you would get over this.

You should have known that your girlfriend would catch on; she was too perceptive not to notice it, too concerned about your well-being to miss it.

When she did you explained somewhat reluctantly what was bothering you; the last thing you wanted was for your girlfriend to feel guilty. This wasn’t her fault at all and she shouldn’t feel bad about playing the sport she loved.

Despite your best efforts to downplay it, the first thing you saw in Aitana’s eyes once you finished your explanation was guilt. Most likely because you were looking for that emotion specifically, but in that moment you couldn’t think rationally like this. You were about to apologize, try and take it back somehow, when she asked you one simple question.

“Is there anything we can do to make you feel better about it?”

Up until that point it had never occurred to you to think about possible ways to make the situation easier for yourself. Usually your thoughts had been centered around scolding yourself for being such a worrywart. It made you oddly emotional that Aitana took you this seriously and didn’t dismiss your concerns.

Neither of you found a satisfying answer to the question that night, but over time you came up with something that helped, a tradition that you called ‘not work days’. 

On one of these ‘not work days’ you were awoken by Aitana trying to get up. Without opening your eyes you reached out to grab her wrist and pull her back into bed. You were met by some resistance, forcing you to open your eyes and scowl at the brunette.

“Hey, you work or not work?” You asked, leaving no room for interpretation what the correct answer was.

Aitana rolled her eyes at you, but relented, snuggling back into you much to your delight. You wrapped your arms around her and buried your face in her shoulder.

“I’m never going to be free of that stupid phrase, am I?” She grumbled.

“Nope,” you agreed, “And now hush, it’s way too early to be up on a not work day.”

You felt some lingering tenseness in your girlfriend’s body, apparently she wasn’t fully ready yet to commit to resting some more. It was time to pull out your magic weapon; you began gently tracing small circles in the space between Aitana’s eyebrows. It worked like a charm. Within seconds the brunette fell back asleep and you let yourself drift off as well.

The next time you woke up it was on your own accord, like you hoped it would be. Usually when you managed to get your girlfriend back to sleep she didn’t wake up again until late in the morning. In your mind a clear indication that the Spaniard needed this extra rest.

You allowed yourself to linger in bed a little longer to hold Aitana in your arms and watch her sleep. It was rare for her to be still if she was awake, always moving around, busy with one thing after another.

Mostly the midfielder loved it and was happy with her life, but sometimes it became all too much. She had confided in you a while back that being with you had helped her to finally find a healthy balance in her life. That was without a doubt the biggest compliment anyone had ever given you.

After a few more minutes you placed a soft kiss on your girlfriend’s forehead, before carefully extracting yourself and moving to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Breakfast in bed was a staple of the not work days..

You hummed happily to yourself while you made an omelet, mixed a smoothie and cut up some cherry tomatoes. And of course you couldn’t forget about the coffee! When everything was ready you walked back to the bedroom, ready to wake up Aitana with some gentle cuddles.

However, your plan was thwarted. You opened the door and instantly spotted your girlfriend on her cell phone. This in itself wasn’t a problem, but the way she had crunched up her nose and her eyebrows were knitted together, revealed to you that she was most likely looking at something work related. She looked too stressed for this to be anything else.

“What are you doing?” You demanded, “This is a not work day!”

You expected the Catalan to smile at you apologetically, instead a huge grin appeared on her face and she turned her phone around. It took a moment until you realized why she had done that; your girlfriend was recording the entire interaction and apparently she thought this was hilarious.

“Haha, very funny,” you grumbled, “I really thought you were working already.”

“I know, you should have seen your face,” Aitana replied between laughter, “Oh wait, you can. Come over here, mi amor.” She patted the bed next to her, but you remained standing. You would have crossed your arms, but the breakfast tray was stopping you from doing so.

“Don’t be like that, mi amor. I’m only giving back what you’ve been handing out. Or do I have to remind you how often you’re sending me that stupid ‘You work or not work’ video? How you even added some cute animal pictures to the beginning of it, so I wouldn’t recognize right away what clip it is? You violated the sanctity of cute animal pictures!”

The midfielder sounded so scandalized by this that you couldn’t help but crack a smile. You shuffled over to the bed, leaning over to give your girlfriend a good morning kiss. Just like you hoped this successfully distracted her from the stupid video she had recorded because you had no interest in watching it. You were admittedly better at teasing than being teased.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Aitana asked, tucking into her breakfast. “This is so good by the way.”

“No plans, we just do whatever you want to do,” you responded, deliberately ignoring her praise. Dealing with compliments also wasn’t one of your strengths.

“Whatever I want?” The Catalan asked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Everything that’s within the rules of not work days,” you clarified.

“But coming up with ideas is work too,” your girlfriend complained.

“My poor baby! Okay, here are some ideas; we can bundle up on the couch and watch a movie, we can make cookies, we can take a walk in the rain…”

“Yes! Let’s take a walk in the rain,” Aitana interrupted, her choice surprising you. The midfielder wasn’t known for liking the rain, in fact she made no secret of how much she hated the rain.

“Really?” You double-checked.

Your girlfriend nodded, “Yeah, you made it sound so romantic a few days ago. Both of us under one umbrella, the rain pattering on it, huddling close together for warmth. Sounds like a movie scene.”

“Okay then, let’s do it.”

The two of you got ready, Aitana putting on much more clothes than you. Normally you would tease your girlfriend about it, but you didn’t want to risk her remembering the video she had taken earlier.

In the beginning the walk was actually romantic. The sound of the pitter patter on the umbrella was soothing, especially with how quiet and deserted the roads were. You breathed in deeply, savoring the smell of rain. Aitana was snuggling into your side and when you looked over she had a soft smile on her lips.

Before too long however, you noticed that your girlfriend clung a little too strongly to you and she was dragging her feet. This time when you glanced her way you were met by an unhappy expression, though it quickly morphed into a forced smile as soon as Aitana noticed your eyes on her.

You pulled her to a stop. “What is it, babe?”

“My feet are wet,” the Catalan whined.

Your eyes snapped to her feet. Your girlfriend was wearing her favorite and already pretty worn sneakers. It wasn’t really surprising that they weren’t able to withstand the rain anymore.

“Then let’s go back home,” you stated, already turning around and tugging Aitana’s hand to follow you.

“No, I don’t want to ruin this.”

You turned to face the midfielder again, cupping her cheek with your free hand.

“And I don’t want you to be miserable, or worse get sick. And anyway this is your not work day, so you should only do things you’re enjoying.”

Aitana nuzzled slightly into your palm, smiling up at you. “Okay, but I disagree, it’s our not work day.”

You walked back rapidly to your apartment and when you got there you sent the brunette to the bedroom with the instruction to change into something comfy and get rid of her wet socks.

“Don’t put on other ones though! I have something for you,” you added.

A few minutes later you met Aitana back at the couch, a cup of tea in one hand and the other one hidden behind your back. Your girlfriend craned her neck, trying to sneak a peek, but you didn’t allow it.

“Show meeeee,” the Catalan begged.

You followed the request, showing her the fluffy socks you had bought a while back. A huge smile spread across Aitana’s face as she saw them.

“They look so comfortable. Thank you! But how did you know I would need them?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I didn’t. I just bought them randomly for a not work day. It’s pure luck that you got wet feet today.”

“Or maybe this was all part of an elaborate evil plan to get me to undress my feet in front of you,” Aitana joked.

“You got me there. That’s why I raved about walks in the rain and that’s why I suggested it this morning. I even sabotaged your shoes,” you explained with a serious face.

Your girlfriend giggled happily. “I guess in that case you’ve earned the right to put on the new socks and give me a foot rub afterwards,” she said, sticking her feet out towards you.

“How generous of you!” You exclaimed, quickly putting on the fluffy socks.

Then you went to sit down next to Aitana to give her the requested foot rub, but you stopped in your tracks when you saw the midfielder glaring at you.

“Everything okay?” You asked uncertainly.

“No!” The brunette cried out, making your heart beat faster; what had you done wrong? “I need you to change into comfortable clothes as well. This doesn’t look like a good outfit to relax in.”

You looked down yourself and only now realized that you were still wearing jeans. “Oh, I guess you’re right.”

Before you got a change to move away, Aitana caught your hand and pulled you in for a kiss. “Sorry for scaring you. I didn’t realize it would actually make you anxious,” she apologized. “And now go, I need my girlfriend to warm me up.”

You were happy to oblige, hurrying to the bedroom.

“And can you bring the laptop back with you? I’m in the mood for some online shopping,” Aitana shouted after you.

You were happy to do so since it signified that your girlfriend had fully gotten into the swing of the not work day. It was always the same; in the beginning she didn’t know what she wanted to do, but as time progressed the midfielder became more attuned to her own desires that she so often put on the back burner.

On your return you handed Aitana the laptop before plopping down by her feet, taking them in your lap for the promised foot rub. You hadn’t even started yet, when your girlfriend let out a surprise “Oh”, pulling her feet back and scooting closer to you instead.

“What are these?” She asked, showing you the screen with your last internet search. It had completely slipped your mind what you had been looking at the day before.

“Dresses,” you offered up dryly.

“Yeah, I can see that. Any special occasion?” Aitana probed.

“You know the answer to that. It’s not every day you get to accompany your girlfriend to an award show for the best football players in the world,” you replied nervously; although you didn’t know why you felt nervous about this.

“Aw, I really appreciate that!” Your girlfriend cooed, her eyes flickering over the screen, “Can I help pick?”

You nodded; that had always been the plan. Since this was the first time you were going along as Aitana’s partner you wanted to look your best, so another opinion was definitely needed.

“Some of them are pretty expensive,” the Catalan mentioned carefully.

Money had always been a touchy subject between the two of you. Aitana had a lot more of it than you did; still you didn’t feel comfortable with constantly letting her pay, insisting that you took turns. The brunette wasn’t too happy about that, but by now you had found some middle ground, usually going to less expensive places when it was your turn to pay.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you dismissed Aitana’s concern, “And I want to look worthy of my girlfriend. You know she’s currently the best football player in the world?”

“You sound so proud of me.”

Atiana’s voice was oddly quit; it made you wonder if she doubted that you were proud of her. You thought back to the last few games and realized with a start that you couldn’t remember the last time you had actually said these words. This way worrying, especially considering your girlfriend had a hard time believing things unless she heard them over and over again.

“That’s because I am,” you responded firmly, vowing to do better.

“Even if it makes you anxious?” The brunette wondered.

You sighed, rubbing your face. “Let’s be honest, no matter what job you had, I would always be anxious about something. That’s the annoying thing about anxiety; it’ll always find something else to worry about.”

Aitana looked up at you hopefully, “So you don’t hate that I’m a footballer?”

“What? No, of course not! And I’m sorry if I made you feel like that,” you apologized.

“Well that’s good then,” your girlfriend announced, a smirk appearing on her face, “But hey, is working out issues even allowed on a not work day? Or did you just break your own rules?”

You rolled your eyes, “Of course it’s allowed and since they’re my rules, I can change them whenever I want.”

Aitana raised her eyebrows, fighting to keep her face neutral, “Oh really, is that how it works?”

“Yes,” you nodded sagely.

A devilish grin appeared on your girlfriend’s face, and too late you recognized your mistake.

“In that case I’m making my own rules as well and decide that I get to buy you this blue dress.” She pointed to the one that was your absolute favorite, but that was also firmly out of your price range.

“Aitana,” you groaned, “That’s not how it works!”

“Oh? If you can make up random rules, so can I,” the Catalan pointed out, daring you to disagree with her.

“That’s not the same at all. I don’t want you to spend money on my clothes,” you argued

“Why not? If you think about it, I’ll get to appreciate your dress much more than you. I can admire you in it all night long, and maybe I’ll even get to take if off of you. And this dress will look stunning on you; it will really bring out your eyes.”

“Fine”, you relented, making your girlfriend squeal happily. There was one more thing to say though, so you stopped Aitana’s over the top celebration with one hand. “But this means you can only get me something small for my birthday.

“Okay,” the midfielder agreed suspiciously quickly.

“And I mean that, Tana!” You doubled down.

Your girlfriend nodded, but seemed to be only half-listening, too busy adding the dress to your cart. You would just have to bring it up again when your birthday was closer because you wouldn’t be budging on that.

After Aitana successfully ordered the dress, she leaned back with a content sigh.

“I really love these not work days, you know?”

Your heart leapt happily at that concession.  “Me too, babe.”

Sometimes you wished you got more of them, but maybe not having them all the time made them extra special.

[thehandsresisthim]

“tranquility”

contains: yandere link (botw/totk) x reader, nothing too explicit, but still 18+, ise-kaid reader but it kinda just starts when you’re already in hyrule, maybe i’ll post the next ‘chapters’ the following weeks if i remember to ehem

word count: ~1400

You and him find a secluded spot in the woods to spend the night.

He thoroughly scouts out the immediate area for a moment, making sure that there are no monsters around.

It’s late into the night, almost midnight, so he hurries up preparing everything - not that there’s much to prepare. But he lights a fire, and he puts down his bedroll, and he tells you to use it. He’ll keep watch, he tells you.

“Is this really okay?” you say in a tired voice.

He nods. “I bet you’re not used to sleeping on the ground.”

“Mmh.” you would argue further, but you’re so tired that you don’t protest, just lay down. It’s not as bad as you thought. He insisted on making sure there were no rocks beneath the bedroll, not even the tiniest thing - smooth ground all the way. You pull the thin covers over you and rest your head on the pillow. You don’t close your eyes yet, however.

He looks at you and smiles. “Sleep well.”

Quickly after, you fall asleep.

⚔️⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ⋆ ❁ ⋆ ⋆ ✩°｡⋆ ⚔️

It’s early morning, around four, when you wake again. He’s laying next to you, arms tightly wrapped around you, right hand placed beneath your shirt, on your back. His hand feels surprisingly soft, although some of the callousness you’d expect due to his, uh, living circumstances, is also there. He’s breathing softly, and definitely asleep. His sword and other weapons are placed right next to the bed roll.

You find yourself not knowing how to react. Although this is definitely a bit forward, he did lend you his bedroll, and has been so, so nice to you so far. If not for him… you don’t know how you would’ve gotten along in this world. Probably gobbled up by some monsters. He deserves some rest too…

A voice - his voice - snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Darling…”

You notice that he’s sleeping - breathing as softly and evenly as before, hand still located on your back. Perhaps he is dreaming about his lover? You hope that this isn’t one of those dreams. That’d be really weird. But you guess that even if that’s so - not like that’d be his fault. He can’t help what he’s dreaming about.

“‘M… never… going to let you go,” he continues.

You can’t help but smile a little. Yes, you decide, he’s definitely dreaming about a lover. You wonder if you’ll ever meet them. You fall asleep again.

⚔️⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ⋆ ❁ ⋆ ⋆ ✩°｡⋆ ⚔️

It’s later in the morning when you wake up again.

You stretch and yawn. He gives you a friendly nod once he sees that you’re awake and waves at you.

“Good morning!” you say.

He smiles back at you, then turns back to the fireplace. He seems to be grilling the mushrooms he collected yesterday. You smile at the smell and get up from the bedroll.

He’s wearing his armour, and all of his weapons on him. You remember that he did wear his armour in bed with you - you felt the metal on his shoulders pressed against your chest - he must’ve put the weapons back on. It only makes sense, after all.

You can’t help but think of him sleeping next to you… he seems to be unbothered by it. Maybe it’s just a common thing among travellers? You decide to not think anything else of it.

You fold the blanket and the pillow, and roll up the bedroll. You have to bend over to pick up the bedroll, and you feel like he glances over at you for a moment as you do so…

Snap out of it! you tell yourself. He’s probably just making sure that you’re folding it up correctly. Besides, if you’re going with the dream he had earlier, he's already got someone else, so don’t get your hopes up!

You place all the parts of the makeshift bed together. He doesn’t look at you again, but rather, seems to stare at the fire and continue preparing the mushrooms.

You decide that since he’s made sure that the area is safe just last night, some mild exploring might do you some good. The noise of your steps is overshadowed by the cackling fire and muffled by the dampness of the forest floor.

⚔️⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ⋆ ❁ ⋆ ⋆ ✩°｡⋆ ⚔️

After a few more minutes of roasting the mushrooms over the fire, he stretches a little and decides to sit down. As he stares into the fire, he reflects on last night. Admittedly, laying down next to you was a bit forward…

But then again. He allowed you to travel with him, although you’re slower, and he allowed you to sleep on his bedroll. And he defended you against the monsters, and he’s making you food right now. He deserves a bit of comfort, doesn’t he?

‘Hopefully, the bedroll will keep her scent for a while.’ he catches himself thinking. ‘If she’s always with me… then I’ll never have to worry about that…’ a part of his mind continues.

He catches himself staring into the flames and entertaining the thought. He imagines you living with him, in a house built by him, near a village of your choosing. He imagines you and him sleeping next to each other, perhaps even more entangled together than last night.

He could make you food. Maybe you could keep horses. He could use his strong arms and knowledge of weapons for something other than fighting. Although… if someone were to get too close to you… He’ll make sure to never forget how to properly handle people like that.

But there’s a certain tranquillity in thinking about how everyday life would be with you.

You and him could design a house together: you said you’d like to stargaze, so obviously, there’d be a large balcony.

It could connect to the bedroom; he imagines a big bed where you can sleep on the proper mattress that you deserve. Next to him, of course. He could build it himself. He knows that he’s rather strong; so, since he wants it to be a place where he can have you all to himself, he’ll need to make sure that the bed is built in a way to be able to keep up with that. And it’ll need a big canopy - a physical thing to keep out the outside world. He’ll get to keep you all to himself there.

And he’ll build you a nice big closet, so that you can keep all the luxurious clothes he’ll buy for you. He wonders what you’d like to wear… He thinks about buying you jewellery. Small amber earrings. A necklace… perhaps one of those tight ones, that would go around your neck. And he’d make sure that you have a ring on, too, just like he will. He wants you to have a closet full of pretty clothes. Maybe you’d ‘steal’ some of his too… you in his tunic… he smiles at the thought. You, in the morning, perhaps still slightly sleepy - quickly getting out of bed, searching for something to wear. Maybe you’d just quickly slip on some of his clothes. You’d sit on a nearby chair and smile at him. And there’d be a big desk for you to paint and craft and write by.

You’d also want a nice bathroom, probably. A really modern one, where you could shower… perhaps with him. And it’d need a bathtub, too!

And he’d make sure to build a strong, big staircase… it could lead right into the living room. He’d like a kitchen area that would connect to the living room… just a big open space. So that he can always watch you. You could cook together, and he’d make all your favourite meals. And he’d make sure that you’d have a big sofa, to cuddle on and hang out on and maybe indulge in other activities there too.

The windows would be big and open, to always let the sun in.

And maybe, if you’d like it, you’d keep horses. He wonders what you’d name yours. He could teach you how to ride… maybe help you catch one. Or maybe you’d only have one horse, and he’d never teach you to ride, so that you’d always have to rely on him to get around. So that he’d always be around you. And you’d sit behind him on his horse, and he’d purposely ride a little faster than you’re used to, and you’d hold onto his waist.

He finds himself smiling. The thought makes him feel warm inside, in a way that he’s not used to. He thinks that you must be feeling hungry, so he picks up one of the mushroom skewers from the fireplace. He turns around to face you. His smile falls. You’re not there.

i swear if i was isekai-d (?) to hyrule i’d be killed for blasphemy in seconds - “lmao weak ass goddess hylia needing a nine year old to fight her battles for h-“ *gets struck down by lightning*

uhhh enough babbling hope you enjoyed ❤️ comments and likes are always appreciated, same as reblogs of course!! master list is here :)

18+ short fic abt link warming your strap is here if that suits your fancy hehe

[carlsdarling]

carl with fingering. it can be anything. any scenario. it’s all i can think about right now because LOOK AT HIS HANDS.

please and thank you 🙏🏼 keep on doing gods work 💗

Piano Player's Hands

Y/N gets really obsessed with Carl's hands... Bit more of a plot, than sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw

Piano player's hands, that's what popped into your head when you first became aware of Carl Grimes' hands during a boring meeting at the Alexandria Community Center.

You were sitting around a large round table, and the topic was how to make the Alexandria neighborhood safer because Saviours often prowled around the area

Carl didn't say much - he never did - he just listened, both hands wrapped around a coffee cup. Once you started, you couldn't stop looking at his hands. They were big for such a slender boy, but graceful - with long, slender fingers and clearly visible knuckles. Really the hands of a piano player; only the chipped and somewhat dirty fingernails and the calluses, the rough skin and the small wounds didn't fit the picture, you mused. But Carl's hands were mostly busy working, killing walkers or cleaning weapons. There wasn't much time for hand and nail care.

"Y/N?" asked Maggie impatiently, and you noticed startled - apparently she hadn't addressed you for the first time.

"Um, what?" you asked dumbly, and Maggie rolled her eyes.

"I was wondering if you'd be willing to be assigned to regular patrols outside the wall?"

"Uh, yeah," you stammered, taking your eyes off Carl's hands with difficulty.

                                                           ***

In the following time you caught yourself again and again thinking about Carl in a juicy way. About him and his hands, especially his fingers. You imagined Carl pleasuring himself; how his long fingers closed around his hard shaft and moved up and down, squeezing lightly, how he rubbed his thumb over the wet tip, how he tossed his head back and forth on the pillow and moaned. Certainly Carl did it every day; at least that was true of most boys his age. You had never had much contact, but now your thoughts were constantly circling around Carl.

When you masturbated yourself, you now fantasized exclusively about Carl; you dreamed of him sliding those fingers into your pussy and stroking your clit. You feared that people would see what you were thinking, so you started avoiding Carl. Whenever you ran into him, you would turn bright red, turn around, and walk away in the other direction. One day you were supposed to stand guard on the wall with Carl, but that was completely impossible, you couldn't talk to him or look him in the eye - he would read your dirty mind, you were sure of it. So you sought out Rick and asked him to let you switch shifts with someone.

Rick frowned at the schedule where the guard duties were listed. It was clear he wasn't thrilled with your request. "Now I'm going to have to reschedule everything," he groused. "Why do you want to change shifts?"

"Um, I, I... well, I don't like getting up early," you lied.

"The shift starts at 10 AM," Rick wondered. "But well, I guess you can switch with Glenn; you'll be on at 6 PM," he stated, scribbling on the list. Neither Rick, nor you had noticed Carl standing next to the doorway to the living room.

After leaving Rick's house, you went to the stables, you wanted to look at a newborn foal. The foal was lying in the straw, sleeping, protected by its mother. "Cute, isn't it?" a voice sounded behind you.

The foal woke up and roused itself. You flinched. "Carl!" you exclaimed. "Are you stalking me?" you then accused him.

"To be honest, yes," he answered hesitantly. "I overheard that you didn't want to be on guard duty with me. Besides, you're avoiding me like I have the plague. Have I done something to you?" he asked, half hurt, half provocative.

You glanced past him to his left hand, with which he was petting the foal. "No," you murmured. The sight made you all tingly.

"Then what is it?" demanded Carl angrily.

"Well...I can't talk about it," you evaded, your face glowing. You tried to walk past Carl out of the stable, but he held you by the shoulder.

"Wait," he said, amused. "Are you...are you maybe crushing on me?" He grinned.

"I don't know," you squirmed, licking your lips. Carl was suddenly very close to you, his breath warmly brushing your neck, then all of a sudden his lips lay softly on yours. You let yourself go into the kiss, of course you did. When you stopped the kiss a moment later, you whispered, "I can't stop thinking about your fingers."

Carl raised an eyebrow - the one, visible one. "My fingers?"

"Yes, they...they're extraordinary, beautiful, and I'd like you to...um..."

Carl chuckled. "Now I understand," he said, throwing you a cocky smile before kissing you again, letting his right hand wander to the buttons of your jeans, undoing them and fumbling forward into your panties. You went to your knees whimpering as he stroked you between your legs, wetting his fingers. You sank to the floor together, and you impatiently pushed your pants and panties down to your knees to give Carl free access. "You're completely wet for me," he noted with fascination.

"Carl, finger me, please," you moaned breathlessly, raising your hips with a yelp as Carl obeyed, sliding his index and middle finger into your willing pussy and gently moving them back and forth with a smooth rhythm. "Oh, Carl, yes, please," you moaned, totally wanting and at his mercy. Your muscles clenched around his fingers, craving more and more of him. He bent down and kissed you passionately as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. You clung to Carl's shoulders as he pushed you over the edge and the world exploded around you in stars and rainbow colors. "Carl!!!" you panted, clawing at him. One of the horses shied away at your outcry.

Breathing heavily, you relaxed as Carl slowly pulled his fingers out of you. They were all slippery from your juices. Your heart raced. Carl pressed himself against you longingly. "You could do something for me now," he pleaded, and you could see the bulge in his jeans. He rubbed over it meaningfully.

"Jerk yourself off," you suggested. "I want to see that."

Carl grinned suggestively. "Someday, maybe, but right now I want you to jerk me off. It's only fair, don't you think?" he pouted.

He wasn't wrong, though. "All right," you agreed. You still had a little time before you had to show up for your work at the doctor's office. Eagerly, Carl opened his belt and his jeans and pulled out his fully erected dick, and you noted that it was really big and just as pretty as Carl's hands, and inhaled sharply. However, it turned out that Carl was so aroused from your previous activities that he cum all over your hand just as soon as you touched him.

"Oh," he commented lamely. "Sorry, baby."

You had to snicker. "I think we should do this more often."

--

Tags: @loveforcarl @tessasweet @knochentrocken0808 @taylormarieee

[peachesofteal]

idk if this has been mentioned before, but the au where johnny and simon break it off with darling right after she found out she was pregnant and didn’t tell them;; imagine she can’t handle the pressure of being a mother—a single mother who has no one, so maybe one day while simon and johnny are on leave, their doorbell rings. one of them opens it and there sits the baby in a carrier with a bag stuffed full of unused supplies, the little bab wailing and there’s no doubt this is one of their kids—it looks exactly like one of them.. a mini mixture of darling and one of them. but there’s no sign of darling anywhere; just the baby, couldn’t even be a year old yet.

maybe there’s a note—a short one if at all—maybe there isn’t. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Yes omg this is so good! 🩵🩵🩵

18+ / mature themes / disco baby au

“D’ya want the blinds open?” Simon grunts, rolling on his side. He nuzzles into Johnny’s side, pressing his face against the curve of his neck, counting the beat of his pulse, over and over.

“Too early.” He protests, stroking his fingers through Simon’s hair, across his shoulder blades, down his ribs. They’re both too warm but don’t dare separate, finally able to lay together after a too long op, one that picked up right after their previous. Which was picked up right after the one before that… and so on.

They’re not running. That’s what Johnny tells him. They’re not hiding. They’re just… occupying their minds. Keeping themselves focused on something, anything other than… you.

You, who had disappeared after the break up. You, who had ran with a broken heart, over a year ago.

They made the right decision, he tells himself. They did the right thing. It would have been too hard on you. Too difficult. How was it fair, to leave you here while they were gone for six, seven months, with no guarantee of them even coming back? How was it fair, to leave you unprotected, with a target on your back just because you were theirs?

It wasn’t. So they made the hard call. The necessary call.

Or so they thought.

It’s what they tell themselves, even when they spend all night talking about you. Even when they dream about you. Even when Simon closes his eyes, and all he can see is the devastation on your face when they left you.

Simon’s just falling into the that sweet in between sleep, the twilight doze that proves more than elusive when they’re working, when he hears it,

The knocking.

Johnny jerks in his arms, body readying in fight or flight, while Simon holds completely still. Listening. Waiting.

A second knock never comes.

They’re both already out of the bed, and Simon’s already got the handgun that he keeps under the side table in his hand as he keeps a hand on Johnny’s back by the time a few seconds pass.

He stands in front of the door, one hand on the handle, Johnny half around the corner.

“Open it.” He whispers behind him, and Simon pulls the door free, half raising the gun, expecting something on the other side. Something or someone intending to harm them, harm Johnny. Take him away.

The door opens to an empty hall, and Johnny frowns eyes darting over Simon’s shoulder, trying to see.

Who knocked? Who-

His breath stops in his chest when he sees what’s at his feet.

A baby?

“Who’s… is that?” Johnny starts, then stops, staring down at the little infant who blinks at them, mouth half open. There’s a bag next to the carrier, and a piece of paper on the baby’s lap.

A note?

Johnny reaches for it instantly, Simon keeping a grasp on his forearm until he reluctantly lets go. It could be a trap, it could be a bomb, it could be a ploy, a bio weapon, a-

“Si.” Johnny holds the thin paper between trembling fingers. He looks stunned, confused, and passes it to Simon wordlessly.

“Hey,

I can’t do this. I tried. I’m sorry.

Her name is Bee. She’s perfect. Take care of her.”

-Darling.

[skynapple]

5 More Minutes

If there's one thing Xavier has, it's a tendency to be jealous. Even if it's against the world itself that gets to experience her while he's asleep. Being asleep means he doesn't get to see her sleep, watch the breaths she takes and hear the beating of her heart, to feel her warmth, all of which tells him she's real and alive - that she's here.

He knows one way or another, their time is limited. Whether it be the universe, Astra, fate, whatever it was had a tendency to pull them apart at the last second. Humans had such excruciatingly, exhaustingly short lifespans, and there was her... condition to worry about. That, and he was not immortal -not quite the same way he once was- and time was running short. Sleep meant precious, precious time was being wasted, time that could be well spent with her, and building some semblance of a life with her.

But sleep was a vicious enemy. It was savage, merciless, and relentless. It knew all his weak points, attacking them all at once. His sore muscles, his pounding head, the ache in his eyelids from a sleepless night before, soft lighting, the inflection of her voice dancing on his eardrums, the feel of her fingers stroking circles on the exposed skin on his forearm, their peaceful living room. He was armorless against it all, defenseless. It was a losing battle, and too often, he was losing the war.

She was laughing lightly, tracing his jawline with her fingers. "Xav, you can't keep your eyes open."

"Mmmm..hmm." He lowered his head into her shoulder, it felt like lead. There was a heaviness growing in his chest.

Not yet. Not now.

"I thought you wanted to play that new board game..."

"What? Xavier, you're mumbling. Come on, babe. Let's go to bed."

He couldn't contest. Knowing he'd never last, he grumbled a defeated growl and surrendered to the softeness of their sheets, and all the other ways that sleep often pulled him to surrender.

He woke hours later to a coolness and stretched an arm in panic at the empty side of the bed. Rationally, he knew it was irrational to think his wife was anywhere but in the house somewhere. Irrationally, there was a deep part of him that wondered, always wondered, if it was somehow a dream and he'd wake up on Philos, or alone -truly alone- again, needing to wait centuries to see her face once more.

He didn't have to wait long for an answer, sensing rather than hearing the sensation of someone approaching the bedroom door, then a stream of light that was way too bright poured in, making him nearly blind. Instinctively, he sucked it right out, into his very being. A soft, familiar gasp confirmed his thoughts and he moaned a little in frustration, retaliating by way of ensuring not a prick of light was in the room.

"Babe! I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you!" She exclaimed in whisper, all in one short breath.

"Why did you leave?" He asked flatly, but quiet and soft.

She stumbled her way towards their bed, tripping forward and barely catching the edge, necessitating a flailing of arms to catch hold of the blankets to hold on. He snorted, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her up and into him. After she was fully on the bed, she rolled over on to her side and adjusted herself under the covers.

"I'm sorry, I had some work to do. It was still a little too early and I mean," there was a slight tone shift at the end from apology to a bit of humor, he knew what was cooking at his expense. "Once you're out, no one and I mean no one, comes between you and that bed so I figured I'd let you have a little alone time."

Maybe he would have laughed, had some come back, or pouted to feign ignorance. Not tonight. Tonight he rolled on to his side and slipped his arm around her waist. The light was one of his only weapons, and he'd already surrendered it.

"I can't sleep. Let's chat a little." It was a lie. If he let go even momentarily on his concentration on her voice, he knew he'd lose the fight again. It was like a mental death grip, strangling at his enemy even while already have been fatally wounded. She agreed, and began talking about a series they were reading together. He lost track of the words, trying to concentrate, feeling the ache in his chest as he knew he would not last.

It's not enough time. I don't have enough time with her. Please, just more time. I just need five more minutes with her. I just need ....

His feet were slipping, everything was slipping. A void bubbled up and consumed him, eating at his very soul, clamping over his concentration like a heavy lid on a pot. The battle lost, he awoke the next morning, once again alone. This time when he blinked his eyes open, a blinking signal on his hunter watch and the vague differences in the room told him where he was, and what time it was, and what state he was in.

Another dream.

He shot up, and prepared for work. He would take his five more minutes by force if he had to. Pulling out his phone, he texted the woman of his dreams.

"Almost ready for work, give me five mins?"

[abiiors]

haunt // bed - pt. 1

a/n: a while ago, i wrote do me a favour after which i said, i would write a matty hate sex fic. well this is it (and perhaps a bit more than anyone asked for), read dmaf again if you want to refresh your memory, or don't. there are 3 parts to this + an epilogue. i also know very little about western weddings, so ignore the inconsistencies lol.

a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3

minors dni! part 2, part 3

wc: 2.7k

see u in an hour xx

charli’s text flashes on your screen, illuminating a small corner of the dimly lit room. it’s not that late in the day, in fact, it’s quite early—only about 10 am. you’re supposed to be hurrying around the room, checking for any last minutes things you might have forgotten. you won’t be back home until tomorrow after all. yet here you are, surrounded by the things that should have been packed in your bag last night. 

the dress, laid out on your bed, feels like a weapon; red silk slippery enough to slide between your fingers effortlessly. “a wily vixen”, that’s what charli had called you when she'd seen you in it for the first. the thought of that day—bridesmaids dress shopping with four other excited girls—brings a small smile to your face. 

everything laid out here is a weapon really; your four-inch, sharp heels, the delicate and dainty diamond jewellery, the makeup you plan on wearing—blood red lipstick, a perfect shade match for the dress. an expensive crystal bottle of the same perfume you have used for the past six years. 

familiarity breeds contempt. familiarity is also an excellent knife to twist in someone’s gut. because everything here, today, is meant to maul and wound him.

see you in an hour babe, love you. you write back and chuck your phone onto the pillow where it bounces a little before nestling between its creases. you stare at it, maybe your body still yearns for a call that will never come? no more can’t wait to see you up there. no more cheeky selfies in a state of half-undress. just a smooth, black screen.

right then…time to get going. 

charli has been flittering around the room for the last twenty minutes. her white dress fits her like a dream, her makeup is a work of art and her excitement about marrying george is so palpable in the room that at least one person squeals or sighs every five minutes. 

most importantly, the smile on her face is a permanent fixture. and every time you look at it, a warmth spreads through your body. she deserves this—the happiness, the celebration. the happily ever after. no matter how your marriage ended, you won’t stop believing in it for her. 

“so!” charli walks over to you and takes your hand, “how do i look?” she twirls and the dress swirls around her, the tiny crystals catching light and making her shimmer like starlight.

you laugh in response, “like george is about to go into cardiac arrest the minute he sees you!”

the pair of you giggles like teenagers. you can so clearly picture it before it has even happened. the joy and love that will shine on george’s face; his excitement, quiet yet infectious and for a brief moment you’re transported back to your own walk down the aisle. 

small, unsure steps, worried about falling flat on your face in those tall heels, but all of that had evaporated the second you had seen his tear-stained face. and the bright smile that had bloomed a split second later. 

but that’s how long the ache lasts; a brief moment. it’s bad enough that you’re going to have to be civil to him, there’s no need to make it worse with unnecessary nostalgia. 

besides, there’s her to think about. 

she in question is a beautiful, leggy blonde who is at least seven years younger than him. not that you’ve seen either of them today…yet. it’s only because you and charli got drunk one night, four weeks before the wedding, and she felt bad about keeping it from you that matty had a plus one. and that’s how you fell into the rabbit hole of scrolling through this girl’s Instagram profile at two in the morning. 

if you thought you knew his type, you would be dead wrong. physically speaking, she is the exact opposite of you—someone who looks like they belong on a giant billboard in times square, perfect and stunning. then there’s the more questionable aspects of her feed. the flat tummy tea adverts and the paid partnerships with various brands that are always under fire for being unethical.

but that’s the ugly green monster rearing its head. it’s not like you aren’t known for indulging in vanity every once in a while. 

she will be here today, no doubt, clinging onto his arm like a decorative little thing—woah, where did that snide thought come from?! you shake your head to yourself, at least a little embarrassed. he’s not even here yet and he’s already screwing with your head; pushing you back into old jealous and insecure habits. someone clears their throat. 

nora, one of charli’s longtime friends, has her champagne glass raised. a toast. she takes a deep, shaky breath and smiles tearily at the room, about to give her sentimental speech when a resounding knock echoes and cuts her off before she has even begun. 

five heads turn to the locked door and you happen to be standing closest to it. 

‘i’ll get it,’ you tell no one in particular, hand already on the doorknob. the possibility of it hits you way too late. 

it hits you right as his clean-shaven face comes into view. 

it has been ten months. ten months since you gave up the last name healy and changed it back to your maiden name on all your official documents. it had felt like a form of catharsis, getting it done with such urgency back then. but you also remember the days when you would be asked to state your full name and stagger a little at how odd it sounded to no longer have healy in it. to not have a ring around your finger to fidget with. no one to hold you at night. 

but back to now. back to here. 

it’s not hard to see that he has changed a lot in the last ten months. he looks serious; not necessarily sombre—it’s his best friend’s wedding, after all—but mature, more grown up. the grey in his hair, in his beautiful curls, is now much more prominent. the crow's feet around his eyes are more or less the same (and it sends a small pang through you; has he not laughed recently?). his mouth holds—held—a faint smile that’s already slipping, already morphing into a thin line. the exact same face that you woke up to for years now turning into a mask of carefully arranged neutrality.

“charli,” he whispers roughly and then clears his throat, “here to check on charli.” and just like that, he steps past you and into the room where he’s engulfed into a hug by the bride (and slapped on the bum by another bridesmaid but you ignore that for now).

pointedly, you also ignore the sting that comes with being sidestepped so easily. 

you stand by the door, back still to the room, for a second longer than necessary. it doesn’t even register that you’re letting the warm spring air in. is this really how little seeing you impacts him? it must have. because if he’s here then she is also here. 

“tell him i’m fine!” charli’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, making you shut the door softly. “and tell him not to meddle, i’ve got my girls.” she looks at you over his shoulder and throws a wink. your gut tells you it’s nothing but a charity gesture, just trying to gauge the tension between you two. guilt gnaws at you—she shouldn’t have to play peacemaker, she shouldn’t have to worry about two adults behaving themselves. 

“only doing my duty here,” matty raises his hands defensively, “keeping the groom happy.” 

the rest of them tease and taunt him playfully while you take the time to admire—no, simply look at—his suit. it’s nowhere near as nice as the one he wore at your wedding, of course not. but it’s beautifully made, tailored to fit and accentuate his muscles. and there are a lot of those now, that much is evident from the way his sleeves stretch over his biceps. he fills it out nicely, not that he didn’t before, but something about the fabric straining across his arms does funny things to your stomach. funny, you thought that feeling was a thing of the past. then there’s the navy trousers that compliment his backside rather nicely. 

there’s a part of you that is appalled at all these observations you have been making but there’s another part—bored and much more matter-of-fact—that reminds you that there’s nothing under those clothes that you haven’t seen, touched, licked or sucked before. there’s nothing new. he is still the same as he was before, just now with a few extra muscles. 

“go away,” charli’s nudges him gently toward the door. “we’ll be out in fifteen.”

he hugs her just before he leaves, dropping a friendly kiss on her head. after everything you’re glad no one had to pick sides in the divorce. you’ve at least managed to hold the friend group together, even though the same can’t be said about your marriage. 

matty leaves just like he came in, sidestepping you and making sure he’s looking straight ahead. there’s a brief second however—a fraction of one really—when he slows down and breathes in. his adam’s apple bobs roughly and his face struggles to hold the blank expression. 

but it must have just been you projecting right? no one can go through that much in half a second. 

“there you are, darling,” denise walks in on you mid-smoke. “i was looking for you.”

she’s in a beautiful pink dress that brushes her knees and makes her look ten years younger than she is. you blush slightly at having been caught smoking; it’s a recent habit, not one she would be aware of, and you don’t want her to judge you for it. 

“denise,” you try to hide the half-smoked cigarette, “you look beautiful.”

she pointedly looks at your hand and laughs. “my son does enough of that.” then she straightens up, as if bringing matty so casually into this conversation was a mistake. you suppose it was—it does make your heart skip a beat. 

“i just wanted to say hi, darling,” she adds hastily, “and look at you…” her eyes scan you from head to toe, linger on your face for just a second before she smiles again. “simply stunning.”

“thank you.” your voice comes out in a whisper, fighting to get past the lump in your throat. you didn’t think there would ever come a day when she would have to so formally stop by to ‘say hi’. yet here you are, almost a pair of estranged mother and daughter. 

“i don’t…” she starts but shakes her head minutely, “i don’t want to condescend you. but are you okay? with matty bringing that girl, i mean.”

that piques your interest. “that girl?” you stifle a little giggle. “sounds like you don’t like her…”

denise shrugs, leaning against the wall and looking at the bushes in front of her. “she’s okay, i guess.” then she takes a bit to smooth out her dress. “but she’s not you.”

“dearly beloved…” the officiant, charli’s godfather, begins, which you tune out instantly. weddings are lovely and romantic, wedding speeches are dull and boring. besides, like it or not, something else has captured your attention. 

you stand behind the bride, holding the ring she’s supposed to put on george later. and right in front of you stands matty, holding the matching platinum band in his hands. adam and ross stand behind him, smiling and occasionally laughing along with the rest of the guests. you tried it at first too, to only keep your attention on george—who looks very handsome and beams wide the whole time—but it’s impossible when you feel your ex’s piercing stare right on you. 

you would have thought he would stick to the little ignoring act from before. instead, his eyes have lingered on you from the second you walked down the aisle as a part of the processional. tracking your every move, every small step. frankly, it’s insulting. does he think you would ruin the wedding as some sort of diabolical revenge against him? you scoff internally; of course, he would think such self-centred thoughts, it’s just all about him, after all.

you raise an eyebrow at him. what’s your fucking problem?

he smiles back; an arrogant curl of his mouth that turns his face from sweet to insufferable within a matter of seconds. you, his eyes seem to say, you’re my problem. 

well too fucking bad then…

you huff and look away to the side at the guests. it’s only about fifty people from both sides. just family and friends—a lovely kind of intimacy the couple had asked for. you smile at george’s parents who sit in the first row. his mum dabs at her eyes, clearly overwhelmed with emotion. and behind them sit denise and tim. right next to her. 

she’s exactly what she looks like on her instagram page. dainty and beautiful, picture-perfect elegant. her whole face looks like it could be hand-crafted by the gods (or very expensive surgeons according to the snide little voice in your brain) but her eyes are bone dry. 

that’s because she doesn’t belong here, your brain chimes in. not among your friends and your family. 

well, ex-family…

her name doesn’t immediately come to the forefront of your mind. all you know from that drunken night is how charli made you block all her socials at the end of it. as if you were going to go back to them again and again. as if you have no purpose in life other than obsessing over your ex’s new girl. 

she sighs, then looks out the window with a bored expression on her face and you have to focus your attention back to the bride and groom before you do something drastic. not before you catch matty looking at you from the corner of your eye, however. 

not just at you…he’s staring at the plunging neckline of your dress that shows off your cleavage wonderfully. with the big window to your side, it’s so clear to see every little detail of his face—his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip (he’s unaware that he’s doing it. you know that for a fact). his pupils that are blown out wide, making almost the entirety of his eyes look black; dark and hungry. 

your mouth curls into a smirk, arrogant enough to mirror his own. well, this is interesting. 

matty’s mouth presses into a thin line. even now, after you caught him so red-handed, he’s trying to deny it. but you don’t miss his ears turning the telltale shade of pink. 

“...and i promise to love you for the rest of my life.” george’s voice breaks on the last word, the tears flowing freely but he smiles through all of it. in front of you, charli’s shoulders shake. they haven’t even put the rings on each other yet and they’re already emotional. it makes you laugh, and surprising, you feel the tears escaping your eyes.

i promise to love you for the rest of my life. that’s what matty had said too. i promise to dance in the kitchen with you and do all my silly little romantic gestures. i promise to never let you fall. i promise, i promise, i promise…

so many of them unkept, so many of them just pretty words spoken on a perfect day in front of a tearful audience. 

“i do!” charli squeals before the question is even finished, making everyone laugh. a wet chuckle escapes you at her infectious joy. 

“do you, george, take charli to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asks. 

“i do,” he says patiently and charli sticks her tongue out at him. 

you sincerely hope they stay like this for the rest of their lives—polar opposites who complete each other. not people who are so similar, they don’t know how to exist in the same space anymore. 

matty smiles, first at the couple and then, shockingly, at you. husband and wife he mouths. 

jarringly still, you smile back. 

i would love to hear what you think 🤭

[howlsofbloodhounds]

You ever thought about the fact that, if Killer retains his SAVE, LOAD, and RESET abilities he's, like, basically a necromancer but for whole ass universes?

Like, he could genuinely go into any universe, reset it to Frisk's fall, kill them for good (aka convince the Player that their game is bugged by spawn killing them until they give up), and voila! The universe is fixed!

Like, I don't think he'd actually do it (especially considering the fact that to him Players are basically gods and he doesn't seem to want to challenge them) but I do think that if this possibility is ever revealed to others there are quite a few people who'd try to pressure him into it.

Perhaps not, like, Dust. 'Cause he's already too far gone to think there's any fixing his universe. But what about Horror or Cross? (It probably wouldn't work with Cross since there is some far greater bullshittery going on there, but he'd definitely nag at Killer until he at least tries).

I'm firmly of the belief that Color would never pressure him into it. But what if word spreads? What if it reaches Dream? He definitely could use something like that, and it would be for the greater good. I don't even think the pressure from him would be malicious, but Killer's not in the mental state to take it well.

And if the rumor spreads to someone like Error, he may be incentivized to get rid of him. As for Nightmare, he'd probably double his efforts to yoink him back.

I also don't think that Killer would be a fan of using any of those powers since they're heavily related to Chara and his trauma. Like, no matter how this goes, no matter if he agrees to help or not, he's gonna have a shit time.

Holy hell, no matter where this guy goes, someone just always wants to use him as their weapon, huh. Can’t he ever just catch a break.

And id imagine both the idea of going against Players, saying no to saving universes (because he’s trying to be “good” now and “good” people would save universes right?), and actually saving universes which actively goes against what he was made for would create an absolute shitstorm of psychological, mental, emotional and behavioral regression in killer.

color is definitely gonna have to step up and defend killer against being used again. killer is already struggling to think of himself as a person let alone a “good” person, it’d be so easy to guilt trip him when he’s in stage 1–knowingly and intentionally or not. And it’d be so easy to take advantage of him once he’s in Stage 2 and too apathetic to care about his own well being.

Because yes it would definitely improve his standing in the eyes of the multiverse and it could do a lot of good, but not only would it draw in more people who want to use him, and would once again set him back to viewing himself as a weapon. Different from a killing machine, but still nonetheless someone’s machine.

He’s already struggling under Nightmare to not kill, because the Boss needed people alive for negativity and yet killing is Stage 4’s first instincts.

And putting him in a similar situation as the one with Chara and Nightmare is just asking for his soul to tip over into Stage 4 permanently and completely losing himself. Perhaps this is the situation that sends him mentally regressing back to the early days with Chara even.

{ @stellocchia }

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 1

You're a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.

Here it is, the first story. Chapter numero uno. No smutty stuff yet, but it'll be incoming. If y'all like it, I'll keep posting. It will be a series. A long one, the plot needs to thicken. Bonus points if you can tell where the lyrics are from XD

3K Word Count

Chapter One- Are You At One, Or Do You Lie?

You stood on a patio, gripping your fresh mug of coffee as you gazed out towards the vast landscape that lay to the front of you. Sleep had eluded you all night, and when the decision had finally been made that you weren’t going to receive a restful slumber- you groggily made your way to the kitchen of mountain home for a source of fuel. Bundled in your favorite zip up hoodie and some fleece lined sweatpants, you made a strong cup of coffee and slowly made your way to the best part of the home (at least, to you).

This place you called home was far from most’s idea of humble and conservative, but to you it was a dream, and it was the perfect place to escape your tiny city apartment. Those who you trusted enough to bring here, upon their first visit could not believe that the slummy 600 sqft. apartment you slept in within city limits belonged to the same person who owned this chateau. It was easily ten times the size, housed your selection of transport handily- and allowed you to tinker and build to your hearts desire- in your free time. 

Free time was a concept that had eluded you the past 8 months. This was the first time you had been able to escape the demanding requests of what allowed you such luxuries- your job that you had once loved. It allowed you to live this lifestyle of multiple residences, cars of your dreams, and a comfortable living since your early graduation from college, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for that. Of late, the very job you swore you owed your happiness and gratitude for had completely drained you of all satisfaction you once held. The switch to a new management company and new bosses has made your life a living hell, and you were simply exhausted. You had spent the last year helping to roll everything over for this new ownership group, working tirelessly and many times staying at your corner office in a posh downtown Los Angeles high-rise, sleeping on the sofa that sat across desk.

Being a high ranking executive officer for a government-trusted security firm, you saw everything. The early exit from college sent you straight to the military- quickly earning the respect of all around you, and you worked the ranks within your 6 years in the US Army as fast as anyone ever had- particularly for a woman. Holding the title of a three star general was sheer insanity, with which no one thought it was a possibility to obtain a rank that high, that quickly- not without the drama and rumors, at least. That is what made you discharge with honors, quickly accepting your current position as the Chief Executive to Internal Affairs, which was a fancy way of saying you were in charge of the clean-up. You handled all internal affairs, information leaks, and other messes that someone’s lackadaisical attitude or poor judgment had created. You were also a secret weapon, of sorts. Many mistook your title as one where your hands never got dirty, you would have someone handle your “dirty work”. Oh, the fact that you handled it personally messed with many of the poor soul’s minds with whom you had to scour their mistakes and tie up any loose ends. 

You were leaning up against one of the main support logs with your steaming cup, a timber that held the weight of a massive roofline, shielding your best mountain view from too much weather. The only lights on were the under cabinet lights in your kitchen, which was 30 or so feet behind you, behind a wall of glass that you demanded the house be built around. You had all but built the majority of the house yourself, the lack of control was too much- only contracting out the major structural aspects and work that was too involved for you to do alone. You had also purchased a fair amount of land surrounding your escape, to the tune of a few thousand acres. You wanted to ensure the utmost in privacy, and also security. Your career ensured that you made more than a lifetimes worth of enemies, as you more often than not cost them their jobs, at least.

Sometimes you cost people all but their lives, but made them wish you had just taken that instead. To this you had long since steeled your emotions to this, as it was a part of the business. The land included a large lake- so even on frigid night like tonight, you found solace in coming outside with something to warm your hands, while gazing at the reflection of the mountains and the nighttime sky reflecting in its calm waters, your boat barely moving against its dock. As you found yourself becoming more and more entranced by the view in front of you, the ever so slightly lightening of the sky before you and the vibration of the watch on your wrist told you that you needed to try and get at lest a few hours sleep, so you begrudgingly turned around, and placed the half empty mug of coffee in the sink, before slinking over to your sofa and flinging your exhausted form onto it, and turning into its back for a nap. Today was going to be a big day, so you needed some rest. 

Your eyes opened right before your alarm went off on your cell phone, and you slowly sat up and groaned, muttering a “fuck” to yourself before standing up and stretching your sore body. You shuffled off to the master suite upstairs, quickly discarding the hoodie and sweatpants before walking into the shower to fire up its multitude of jets and shower heads with steaming water. You desperately needed to rinse off the lack of restful sleep and freshen up for your day.  You grabbed a fresh towel from the linen cabinet that towered next to your side of the sprawling double vanity. The combination of wood and stone always calmed you- and it was evident in how this home was designed.

The shower you stepped inside of appeared as thought it had been cut out of a mountainside- with stone ledges holding all of your favorite soaps, shampoos and conditioners, and made you feel like you were showering in a waterfall. As the water cascaded and massaged at your aching form, you grabbed onto your soap of choice for the day, and lathered it all over your tattooed, chiseled body. Your parents had never been happy with your decision to tattoo the majority of your body, particularly the back of your neck. That had been the final straw of disappointment from you- they haven’t spoken to you since. Your childhood was highly conservative, as your dad was a southern, religious and military man himself, and your mom was the epitome of a housewife. She would bend to his opinion and will, as though she had no say of her own. While you deeply loved your mother,  you could not stand to see how her opinions and values disappeared over time- being taken over by your strict fathers.

It’s not that you really mind that they cut you out- as you had always longed for your own sense of being, and hated living in your fathers shadow. The tattoos were at first seen as “acting out”, but they quickly realized that it went further than that, and you weren’t going to hear any of their disapproval regarding what you did with your body. The short hair dyed in any and every color, piercings that came and went, and ink were your way of displaying your current state. As you turned around to shut off the water, you reached out of the veil of steam that was flowing around the shower, and grabbed the towel hung on a convenient rack just on the outside of the showers walls, made to look like dead wood. You peered over at the large mirror, slicking back the dark brown and blonde streaked hair, leaning on the counter to truly see how exhausted you look. “You look like hell, Y/L/N.” You say to yourself in the mirror, before carrying on with your morning routine. 

Opting for a navy blue pinstripe suit, with a black button up, you mussed your hair in the mirror, giving it your signature tousled look, before turning to weave the brown belt through the loops around your trim waist. You grabbed the matching pair of brown shoes out of your walk in closet, and slipped them onto your feet before turning and looking at your appearance in the mirror. You had always been an athletic kid, and the myriad of sports you were involved in growing up allowed you the luxury of a muscular build on your tall frame. You weren’t insanely tall, average for your family, but taller than most.  You looked down as your watch vibrated on your wrist, reminding you that you needed to leave soon- otherwise your commute to work would take you past your typical start time, which was not the impression you wanted to set for the new bosses. You quickly spun around on the hardwood floor, grabbing your cologne from the wooden shelf, and spraying it onto your pulse point and wrists before grabbing the keys hanging below and making your way out of the bedroom and towards the other wing of your house- where all your toys were kept. 

Typically you wouldn’t escape unless you had at least a few days to spend here, as this was seriously out of your way for a commute to work. But you needed the respite. Work had been abnormally stressful for you, as you were planning for a massive undertaking at work- a new security project that required the best of the best- so you were “volunteered” to be the only person for this mystery operation. You arrived in the warehouse of vehicles that were varying degrees of extravagance- from classic cars to modern exotics, you had your bases covered. You walked past them all, climbing a spiral staircase the the opposite end of the garage, and opening a hefty steel door and walking out to your helicopter. Your days in the military afforded you many things- a pilots license being one of them. You quickly climbed inside, placing the headset hanging from the ceiling next to you onto your head, and grabbing the aviator sunglasses on the seat next to you before switching all the necessary toggles and firing up the machine. You announced your presence to the nearby air traffic control tower- located in the neighboring city, before gently pulling the joystick between your legs and slowly raising the vehicle off of the ground, and up towards the city. The two hour flight to work would be plenty of time for you to get your mind into work mode.

You swiftly landed the helicopter on the rooftop of your workplace, only to be greeted by your new boss, as well as your assistant, Kris, waiting for you a safe distance off of the helipad. You hopped out of the copter, re-buttoning the top buttons of your pinstripe blazer, and walking towards the pair. Kris gently smiled your way, handing you a large cup of coffee, for which you were thankful. You nodded her way, raising your eyebrows so they could just be seen above your glasses as you too a sip of the liquid, then letting out a long sigh after swallowing the drink. 

“Thank you.” You spoke quietly, and turned to your direct supervisor to shake his hand. 

“Y/L/N. Good Morning, we have a lot to do today. I hope you are prepped and ready.” He lifted his head slightly, as he tried to make it like he was taller, so he could look down towards you. 

“Yessir. I’ve been prepared for the last two months, sir.” You replied curtly as he turned and stalked back to the doorway that would descend back down to the executive level of the office. 

“You look like shit, Y/N…” Kris whispered to you as you both walked behind your boss, a slight look of worry on her face. She had been one of the first people you met after you discharged from the military, and moved to Los Angeles. You had actually gotten her this job as your new assistant as she was one of the few you knew you could trust, and your former assistant had kept trying your patience and trust. She was dressed up more than usual, wearing a tight black pencil skirt, that fell just below her knees. It was slightly split up the back, and allowed you the slightest view of her toned thighs. She wore a dark green blouse, and her blonde hair was wrapped up in a bun, with her black glasses framing her piercingly grey eyes. That was the first thing you had noticed about the woman when you first met- how her eyes seemed to be so colorless, yet full of emotion. You both had tried the whole relationship thing- but with your lack of comfort within yourself to fully admit you were gay, and years of pretending you weren’t, being in the military and with your conservative parents- you had both decided that you couldn’t be together, but were mature enough to recognize that you both were good friends, and wouldn’t let the failed attempt ruin your friendship. But, the brief glimpse beyond your hardened, tattooed exterior allowed her to read you like a fucking book. And you hated it. 

“Thanks, Sherlock.” You smirked over your coffee cup, as you approached the elevator to take you down towards your office. 

“You’re working too much.” She stated flatly. 

“No, I’m only doing what is necessary.” You state, and she rolls her eyes as you peel the glasses off your face, setting them on top of your hair. You briefly glance her direction to notice she rolls her eyes at you before the doors ding open, leading you towards a long marble lined hallway flanked by frosted glass doors and windows. You both walked towards the door that led you to your office.

“You never fly to McCall unless you can stay for a period of time. You flew there to stay the night? That’s not like you.” She was walking in front of you to be able to open the door before you approached it. 

“Yeah, so? It’s my house. I can go if I want. What made you so sure I went there in the first place?” You asked pointedly, not meaning to come out that rude as you crossed the threshold to your office. 

“Your car was still in the parking garage when I left last night. I came back up to check on you, but you were gone. I went upstairs and the heli was gone.” She narrowed her eyes in your direction. She always warned you not to burn the candle at both ends, but you did it anyways. 

“You don’t need to check on me. I’m a grown ass woman, I will do what I need to for my job.”

“Y/N, this isn’t about work. You need to take care of you.” She spits back pointedly, before spinning on her heels and walking back out the door towards her office next door. You sighed, rubbing your hands on your face, before removing the blazer adorning your shoulders, and unbuttoning the cuffs to your black dress shirt, allowing you to slightly roll up the sleeves to show some of your inked skin. The holster you wore on your hip that housed your work pistol came off, to be sat next to your on your desk. You sat rather heavily into your large leather chair, taking a deep breath and opening your laptop to begin checking your emails.

You scrolled through every email, skimming them over, deleting the unnecessary ones, forwarding ones to Kris that she could handle, and finally your eyes fell upon the email you knew was coming. There was an attachment that was rather large, and you had to print it off before slipping it into a file and making your way towards the board room two floors down. You heard Kris’s door open as you opted to go down the stairs instead, and opened the door to lead you down towards your next assignment. You took the opportunity to glance at the file as you swiftly descended the stairs, and right as you approached the door to the correct floor, it opened up- causing your eyes to dart up and be met with a discontent gaze of your best friend. You blankly stared back as you walked by her, and made your way to the board room. 

“Did you read any of that file yet?” She asked, shuffling a little bit quicker to catch up with you.

“Some of it, yes. Why are the names redacted? I have the highest security clearance of anyone here.” You turned to your assistant, who shrugged her shoulders, narrowing her eyes as she reached for the folder, to open the pages and confirm what you had already stated. You approached the door to the boardroom, the occupants of the room were obscured by heavily frosted glass, but you could hear a faint conversation. Kris shrugged, not knowing why, and stepped around you, to grab the door and hold it open for you. As you step inside the room, your eyes glance from person to person, astutely taking in their demeanors as your gaze bounces from person to person. First, your bosses, who were starting at you expectantly, and then to the people in the room you had no clue of- except one. 

“Are you ready to start, Y/L/N?” The owner of your company asked.  Your eyes remained locked onto the blonde bombshell sitting at the far end of the table, surrounded by people you assume are her assistants.  You sit down at the opposite end of the table, without breaking eye contact.

“I thought we were a government military contractor, not some for-hire security outfit.” You state coldly as you sat next to your boss.  He glared back at you, giving you the impression that this was not the time. 

“We’re not for hire. But when someone asks for the best, they ask for us- more specifically, you, Y/L/N.” He quipped back. “And I shouldn’t have to remind you, that in this business- money talks. Back to business,” He says pointedly in your direction, earning a smirk from both blondes in your presence.

(CHAPTER 2)

A/N: Nothing like making your boss call you out in a meeting, amiright? Let me know what you think!

[paviastrashyrings]

Hi there, can I...give you a R:1999 request here ?

Request: Pavia met Assassin Reader who's retired after doing countless missions, but still looks dangerous nonetheless. I really wonder about their relationship between the Wolf and the retired Assassin look like, especially reader who had a bit wary about Pavia and his actions toward them.

(Thank you very much for my first request 🎉) I would be delighted to indulge in a reader that is worn through by past work; fortified from a life of dirty work much like our Wolf man. Join me now in yet another sleepless dream of Pavia, dear readers.

He would think of you as intriguing, similar lines of work except you seemed so different.

You were tired, moreso than he, and even a single glance at his guns or blades would change your demeanor towards him.

You were not friendly, but you were not cold...that is, until you were made aware of the weapons he carried on him. The distinct smell of blood follows him around despite all the cologne he drowns himself in. You could never forget the feeling of cold metal, fatal yet beautifully crafted, in your hands as you steeled your resolve and pulled the trigger for the first time

His pack was wary of you the same way you were wary of him, you reeked of danger despite your work having ended long before you met him, the wolves would raise their hackles and bare their fangs at you if you as much as reached a hand out towards him in the early stages of this relationship.

You were fine with abstaining from touch, preferring to not cause conflict, but he seemed to throw himself at you.

He was curious, when he got curious he got impatient. He wanted to know you, willing to deal with how you glared at him if he asked you any questions about your past work.

"Amico Mio! Buongiorno," before promptly throwing an arm around your shoulder, feeling you tense before relaxing a smidge after not hearing any growls.

The problem was not touch, you didn't seem to be uncomfortable with friendly touch, but the moment he speaks of how the rain washes away notes written in blood he cant help but note the tension in your jaw and shoulders.

He would have been a target, you knew from how he spoke and the work he did, someone would have paid big to get rid of him.

The thought terrifies you, especially if you feel romantically towards him.

Speaking of Romance, perhaps you came here for a sweeter dream? If so, I would be happy to indulge, dear readers:

Pavia is a very loud and forward person, he would not be one to label a relationship because he does not seem like the type of person to commit to someone so...commonly.

Pavia was not raised by humans, but by the wolves that kept him company in the dark of that basement, his very best of friends. If he likes you, he will pop up at places you frequent and pester you, weapons concealed so he could (try to) keep you comfortable.

He'll give you little baubles that jingle or shine, and give you cologne that he wears.

I like to think that he likes when you smell like him. If you let him into your house willingly, he'll take note of the shampoo and conditioner you use so that he can discreetly smell like you.

As you get more comfortable with him, he'll test the waters of touch.

Running up behind you without discretion and picking you up, you can scold him after if you did not like it, this was just a test after all and he promises he wont do it again.

He asks to spar with you, rough housing is a way that wolves play after all, and he even knows how to play bow. Lowering his head and hinging at the waist slightly to lean in as if to challenge you; bending his knees and bringing his hands in to guard his face.

The fact that he wants to fight you, in your mind, is bold and nonsensical. You would even go as far as to say he's foolish for doing so, but indulge him, he wants to learn how you move.

He admires how you fight, despite you saying that you never really had to do much hand to hand combat, you carry yourself gracefully. He could watch you mess up a punching bag or training dummy for hours, (he would openly admit how attractive it is).

He's aware that after all your years of work, your body does tend to hurt after a sparring match, its been a while since you even wanted to get into stance again. Without asking, he'll bring your favorite food or snack later on to help you recuperate, maybe even make you gelato based off of the flavor of your favorite sweet.

This was fun to write, but it isn't beta read so forgive me if it isn't up to par. Thank you once again for your request. With a heavy heart I must bid you adieu for now, dear readers, Signed yours eternally, Moon.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me

Spawn! Astarion x F! Ghost Reader\

Chapter 7: Skinny Love

Synopsis: You and Astarion go shopping for a dress and end up stumbling upon a very special Violin. After a week of Astarion avoiding you, you decide to do something about it.

Disclaimer- put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. I did take the picture of ‘Birdie’ and Astarion on my PS5

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you for all your support and love!

 Gods above, Astarion thinks, if you do exist- some assistance with self control would be appreciated.

  This is probably the eighth dress you have tried on and while he can tell you aren’t happy with it, he and his body certainly are. Just like the last dress, and the one before, and the one before that. 

 It had been about a week and a half since you both arrived in Waterdeep and he immediately began teaching you how to fight like a rogue, but also provided you with typical bard weapons like hand crossbows. He bought several different types of weapons for you to try- so far you seem most adept with the Rapier, hand crossbows, and hand to hand combat. 

 However, this means both of you had been excessively close and touching frequently- sometimes in compromising positions that make Astarion want to take you right there- eat you out while you cry out his name like a prayer on the sparring mat Gale so graciously conjured up. 

  His libido hasn’t calmed down- it’s gotten even worse- along with his intense feelings towards you. Yesterday’s debacle didn’t help. Astarion had taken a fairly easy contract so that you could practice sneaking around. Well, the family came home earlier than anticipated and Astarion had dragged you both into a large Wardrobe that was obviously never used and only for show. 

  You had tried to argue  in protest because you didn’t know what was going on- Astarion found himself holding you tightly against his chest, your back to him, and his hand covering your mouth. 

  He could smell your arousal, the way your heart started up again like a kick drum after it stopped, and you certainly couldn’t hide the minuscule moans that had left your lips when he pulled you closer to him whenever someone walked by. He just hoped you couldn’t tell how hard he was against you. 

But do you actually want him or was that just the nature of the circumstances?

  It’s become borderline unbearable- sleeping next to you is a wonderful experience, but he’s often up early trying to tell his body to calm the hell down- his imagination getting even more imaginative.

“What about this one?” 

  You hop up on the little platform and look in the mirror with your hands on your hips before twirling to look at him. 

 You look like a dream- the lavender satin fits your curves in all of the right ways and accentuates your hips, ass, and breasts without being overly showy. It’s modest- the top wrapped in a different direction than the floor length skirt and the straps are meant to hang, unsupported along your shoulders before dropping down along the back- reaching just below the skirt so that it looks like you are almost wearing a cloak of sorts. 

  “You are a vision,” he whispers, the words he’s been trying to hold back all day finally come flying out of him. 

 “So yes?” You ask nervously, while picking at your nails. 

  He nods, too worried he may give a full blown love confession in the middle of the dress shop if he opens his mouth. 

  Thankfully, shoes and purchasing everything was the easiest part of the day- the sun beginning to go to sleep. You kept insisting on letting you do something to pay him back for buying all these items for you, but he doesn’t want you to feel like you owe him a damn thing. 

  You don’t have money- you were quite literally a cat up until two weeks ago. Astarion is more than happy to make sure you have what you need- reminding you, once again, that if it were anyone else it would be a nuisance, but you are worth it.

 You are Astarion’s Godsend after all. 

 “Gods,” you stop in front of a music shop, “look at that beauty.” 

  Astarion follows as you are completely enraptured and away from the world- pulled inside towards the beautiful instrument and you just stare at it. 

“Ah- I see I have a fan of the classics!” The elderly man comes up and gives you a firm pat on the shoulder that Astarion has to help you rebalance from, “Made of Englemann Spruce with Maple sidings. Rosewood fittings along the pegs and the floral pattern as well as the leafing pattern are hand carved.

“It’s not for sale- it’s a part of a little competition I have put together.”

“Competition?” You are practically frothing at the mouth, “what competition!?” 

  The man smiles widely, he must be an older bard and a teacher. Symbols of Oghma are along the walls and Astarion is absolutely thrilled that your first real choice of stop doesn’t have a single attractive individual around. He doesn’t have any desire to fight for your attention.

“It’s not so much a competition, per say, but lots of people have turned it into one. Anyone who walks into this shop and sees this Violin is drawn to it for a reason,” he says, “but only one person is meant for this Violin. It’s waiting for someone- otherwise it sounds like shit.”

  You laugh at the man’s last sentence, “so temperamental.”

“Aren’t they all?”

  You look at the Violin and Astarion studies your expressions. There is apprehension and fear, but also so much hope- so much hope that you may be the one the Violin has been waiting for.

 “Would you like to play it?” The elderly man rasps, “I have never felt it produce such intense energy nor yearning to be played as it is right now.”

“I know,” you whisper, “I can feel it.”

  You take the violin and Astarion notes how you hold it as if it’s a living breathing human being that deserves respect. You hold the violin as if you are worshipping it- not a single sound comes from it as you gently pick it up and cradle it against your face.

“What are you going to -“

 You hold up a finger to the old man- listening to the violin. Within in an instant- beautiful, bright, cheerful music pours from your finger tips and into the violin. 

  Astarion feels the breath he doesn’t need being stolen from his lungs and brought to life as it always should have been- the air feels warmer, but in a soft spring day kind of way. The sun’s rays seem to warm the room even though it is the evening and Astarion feels utter- complete bliss. So calm and relaxed, the store clerk seems to feel the same way.

   Astarion feels disappointment float through the air when you stop playing and he notices how you look at the clerk with wide, desperate eyes.

“Is that what you were looking for?”

  The man smiles and you hand him back the violin- he begins to move to the part of the store where the cases are.

“About 400 years ago- I had a feeling I needed to make this violin,” he says wistfully, “I could never figure out why- it all had to be particularly done in a certain way and when I tried to play it, it wouldn’t produce a single noteworthy sound.

“I thought I did something wrong,” he shakes his head laughing, “but then Oghma came to me and said that the violin is waiting for it’s person, it’s purpose and that I will know when they arrive.”

  He places the violin in a deep blue velvet, hard case and locks it. Before handing it over to you- you look like you are on the verge of tears and honestly, so is Astarion. He is so happy for you he could scream it from the rooftops.

“I’m glad I no longer have to look,” he says with a wink, “take care of the old gal, will you?”

“With my life, sir!” 

  You are giddy and hugging your new violin to your chest- dancing along the streets and skipping occasionally from giddiness. 

  You almost miss the empty park- almost.

 Astarion gently grabs your arm and guides you to the park- a few people are wandering around or sitting at the bench. One elderly woman looks at the sky crying. 

 “Oh, do you want to go for a quick walk?”

“No- I want you to play.” 

  You look at Astarion like he’s grown a second and then third head. 

“I couldn’t,” you shake your head, “I haven’t played for a group in years and-“

“And yet you are still one of the most incredible violin players I have ever heard,” he whispers, not wanting to have anyone else pressure you, “I understand if you don’t want to, but I think it would be a disservice to all of humanoid kind to not hear you play tonight in this park.” 

  You look up at him- searching his face. Astarion is begging and pleading that you don’t discover how disgustingly love sick he is for you. He doesn’t want to ruin your friendship- he doesn’t want you to run off because you can’t possibly ever return his feelings and don’t want to hurt him. 

 “You really think so?” 

“I know so, my Darling,” Astarion says, absentmindedly cupping one side of your face and swiping his thumb along your cheek gently, “you are brilliant and I will take every little morsel of your talents that you are willing to share.” 

  That seems to do the trick- you walk out on the little stage meant for bards and you begin to set up. You make sure the instrument is tuned and you seem to be thinking hard about something. You look at him while placing the violin on your shoulder and pressing your chin into it. 

  One of Astarion’s favorite songs hits the air and he feels engulfed in it. Your last several months of traveling had allowed you to teach him a lot about violin music and how to feel it, not just listen to it. Astarion always jumped at the opportunity to take you to see a Bard in the park after the first time at Baldur’s Gate.

  You know how to play other instruments as well, but your favorite is the violin, so he always made a point of traveling faster if there had been a violinist heading to the town nearby. Gale kept him updated as you traveled- it was very easy to make happen for you.

 He never wanted to walk down the Crypt of the Rothwell steps and see you grieving for your biggest fan, your mother, ever again. She died, not even saving herself, because she loved you so much she couldn’t bear to live without you. Astarion, as much as he wishes he didn’t, understands exactly how your mother felt and he can only imagine the bliss she felt at the idea of being reunited with her again or at least, not feeling the pain of your absence, anymore. 

  You only play songs Astarion likes- he notices. It fills his heart with hope, but he also didn’t realize how many happy, cheerful songs he has taken such a liking to. 

 It is because of you, after all, so it’s fitting that you would be the one to perform them. It sounds better when you play them and Astarion is certainly ruined for any other bard from here on out.  

  His entire life, his soul, and even 200 years of torment seem to have been balanced with every moment he has with you- now you are here and playing violin for him as if it’s the simplest task in the world. 

 After 200 years of keeping his candle alight, you are still helping him to see more clearly- your love, your life, your laugh, everything about you, has given him back a spark he never thought he would find again.

 He would marry you tomorrow if he could. You could travel together, live anywhere in the world, and the possibilities are entirely endless. Maybe one day you will both find a couple of wish scrolls to reverse your respective afflictions.

  You would never know what it means to be unloved again. You would never want for anything because Astarion would find a way for you to get whatever you needed and then some. 

 You play with the same vigor you started with- even though it’s been about an hour. People are gathered around you in awe, but not a single gold coin. 

 Astarion gets up and places a couple coins in your case- others quickly swarming. You look at him and Astarion swears he sees the emotions he wants you to feel towards him.

 Love, happiness, belonging. 

  Several hours go by before you end up back in bed with him- cuddling close. Astarion had complimented you until your entire face and neck were a blush red color and, admittedly, he was thrilled that you had turned down every man who had asked to get to know you tonight. 

 However, there was one thing he struggled to understand.

“Why did you play songs that are my favorite, Darling?”

 You look embarrassed and avoid his gaze.

“You are the only one worth playing for,” you whisper, “and I wanted to do something for you because it makes me happy when you are happy.” 

  Astarion looks at you and you look at him. 

 “You make me happy just by being you,” he whispers, “never change, Birdie.”

  You smile and snuggle closer into him. He doesn’t even try to stop the pleased sigh that leaves his body. You relax significantly more after that. 

 “My mom used to put a gold coin in my case when I played in public,” you smile, your tears a mix of wistfulness and grief, “she said it made other people feel obligated to do it.” 

 Astarion snorts, “that was exactly what I was thinking- great minds think alike.” 

  You laugh and the sound fills his chest with adoration. He is truly truly fucked. Astarion doesn’t know what it’s like to be in love with someone, but this feels pretty damn close to what books describe.

  He isn’t ready to shatter the illusion or go plummeting like Icarus when you ultimately reject him. 

 Astarion is grateful for your breathing evening out and he let’s himself continue to bask in the illusion that you are his and he is yours.

*****************************************************************

   You stand near Astarion’s location and sip on your flute of Champagne- trying to soothe the bruises to your ego as Astarion confronts his mark. He flashes you a look every once in a while- frustration and fear. 

  You weren’t supposed to be there, but you had snuck after him- letting him think you would stay in Gale’s tower and spend the evening with them. 

  You had argued against it for the entire day- he used to take you everywhere, why is he suddenly leaving you behind all the time?

 “You have no proper fighting skills,” he said in exasperation, “and it’s not like I can fit you into my bag anymore- even that wasn’t safe enough!”

  He left in a huff and you waited a while before trailing after him. Unfortunately, he caught you pretty quickly right outside the party- pulling you into the bushes and telling you to go back. You refused and he caved, but you had to stay out of the way. 

  “I want you to know that I personally have no problem with you being here,” Astarion says to the imposter Marqui of Nesmé , “I actually find dogs to be relatively good company from time to time.”

The man looks positively flabbergasted under the pounds of make-up and a disguise glamor- he’s evidently not very good at protecting his identity. You can hardly judge though- Astarion  is all melodramatics with pretty words and funny quips- he could disarm even the most apathetic of individuals. 

  Astarion is also hardly inconspicuous with the amount of male and female attention he attracts- the Marqui is obviously noticing this now too as people begin to murmur around them. 

 You are already anticipating possessing the ‘Marqui’ and dragging him outside before he (or Astarion) can crash the Duke of Waterdeep’s Ball. Duke-what’s-his-nuts had demanded that his guards rid Waterdeep of all Werewolf presence that had infiltrated the citiy’s walls. The order was put out due to the recent slaughtering of livestock and increased infection rate, but his guards failed. He was furious! He wanted to be the one who gets to brag about saving the day!

 Thankfully the Duke isn’t privey to the fact that the stranger who will be earning his gold this evening is like a  character from a children’s book; most of his plans are not thought through- despite how many times he has learned that lesson- and the execution is… well sloppy.

 However, you would be lying if you didn’t say the lack of a plan is rather exciting. You enjoy thinking on your toes- you miss being the ‘brains’ of the operation and getting to be involved, but you will settle for this for now.

  The man says something that you can’t hear- Astarion puts his hand over his chest in shock and takes two dramatic steps back. You can’t help the little bit of laughter that rises up your chest- Gods he’s adorable.

 “Did you just-? Did anyone else hear that!?” Astarion says with fake distress, “this man just threatened me!”

  The other man is panicking now- realizing that Astarion is, in fact, the one fearless asshole who isn’t going to let him leave alive without a fight.

“Will you shut your mouth already!? I did not threaten you! I merely suggested you walk away! I can give you gol-“

“With a knife to my chest, nonetheless,” Astarion says, barely containing his grin and keeping up the act, “I am positively flabbergasted- bamboozled. How dare I be treated this way in my own Duke’s home!”

 “And then attempt to bribe him!?” Some gorgeous woman says before throwing her croissant at the werewolf man, “do you have no shame!? This man is a sweetheart! A hero!” 

  Suddenly multiple nobles are throwing their food or drinking glasses at the man. Red, angry magic begins to flow out of his skin. You are struggling to contain your laughter- how in the hells Astarion managed to pull this off is a mystery to you, but you are enjoying every moment.

 “Fifty years! We’ve been married fifty years!” the unknowing widow cries, “you aren’t my Daniel!”

 “Of course I a-“

 Astarion looks positively annoyed that the woman has stolen his spotlight and is causing the Marqui to panic even more- you had heard rumors that the Marqui had been abnormally affectionate with his wife as of late and referring to her as “My Marquess”. That poor woman has to be so confused.

 “GUARDS!!!!!” Astarion screams, “THERE’S AN IMPOSTER TRYING TO FOOL A DEVASTATED WIDOW!”

 “WIDOW!?” 

  Leave it to Astarion to find the worst way to tell a Wife she’s now a Widow. 

 The Marquess cries out dramatically for the crowd- well known across the town as having a flair for the dramatic. In the meantime, Wolfie is still trying to fix his blunder, but continues to fail miserably. 

“Uh your name is…. Allison?”

 “MORGANA! MY NAME IS MORGANA!”

 The crying continues and the Marquess slaps the man staring at her with his eye twitching.

 Astarion flashes the Werewolf a shit eating grin- the same grin he wears when he knows he’s caught someone in a lie. The imposter is trembling in rage, the Marquess is performing her grief with so much agony that she looks like she is going to pass out, and Astarion continues to Goad the man.

 You look around the crowd with watchful eyes- the scene Astarion is making is attracting more attention by the minute. Yet he’s still incredibly charming while he throws insults in the Werewolf’s direction. All the women and men are practically swooning- if only they knew what a terrible planner he is.

 “Ha!” Astarion releases a laugh of victory, “you didn’t even bother to try to find out his wife’s name? How inconsiderate- look at the poor thing- she’s devastated! Her husband is dead, she has the face of an ancient spinster, and some stinky heathen didn’t even bother to try to play the part right.” 

  The Marquess is definitely more upset about the comment on her looks than her husband being in the Fugue plane. She doesn’t remain sad about it for two long though because the Werewolf summons a shadow blade and shoves it between her eyes. The crowd begins to scream and run around frantically in the ballroom.

 You catch the man flashing you a wicked smile through the crowd and sizing you up out of the corner of his eye before looking at Astarion. You barely hear what he says next as you make your way over. 

“I’d be careful with your next move, Spawn,” the man’s voice is suddenly louder and more malicious, “it would be a shame for your lovely friend over there to develop Lycanthropy, wouldn’t it?”

  Astarion waivers for a half of a second before he goes completely blank. Your stomach turns over at the statement- probably because becoming a Werewolf is one of the last things (maybe even a throw away item) on your bucket list. You aren’t sure you can become a werewolf, but you would prefer not to find out.

  The werewolf and Astarion  continue to face off in the middle of the room, the guards struggling to get past the sea of “innocents”. 

 “Well, aren’t you one to ruin the fun?” Astarion says darkly, a stark contrast to his earlier tone, “now you’ve gone and made it personal- it’s a shame, really. I was hoping we could be friends someday.” 

 “A disgusting creature like yourself? My friend?” Wolfie laughs bitterly as his transformation begins to take over.

 “Pot,” Astarion gestures to the man before himself, “meet Kettle.”

 The man lets out a hungry growl and his skin tears unnaturally.  Now in full Werewolf mode- the Imposter begins to lash out at Astarion who manages to dodge every blow until Mr.Werewolf picks up a woman and flings her at Astarion- he topples over to the ground from the impact and surprise. Wolfie begins to stalk towards Astarion, licking his sharp canines as he creeps forward.

 What happens next takes mere seconds, but it feels like it happens in 10 hours as your legs make their way across the gap, silver dagger in hand, before unceremoniously lodging the weapon into the Werewolf’s throat. A high pitched, pained howl escapes the werewolf’s lips as he keels over. That was so much easier than you tho-

 “GUARDS!” The Duke says as the guards come running towards the scene, “THAT COUPLE NEED TO BE ESCORTED OUT OF MY HOME! Those degenerates are not supposed to be here!!”

  Thought too soon.

 “YOU RAT BASTARD!” Astarion yells, “you hired me to kill him!”

 “Oh did I?” The Duke shoots back with a grin, “and why in the world would I waste my money on the likes of you?”

 You just barely helped Astarion up from his daze when the Vampire is grabbing your wrist and dragging you through the crowd, away from the guards. Eventually he drops your wrist when you are right on his heels, but the guards really aren’t that far behind. 

  You follow Astarion closely as he takes sharp corners and jumps over furniture as he leads you out of the looming castle and up one of the towers. It feels like yards are being added to their escape attempt because the stairs never seem to end. You are beginning to hear the rattle footsteps of guards getting closer to you and your heart rate speeds up even more in fear. 

 “Star,” you manage to yell out between breaths, “what’s the plan!?”

 “I’m working on it!” He yells back at you.

  Astarion suddenly changes course, exiting the tower through one of the doors. You chase him across the ramparts, through another door, and try not to lose your balance as he goes sprinting right down a hallway with an open window.

His plan is to jump!?

  You are suddenly being yanked into Astarion’s chest as he goes leaping out of the window- a scream of terror dies in your throat as you go plummeting towards the ground from the 80 foot drop. With a flash from Astarion’s hand- you go tumbling and you both land at the portal entry in Gale’s house.

 Your head is still spinning, but Astarion is already upright and he looks furious. 

 “What in the HELLS WERE YOU THINKING!?” he screams, you flinch at the sound, “are you trying to get us both fucking killed!? No scratch that- are you trying to get yourself killed!?”

 You don’t know how to respond. You feel frozen and small. 

 He sighs, “this is a mistake- I am going to write Halsin tomorrow after the wedding and see if you can’t live with him for a while.”

“What!?” You sound even more shattered than you thought you would, “Astar-“

“No,” he begins to stalk towards the door, “you can-“

“YOU USE TO TAKE ME EVERYWHERE!” You scream at the top of your lungs, not wanting him to keep bowling you over in this conversation, “and now what!? I’m boring- I’m not enough? What is it!? Because you are not sending me away like I’m a child! We are EQUALS!”

  Astarion looks at you and for the first time all week- you finally see him again. He looks broken all over, like he had only left Szarr palace mere days ago instead of months. There are even tears in his eyes and you move without thinking- wrapping your arms around him- he is quick to reciprocate and hug you even tighter.

 “That isn’t it,” he whispers, looking defeated, “I don’t know if I could handle losing you again- especially not now.” 

“Then why are you pushing me away?” You choke on your own words, “what is going on?” 

  You feel him shake his head- a sign he isn’t ready to talk about it yet. 

“Okay,” you sigh, “if that’s what you want, I will live with Halsin for a while.“

  Fat, wet tears hit your shoulder and you know he’s thinking. About what? You aren’t sure, but you hope he is changing his mind. The last thing you want is to go live with Halsin. You want to be with Astarion and you accepted a while ago that a romantic relationship would never be in the cards for you- despite how in love with him you are.

“No, it’s not what I want. That’s probably actually the very last thing I want, but I am so worried about you that what I want doesn’t seem important,” Astarion sighs and holds you even tighter, “I will start taking contracts that you can go on again so you can keep practicing.

“And it would be nice to have you back,” he murmurs, “it’s all rather boring without you.” 

“Then please stop pushing me away,” you plead and he looks at you- still holding onto each other, “I don’t know what happened, but I feel like you don’t want me around at all anymore.” 

  “I am… going through something personal and,” he pauses, “I just need more time before I am ready to talk about it.”

 You furrow your brow and you can feel your frustration trying to get the best of you, but you have to respect his boundaries.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I promise- I want you around,” Astarion says, wiping away the tears staining your cheeks, “more than anything and once I figure out my, uh, personal matters- I will let you know what I find.”

“Okay.” 

 You leave it alone- Astarion says he needs alone time.

 You can’t help but feel defeated. You had hoped he had the same feelings for you when you played all of his favorite music. Obviously he doesn’t. 

  Alone time usually means he’s off to find someone in a brothel and probably won’t be back until the morning at the latest. He will come home smelling of someone’s cheap cologne or perfume and will surely have a story to tell about the person's bed he ended up in last night. 

   You feel your unwilling tears begin to flow as you sit on the couch on the balcony in the living room- your arms wrapped around your knees and your knees to your chest. 

  Or maybe he is meeting with someone he really really likes and doesn’t want to introduce you. Maybe that’s the personal matter- he doesn’t want to introduce her or him or them to you yet because he’s worried you are going to be an absolute freak about it and go crazy since it’s obvious you are obsessed with him. 

  At least you tried or at least that is what you keep telling yourself. 

“Birdie! How was- wait what’s wrong!?” 

  Oh no, it’s Tav. You really like Tav- you do- but she is Astarion’s friend and is probably going to tell you to get over yourself.

  You wave a dismissive hand, “oh nothing- just so moved by how beautiful the moon is.”

  There isn’t a peep from behind you so you assume she shrugged and walked off. 

“Where is Astarion?”

  Nope, too good to be true. 

“He is, um, having alone time.” 

  You don’t mean to make it sound so venomous.

“Oh? I might need some more context,” she says with an awkward chuckle, “that doesn’t sound terrible?”

 You let out a huff of annoyance.

“It means he’s at a brothel or, considering our earlier conversation, he’s with a person he really likes,” you murmur under your breath. 

  The silence is damning. 

 “Why would you think that?”

  So you are right- Tav sounds uneasy. 

 “Gods,” you hop off the couch and look at Tav with your bloodshot eyes and arms crossed, “I don’t know because I played all of his favorite songs at the park as a sort of impromptu, ‘here is a set for you! The person I care about more than anything else in the world’! Oh by the way- THIS IS A TRADITIONAL WAY A BARD PROFESSES THEIR FEELINGS!!!!

“We fall asleep in the same bed, in each other’s arms and up until the day we went fucking dress shopping- I really thought I had the right idea. Obviously…. I was wrong.” 

  Tav is just looking at you and she looks like she has no idea what to say to you. You just shake your head in defeat.

“Good night Tav,” you say, “I hope this can stay between us.” 

 You go past the shell shocked woman and go marching back upstairs to your shared room with Astarion. Tav told you that you were welcome to any room if you wanted your own, but that was when Astarion wanted you around. Maybe it’s time to take her up on the offer. 

  You pack your stuff together and drag it out the door towards the next room over. You catch a glimpse of Tav who looks like she’s panicking and has no idea what to do.

“Oh um that room is going to be occupied!”

 You look at her lamely, “when?” 

 “Uh two days from now.”

 “Okay,” you say flatly, “then in two days I will clean everything up for you and find an inn- if that’s alright with you.”

“You really don’t want to stay with Astarion anymore?” Tav says with a nervous chuckle, “maybe you should talk to him before you-“

“There isn’t anything to talk about Tav,” you snap, immediately regretting it, “I-I am sorry. I- please. I can’t keep humiliating myself like this.” 

  Tav looks extremely conflicted.

 “Okay.”

***********************************************************************

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

Tag List: @n3rdybirdee @fandomarchiveilyd @dajeong @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @bitchstarion @hereliesblackdragon @pebble-bb @preciouslittlebhaalbae @lavvyan @beepersteeper

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Pillars of Eternity" - Morpheus x Wisdom!Reader

[TW: kidnapping/captivity, blasphemy, mentions of sexual assault, nudity, graphic description of a rotting corpse]

[Sandman-inspired playlist] || 🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

[Next part: 'The Just and the Wicked'] ['Que sera, sera']

SUMMARY: In a spell-go-wrong, Rodrick Burgess manages to summon you: Wisdom incarnate. Noticing a strange and quite unnerving change in the world, Morpheus ventures into the Waking World to investigate, only to find someone he's always been looking for.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 9k (oopsie daisy)

Oh, you're just in time! Come, sit beside the fire, warm yourself. Did your travel go well? Hermes walked with you, you say? That is just wonderful! Back when I was a wanderer, he showed me many shortcuts, both in this world and leading to others. If you happen to meet him again on your journey back home, please send him my regards.

Why I summoned you? Well, I'd like to tell you a story. It's one of my favourites, actually. Tell me, do you think dreams and wisdom have anything in common? You can be honest, I won't tell The Circle's Magister of Oneiromancy. No? Nothing in common? I used to think that too. "How can fantasy and reason have any similarities?" I'd ask. But have you never wondered why oneiromancy is such a recent field of study? Even more important question: why do we find answers to the banes of life in our dreams? Of course, the Magister will give you plenty of plausible excuses but the truth is, none of it existed until a few centuries back. What reason and fantasy have in common is just that: oneiromancy. So far, it's the only shared work of the Endless and the Pillars of Eternity. What are the Pillars? Have I never told you about them? Oh, you have to forgive me, I'm an old man. Well then, let me briefly explain to you:

There are four Pillars of Eternity: Wisdom, Decay, Abyss and Aether. They created life and with life came the Endless. Unlike the Endless, however, the Pillars do not mingle with humans. They rarely even meet each other. The Pillars are the only force keeping our universe steady. They were never born, so they will never die. One day, they shall end this plane of existence and create a new one. What about God, you ask? Well, they are the God. The Holy Trinity was just a huge misunderstanding of reality as the early humans thought that Abyss and Aether are one entity.

Abyss and Aether are, actually, the oldest of the four Pillars, although so much time had passed that neither of them knows any longer who is older. But that doesn't matter for now. Both of them were always frail. In fact, so frail one would take pity on them and share their meal. Abyss had skin of the darkest shade you could imagine, while Aether's was so white it nearly made her transparent. They each held a weapon, a symbol of their power: Abyss carried the Aegis of Darkness and Aether held the Blade of Spirits. For the longest time, the universe was only them - two equal forces but not equal entities.

Then came Decay, the most beautiful boy you ever did see. One of the old poets wrote about Decay as "beautiful like the Trojan horse". Marigolds would sprout from his fingers, wolves and deer would sit side by side just to watch him pass. He is the cycle of life and death, a balance that allows the world to carry on. Decay's weapon, the Bow of Existence, is told to end and create life as he pleases. He could aim his arrows at our world and soon all of us would turn into walking corpses, spouting rotted venom with each ragged breath.

And the strangest of them: Wisdom. Her name, however, quite poorly represents her domain. She is everything that is arcane, that lies beyond the material world. The very magic that you so fondly study is her gift. No, it's more than that: she is what we call magic. Wisdom's siblings never quite liked her for she knew the secrets of their powers. Those that have been blessed to see her say that she's always holding the Spear of Ages but I know that to not be true. It is told to harness the arcane wisdom of all universes past, present and future. Some even go as far as to say that it's the only weapon capable of killing any and every creature, no matter how eldritch they are. In fact, Archangel Michael once told me that it was Wisdom's spear with which he killed Satan.

Remember the last time you visited and I told you about the Endless? Well, one time the Endless and the Pillars met, changing our world in a way we are yet to witness and understand. A charlatan named Magus managed to capture Wisdom with magic The Circle will not teach you. Sometimes I think they don't quite know it themselves but it's for the best. No one should be able to harness such strange power. Curiously, the said Magus did not die in some horrible way like many did before him casting that spell nor did madness gnaw at his old mind. But that's not important. Alas, without Wisdom to guide creation, the whole world began to fall into chaos. Magic became uncontrollable, even the powers of the Endless started to falter. Perhaps, that was the reason why Dream ventured into the Waking World to investigate that commotion...

Lucienne had finished briefing Morpheus on the current affairs of the kingdom of Dreaming but she didn't leave immediately after as she usually did. Instead, she stood slightly sideways to him, pondering whether to stay or go.

"There is something else on your mind, Lucienne." His voice was carried by the loud echo of the overwhelmingly empty throne room. "Speak."

She let out a sigh. Her gaze met his for a second before she looked away for a short moment, the last reflection of whether honesty was appropriate at the given time, only to look at the King again. "My lord, I can not be sure whether it's something worthy of your attention."

"Let me be the judge of that."

Before she let him in on the secret, Lucienne shortened the distance between her and Morpheus but in moderation - he was sitting on the stairs and had she walked a few feet farther, Dream would have to look up at her. It was simply wrong, for the librarian to look down on her master. "There is something strange happening in the Waking World," she revealed in a low voice as if she was expecting prying ears around every corner of the palace. "Prayers are no longer answered, magic is wreaking havoc..."

"Yes, I have noticed dreams and nightmares seeping into wakefulness," Morpheus confessed in a reflective tone. Lucienne wasn't sure what to think about his thoughtful voice; clearly, Dream was at least partially aware of the strange commotion and had spent quite some time thinking about it. Something about this subject made him stand up and slowly stroll around Lucienne. "I admit I can not tell the reason for such a breach between realms."

"If I may so suggest, my lord, perhaps Wisdom...?"

Morpheus suddenly stopped. He watched Lucienne's face for a moment, studying her expression. A cold silence filled the throne room as if speaking that ancient name was a transgression against entities incomprehensible to the creatures of this plane. "No one has seen the Pillars for millennia, Lucienne. They do not care about the affairs of other realms."

"They created this universe," she argued. "I'm sure impending doom that is not caused by them will get their attention. Magic is, after all, Wisdom's field of expertise, so to speak."

"Even if she was willing to take an audience, I do not know where she resides. Firstly, I shall visit the Waking World and see this unrest myself. Perhaps there is no need to seek out the Pillars."

The Lord of Dreaming was a steadfast man and so Lucienne did not bother attempting to change his mind. "As you wish, my lord Morpheus." She slightly bowed to him before leaving.

Burgess mansion was drowning in a tense silence - the same type of quietness that takes over a stalked prey. Staff didn't engage in their usual small talk and gossip anymore. Instead, they'd give each other shy, anxious looks of worry and fear as if each of them wanted to make sure that everyone else was feeling as much dread as they did. It was the calm before the storm but no one could quite tell how far from them the black clouds of rolling thunder were. Each time some odd sound resounded throughout the mansion, no matter how quiet or loud, housekeepers would immediately stop whatever they were doing and stare in the direction of the basement door. Cold sweat run down their spines.

Rodrick thought that the Corinthian's trustworthy look was quite suspicious. Somewhow, the man in glasses reminded the Magus of a sleazy salesman, who manages to sell surprising amounts of an outrageously low-quality product. Nonetheless, a more naive part of him longed to listen to what the blond stranger had to say - even to simply satisfy his curiosity but, perhaps, Rodrick knew somewhere deep down that he had found himself in a land of strangeness never before discovered.

"I'm afraid you got yourself a bigger fish to fry, mister Burgess," Corinthian stated with a polite smile. "You have captured Wisdom, one of the Pillars of Eternity. She and her three siblings are what you call 'God'."

A feeling of dread in Rodrick's abdomen only grew in strength - he was hearing about things never mentioned in the occult books he had studied so feverishly. Necronomicon itself never mentioned something close to "Pillars of Eternity".

But for now, Magus couldn't care less about Wisdom's familiar connections. "Can she bring back my son?"

"Personally? No." The Corinthian maliciously waited for Rodrick's expression to turn grim before he continued. "But if there is a way to make that happen, she knows all of them. The problem might be getting the bird to chirp."

"Oh, that should not be a problem," Rodrick gritted through his teeth. Was he already reliving all the imaginative tortures he was going to subdue her to?

The Nightmare, however, seemed greatly unmoved at the viciousness seeping from Rodrick's mouth. In some disturbing way, his face appeared brighter, suddenly, as though he was pleased with what he was hearing. "Do yourself a favour, mister Burgess, and chain her with iron. Lock her in a circle of salt and black tourmaline. Otherwise, the bird might just fly away."

But Rodrick was not a fool, perhaps a little too proud but never naive despite falling to the stranger's charm. He was right to submit the Corinthian's claims to generous scepticism. "How do you know so much about her?" he asked with a slight squint in his old eyes.

That polite smile the Corinthian so often wore never faltered. "Let's say I'm a distant relative of sorts. Goodbye."

Watching the blond man leave, Magus pondered what business the Corinthian had with making sure that Wisdom didn't escape any time soon. He came to the conclusion, that if she was as old and powerful as the stranger claimed, holding her captive was enough to gain Rodrick allies as powerful as they were inhuman. Therefore, even if she ended up not helping him, there surely was some otherworldly horror out there willing to fulfil his wish in exchange for her. But before that, Rodrick had to at least try and make her cooperate.

Waking up, you felt something coarse and cold against your skin. A shiver ran through your body and only then did you realize there weren't any clothes covering your skin. Contorting yourself into a fetal position in an attempt to fight the discomfort, you finally opened your eyes to look at wherever you had found yourself.

The room was dark - a dirty window the size of a bar of soap was a laughable excuse for a source of light. Judging by the painfully rigid and coarse floor, you must have been sitting on concrete. With each breath, your nostrils were filled with the stench of mould. When your eyes adjusted to the tomb-like darkness, you began noticing white lines around you. They seemed to come together into some sort of occult or alchemy symbol. Circles, triangles, hexagons...

"Metatron's Cube," you whispered to yourself. You could recognise your own creation anywhere but considering you hadn't drawn this one, there was a genuinely demented scheme operating in this realm. What's worse: you never bestowed this knowledge on humans.

The sound of a metal latch being lifted stopped you from your small investigation. As the door's rusted hinges moved, a deafening creak resounded in the concrete cell. A man with a halo from gas lamps behind him stood at the threshold as though he was the messenger of some unspeakable forces. He slowly stepped into the confines of your prison, showing only half of his face as the other half was still drowning in the overwhelming darkness of the place.

With just one look at the stranger, the enigma of your own magic being used against you became clear as day: "You tore your soul for this."

He, however, disregarded your statement. "I am offering a fair trade, Wisdom." Rodrick put an odd accent on your name as if he had expected you to be shocked at his insight. But you were a little too loyal to the name you had been given to be surprised at his knowledge. Seeing as he in no way impressed or intimidated you, Rodrick's expression fell and a disturbing shadow danced across his face. "You will stay here, imprisoned, until you bring back my son or tell me how to do it."

Humans... you give them one finger and they bite the entire hand.

"Such an act is against my brother's laws," you informed him. Decay was an entity difficult to please and so it took all four of you entire aeons to come to the consensus that currently controlled this universe.

"I do not care for any laws. I only want my child back." Rodrick stared at you with squinted eyes but it was not an expression of scepticism: his cheeks were raised in contempt and, thus, his eyes appeared smaller. He took a few steps closer to you but remained wise enough to not cross the line of the Cube. It would have been a very painful disintegration if he had. "Regardless of price," he added after a small pause.

"Most unwise, Rodrick Burgess," you answered slowly. Considering the fact that you were naked, laying on the cold concrete floor in a fetal position in his own basement, your words were in no way more intimidating than a scorned ant.

"I am the Magus," he spat out, "and you will address me only by that name."

But you remained unmoved: his anger could never impress you. "You are only a human, barely a larva in this universe's cycle of life."

"And you are my prisoner," he pointed out triumphantly. Although he hadn't gained anything yet, it seemed that Rodrick Burgess was for now satisfied just with your loss.

"So mote it be," you said in a calm, firm voice.

A heavy sigh left your lips when the metal door shut loudly behind Rodrick. Once more, there was only you, cold concrete and darkness. Inside Metatron's Cube, the world was disturbingly quiet. Visions of universes past and future no longer haunted you. Even realms of this cycle seemed to be out of your reach.

Days went by before the air in your cell changed. Something about this microcosm of captivity shifted but the borders of the Cube prevented you from learning what it was exactly. There was only dread and fangs that resided in the darkness surrounding you.

Then a figure emerged from the shadows. You recognized him immediately by his simple yet characteristic attire but you'd know this Endless without ever looking in his direction: his presence always filled the room with a faint aroma of pomegranate, lilac and old paper.

"Lord Morpheus," you introduced him. "It is not chance that brought you here but consequence."

"Consequence of what, if I may ask?" His low voice echoed throughout the small, empty room. In slow steps, he was making his way towards you.

"Everything. A horizon of events that had never happened and all the timelines that are yet to become true should we step in their direction."

Morpheus knew there was only one creature in creation that could speak in an equally strange and insightful way: "You're Wisdom."

Putting your hands against the concrete, you sat up with knees close to your chest in a pathetic attempt at retaining at least some of your decency. Seeing him for the first time in millennia, you thought he generally looked exactly the same as the day he came to life. "Yes, that is one of the names I was given in this cycle."

Even while he was meeting someone he regarded as nothing more but a tall tale, Morpheus remained ever so expressionless. "Why are you here?"

"I was imprisoned by my own spell; the magic I had created was used against me." You noticed he was coming dangerously close to the chalk line on the floor. "Be warned, Dream of the Endless, not to cross the lines of this sigil. It trapped me but you..." you stopped yourself from continuing. Perhaps, there was no need in informing him of such horrors that do not have to appear in this timeline - to be simultaneously reduced to atoms and locked in one's corporeal form. "I do not have the heart to tell you what shall happen to a creature of your sort in Metatron's Cube."

Morpheus listened - the tips of his shoes were a mere inch away from the border of the symbol. "I presume it is your imprisonment that is causing chaos across realms."

Yes, that was bound to happen. "The magic I breathed into this world is shifting, wandering into places it was never meant to reside in like sheep that scatter in the absence of a shepherd. It's slowly leaving all realms only to gather here, in my prison, where Rodrick Burgess can do whatever he pleases with it. In the upcoming days, humanity shall see the most powerful sorcerer that has ever graced planet Earth."

"Then I shall bring this transgression to an end."

You appreciated his vigour but inaction was often smarter than a well-intended impulse. "No, Morpheus, it is not time for me to leave yet. The magic of this place is too stable. Let it gather, let the scale be unbalanced and then come to my aid. Humans are fickle things and there is only so much magic they can harness with their bodies, minds and spirits. Once Rodrick Burgess gathers too much of it around him, the call to balance my freedom shall cause will make the magic devour him alive. Every particle of him that does not come directly from any of the Pillars will be reduced to nothing."

"What will happen to the realms while you await for the right moment?"

"They will surely be visited by my dear brother Decay. But to free me, you must retain your power, dear Dream, and there is only one way for me to help you do that. You will find my spear by the tallest tree in my home, in Shangri-La. Hide it in Dreaming, in a place no one visits and do not tell anyone about it. Leave it be and the spear shall let you and your domain live comfortably through my absence. Remain brave of heart, dear Dream, for the Spear of Ages shall show you the world through my eyes and it is not something your kind was meant to see."

He fell silent for a moment, clearly pondering the quest he was about to accept or reject. It was truly humiliating for one of the Pillars to be dependent on the goodwill of one of the Endless but at moments such as that one, it was unwise to remain prideful. "If you're trapped, how will I know when the hour comes to free you?" he asked. There was at least one creature in this cycle that wished you well.

"Come back in a decade and I will give you my judgement. Now go, Dream of the Endless, for Shangri-La is far from here and with both of us gone, your realm shall fall into ruin at a frightening pace. However, there is one more thing I'd like to ask of you." Although he was free to leave and save his kingdom before he saves you, Morpheus remained still, waiting. "If Rodrick Burgess so desires to see his son, allow him to but do not discard even the smallest element of truth: paint him in his thoughts as he truly is."

"I will return, Wisdom," Morpheus announced in a low voice before disappearing in a whirlwind of golden sand.

The first time Rodrick heard a questioning "Father?" resound in his ears, he dropped the pen he was writing with. A fearful tremor shook his old body.

He got up from his chair so fast, he nearly lost his balance and had to lean against the back of it. "Son?" Rodrick called out in a trembling voice. It was silence, however, that answered him. With a thundering heart, Rodrick run out of his study to continue the search for the source of the voice he so longed to hear again.

The creature he saw, however, could hardly be called a human. Perhaps the shape was once the corporeal form of a young man but those days were long gone. His military clothes were black with mould and torn in many places. Was it a scrap of material or part of his intestine hanging from one of the holes? Most of his face had already been eaten by necrophages, leaving a disgustingly open view of his greyish-green brain. Fat centipedes and larvas fell to the ground when he moved the remains of his head a little too fast. A putrid smell of something both sour and sweet filled the air making Rodrick feel his stomach tighten so much, its content travelled back up his oesophagus.

"Father?" the odiousness called out once more. His voice was raspy as most of the vocal cords had already been eaten by the happily fat insects. "Father!" the monster cried out upon recognizing his once beloved parent. "Why have you done this to me?!" he sobbed in terror and pain.

Rodrick Burgess was speechless at the horror he was cursed to witness. Hearing blood rush through his head and feeling his heart beating too fast, he leaned against the wall. His terrified gaze never left the terror that slowly limped towards him. A raven croaked outside.

The monster, in turn, never abandoned Rodrick's mind: as long as the Magus was awake, he was cursed to see, hear or smell the resurrected corpse of his son, while none other was privy to this maddening nightmare. It was his personal Hell, catered to his very own taste. The Devil, as one can learn, does not lurk in the details but in every wish and whim that is granted.

Morpheus never had to endure cold. Sure, there were lands of eternal snow in his realm but their weather never affected him. Their climate was, after all, of his own doing. The Himalayas, however, were a strange land and their coldness gnawed at every inch of his very being as if it wasn't his fingers the unpleasant weather touched but his very soul. Nevertheless, he had made a promise and that meant he had to brave through the unending pale dunes.

The day when his eyes saw the pagodas with gold roofs, a sigh of relief left his mouth. You were true in your words: the journey was long, tiring and littered with hardships that made even the Endless question their purpose. As Morpheus walked through the city hidden from the rest of the world, its inhabitants seemed surprisingly disinterested in the unexpected guest. Living at the literal top of the world, what wonders were they privy to? Among the streets of Shangri-La, his heart was at peace and Morpheus at first wasn't sure what to call this sensation. He felt as if he could sit down right where he stood and remain there until you and your siblings end this cycle of life. It surprised him how little regret resided in that hypothetical scenario: Dreaming, after all, would be reduced to ashes should he decide to abandon his current life and stay in Shangri-La but at that very moment, Morpheus had little to no care about his own domain. Even worse: the thoughts and memories of it were swiftly escaping his mind. There was only him and the overwhelming peace caressing his tired bones.

Despite his strange desire, he made his way to the monastery which was placed in the centre of the city. Crossing the threshold, he saw a large patio with a large brass gong placed in the middle. The twelve lamas that ruled Shangri-La probably didn't notice his arrival as nothing about their behaviour seemed to acknowledge Dream's presence. As if completely obvious to the doom looming over the universe, they continued their daily duties of meditation, practice and tea brewing.

The unexpected guest, however, did not remain unseen for much longer as if he was, after all, expected. One of the monks, dressed in orange robes and with a head bald enough to reflect sunlight, approached Morpheus silently. No words greetings or inquires were exchanged between them - the lama only stared at him, awaiting an explanation.

"I came for the spear," Dream announced.

The lama, however, spoke no words to him even this time - he simply pointed towards a hill that towered over the city. A mighty sequoia grew on top of it and Morpheus for a moment pondered how he had missed this very obvious landmark. What he never learned was the fact that until the monk pointed towards the hill, it didn't quite exist - not in this dimension, at least. With his eyes set on the miraculously tall sequoia, Morpheus marched on.

Standing in front of the tree, Dream was rendered breathless at the unspeakable beauty of the view around him. Shangri-La was but an anthill from this distance. The rest of the world, no matter how big someone thought it was, remained covered by thick, white clouds as if this sequoia and the pagodas with gold roofs were the only things to ever exist. The setting Sun, slowly crawling to disappear underneath the cotton-like clouds, painted the sky above him in all shades of fuchsia, red and orange. Morpheus completely understood why you had spent centuries in this place.

The golden spear was lodged in the frozen ground between the roots of the mighty tree above it. Although 'spear' appeared to be a quite misleading name: it was a polearm with two intrinsically decorated sharp blades on each end. A red ribbon was tied to the shaft of this primaeval weapon; even after centuries of withstanding violent winds, it remained untorn.

The moment his hand lay on the weapon, a terrifying avalanche of thoughts flooded his mind - concepts, ideas, words and images he couldn't even begin to understand. He retracted his hand as quickly as it touched the spear before. This sorcery was beyond him, it filtered through dimensions he could never trespass due to the very laws according to which he had been created. Morpheus was akin to an ant that, through a series of misfortunes and the universe's maliciousness, was suddenly cursed with experiencing the surrounding world as a human only to be thrown back into its tiny mind with sensations and knowledge it could never comprehend.

But he knew he had little choice if he wanted to free you one day as well as make sure his realm prevails in those trying times. Feeling an unknown fear in his chest, Morpheus grabbed the Spear of Ages once more. As maddening thoughts ran through his head, he used all of the strength he had to pull the long blade out of the frozen soil. Every inch of his crawling, pasty skin was screaming at him to stop, to abandon this unholy artefact and save himself. But, as it was mentioned before, Morpheus was a steadfast man and so he kept pulling and pulling until he believed he had been doing it since the birth of the stars.

The moon's silver light cascaded off the freed edge. Although the golden blade was covered in intrinsic reliefs, the metal was polished so diligently, Morpheus could see his own reflection in those decorations but he quickly noticed that something about it wasn't quite right; the reflection wasn't his only as though an invisible entity resided inside the blade, a creature he knew was there but couldn't physically perceive. On the other hand, perhaps he was finally seeing himself for the very first time just not in the limited way human mirrors reflect one face. Dreams of the Endless from universes past and future were staring into that golden blade all at once.

If the legends were true and this spear had been used to kill at least once, it must have been the most beautiful weapon to die by. Perhaps its artistry was exquisite enough to calm the spirit of anyone who fell victim to it, drowning in peaceful silence and awaiting Decay's passionate kiss.

Remembering the unsure state of his realm, Morpheus made haste to return to Dreaming, where things were much worse than he left them: entire lands dissolving into oblivion; Dreams and Nightmares confusing their nature and duties, only to seep into the Waking World with no way to come back; dreamers getting lost in their own dreams or stumbling into the consciousness of other people, unable to wake up. Trusting your words, he hid the Spear of Ages somewhere inside the palace all the while following your advice and never revealing its location to anyone. In a matter of hours, Dreaming returned to its state from before his prolonged absence, to its lawful order, but it still wasn't ideal. Morpheus knew that his realm wasn't going to heal fully until you are free and it pained him to know that in the face of a calamity that raised its terrible hand against his home, there was nothing he could do but wait.

Awaiting the decade to pass, impatiently or not, Dream would wander into the dreams of people in Rodrick Burgess's manor. Part of him was anxious about your fate: should you, somehow, be destroyed, this universe would disappear with a snap of a finger. Perhaps part of him was simply sympathetic towards you and the human malice that clawed at your existence. Maybe, in those dreams, he would uncover some way to ease your struggle.

And wandering through their dreams he mostly saw, as one might expect, completely mundane sights of fantasies and terrors. A change appeared only when he trespassed into the dreams of the men that guarded you, who fantasised of defiling you even in their sleep. Morpheus felt a gut-wrenching disgust seeing with his own eyes how low humans were willing to fall, to crawl, just to usurp a fraction of your gift. His mind was incapable of comprehending something so mundane, normal, for you, so there really was no way for him to tell what inexplicable madness would devour their minds should they happen to lay their hands on your spear. The human heart, however, remained insatiable in its greed.

When the first decade had passed, Morpheus travelled to your prison not expecting his visit to be one of many to come. Before leaving Dreaming, he pondered whether to take your spear with him but quite quickly did he realize that placing such an artefact within Magus's reach was more than completely idiotic - he already had something inexplicably powerful in his unlawful possession.

Arriving at the Burgess mansion, he noticed the lack of change in you as in you were sitting in exactly the same spot and exactly the same position as you did ten years prior. Morpheus was about to call out to you, ask for instructions on how to free you, but you seemed to be well aware of his presence even before he had a chance to speak:

"No, it is not the time yet, dear Dream," you answered his never-asked question," but the night is young and I should like you to stay with me until the sunrise if you wish so too. It is unwise to let loneliness gnaw on one's mind for too long."

Wasting no words, Morpheus simply sat down in front of you. Even in a position that was supposed to be comfortable, he appeared artificially rigid. His stern gaze bore into your face in anticipation. A few minutes of hesitant silence passed by before he became courageous enough to make demands to an entity superior to him. Dream's voice, although low and voided of emotions, made the coldness of your prison more bearable: "Tell me about other worlds."

And so you did. Recalling the marvels you had witnessed and created, you told him about realms that had existed countless cycles before this one as well as future ones about which you knew only as much as the afterimages of the event horizon revealed to you. Taken over by the nostalgia of your too-long life, you shared memories of a world you always recalled with fondness:

"The sky was an ocean, deep and impenetrable as you have never seen. There were no stars, no suns or moons, only gargantuan jellyfish that swam across the indigo firmament. They glowed with such a bright light, the land underneath them was never dark. A soft, melodic hum travelled through the light breeze that was always present. People thought it was simply the wind brushing against their homes but if you listened closely, you'd know that it was the creatures in the sea sky singing a blessing to the lands over which they swam. I remember... I remember it always smelt of oranges there."

Quite surprisingly, he listened to your stories without even a shadow of confusion as if none of the strangeness you had seen was enough to surprise him. Well, he was the Dream King, after all, and that meant he was made out of oddness and wonders. Sometimes, when your words were colourful enough, he'd chip in with a story of a similar dream he had once seen. But never once did he laugh at the ridiculousness of your tales, never once questioned their validity or admitted his lack of understanding. In all of creation, finally someone heard your stories and said "I know" instead of "Explain"; your infinite wisdom for the first time united something in place of dividing as it so often happened with minds too small to look past their pride. For the first time since you remembered, it wasn't unspeakably lonely to know what others couldn't comprehend.

"You are a strange creature, Dream of the Endless," you confessed close to the end of the night.

"How so?"

"In all of my eternal existence, you are the first to have the faintest idea of what I mean when I speak. Everyone else lacks the imagination to ponder the impossible."

"I do not believe in the impossible," he answered. Perhaps it was then, in those very words of disagreement, that your fondness of him sprouted so vigorously. "Improbable, perhaps, but human ingenuity showed me that the impossible is simply yet to be uncovered."

And what a wonderful thought that was! That there was always something more to discover, wonders yet to be seen and knowledge to yearn for; that no one truly knew everything and the finality of your wisdom was a generously rounded subjective experience.

The sun was beginning to rise - it was time for him to go. "I will be back," he stated before disappearing and you never quite knew if that was a promise or a fact.

One day, not too long after Morpheus's visit, Alex Burgess came down to your dungeon. He was a frail boy, no older than thirteen, with big eyes that watched the surrounding world as if he was seeing it for the very first time. Perhaps they were part of the reason why he looked so frightened by existence itself. If not, the fact that he was sneaking behind his father's back surely was.

He stared at you in silence for long minutes. Maybe he didn't know what to say or maybe the sight of you made him too scared to open his mouth. "Is it true what they're saying? Are you the Devil?" he finally stuttered out in a quiet voice.

"Devil is a title, not a name, Alex Burgess," you corrected him. "After the fall of Satan, that honour was bestowed on Lucifer, the current King of Hell. I am not Lucifer." Truthfully, it was offensive to even suggest you were anywhere close to that pesky, wayward creature.

"Can you really do it?" he continued. "Can you really bring my brother back?" A glimpse of fearful hope appeared in his eyes. It nearly made you feel sympathy for him.

"Do you think I should?" you returned the question. "Would it be wise, little Alex, to rob the dead of their peace?"

Frantically looking over his shoulder, the boy walked up to you in rushed footsteps. As a token of his complete subjection, Alex fell to his knees in front of you. Staring into those big, teary eyes of fear and longing, you wondered what horrors he had to endure since his brother's passing. "Please, do it, I'm begging you. My father, he... He has changed ever since my brother died."

But even the tears of children weren't a good enough excuse to break the consensus between you and Decay. "And why should Rodrick Burgess dictate who dies and lives?" you asked Alex. It was at least ridiculous to entertain such thought - that larvae would order lions around. Humans rarely considered matters from a perspective other than their own. Maybe it was time to force one of them to be something else than egocentric for a moment: "Which one of you had ventured into Death's realm and asked the boy himself whether he wants to return?"

And maybe Alex Burgess would have responded to your strange, quite macabre, question, had his father not appeared in time. Seething, Rodrick yelled out various curses directed at his youngest child. His hand, although old and tired, grabbed Alex's shoulder with surprising strength, only to forcefully drag him out of your cell. Then, in those big eyes that glistened with fear you, saw his moment of clarity, complete understanding that you were something much older and much more powerful than the fairytale of the Devil people believe in - you could be much worse than the Adversary and his father kept you locked up like a stray mutt. Since that fateful moment, every day Alex begged his father to let you go in fear of your primaeval anger.

The silence of your loneliness, despite being hardly bearable, was a lot more welcome than experiencing another exhibit of human entitlement. How come those low creatures always thought they knew better? As much as they execrated gods, idols and all creatures in between for not granting all of their wishes, they never seemed to entertain the thought that, maybe, it was for their own good.

Every decade that followed, Morpheus would leave his domain to venture into the Waking World; for one night every ten years, reason and fantasy sat face-to-face as if they could ever be equals. As time went by, you couldn't decide whether it sounded like a set-up to a bad joke or the first verse of a life-changing poem. Although, who was to say both variants weren't equally true at the same time? Why did it have to be one or the other?

In any case, some nights the two of you talked but others were spent in a pleasant silence. When the night hours were spent on conversations, it was mostly you talking but it was quite understandable: while you knew what he was, Morpheus had a less than vague idea of the truth behind the myth of Wisdom, the Pillar of Eternity. There was a strange intimacy in being the one known instead of knowing but you welcomed it with the warm curiosity that defined you.

One time, probably as a token of his goodwill or care for you, Dream brought a book from the library in his palace. Out of all the works ever written, Morpheus chose The Trial by Franz Kafka. Perhaps he liked it himself or perhaps he found it somewhat fitting. It was a bizarre thing to stare at him while he read through the existentialist story: not an emotion appeared on Dream's face, nothing that suggested any reflection elicited through the strange tale he shared with you, all the while words leaving his mouth painted a disturbing course of events of a man who tried to defend himself from an accusation he never learned. Nonetheless, his low voice made for an exquisite narration of the through-provoking tale and you found yourself pondering asking him to read more to you. But that was a worry for the future, now you simply listened to his pleasant words.

Hours had passed and the sun was rising, people in the mansion were beginning to wake up, so Morpheus knew he had to leave soon. But before he was gone for another ten years, there was something you needed to tell him or maybe it was him who needed to hear it: "The world would be at ease knowing that it is you who is watching over them while they sleep."

"Thank you. That is a beautiful wish."

You gave him a gentle smile. Was it insecurity or modesty that spoke through him? "It is merely a fact, darling Dream."

And with those words, Morpheus had disappeared, marking another decade when magic run uncontrolled through all of the realms.

The eleventh time Dream visited your cell, he could immediately sense that something was different about that night. Were the wolves howling at a strange moon? Or perhaps moth swayed to inaudible music? Whatever it was, it pierced the air even in the concrete cell.

"The day has come, dear Morpheus," you called out to him. As it usually so happened, you acknowledged his presence before he could make it known. "The clock has struck Magus's last hour. There is enough raw, untamed power within these walls for you to not fail."

Strangely enough, you were in a different position: on your knees, sat on the back of your feet with hands resting on your thighs, leaving your chest indecently exposed. Morpheus felt a knot of shame tighten in his stomach - he should look away, shouldn't he? Redirecting his flustered gaze at something above or behind you, he spoke:

"What should I do?"

"You will need my spear." Still, you refused to look in his direction. Your vacant stare seemed to be admiring the dark, wet and coarse concrete wall in front of you.

"I hid it in the Dreaming as you advised."

Finally, you looked at him. Out of the two of you, he seemed to be a lot more embarrassed at your nudity. Perhaps you simply grew accustomed to the constant shivering and goosebumps. "Or did you?" you asked with a glint of mischief in your smile.

Morpheus was about to answer you, voice his confusion at your vague question, when he felt something weighty in his hand. Sure enough, he was now wielding the Spear of Ages, although he knew for a fact that he did not bring it with him coming to your decadal meeting. Curiously, he noticed that within your vicinity, the primaeval weapon did not torture him with visions and whispers he couldn't understand.

"Break the sigil with my spear," you instructed him, "but first you need to cast a spell, call my name into the void beyond all realms and summon me into this plane. Repeat after me, Dream of the Endless: I name you wolf, guardian of order and arcane laws. I name you heron, pathfinder of skies. I name you moth, the winged god of change. I name you fox, a traveller between realms. I name you earth, the sanctuary of stability and abundance. I name you crow, keeper of lost lore. With this artefact of power, I name you Wisdom, the Pillar of Eternity."

Morpheus tightened his grip around the shaft of the spear. With a strained groan, he pierced the concrete floor of the basement breaking one of the Cube's lines. A loud cracking resounded in the small room and a web of crevices sprawled across the complex sigil, essentially breaking it into countless dismembered lines. From those breaches emerged green light that quickly became blinding, forcing Morpheus to look away. The power, whatever it truly was, only grew in strength and soon it had reigned over the entire mansion. Housekeepers kept their eyes shut tightly, covering their entire faces as they felt the light burning their skin.

Then, a blood-chilling scream resounded through the house. It was, as one might suspect, Rodrick Burgess himself. Having gathered and irresponsibly used your magic for his own mundane whims, the green-coloured power recognized the man as a vessel for arcane force and so it tore every particle, that you had breathed into existence, out of him. Soon, the screaming subsided and only a speck of ash was left where a man once stood. The green light went out, crawling back down the cracks it had originally climbed out of.

Your world became loud again, filled with whispers and images from different realms and timelines. The static noise of universes past and future was never once overwhelming - it was akin to a farmer hearing fields of wheat rustle on the gentle august wind; it was the sound of life, creation walking along its predetermined path.

After over a century of forced, cold nudity, you found yourself dressed once more, in emerald green and embroidered golden ibises. A cape was covering one of your shoulders. As paradoxically as it may sound, it was then that you had felt more naked in front of Morpheus than before as though him seeing you in your arcane exult was more intimate than witnessing its mere fraction.

Nonetheless, it was time for the two of you to leave this den of wickedness. Having effortlessly pulled your spear out of the cracked concrete, you placed your hand on Dream's shoulder and, without a word of caution, travelled across the globe to the place you considered home. Where the two of you once stood among the darkness, now lay glistening, green dust, so easy to be overlooked by an inexperienced eye.

Morpheus found himself among the busy streets of Shangri-La again. Despite decades having gone by since the last time he had set foot on those cobblestones, nothing about the hidden city had changed. In fact, it seemed as if not a day had passed for its citizens. Still, the people of Shangri-La passed by him without ever acknowledging his presence. To Dream's surprise, neither did they acknowledge you. The bright, warm sun rays reflected off the gold roofs of pagodas building the city. A gong resounded through Shangri-La as though the monks were announcing someone's arrival or calling people to prayer.

Seeing you in all of your timeless glory, no longer bounded by foul magic, he fell to his knees - bowing, as one should do when facing the Pillars of Eternity. Although he was showing you the respect you deserved, it felt strange to be reminded of the inequality between you because, truthfully, this dissonance was buried the moment he sat in front of you, asking to be told about lifetimes he never got to witness and landscapes he was never going to set his eyes on.

The Spear of Ages weighed in your hand. The bright sun of the Himalayas danced across its edge, reflecting a mirage of colours both known and yet to be named. With a strange nostalgia, you looked at your own reflection in the meticulously sculpted metal. Entire universes had been born and collapsed before another pair of eyes stared into the golden blades. Eternity was changing, you could tell as much, but in what ways? That knowledge remained beyond you, for now.

"Throughout those decades of chaos, it had belonged to you as much as it belongs to me." With a sharp sound, you broke the spear in half against your leg. Holding one of the blades in your hand, you extended the now-broken shaft towards Morpheus. "You do not bow before me, Dream of the Endless," you announced in an official tone making him look up at you, "but stand by my side as my equal. A friend, if you will." Such a word of intimacy and trust tasted weird on your tongue. It was a flavour you were yet to grow accustomed to.

With a gentleness that befitted hesitation, Morpheus took the half of the spear you offered him as he stood up. In the upcoming millennia, he was going to have numerous opportunities of proving its deadly legend true, raising the primaeval blade against his own siblings but never, until the end of this cycle, was his hand going to strike one of the Endless. Not with this arcane weapon, at least. Now, when half of the Spear of Ages belonged to fantasy and the other half to reason, a new power was called into existence to accommodate this dissonance: oneiromancy, the art of prediction through dreams.

"Wouldn't it be considered rude for one of the Endless to seek out the companionship of one of the Pillars of Eternity?"

"We are peers now, darling Dream," you reminded him. It was utterly bizarre to consider one of the Endless as anything else than below you but perhaps too much time had already passed to dwell on your differences. "All you have to do is ask."

He didn't speak right away as if he needed more time to ponder his request. Only now, having escaped the darkness of the dungeon you were held captive in, did you notice the strange yet captivating shade of blue in his eyes - they were the same colour as the sky sea once filled with glowing jellyfish you remembered so fondly.

Finally, Morpheus took a bold step towards you. The stern, cold look in his eyes suddenly became mild as they studied your face. His face stopped intimately close to yours. "Come with me," he begged barely above a whisper as though he was afraid of anyone else becoming privy to the desires of his heart.

"That is not a question," you answered equally quietly.

"Allow me to rephrase: will you marry me?"

Staring at him in thoughtful silence, you couldn't help but smile. Some part of you knew this was going to happen the moment he stepped into the confinements of your prison for the very first time. Perhaps, the curious resemblance between his eyes and the strange sea sky was more than a random occurrence. "It is not chance that makes you say this but consequence."

His face lit up with amusement or curiosity. Dream's lips, too, contorted into a smile but it seemed to be a reflex rather than a conscious choice. "Consequence of what, if I may ask?"

"Of things that I have done," you answered. In a truly tempting fashion, your arms circled his neck. You leaned in to whisper something in his ear, making Morpheus sharply breathe in as he felt your own breath against his skin: "And as a consequence of everything that you have done, I shall tell you 'yes' without hesitation."

How do I know this story, you ask? Well, of course they themselves told me! I could ask my father to tell me any story ever dreamt but so often I'd demand to be told the very same one over and over again - the tale of how he met my mother.

Growing up, I was always headed on an expedition to find the Spear of Ages, at least one half of it but I never did. As Dreaming and Shangri-La are far and wide, the weapon was nowhere to be found. "The spear can not show you anything that you don't already know, Mimir," my mother used to say. Perhaps, she was right.

But the day is growing shorter, dear student, and you mustn't linger beyond nightfall. I bid you farewell. May you dream of wisdom and may you be wise in choosing your dreams.

TAGLIST: @deniixlovezelda

[fareehaandspaniards]

Writing this headcanon post took me a VERY long time, because I usually write everything in one go, just "typing" as many thoughts and images as I can and then "pouring" it into a Microsoft word document and feeling like a genius xD First, when I met him and his references in the game for the first time, he was… unpleasant to me 💀 Very much 💀💀💀 And then hyperfixation happened, which can now be seen on my blog 💀💀💀… Welcome, blorbo #2, you will never be the first, because it is impossible to dislodge Damian from his throne (throne in the form of Gremia)… But you are still my favorite 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 (I changed his portrait a bit and it feels more in-character now)

^me writing

So, my Logarius is a half-pthumerian, half-breed. His mother is the woman on the portrait in the robes of the bell ringers, also pthumerian (I gave her the name Ionela).

As a child she saw the military clash between Cainhurst and pthumeru that took place in the dungeons. Her husband was one of the knights who served Cainhurst faithfully and died early. He was a pureblood nobleman, and his ancestors were among those who had separated from pthumeru centuries ago to establish their own, separate branch of the family with blood drinking and luxury. Ionela and her husband had produced two boys, twins, Rogerius and Rutger. Ionela had a good place at court and even had close relationship with Annalise's mother, the past queen of Cainhurst, and there was a kind of friendship between them that helped Ionela stay near royal family, since her husband had been a source of influence before. And both boys were granted the title of page, both were to become knights. Roger and Rutger both closely communicated with little Annalise, and even though the princess lived surrounded by governesses and teachers, the three sometimes played together. Roger was more closed - he dreamed of his deceased father, for he knew what a glorious warrior he had been. He had tried to be more manly and strong since his childhood, when Rutger was more romantic and prone to fantasies, tenderness and feelings. Little Rutger had sympathy for young Annalise, and Annalise had eyes for young Roger (it was mutual). (Oh no, Fareeha is making up love triangles again.)

I read that this ^^^ is a portrait of Logarius/King Cainhurst from the time when the two were one (actually, from that fact comes the fact that to me they are twins). So Rutger and Roger's appearance can be imagined based on the portrait. I really like to think that young Rogerius and princess Annalise might have been in love with each other the way children can be in love - very pure and innocent. He may have even kissed her on the cheek once, and it remained a little secret between them, which would later dissolve into all the grief that would happen to them. In any case, all three were gradually growing up. Rogerius served as a page to one of the nobles, a knight as worthy as his father, and that man was the very "foreign" executioner whose gloves have been passed down from generation to generation that we find in the castle.

I know that the executioner of Cainhurst and the executioners of Logarius are two different things, however, in my vision Logarius was very much inspired by his first mentor, an executioner from southern lands. Also, I was initially confused about the executioner in the castle. In my vision, the executioner is supposed to be an unsightly figure, someone who "cleans up the dirt" by executing transgressors and traitors. He was supposed to be a very strong and cruel man, cold-blooded and used to death, living in the shadow of the nobles. However, reading the Japanese forums led me to think that the Executioner could have been a VERY honorable man? Even an honorable knight, maybe even close to the affairs of the royal court.

And it just so happened that young Rogerius served him as a page, helping with weapons, learning fighting techniques, and preparing for knighthood. And part of the ideology of the executioner, whom I named Manuel, was passed on to Logarius. More specifically, it was his ability to kill quick and mercilessly and his ability to unmistakably identify people whose blood starts to deteriorate and lead them to turn into a beast and be cursed. And also interest to blood and anatomy... Young Rogerius thought a lot about blood back then. There were too many things occupying his young head. He grew up without a father, like his brother, but inwardly suffered more from it. While his brother, Rutger, reached out to the rest of the nobility and was sociable, Rogerius looked for a mentor in everyone, the one person who would be ONLY his (a kind of possessiveness), and in simple words had huge daddy issues.

Serving to an executioner, he saw more than once people turned into beasts because of blood, and also...

"It is said that the nobles found immeasurable delight in the dances of these vengeful specters"

(I can understand them. But he couldn't). Rogerius even began to take a certain dislike to Annalise because of this. Rogerius was also intrigued by his own roots as a pthumerian, but his mother restricted him from trying to learn more. Ionela had long ago renounced her heritage and did not want her son to seek knowledge, especially after the military clash there was a "taboo" on the subject of their ancient history.

Rogerius was very close to his mentor, and after growing up a bit more, even experienced a heartfelt affection and even passion for him. In general, daddy issues of Logarius for me is a very important detail of his personality, because a kind of "father" he will be looking for during his whole life, and this aspiration influenced him a lot.

The longing for roots and the rebellion against the foundations of Cainhurst made him (already a withdrawn introvert) live with thoughts in his own head, where he tried to envision the world as a much better place than it was. And in his vision, the best way to "cleanse" the world was to eliminate all those who carried curse. However, he kept these thoughts to himself. All through his youth he had served faithfully as a squire, and his mentor Manuel was very pleased with him. And he was his first lover, which strengthened Rogerius' attachment even more, and later made him "idealize" the image of a bloodthirsty and apathetic executioner.

As time went on, the bond between Rogerius and his brother became increasingly fragile. Despite being twins, they became very different. Sometime around his 16th birthday, Annalise was crowned on the death of her mother. And from that point on, despite her sympathy for Rogerius, they stopped seeing each other altogether. She had too many responsibilities, and Rutger, who was courting her and preparing for future knighthood, was prophesied to be her husband.

Roger's obsession with his own ideas, his slight fear of blood, his honed ability to kill PEOPLE, not beasts, made him very superstitious and suspicious from a young age. I mean, he began to give things their own meaning, hidden meanings, and also, when his beloved mentor passed away, dying from the claws of a bloodsucker, Rogerius took it as a sign.

^ Bill Cypher LMAO

To this day, I still wonder - the Radiance - what is it? Is it the voice of the Great One we don't know about? Since it's an existing Rune of Caryll, obviously Logarius has some sort of connection to divine providence after all. My headcanon is that this rune, or rather the shining eye, is something that came to him in dreams. You know - a recurring dream? On the fifth or sixth time, you already realize what's happening in the dream and just observe the events (just recently I had such a dream. It's not related to fanaticism though xd). He may have drawn something from higher matter to him, desperate to find a parent, and also realizing the concept of blood work and the corruption within Caihurst. Perhaps some Great one sensed in him someone vulnerable and sensitive enough to carry the ideals of "purity" forward.

I also had the idea that the Great Ones had nothing to do with it, and Logarius was just a fanatic of his own ideas conveniently falling into the hands of the Church, but Rune! Too much for one Logarius - for all of this to be just his imagination?

Now, he had a vision of the Radiance. The purest it can be, firing all "filth". It sounds a lot like the flames of the Inquisition, of which Logarius will essentially become the head, seeing himself as a savior and righteous man. It's a vision he jealously concealed, trusting no one. Perhaps he would reveal himself to his master if latter was alive. But for now, Rogerius was only slowly going mad, trying to see if his dream was true or not. His behavior many found strange, for he would begin to whisper to the void, and a small offering plate could be found in his chambers. He was slowly sinking into a belief in the golden light that guided and instructed him. (Yes, yes, a huge parallel to Ludwig. However, whereas Ludwig was "bewitched" by the turquoise light of his sword, Logarius sought contact and prayed to the golden eye that came to him. He was now beginning to believe that if something bad happened to him - he was not diligent enough in his prayers or had somehow stained himself with sin)

After a while, Rogerius grew up and was knighted. So was Rutger. (@katyspersonal Remember when you asked me in the tags below the post with my portrait of Logarius in armor??? Here's the context! Sorry it took so many months xD) At this point, somewhere within the castle walls, little Maria is growing up, looking dreamily at the Knights of Cainhurst, dreaming of becoming one of them. After another time, Rutger was engaged to Annalise, by mutual affection and a desire to bear the burden of ruling together (I won't call their union true and only love. Annalise may have been too busy to give vent to her feelings). A year later a beautiful wedding took place.

A castle must still somehow receive provisions and still have knowledge of what goes on outside its walls. I also believe that the royal family of Cainhurst contributed to the founding of Byrgenwerth once upon a time. It would be a reasonable investment for them - keeping in touch with the outside world, patronizing the sciences, and helping a town you want to have friendly relations with.

But one day (years later) the provost of Byrgenwerth - not quite old Willem, accompanied by Gehrman and father of Laurence and several other scholars, requested an audience with the Queen. Willem asked for Cainhurst's help and sponsorship to investigate the ancient catacombs of Pthumeru, discovered near Yharnam. Annalise approved of the idea, the 18 year old knight Maria was seized with enthusiasm and excitement, and Logarius saw it as his chance to finally break free from the shackles of the castle and explore his origins. The arrangement was simple, I think. Cainhurst gives Byrgenwerth warriors and money, and Byrgenwerth gives Cainhurst the relics of their lineage and information about what became of the remnants of the Pthumerians.

During the audience, Laurence's father got a good look at what weapons and medicine Cainhurst has, Willem made new contacts and met the new queen and her future consort, Gehrman met a curious girl and the castle's formidable guardian, Rogerius. Of all the people he saw, Logarius liked Gehrman specifically, he was called "the hunter" out of all of them. He was older, had a very soft timbre of voice and was tense, as if before a fight, always ready to stand up for the people entrusted to him. Logarius even showed him the knights' armory himself, inspiring him to set up his own workshop in the future.

Logarius won't decide to leave his post just yet, but after the visit of the delegation from Byrgenwerth, his visions will be brighter, stronger (and he'll also miss Gehrman a bit. Even though the two of them have spent very little time together, Logarius will miss the man who was willing to listen to him and gently approve of his lectures in a fatherly way. My Gehrman is "father" to half the characters lol).

Laurence's father talked a lot about his theory "On the Properties of Blood". In his dreams, Logarius will start seeing blood all the time and gradually even start his own experiments on it (But his knowledge is based on Cainhurst's teachings, which in turn are based on Pthumeru and Loran and so on). His experiments are less science and more magic. With his sensitivity to blood purity he could serve as a machine to determine if there were impurities in the blood. I think the Blood Saints samples will be his favorite in the future 💀

Using blood magic, he also performed some medical experiments on corpses and sometimes relatively living people. (Like Leonardo da Vinci. Only perhaps less consciously. Like a child trying to mix paints) I think as a trusted knight he could afford it.

Very soon Maria was sent to Byrgenwerth - at her great request and as a "gift" with a few more warriors - help and an offering, and also a reminder that Cainhurst is waiting for results.

I don't know how long it should take for the Fishing Hamlet to happen? A month, a year? But by this point we have the King and Queen of Cainhurst, Rutger and Annalise, and also the King's brother, Knight Rogerius. He is cold, aloof, strict, and keeps his subordinates disciplined (as well as himself). His chambers gradually became a refuge for his religious ideas. The golden light became not just a dream, but part of his personality, an integral light with which Logarius conversed, prayed to, and asked for guidance. A great reminder that "If you talk to God, it's a prayer, and if God talks to you, it's SHIZOPHRENIA (c). (Katy knows what I mean lol)

So it was that Logarius was gradually starting to have. Joking, but not a joke. If he'd even let anyone into his humble abode, perhaps his obsession would have been revealed much sooner? But the knight had no lovers, he rejected the services of palace servants, annoying everyone around him, and his mother couldn't get any communication with her son, nor could she get into his chambers. So there was a real pustule forming inside Cainhurst. So far, however, Rogerius still prayed for a long life for Annalise (his prayers reached heavens!) and his brother, though he thought his twin was a weakling and the queen was too soft.

At certain moment, the letters from Maria stopped coming, as any research from Willem, and artifacts from the upper floors of the catacombs (Byrgenwerth simply Couldn't go deeper yet. Tomb Prospectors don't exist yet).

But one night a carriage does arrive at Cainhurst. Exhausted scholar, more like a madman, he requests a meeting with the queen to offer her an unknown blood sample that Byrgenwerth wanted to withhold. (Laurence's father in my headcanons is a Cainhurst fan, a true simp and adorer. So yes, he stole the blood to bring it to the queen) Logarius doesn't like it, he doesn't understand why royal family should meet a traitor. However, the queen is interested in the new blood.

Next, the idea of Child of Blood probably appears. I can't tell what it is, a desire to regain former greatness? Reunite with the Great Ones through the Child? To bring forth the "Übermensch"? This point is still vague to me for now; perhaps when I write Annalise separately, I'll be able to figure it out. But for now, from Logarius' point of view - his visions and dreams are starting to come true. He sees nobles accepting blood from the queen, sees his own brother's enthusiasm, and sees ancient echoes dancing in the blood. Some nobles are also extremely unhappy with the situation. Normally, a split in noble (as well as religious) society would lead to bloody massacres, but so far both sides are silent, and Logarius tries to talk only to his brother and convince him that all this is heresy. But Rutger has grown too fond of Annalise and too loyal to Cainhurst. And even arguments about their shared true homeland don't help. Logarius sees him as a puppet of an ambitious woman.

Later, Logarius declares that he wishes to help Byrgenwerth with his research, as well as to find the roots of his lineage. And having an excuse, will take a few people with him - those who were willing to follow him. (Importantly - Logarius isn't a Vileblood himself. He fleed to not bring a vow) He didn't lie when he said he would help Byrgenwerth, however, he withheld that he had no intention of returning. Then he had to destroy all traces of his worship of the golden idol and clean his own chambers although he feels uncomfortable doing that even for an urgent reason. There is even a conversation between him and Annalise before he leaves. Annalise by that point is a determined, confident, but still kind woman. And she didn't see his radical sentiments as a conspiracy, because I like to think she still had sympathy for him (And it was mutual. It's just that his expressions of sympathy always look really weird).

Logarius leaves the castle with a few soldiers and even three like-minded nobles. They have all supported his plan, but are yet unaware of the divine power that resides in his thoughts.

Along with Willem, Logarius enters the hidden service of Byrgenwerth and meets Laurence, the son of the very same heretic that ruined Logarius' life lol But Laurence's dislike of his father and the idea of taking the teachings of blood in a whole new direction - fascinate Logarius. Purity of blood, prayers, return to the Great Ones, but as humble servants returning to their patrons - this is how Logarius saw the future Church, the project of which was already maturing between the Provost and his best student. Logarius swore loyalty to them. Laurence managed to get himself the support of a knight by assuring that the future would be based on medical progress and faith. Logarius shared what was happening in his castle, and Laurence and Willem presented him with an opportunity to realize his potential - combining his skills with Gehrman's to become a fighting unit of the future Church.

Maria was not privy to the details (Logarius treated her like a child in a way. He considered her too innocent to know the whole point. He didn't know yet how the Fishing Hamlet had changed her), and neither did Gehrman. All anyone knew was that a dutiful knight from Cainhurst had joined the research to help, and several other nobles along with him. Active research of the catacombs and conversations, developments, projects began. The Order of Executioners does not yet exist. There is Logarius in his heavy Cainhurst armor and his people helping the first hunters. For now, Gehrman's workshop is a haven for all sorts of people. And Logarius also chooses his own weapon, a Pthumerian scythe he found in the Tombs, which becomes the inspiration for the Burial Blade.

Caryll and Logarius inevitably meet. And the result of their crossing for Caryll is series of visions, and he tells Willem about them. Logarius tells young Caryll about his dreams, and then observes a miracle - the young man carves on a tablet the figure that came to him in his dreams, Bill Cypher. Logarius is convinced of his chosenness, his followers are stunned, and Laurence realizes that he has snatched a very large prey. Here comes the apogee of Logarius' obsession with his ideals. Thanks to the discovery of the Rune, he sees the pure truth in his dreams and from this point on he will begin to openly worship his personal idol, and his followers will follow him (This is where the Executioners begin).

I can't say, by the way, that Caryll and Logarius' relationship after this contact was even friendly. Caryll was too physically weak for Logarius to truly respect him, but too important to reject him. But knowing my Caryll's character, the scholar would rather show the knight the middle finger and snort than make contact. Logarius and his teachings have always frightened Caryll. However, Laurence was not willing to listen to any outrage. Caryll initially knew that everything would end in bloodshed, however, he felt that none of his loved ones would be harmed, and so he tried to remain calm.

It was somewhere around this point that Rogerius becomes Logarius, a name he gave himself in order to sever his connection to home. Executioners, a name he chose in memory of his mentor and in honor of the title held by those who had the duty of eliminating and cleansing Cainhurst of the wicked, be they human or beast. In short, he truly believed he was doing the right thing. I think that the idea of the Cainhurst raid was already there between Laurence and Logarius back then. They just didn't publicize it. Laurence benefits from it, and Logarius fancies it his holy mission, even though he feels sorry for Annalise. (But only "Feels sorry" No remorse. Just sadness that she will have to die one day, and he liked her, after all)

Also, during his time with Byrgenwerth, Logarius meets another man. His path crosses with a bandit who hails from Hemwick (and this guy is around sixty y.o.). His body is very strong, but his organism is weak - he smokes from a young age, and also eats whatever he can get. He robs the rich and robs the poor too, he is a misanthrope, a murderer and a man without morals - he has seen too much in life, so he values only strength and the ability to survive. He has lost his relatives, his little son and a wife, so he lives as if every new day is the last. He rarely feels pity, he does not shy away from robbery and plunder, he kills the innocent and the guilty, because he does not care - one day everyone will die. This man's name was Bernard.

They faced each other in battle, and at first they were completely on equal footing. Bernard knew the tricks of Cainhurst knights too well, while Logarius found his quick actions and attacks too reckless. And despite the fact that Bernard was objectively stronger and more cunning than Logarius, the latter came out victorious. The bandit waited for his death, but Logarius did not finish him off - because he was interested. A man of years, formidable and much seen, a criminal, but so empty inside, maimed. And yet there was no madness or bloodlust in him, only indifference. Thus he reminded Rogerius his first mentor very much...

Logarius wanted to help. That's how they learned each other's stories - Bernard told him about himself, his hideous fate and outlook on life, and Logarius told him about his visions and his desire to eradicate the evil that surrounds the city, as well as about Cainhurst and his intentions for the Vilebloods. Logarius will even help him See the Shining, sharing with him what he sees himself to help him find faith. Bernard vows to follow him and Logarius shared his own blood with this man to help.

And so the future Queen Killer joined the Executioners, Logarius' closest associate, a man with many vices, but nevertheless loyal to him and believing in his ideas. And his new daddy. An amusing but funny detail is that when Bernard first entered the Grand Cathedral, several people recognized his face. One had had his barn burned down by Bernard in the past, and another had had his cattle slaughtered. So Yharnam's reception of him was difficult, but did Bernard care? Bernard would immerse himself in dogma and prayer, live by rules new to him, and has a sense in life because of Logarius. He will be able to use his great strength and skills as an assassin for "good".

I really enjoy building headcanons about this couple. As brutal and heartless as Logarius is, he's still a Knight with ideals, raised by etiquette and a strict code. And Bernard is the truest scrap of society, lacking even a shred of nobility. Nevertheless, they quickly established a common language, and Bernard even taught Logarius many "simple" wisdoms of life - domestic, survivalist and even love (together to roast meat or fix the church bench - it's so manly). Also yes, QK's funny habit of running around with no clothes on - has been almost always. He endured the first year after the Church was officially founded wearing the Executioners uniform, but then he'd still unbutton his shirt and throw off his cloak because he was used to the difficulty. By his logic, if you're incapable of surviving without armor, you're incapable of surviving anywhere. Typical Elden Ring player who thinks that leveling up, picking up builds and weapons is git gud Anyway, Logarius got himself a new "daddy". He was very similar to his first mentor - the true Executioner of Cainhurst, but was much more stern than the Gehrman who had impressed Rogerius. Perfection.

They also had the warmest father-son relationship between them. It started unspokenly, they never discussed it. It was just that Logarius was always asking his advice and help (something he usually NEVER did), looking for support, and Bernard was wary at first, and then accepted his new role. And even once stroked his head when Logarius went to sleep on his lap. And it's all very funny, considering Bernard is much shorter than Logarius. And when they hugged, his face was at the level of Logarius' chest.

(eng: "my little asshole" I assume that is the good translation, in russian it's just "my kiddo" in swearing words)

But back to the events.

Early Healing Church was founded. Logarius actively helps with the design and redesign of the cathedrals, and is also passionate about creating armor for Executioners and hunters. Contact with Cainhurst is still intact, with Laurence and Willem creating a semblance of friendship by displaying the fruits of their labors - various types of blood, as well as finds in the tombs. However, the curse of the beast and progress move together. Many more hunters are becoming necessary. No one informs Logarius that the Church is as interested in contact with the Great Ones as Cainhurst, and he is too busy with his idea to see it.

From the neighboring lands arrives a skillful warrior and hunter, expert in the art of battle and just a sunshine - Ludwig, still in a completely sane mind and set up for great deeds and glorious battles.

The Order of Executioners exists along with the Healing Church, but on its own, so they have their own hidden workshop, where Logarius fully realizes his religious mania. They live according to a certain daily routine: pray, sometimes perform bloodletting, and get punishments for misdeeds. And the Executioners are also often engaged in helping Gehrman's hunters - so far, few in number. And the ranks of the Executioners have widened. Originally, the squad consisted of Logarius and several nobles - skillful warriors. Now Bernard has been added to them, and then the yharnamites - nobles and commoners - joined ranks as well. But there is one thing that distinguishes all of them - only those who truly believe in the miracle of Logarius' Radiance remain in the Executioners, because the rest simply cannot stand the harsh training and strict lifestyle. Executioners are also very well fed, a logic close to gladiatorial goes here. More mass means a better chance of survival. Imagine holding a Logarius Wheel for a moment... (Bernard aka Queen Killer is an exception. He is not weak, he is dry-bodied)

Maria and her so-called "kin" from Cainhurst seen each other in Gehrman's workshop, but she senses changes in him. Logarius does not openly state his murderous intentions for Cainhurst, but tries to debate with Maria on the subject of the Vilebloods. And even believes that she will follow him, since she too did not appreciate the appearance of the Vilebloods. But Maria is only intimidated by his radical attitudes, and she does not share the idea of "To cure a sore finger, you have to cut off your hand."

During the events of the Early Healing Church, Logarius has also made some more new acquaintances.

The scholar Rom annoys him to no end. He doesn't even see her, because Rom is mostly at the Research Hall, working exclusively on experiments. But Laurence is constantly distracted by the thought of her, and in addition to progress, also dreams of marriage. Logarius begins to think that everyone around him is idiot or crazy. He sees in Rom the same Annalise that he used to see in all women he knew. And he thinks that a woman's attempts at self-rule won't lead to anything good.

Somehow I'm sure that he and Adeline could be a great couple, or at least acquaintances… I could really ship them. The problem is that in my vision of the story they only met a couple times, but both were satisfied with the fact xD You see, they both get visions and aspire to their Great One, both are rebels, and Adeline on top of that is an aristocrat and a Blood Saint, her blood would appeal to him especially. I think if I draw Logarius/Adeline ship art one day, you can consider - that's it, I've reached my peak of shipping (not true) xD But damn, they'd look so good. Two gremlins. Just a little bit more and I'll ship them

Logarius and Micolash barely knew each other, because Micolash wouldn't want to get caught by a man with a "sense" for impure blood, and who is a two meter tall big-ass macho with a huge scythe… lol. I think it was enough for Micolash that Damian, who served as the Tomb Prospector under Ludwig's command, told him about Logarius.

Now to the Tomb Prospectors. Ludwig! I tirelessly believe he was their original leader, only later to put on the Executioner's cloak. As Logarius stayed in Cainhurst, the Executioners would need a new head… I've written a headcanon post on Ludwigarius before, but some things might change since then. Some points have stayed the same - they disliked each other at first sight. But they quickly grew close. After all, Ludwig was a true knight, the man Logarius wanted to become, and a compatriot of Manuel, the Executioner and Logarius' first teacher. Ludwig had enough experience to take command of a squad of seven fighters at once (and also to recruit them himself from the streets. He believed that it was better to train the ragamuffins to order than to mush the hunters already trained by Gehrman. The streets would be cleaner and the ranks of hunters broader. Only Damian was sent to him by Laurence.) Ludwig was caring and strict as a father to his soldiers, understanding, kind and very cheerful. And this disposition of his also struck a certain string in the heart of Logarius, who needed exactly this kind of man.

The Executioners and Tomb Prospectos were responsible for different tasks, but the people of Yharnam favored the Executioners. Because Ludwig's men were doing sinful things according to old beliefs (And Ludwig himself, despite his big heart, was distrusted and got a bad reputation because of his work). In short, I wrote all of this right here - X.

On top of that, one day Logarius was able to taste Ludwig, or rather his blood ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) And that, too, excited him - pure blood, a true heir to his ancestors, the blood of the lands southern to Yharnam, where people are sensitive to voices from beyond and insight. Except that in addition to the perfect shade of blood, he sensed something weird (the blood from Byrgenwerth that Laurence had injected Ludwig with, awakening visions in him)

Through the efforts of Laurence and Logarius, the Executioners and Tomb Prospectors have grown closer. The two leaders found common ground, and Logarius found another "dad". And if he was interested in someone, he wouldn't let them go. Often they trained together - so the vicar tried to accustom people to the idea that both squads deserve equal honor, as any order of the Church.

Gradually Logarius and Ludwig became secret lovers (I once mentioned that Ludwig callem him "kitten"? Well hi, that's it again. There was a huge room for love and tenderness in their couple, despite the fact that exactly the MOST brutal man in the Church needed those feelings. Logarius could feel warmth aroung Ludwig that he desired so much. But Ludwig didn't know about his plans). Logarius began to dream that when the time came to die for the purity of blood and on the ashes of Cainhurst, he would give the leadership of the remaining Executioners to Ludwig.

Also, Logarius knew Olek (Honestly, one day I'll drop a long-post with headcanons on him too. For now, he's the object of jokes and memes for my husband and myself) . Olek is a fan of pthumeru history. And despite being a child of the streets, he is a man of principles and with a huge desire for education. He learned to read from pthumerian fairy tales, and so has remained fascinated by the mysterious civilization for life (And later, the mad Olek will help the player kill Queen Yharnam in the Chalice). But his relationship with Logarius didn't go well. How so - a descendant of the Pthumerians, and so disrespectful to Queen Annalise? Olek could never understand him and disliked him, and Logarius liked to add to his after-hours training and duty. Just so he wouldn't slack off.

Logarius knew both Gremia and Damian. Gremia had always thought of him as a "pompous turkey" and resented their captain for getting so close to him. Damian preferred to stay out of the way and tried to make Gremia do the same.

Their glorious time together had left many memories and stirred many feelings. But at Cainhurst, too, time was passing. The Queen continued to receive letters from Maria and didn't know that later letters will be faked by the Church so they can hide her suicide. And even Logarius pretended to send news of himself and the progress of the Healing Church, which was considered an ally of Cainhurst.

Honestly, here I'm not sure, did Annalise or Rutger know how this was all going to turn out for Cainhurst? On the one hand, the Church had their two knights at once, but while Maria was known for her kindness and cold temper, Logarius always had oddities. And those oddities were justified by his brother, in an effort to make Roger look good. Rutger believed he had been badly influenced by their mother, and also that it was good for Rogerius to be away from home. Still, I think Annalise had misgivings that Logarius would do no good. However, both she and Rutger, deep down, loved him for old memories from childhood and faithful service.

Once Logarius even visited the family home, letting them know that all was well, and at the same time familiarized his men with the layout of the castle and checked the fortifications and knights for preparation. He had originally planned to betray and give Cainhurst to the Church, giving away all the hidden passages and secrets of the castle, but on his visit he saw Annalise - pregnant. (This is where I get very confused about the time. I don't know how long it's been, and a Blood Child pregnancy - can go overnight, as it was with Arianna, or it can take much longer, I suppose…) So after that, Logarius made the final decision on Cainhurst's fate (fear of women did the trick)

How did he see his assault on Cainhurst? I think he originally thought of himself as of suicider. "Die yourself and take every enemy with you", a "heroic" move to save others from a horrible fate. But to keep the spoil from spreading, it was necessary to get rid of ALL the Vilebloods (Bloody Crow of Cainhurst and Arianna will survive as we know. Arianna would be covered by the Healing Church, as she and her mother left one night before the massacre, and Bloody Crow would be picked up by Eileen).

Bernard promised him that they would die together. Bernard, by the way, became like Logarius himself because of the blood exchange. That's how I like to explain his unnatural pallor and long life. "Edward, you're a vampire!"

Preparations were already beginning for the assault.

The Tomb Prospectors had made a breakthrough, discovering the future Maiden of the Healing Church, Ebrietas, in the depths of the dungeons. The terrified Great One killed most of the squad, and the encounter with her was not at all "glorious" or "prophetic" as Laurence commanded to be recorded. In the records of the Church, Ebrietas was gained by meeting a prophetess (Rom) surrounded by warriors loyal to the Church. And in reality, one of the Tomb Prospectors was nearly maddened by what he saw when he met a Great One. A battle ensued. While this was happening, Ludwig wandered through the catacombs, almost unable to comprehend where he is because the sword was calling him, clouding his mind. Olek showed the first signs of madness, wandering alone and crying out for the blood of his ancestors. And Gremia and Damian saw with their own eyes how the "icon" of the Church and the idol killed their comrades (Ebrietas was terrified :( ).

The sword was gained, survivors were rescued, and Rom got busy contacting the Great One. And Ludwig's mind started to go down. Logarius devoted the remaining of time before the assault trying to ease Ludwig's soul and weaken the relic's influence. And in part, through the exchange of blood and visions, shared dreams - he succeeded. If Logarius had used his gift for good at all, things might have been much better. But so far he had only taught Ludwig to perceive the voices in his head and helped him get used to the discovery.

I think that because of the events that had befallen him at the last moment, Logarius didn't want to leave Yharnam. No, his bloodlust and thirst for fictional "justice" was still strong, but perhaps he would have stayed to look after Ludwig. Everything that happened with the First Hunter of the Church also made Logarius doubt Laurence (I'm not talking about Willem at all. Laurence sent him on vacation lol). But it was too late to change anything! And so he focused on the sacred mission.

The massacre was especially painful for the Queen. In the middle of the night, taking Cainhurst unexpectedly, the Executioners had complete advantage over the castle, knowing where the defenseless would take refuge and how to overpower the knights. I'm not sure to this day, Was the Blood Child born? Perhaps the baby was killed by Logarius, or perhaps it was miscarried and the umbilical cord was carried by the survivors to the Church (as cut content says). Logarius killed his own brother (And it's so symbolic, considering the castle is called Cain's Hill).

Most of the Executioners died in battle, and those few from Cainhurst who rebelled with Logarius suffered a terrible fate - vengeful spirits took them to the grave with them. Breaking through to the queen's chambers, staining his hands with blood, Logarius discovered her immortality, imbued with an aversion to unnatural sorcery. He himself was already beginning to undergo a metamorphosis - something inside him was rapidly changing - his brother's soul was with him now. The anger, the pain, the devastation of Annalise, which formed a symphony with the agony of all the slain, enveloped everything around him. And Logarius already knew that the castle would not let him go - he had absorbed too much.

Logarius gave Bernard one last order - to order the survivors to leave the castle now and never look behind them. Those who disobeyed, looting or doubting, were lost. And as hard as it was for Bernard to leave his master and almost son, orders were orders. Bernard and a few others left the castle, and the bridge collapsed behind them. Logarius put on the crown of illusion and was left to spend eternity among the native winds and snow. Thus ended the siege of Cainhurst.

Going off topic a bit, I've always wondered why the servants in the castle are called servants of Cain? A bit like Mergo's servants, especially since the Japanese version uses the same word for "servant". What if Cain is an Ascended Great One like Rom, someone from ancient times who sent Logarius visions? I've never seriously thought about that theory before, but I don't think it's anything worthwhile, just fun ideas. The soul of his brother and angry kin took possession of Logarius, chaining him to Cainhurst. Logarius assumed the role of king posthumously, still "taking" power, only already over a dead place. Annalise as a child saw Logarius as her chosen one, and Logarius imagined he would be a better ruler than Annalise or Rutger. So their dreams became truth.

The Church, as it always does, wrapped the massacre in a pretty wrapper. The Order of Executioners continued to live on, but lost its mystical beliefs as the spiritual leader was left sitting on the cold roof of his old home. There were many new recruits, including Alfred, and there were only a few True Executioners left, including Bernard, who would return to mercenary service and then fade away, boring Alfred with his tales of Logarius' adventures and all his oddities.

Bernard did not accept the way the Church had dubbed Logarius a "saint" and a "martyr", for him his master was first and foremost a man, but also a naive child, whom he had once taught the wisdom of life, with whom he had drunk together, whose tears and laughter he had seen and hold like a treasure. Bernard shared his blood with him, and afterward truly accepted him as his own son.

The outcome of the Cainhurst massacre was a blow also to Ludwig, who was unaware of what was happening until the last moment (as was the rest of Yharnham). The Cainhurst massacre frightened most Yharnamites - some cheered, some gloated. But those who knew that a vicar was at the very heart of the conflict were shocked (except Willem, I guess. Somehow I think Laurence's ambitions were long known to him)

Also, I might still add that Logarius would not have appreciated Alfred's efforts. Neither the prayers that Logarius can't hear, nor turning Annalise into a bloody mess. I think he put a helmet on her for a reason… We also see no signs of a beating (or at least no signs of Logarius using the Wheel) on the Cainhurst ghosts. So all the murders that took place there can be described as rather ritualistic. Superstitious fear of their own victims and obsession with their ideas. And the violence that Alfred did to the queen was absolutely senseless! After all, the goal was her death, not her torment.

The Logarius/Annalise pairing appeals to me a lot, but they are absolutely doomed by the narrative. She was too young and kind for him to respect her. And it took her going through the pain that Logarius himself brought to her to become a strong and cold queen. Only now she doesn't need him anymore. An absolute tragedy.

I'm also curious still what Annalise's mask is. As I recall, there is no definitive evidence that it was Logarius who put it on the queen? Perhaps her face was mutilated by him and she put the mask on herself? (There is a beautiful ribbon bow on the iron helmet for a reason) Her body does not regenerate, as we realized from the situation with Alfred and the bloody dress, she is only reborn time

Aaaand, my essay is coming to an end, as usual now come the little headcanons:

Logarius' hair has always been a huge concern for him. Such a luxurious mane must really get in the way in battle. And Bernard had suggested several times that he shave his head or at least cut his hair short. But Logarius treated it very reverently, because from his youth he had learned from books all the subtleties of caring for his mane.

Bernard has a photo of Logarius taken in Gehrman's workshop. Gehrman made one for his own little album, in which you can find photos of Laurence, Maria and many others. Bernard asked him to make the second one for him personally. Even though the photo required him to sit still, it captured Logarius's smile as he made a well-timed joke. Bernard kept this photo with him.

Logarius designed the Executioner's armor himself, inspired by the Church's patterns. Also, the silver riveted gloves were his idea, as he was very fond of hand-to-hand combat and considered it the most worthy form of battle.

He always had a passion for the arts, however, he was able to realize it much more during his service to the Church.

His blade, which is a replica of the sword from DS1 and Demon's Souls, I headcanon as a relic of Cainhurst, stolen right during the massacre.

Of all animals, Logarius favored dogs.

The great quote about kindness, as I've written elsewhere, belongs in part to Ludwig. Logarius was very inspired by his kind and compassionate nature and even tried sincerely to follow his example. And the Church attributed the words to Rogerius later.

He has a huge... praising kink. Huehuehuehuehue

From the way he looks in the game, it is unclear which part is his and which part is the King's, as their souls have merged together. However, his amulets are those of Logarius himself, which he wore to strengthen his connection to Divinity.

Logarius' prophecies almost always came true for reasons unknown to anyone <: Whether he was talking about rain or Laurence's future, it all turned out to be true

Whoever you are - you must be an incredibly patient person, or very interested in Logarius. Thanks for reading my huge essay <3 ;_;

[penny-the-pissed-poltergeist]

Jaunedice arc rewatch time time, Let's get this over with

.One of the worst parts about early Jaune is that he's too incompetent to any cool choreography in his fights

.They real did just give the characters video game health bars

.Oh no! Jaune lost to the guy who can casually bully people multiple school years above him, how surprising

.Ren, how the fuck would you know Nora's dream better than her... that makes no sense

.Really hope Ruby had something before or alongside cookies for lunch, that ain't good for you girl

.Velvet really needs to grow a fucking spine but that doesn't make everyone going "Oh he's so bad, it must be so hard for her" while doing nothing any less bad

... Why is Menagerie called that

.I think it would have been neat to make Oobleck a Faunus because his intro is him talking about Faunus lore and it would make him going asking Faunus in his class to publicly talk about their probably traumatic and sensitive experiences with discrimination a lot less invasive (It'd also be nice to a Faunus in power who isn't a traitor)

.The Faunus won the war but nobody ever fuckin acts like they did

.God I love Oobleck

.if Jaune told canon Pyrrha to kill someone, do you think she'd do it. She's 100% down to break Cardins legs

.Why is a Jaune quip the one suicide related thing in this series that actually lands for me?

.Did Cardin know they would be there or does he just like letting the wind in?

.You think a combat school would have good enough background checks to stop some guy from sneaking in but Jaune must have the best counterfeiting skills on remnant. even then you'd think his parents would at least be suspicious sense he had no proper combat training

."I can't do this on my own, what good am I?" You are already training as a part of school dude, stop being a stubborn loser

now on to Forever Fall....

.Ruby dropping the advice that destroys herself later (It's not always bad advice but god it became so toxic to herself)

.Cardin asking for some fuck bees, but not those bees

.Forever fall looking a bit cooler in the Black trailer but I still really like it here

."Professor Peach" Is expanded on in the books apparently but I'm point that out because there's a weapon's teacher called Herold Mulberry who's also only from the books so Ruby herself can't interact with him goddamn it.

.I will give Jaune one thing, He can SOMETIMES be funny, sometimes.

.Cardin's teammates haven't had a single line yet because they an 8th of a personalty each

.How is Nora slurping the sap that fast?

.Cardin calling Jaune "Jonny boy" gives me Maximilian Pegasus vibes

.How did Jaune's aura do that, we don't see Aura or the Aura amp do anything like that again

.Just send two more people away instead of letting them help you fight a giant ass bear because Yang and Blake totally can't deal with some grimm on their own

.Jaune has weirdly low endurance for the amount of aura he supposedly has

.People already say Jaune is "the real main character" but the problem of everyone but team RWBY feeling like the protag is something that crops up with both him and lots of other characters throughout the series.

.Remember kids if you want someone to stop bullying you, just save them from the fucking B E A R

.If someone is just watching the show without outside material, this is the first time anyone says the word semblance, no how short the episodes are doesn't negate how stupid this. Imagine if the first time hear the word mutation in an X-Man show was 8 episodes in, this is just brain meltingly dumb

.Pyrrha, all keeping that from Jaune is going to do is make him over estimate himself

.Oh yeah Jaune will never be a jerk again after this, he definitely learned his lesson. /S

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Something I love about Exile Arc is that it focuses heavily on emotional abuse as the most harrowing aspect of c!Tommy's experience.

Like, yes, the physical torture (both c!Tommy and c!Dream have referred to it as such) started pretty much immediately. c!Dream was always very physically abusive, frequently striking c!Tommy with weapons while he was defenceless and eventually hitting him to the point he didn’t react. And that’s horrific on its own, obviously, but what Exile really focuses on is the emotional and psychological harm done, and the escalating abuse there.

It starts off with c!Dream belittling c!Tommy's feelings and thoughts, and isolating him for large periods of time. As he visits Exile more- something he occasionally didn’t do early on- he started lovebombing c!Tommy heavily, something he did to a degree beforehand with gifts but would start doing emotionally. He began manipulating him to gain his trust, presenting the absence of abuse as proof of kindness and leading him to see himself as uniquely bad, then making him feel special by portraying himself as a saviour and a trustworthy adult figure who was there to help. He began gaslighting c!Tommy about serious events, like Mexican Dream's death, and would increasingly make c!Tommy out to be the offending party and himself the victim, making c!Tommy feel guilty and wrong and ashamed, like he was the toxic party in the situation. He intentionally isolated him, lying to him and others to deliberately lead people away from Logstedshire and to keep c!Tommy unwilling to accept any help when someone did show up. Whenever anyone did while c!Dream was around, he'd worsen his abuse and drag the other person into it without their knowledge, leading c!Tommy to associate visits from anyone but c!Dream with humiliation and pain. On that note, c!Dream was very much deliberately setting rules and organising things to make c!Tommy feel humiliated and ashamed of himself, like it was embarrassing to be the victim of abuse- with infantilising and dehumanising rules, c!Tommy was treated very much like the child he hated to be seen as. It left c!Tommy desperate for any sort of validation, which c!Dream provided by making himself out to be a martyr who was the only one who cared, and he'd lovebomb c!Tommy even further when he fell into that dependence, encouraging c!Tommy to- as c!Tommy describes it himself- lack free will and become a toy, puppet, and/or pet.

Emotional abuse is often downplayed, but it's one of the most damaging forms of abuse out there. It’s insidious, and the effects of it often never go away. Many abuse survivors consider emotional abuse to be the most traumatic parts of their experience due to this, but it’s so rarely depicted as such in media. Physical and sexual abuse are considered worse or more serious than emotional abuse (and even then they’re not treated with respect a lot of the time!), when it’s far more complicated and nuanced than that with each of them causing different but deeply damaging trauma. It’s genuinely very cathartic to see a depiction of abuse that really focuses on the psychological elements, along with other stuff that’s generally not covered by media as much (such as c!Tommy not being anywhere close to a perfect victim yet still being portrayed entirely as a victim who didn’t deserve his abuse at all, or the complex feelings towards his abuse he has), and it helped me process a lot of what personally happened to me. It might be a little fantastical in some areas, but in others it’s so realistic in ways I’ve never even seen before, and I think that’s awesome.

[valiantstarlights]

[Dreamling Week Day 2: Dragons] A New Beginning

This is a The Hobbit AU where Dream is Smaug and Hob is Bilbo. I hope you like it! 🖤

CW: angst (grief, depression, suicide ideation) with a happy ending

Dream basks in the morning sunlight, pipe to his lips, looking just like any other hobbit smoking an Old Toby. Unlike other hobbits, however, his pipe-weed remains unlit. He's really just breathing from his dragon lungs and exhaling smoke from his mouth or nostrils.

On the other side of the garden, Hob is patiently teaching Daniel how to water the plants so they receive just the right amount that they need. His low voice and occasional chuckles, as well as Daniel's frustrated little hmph!s and wondrous little ooh!s serve as a balm to Dream's scarred soul.

He has never expected this to be his life.

Only a year ago, he had been a bitter old dragon, done mourning his wife and son for a hundred years but unable to move on. He didn't know what else to do in his life except wait to die in the place where their murderers lived, surrounded by their riches that mean absolutely nothing to him.

The last thing he expected to come into his life was a thief that brought sunshine with him. And the last thing he expected the thief to do was to sit with him and talk about the world outside the mountain.

And the way that Hob, the little hobbit thief, talked about the joys of food, the journey from the Shire to Erebor, the smell of the changing seasons...

Dream had gotten so used to the awful feeling inside him that he never realized he had been starving. Not just for food, but also for stories. For companionship. For someone to look upon his true form and not feel an ounce of fear.

When Hob the hobbit ("Stupid nickname, yes, I know," Hob had said, eyes crinkling in amusement), with his sunny smile and carefree manner, opened his small satchel and offered Dream some nuts and dried fruit from his trail mix because he was worried that Dream was hungry, it was when Dream realized that the creature in front of him was the rarest and most precious gem of all.

Hob barely had to convince Dream to leave, because Dream himself wanted to leave with him. ("Relocate," Hob insisted.) Hob was, perhaps, the only one who could have done such a task without inciting violence of any kind.

Hob walked out of the mountain accompanied by a dragon in the guise of an elf. And while Dream could have transformed himself into a dwarf, a human, or a hobbit, transforming into an elf felt like he was giving a proper farewell to his wife and son, who were elves.

The entire company was angered by the presence of an elf in their home, and some of them even drew their weapons when Hob explained that, "No, he is the dragon, and he's willing to leave."

Dream could have easily reduced the dwarves to ashes, but Hob had placed himself firmly between the dwarves and Dream, with his back turned to Dream. Ready to defend him and drawing his own blade.

Dream could not help but be more enamored of him. Being a dragon means not needing to be protected by anyone. But that this small being would be brave enough to face more than ten dwarves if it comes to it just to protect Dream...

Dream is not stupid enough to let such a treasure go. He made sure Thorin Oakenshield knows the debt he owes to Hob. Made sure Hob was paid fairly for his services right then and there. He reminds them that he is still a dragon, even if he is currently wearing an elven face.

Thankfully, and despite Thorin's early stage gold sickness, the rest of the company is sensible and honorable enough to pay Hob for his service.

Hob went home with Dream, and a wagonful of treasure. They did not leave until Dream himself was satisfied that the payment is indeed just. And one knows never to cheat a dragon.

The return journey was pleasant. Surprisingly so. With Hob for company, it was like Dream was still a young dragonling with fresh eyes to see the world.

Let the dwarves reclaim 'their' mountain that had once been Dream's in the dawn of the world. Let them squabble amongst themselves and politick and Thorin grow mad with gold sickness--it doesn't matter much to Dream anymore.

He has taken the one truly precious thing from the mountain. And no, not the Arkenstone.

The hobbit thief.

"Dada!"

Dream looks to the side where Daniel is holding up a clump of weeds with tiny flower buds. He graciously accepts the bouquet and lets Daniel climb up to his lap and babble while pointing at the clouds.

"I think he's had enough of gardening," Hob says and sits beside him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, love."

Love.

A thing he has not felt since Calliope and Orpheus. An endearment he has not been called for more than a hundred years. An emotion he had felt growing stronger in his chest ever since Hob came into his life.

Dream, the dragon, living with his new family in the Shire, where there is also neighborhood drama and petty thievery. (No one steals from Hob anymore. Not since Dream reclaimed every single thing that had been stolen from Hob's house while he had been away on his adventure to Erebor, including a wooden button that had belonged to Hob's grandmother.)

Those aside, the Shire is a peaceful, slow-paced kind of place where every day feels like a vacation. There are feasts, and birthday parties, and sometimes Gandalf visits and spoils the hobbit children with a firework show.

(Dream thinks the fireworks are pretty quaint, but follow Hob's instruction to stay quiet about his opinion on the matter.)

But most of all, The Shire is a place where Hob loves to live, where he thrives, and where their family can live and grow in peace, away from all the wars waged by other races against each other.

And so Dream considers this place his home too.

"Hello, Hob," Dream says. He wraps an arm around him, the one holding the still unlit pipe, the one not holding their son and the bouquet of weeds, and gives him a proper kiss on the lips. This morning, Hob tastes of honey on pancakes, and ginger lemon tea. Dream knows he himself taste of fire, but Hob insists that all he tastes is freedom and adventure. Hob is smiling when they part, and is looking at Dream like he still cannot believe he's real. It's flattering. Dream loves his husband so much. "Shall we prepare second breakfast?"

--

Hob does not know it yet, but being mated to Dream would ensure that he (and their children) would live long lives. Dream doesn't think that Hob would hate him for his sudden near-immortality since, between the two of them, Hob is the more enthusiastic one about being alive. Dream is just happy to re-experience life as Hob sees it. They go on to have many adventures in the future, accompanied by their half a dozen children.