#raven's reading nook

[swampstew]

To celebrate the finale of What's the Magic Word? I commissioned @attyrocious for this gorgeous portriat of my King and Queen of the Pirates and Witches😍

ty Atty, Ily and kiss the back of your talented hands!

Read the full story on Tumblr | AO3 | or Wattpad <3

[daniellesreadingnook]

The three books I can currently reading!

The physical books are: “Miss Peregrine’s Museum of Wonders” and “Harley Quinn: Ravenous.”

The kindle book is: “The Sun and the Star.”

[todorokies]

cherry blossoms, tarot cards & chamomile - suguru geto

contents: sfw, fluff, meet-cute at book store, fem!reader, strangers to potential lovers, mentions of curses & whatnot, tarot cards reading,, 1.5k words.

a/n: this one goes out to the hopeless romantics who wanna fall in love in a bookstore aka me (we hear & see you)

spring has sprung as one would say. the pale snow that covered the ground has melted away, which in turn allows the freshly cut grass to flourish.

cherry blossoms had recently littered the streets alongside the sidewalks, with each petal engaging in a unique twirl that fluttered like a dragonfly before angelically collapsing on the concrete.

with spring came along new missions suguru would have to endure either by himself or with his trusted friend —and nuisance— satoru. as curse energy that once accumulated during the toughest season gets released during the warmer seasons.

today was different however, the pair had been sent into town to retrieve a relic from the past of jujutsu history; a two thousand year old book that slipped out of the archives and has been rumoured to be contained in a bookstore hidden in the nooks of jimbocho.

“the warm breeze outside might fix the low oxygen levels in your heads.” yaga sarcastically reasons when satoru made his complaints about the origins of the mission known.

the raven haired sorcerer reprimanded his tone but expressed his concerns in a more diligent manner. anyone with half a brain would know it would take many decades to successfully pawn through each and every bookshop in the jimbocho district for a specific book, that neither of them even have the slightest clue as of what it looks like.

nonetheless, they were shooed off campus with a pat on the back and a simple: “you’ll know it when you see it—or rather feel it.”

suguru now navigated through the busy streets alone, —his white haired companion taking off a few hours ago on his own journey— with both hands in his pockets taking in the simplicities of life that surrounded him while keeping his eyes sharp for any unusual curse energy.

each corner he’d turn the storefronts would be filled with colourful book spines neatly lined adjacent to one another. the harsh sound of crimped sandpaper occasionally made its presence known when a costomer would flip through the pages.

a bitter earthly aroma tangoed with the wind. one would simply scrunch their nose up and turn the other way but for suguru, the olden smell of books filled him with comfort.

elderly couples hand in hand, a few children accompanied by their parents, and the complementary store cats that would linger in the isles or be found curled up on a random stack of books.

after roaming about and checking a few stores for their recent inventory stock, suguru oddly felt inclined towards a particular store that was larger than the others.

he enters, a ring of a bell from above signals his arrival. immediately, the smell of different assortments of tea wafts in and lingers in his nose.

a café combined with a bookstore…that’s definitely convenient. he eyes the ‘ring for assistance’ bell that rest apon the main counter, he lightly scoffs before ringing it.

“how many times do i have to tell your ass, no, you can’t conduct a séance he—” you round the tight, abelit, breathable corner to face the person it seems you weren’t expecting. you slightly jump back in a frightened manner then regain your composure, or more so, your customer service demeanour.

“my apologies! business is slow today and i thought a rather persistent costomer had came back. do you need help with a book or would you like to order something?” you enunciate your words with care, trying to not let any vocal cracks slip as you fiddle with your colourful apron which is a rather stark contrast from your all black work uniform. 

suguru would pride himself as goal oriented man. the kind demands of asking to take a look at your recent stocks to see if the cursed book has fallen onto your shelves nearly wavers past his lips but the faint smell of his favourite tea clouds his better judgement.

“yes, i’d take chamomile tea with honey please.”

“coming right up!” you popped the ‘p’, scurrying off into the back to prepare his choice of beverage. alone with his thoughts again, suguru observed his surroundings with more caution.

the store has a whimsical charm to it. different array of ambiance lighting scattered throughout the establishment, vintage burgundy rugs made an appearance here and there, a few wooden chairs cushioned by velvet and a long couch that looks as if it has been passed down through many generations.

a sturdy coffee table in the middle and of course, the probably hundreds of thousands books neatly tucked in the shelves.

he wonders if you run this big place by yourself, must be a hassle if you do. he also wonders why a séance was mentioned by you in an irritated tone. maybe it could connect to his current mission? he plans on subtly bringing the topic up.

“one chamomile with honey!” you cheerfully announce handing over his mug. you don’t miss the way your heart skips a few beats when your fingers accidentally brush against his.

suguru nods his head to express his thanks. while digging for his wallet he brings up what’s been on his mind, “what was that séance you were talking about before?” he lightheartedly inquires.

you cautiously look over your shoulders and nibble on your bottom lip, as if you were scared someone might hear, “nothing too serious i suppose. these past few days business has plummeted cause there’s been talk about how this place is haunted.”

a small beat passes.

“which it isn’t by the way! just some silly stuff kids say when they wanna get under uncle daichi’s skin,” you grimace.

you then go on a bit of a tangent about how the alleged “hauntings” started a few weeks ago, just about the same time you gotten a new inventory restock. books would fly off shelves, unnerving whispers can be heard, lights would flicker and the atmosphere would turn unsettling.

suguru is unfazed yet intrigued by this, he calmly listens as his sharp eyes never leaves your face. he notices how animated your expressions are when retelling the events; you talk heartily with your hands as well as your voice that creates a certain bass to match your feelings.

he hums as he takes a slip from his mug, “can you show me the known hotspot for these hauntings?” you nod eagerly and swiftly move from your spot at the front desk to the back of the store.

yaga wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be able to feel the cursed book, as the cursed energy in the air multiples a tenfold when they step into the secluded part of the store the lighting couldn’t reach. he wonders how a cursed object this powerful was able to conceal itself from being spotted for so long.

suguru plucks the hefty grimoire off the shelf, small dust particles flying in its wake, “i’d like to purchase this one.” you look at him as if he grew an extra pair of eyes, but quickly shrug off any confusion and lead him back to the front of the store to cash him out.

as you progress his payment you feel conflicted about letting this particular stranger go so soon. holding him up for a few minutes couldn’t hurt, right?

“uhh.. wait, with each purchase a tarot card reading is offered free of charge. would you like to know what the future potentially has in store for you?”

suguru presses his lips in a thin line and sighs. he doesn’t have time for this and doesn’t believe in cards beholding a hidden future, however he is a sorcerer and just bought a book that would be a danger to society if not soon contained. raining on other peoples parade simply isn’t his forte.

he softly smiles with his eyes turning into crescent moons, “hit me.”

you try to conceal your excitement as you bring out a deck bound together by a rubber band. you start shuffling until four different cards slip out of the deck.

death, judegment, eight of cups, and the lovers.

“intresting…don’t be too alarmed by the death card, it could indicate the decay of a friendship that doesn’t hinder towards your beliefs or an troublesome habit finally coming to an end.”

you continue, “judement and eight of cups go hand in hand as your new calls for action may put certain things into perspective for you, as this chosen path may lead to dissatisfaction.”

“and finally, the lovers card is the nice light at the end of the tunnel. someone you can confine in and pour your heart out to; tarot cards can be interpreted in millions of ways so, take what i say with a grain of salt.” you smile as you put the cards away to bid the stranger farewell.

suguru stares astonished absorbing this information, you’re good. he’ll give you that. “well..thanks for the reading and the tea, have a great day.”

and just like that, he turns his back to leave until he stops just in front of the door. “oh, and i can assure you the ‘hauntings’ should come to an end now.” he smirks and waves you goodbye.

you smile until he fully leaves which is when the realization hits that you didn’t even get the chance to get his name, you frown and groan into your palms.

maybe he’ll swing by again…hopefully.

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[dumplingsfordays]

30 strales

blade x florist!gn!reader

genre - fluff

summary - after you fall down into some metal buckets in your flower shop, a certain raven-haired customer happens to be walking by and helps you clean up.

cw!: swearing, blade kinda wants to murder you but ends up changing his mind because he likes uuu <3

note - i hc that blade smells like citrus. no, you're not getting an explanation, sorry lol.

and as always, thank you for reading!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

When you got your job as a florist at Petals and Pollen, you didn't expect this many people to talk to you - you were just there to make bouquets, but most of the time when someone came up to you to ask for a recommendation or advice on what flowers to give someone, your conversations would end in 'hey, are you free this week? I know a great coffee shop that you'd like' or 'there's this cute bookstore a few blocks away, wanna go there together sometime?' or just straight-up 'do you want to go on a date?'. Of course, you weren't angry or anything, but a part of you felt annoyed. Did these people come up to you only because they thought that you look nice, or did they actually want to get a bouquet and they picked up on your personality midway?

Either way, you always declined. You weren't really interested right now, and besides, you had stuff to do. Planning dates wasn't exactly part of your job description anyway.

But one cold autumn afternoon during a thunderstorm, a rather peculiar man entered the shop - his expression wasn't one of boredom or neutrality like most other patrons, it was one of rigid, almost angry determination. He stomped up to the counter with quick steps, long navy hair flowing behind him as he stopped suddenly in front of the counter.

"How do I say 'fuck you' in flower?" he growls. "Use any flowers you need. I have the money."

You blink a couple of times in surprise at the taller man, processing his request. You knew flower language, it's just that you were wondering who it could possibly be for - a nasty coworker? A disrespectful teacher or boss?

Deciding not to dwell on it, you nod and get to arranging the bouquet. From some nearby stands, you pick out some geraniums, foxglove, meadowsweet, and orange lilies, cradling the flowers in the inside nook of your elbow. You place them in a clear glass vase and tie them together with a sunset-red silk ribbon. You feel the man's eyes linger on your fingers as they knot the ribbon in a bow, and finally, you finish the bouquet and hand it to the man.

"120 strales, please," you say, pressing a few buttons on the cash register. The man quirks an eyebrow.

"No dahlias?"

"Dahlias? Why would you need dahlias?"

"Ka- I mean, I read that they meant disappointment."

You sigh. "Well, that book must've been wrong. Dahlias are a symbol of commitment, not disappointment. I think the author must've meant to write "yellow carnations", but I don't know how you would mix it up that bad. Should I add them?"

"No, that's fine." The man slides you the payment and, grabbing the bouquet, storms out the glass door to the shop.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"Fuck!" he mutters under his breath as he speedwalks angrily through the crowded streets of Xianzhou, his delicate bouquet gently cradled in his arms. What the hell was Kafka thinking? He was going to bring this to the General as quote unquote "thanks", and she tricked him? Oh, he was going to kill her when he came back.

But this florist was rather... different than others he'd been to in search of a "fuck you" bouquet. They had a special sort of air about them, an air that he couldn't quite pinpoint but knew that it was addicting. Well, maybe not addicting - he just wanted to see them again, that's all.

Wait, see them again? No, he didn't do that sort of thing, he never wanted to up and start conversation with some random stranger that he saw once while buying flowers. He didn't spontaneously show up at their doorstep and ask what their name was - he only did that to his victims, and in this case, this person wasn't a victim. He barely even knew who they were (with the exception of the obvious title of "florist".)

What if they would become his victim, then? He would have a chance to talk to them without feeling guilty of doing so, and maybe murder them at the end. That's what happens to everyone anyways, how was one less person in the world going to impact him?

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next day, a few hours after opening time, you see him again. He's calmer than yesterday, opening the door to your shop with a small squeak and taking his time to look around at the flowers you have on display. He pauses next to a small tin pail of yellow pansies.

"Those are pansies," you note. He turns his head sharply to meet your gaze with those blood-red eyes and turns back to the flowers.

"They're pretty," he says under his breath, lifting one out of the pail and examining its petals. "What do they mean?"

You can't read his expression at all - it's just neutral, with a small hint of fascination that immediately vanishes when he puts it back.

"They mean 'I'm thinking of you'," you reply as you pull some leaves off the stem of a tulip and throw them into a paper bag. He blinks in response and continues examining the various flowers, finally coming over to your counter a couple minutes later.

"I'd like some daffodils, please." He slides over 230 strales.

"The largest bouquet costs 200, you can keep the extra 30."

He stares at the currency in silence as you pick out the freshest daffodils and bind them together with a pale yellow ribbon, adding some white lace frills into the midst. You hand him the bouquet and he looks up at the nametag pinned to your left.

"y/n," you say. "Nice to meet you too, um..."

"Blade."

"Blade, okay."

You give a small, awkward smile. He takes the rather large bouquet from your hands and leaves the extra 30 strales, which you grab and run after him with as he leaves the shop.

"Blade! Blade!" you yell as you run after him. "You forgot your-"

He's gone, blended in with the crowd, probably, but you daren't go look - you have a business to run, and you already see some potential customers approaching the establishment. You decide to wait for him - if he comes back tomorrow, you'll give him the strales back.

As you're making a rose bouquet for a middle-aged man in a grey suit and tie, Blade pops into your mind again. His eyes were... eerily captivating, like bloodied dark iron magnets that pulled your gaze toward him. Combined with the fact that he was hard to read, and that you've never seen him before in your life, made him the most mysterious person that you'd ever interacted with. But a part of you wanted to see him again, to talk to him, to find out who he really was and what he was doing in your shop in the first place. Guess you'd have to see tomorrow.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Tomorrow was a mess.

You estimated that about 200 customers came in, most leaving with flowers in hand, and to your disappointment, none of them were the dark-haired, red-eyed, "fuck you"-bouquet-ordering man who somehow forgot that he'd left 30 strales lying on your counter before yesterday. By the time you had shut your doors, the floor was completely littered with little pieces of leaves and small, multicolored petals. Guess you had to stay after to clean up.

You pulled out your best weapon, a wide mop, from the cleaning closet in the corner and got to work. Pulling it along the tiled floor, you decided that it was rather boring to mop in silence, and pulled out another one of your favorite items - a pair of headphones, which you promptly connected to your phone and resumed mopping, now with a spring in your step. This spring turned into occasional hopping, which then turned into full-on dancing as you got caught up in the music.

Blade was watching all this unfold outside your shop, standing in the darkness and staring dumbfoundedly through the glass window. He was planning on murdering you tonight - it was horrifying that you were dancing so carefreely, without even noticing his piercing gaze on your moving form.

Abandoning the mop, you grabbed onto a column and twirled around it several times in musical glee before tragedy struck and you fell into a shelf of those goddamn tin buckets. Luckily they didn't have flowers in them, but they still hurt like a bitch - you tried pulling yourself up, only to fall down again and wince in pain as the metal edges of the buckets dug into your skin. Your legs are probably going to be covered in bruises the next morning.

You hear the door open with its signature squeak and a sinking feeling of embarrassment flooded your system.

"Need help?" the navy-haired man standing in the doorway askes, stone-faced. He stared at your trapped form blankly as you gaped at him.

"It's nine, no- ten in the evening," you stammer out, "how are you here?"

"Passing by." He feels a strange pang of guilt when lying to you. "You didn't answer my question."

You swallow and look around helplessly before replying reluctantly. "Yes, please."

Blade walks into the shop and grabs you by your hands, hoisting you up with ease onto your legs for a second before catching you when your knees buckle almost instantaneously. He sighs, lifts you up, and carries you to the nearest chair, setting you down like a fragile vase.

Blade's touch was comforting, and he smells like citrus, which is a very unexpected scent for him to have in your opinion. You thought that he might've smelled like- wait, why were you even thinking about this? The way in which his lowkey kinda attractive strong arms carried you was completely irrelevant to the current situation - why was your brain hung up on this while the poor guy has to clean up after you?

Speaking of cleaning up, he was almost done. He was now putting the mop back in the closet, and after he shut the door, you took this moment of silence to ask a question.

"Can you carry me upstairs, please? Just to my bed."

He freezes. You desperately hope that it's not a bad thing - your legs are starting to actually hurt and you don't think that you can carry yourself up a flight of stairs.

Luckily for you, he walks over and scoops you into his arms once more, carrying you with relative ease to the wooden stairs, which creak a little under your combined weight. You loop your hands around his neck as you climb up, holding on for dear life. When he reaches the second floor you thank him quietly, and he returns the gesture with a nod, turning on the lights by raising his knee up to flick the switch. The hallway fills with a golden light, and when you point to the door to your room, he heads there.

You hope that your room doesn't seem too messy - there's plants everywhere (which probably isn't that much of a surprise given that you're a florist) and the occasional book is lying on every wide surface like your desk and the bookshelf. Blade strides over to the bed in one corner, moving a leather-bound book aside titled "A Complete Collection of Native Bee Species" when he lifts the blanket. He sets you down onto the mattress with that same gentleness and you lean into the pillow, eyes already drooping shut at its softness. You turn your back towards him, and he takes this as a signal to remove your apron, which he hangs on a nearby chair. You, in your near-sleepiness, hear him sigh as he turns off the lights and closes the door, leaving you to drift away in peace. The scent of citrus lingers in your mind.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next day, as you're setting up shop, you find a note on the counter, written in black pen and a quick hand.

Locked front + back doors. Exited through window, keep the 30 strales.

[erinawritesheadcanons2]

Heeey~ can I have a request of Homidicial Liu, Jeff The Killer, Jane the Killer and Clockwork with S/O who are Mysyerious? kind of like Raven from teen Titans. Thank you ❤️❤️❤️

HOMIDICIAL LIU, JEFF THE KILLER, JANE THE KILLER and CLOCKWORK with MYSTERIOUS S/O

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

A/N: Hello there Anon!!!! I hope you like the final result of these character headcanons and I would like to apologize if there are any OOC Characters inside of this Headcannon. I am trying my best to put the Reader as the portrayal from Raven Teen Titans.

Warning: Cursing from Jane the Killer and Jeff the Killer

Gender: Neutral

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HOMIDICIAL LIU

Liu finds that you are a bit too cold and a bit distant because you don't like to interact with the other proxies. Instead, you often shut them off and distract yourself with other things.

But Sully finds you interesting, he also finds you to be not annoying. He doesn't really like loud people and push-over people as he finds that the two of you have a bit of similarity (You two prefer to be alone).

And as someone who is introverted and loves peace, it was no surprise you prefer Liu over Sully more. Sully can be really an asshole sometimes and when he screams, it is REALLY LOUD. Of course, Liu is going to apologize to you on Sully's behalf for pissing you off.

Liu would most likely leave you alone as he respects your personal space. However, it would be not the same case as Sully who would sometimes bother you just for shit and giggles.

I can see Liu as someone who enjoys music and reading books so he sometimes hangs out with you together in peace by reading and listening to music together.

But Sully finds your hobby of reading, listening to music, or other calming hobbies boring so he would just watch you from afar with a bored face and then decide if he should leave you alone or just throw the book or earphone away to distract you.

Actually, the two of them surprisingly prefer an introvert and calm S/O instead of an extrovert/overly friendly one. Sully finds them really annoying but Liu just prefers doing things together with you in the house instead of going out.

Liu is disappointed when you are sassy/snarky/sarcastic with other proxies and roasted the fuck out of them but Sully finds them to be hilarious and gives a score to all of your roasts from one (boring) to ten (Funny as fuck and very destructive).

Sully finds it adorable underneath that mean and cold facade, you're not as asshole as how people portray you to be. Sometimes even teasing you about how 'cute' you are.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

As (Y/N) sat in the pleasant nook of the kitchen, stools standing behind the countertops, the world around them/her/his seemed to disappear into a peaceful haze. With each sip, the lovely scent of the tea swirled surrounding (Y/N), mixing with the subtle murmur of conversations and the soft hum of the espresso machine.

Suddenly, a loud splitting sound broke the silence, jolting you out of your peaceful tranquillity. Startled, (Y/N) gazed up, their/her/his eyes meeting Jeff the Killer's terrifying gaze, known for his demonic grin and creepy presence. His sneer twisted with excitement as he leaned in, his words piercing the air like a cold blade. "Hey nerd," he commented, his words tinged with mockery. "What book is that?" His presence cast a shadow over the peace you had been enjoying.

With a measured glance, (Y/N) broke the silence by saying, "It's a classic, but I doubt your brain could even understand what this is about." The words hung in the air, a challenge filled with intellect that sliced through the suffocating atmosphere. The unexpected answer caused a collective gasp and shush from the other proxies, and even Jeff's sneer faltered for a moment.

The room fell silent, the everyday noises of the kitchen and living room receding into the distance as all eyes focused on the unexpected debate. Even Jeff, known for his unsettling demeanour, looked surprised by the unexpected response. The air crackled with tension as the challenge hung between (Y/N) and Jeff the Killer, sending a wave through the previously quiet surroundings.

From a distance, a guy stood watching the drama develop, his piercing red eyes blazing with unamusement as his younger brother, Jeff, approached (Y/N) with his typical challenging attitude as he tried to scare his partner. However, when (Y/N) replied with unexpected wit, a grin pulled at Sully's lips, a subtle acknowledgement of respect for the unexpected change of events and (Y/N)'s retort. 

As Jeff's brother watched the conversation with satisfaction and glee, he let out a quiet guffaw causing an angry glare from Liu, who stood close. Despite Liu's disapproving expression, the alter ego couldn't help but find humour in the situation, his laughter bubbling just beyond the surface. He rolled his eyes and remained composed, hiding the delight with a more neutral face.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

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JEFF THE KILLER

As someone who always goes out to kill people and hardly goes back. Jeff the killer and you could be a great match since you have the personality of water whereas he's like a fire.

He is secretly thankful but not admitting that he has a S/O who could stop him from doing reckless shits and stopping him from his own shenanigans so he would not get into deeper trouble since you have a cool head.

But also finds you a bit too stuck up since we are talking about you as "Mysterious". He wants to know about you more but he finds it frustrating that you don't let him find out about you (The hypocrisy amazes me).

Also, he could be as asshole as Sully. He finds it hilarious to annoy the fuck out of you when you want to be alone. So, there would be a time he would just be touchy when you don't want to.

Also finds your calming hobbies like reading books are boring so he would just grab it out of nowhere and throw it somewhere else when he wants your attention.

He finds it funny when you are being nonchalant and roasts the hell out of anyone who pisses you off in a calm manner. Especially if you did it to Jane or to Ben.

He doesn't like it though when you roast him and would throws a temper tantrum or gives you the silent treatment. He does not care even if he's in the wrong one. So, you have to be the emotionally mature one.

But there are also some times when he is not butt-hurt. He actually throws a playful banter with you as he tries to make you laugh. And when he sees you laugh, not only does he think your laughter is cute but he will fist-bump

As an introvert, he actually prefers to spend his time with you and if you are a serial killer. He does not want to be paired up with anyone except you since no one can control him.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

Today is Saturday, a day of quiet for all the proxies in the abandoned residence. Taking advantage of the tranquillity, (Y/N) chooses to remain in their chamber. They/she/he sits within the chalk-drawn pentagram, focusing on clearing their minds and relaxing. Yesterday had been very frantic since Slenderman had given multiple jobs. Today, however, gives an excellent chance for meditation.

A massive book sat open in front of (Y/N) as they/she/he began reciting ancient runic words, the meaning of which Slenderman alone knew. The air appeared to resonate with the weight of these mysterious incantations, giving the place an unearthly feel. With each statement, (Y/N) sensed a link to something beyond cognition, as if they were entering a realm beyond mortal comprehension.

As (Y/N) continued to meditate, a sense of calm flooded over her/him/them, illuminating their being with a peaceful glow. Their bodies began to glow softly in the darkness, throwing ghostly shadows on the walls. It was as if the very core of their existence was combining with the universe's cosmic forces, transcending worldly concerns and soaring to a state of complete peace. In the middle of this celestial embrace, (Y/N) felt weightless, as if hanging in a timeless abyss, surrounded by uncountable stars. As the door blasted open, (Y/N)'s idyllic meditation turned into chaos. Jeff the killer, her/his/their serial murderer boyfriend, stood at the doorway, putting the room with unpleasant energy as he yelled, "I'm back!" (Y/N)'s gaze hardened with rage as you stared at him, your peace broken by his unexpected presence.

The white hooded killer ignored your glare and proceeded to speak, his tone nonchalant despite the tension in the air. "(Y/N), come with me. I'm bored out of my mind, and I want you to go out with me," he said with a huff escape from his mouth. "No, I'm busy meditating and I need to focus. I want you to get out," The girl continued to glare at him. "But I dont's have anyone to killing spree with me and the only one who doesn't fuck up is only you," Jeff began to whine at you.

Fueled by anger and annoyance, (Y/N) determined to take action. She began chanting a strong spell, her words echoing with old magic. Jeff was pulled off the ground with a burst of energy, his objections drowned out by the spell's power. (Y/N) led him to the doorway, her eyes burning with resolve as she levitated him out of the room. Jeff's whining grew louder as he was propelled out, his voice echoing through the corridor. "Hey! Let me in! Why are you kicking me out?! I just want to hang out with you!" he cried, his words falling on deaf ears as (Y/N) remained steadfast in her decision.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

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JANE THE KILLER

Jane is obviously less of an asshole than Jeff. She is much more understanding than you think. She doesn't tease you or think your hobby is boring.

Actually, she is more sweet than Jeff or Liu. She thinks your hobby of reading, writing, drawing, or other calming activities is fun, so she would sometimes join you.

Because she is also an introvert, just like you. She actually enjoys spending time with you when the two of you do these activities together and would rather anyone not bother you.

Also, enjoy it when you are being sarcastic with someone, especially Jeff. You don't hear her snickers of anything, but underneath her mask, she is grinning at your retort.

Since you are her soft spot, she does not mind you roasting her. She does enjoy a little banter with you, as she knows that you are just joking around. She understands that's just how you play around, despite seeming as if you are being rude.

Respect your space; she will leave you alone when you need to be alone or are in a bad mood. Secretly leaves sweets or tea to cool down your head when you are in a bad mood.

Although she finds it a bit difficult when she has to communicate with you because you are too close and you don't often open up about how you feel, she does find it a little bit annoying, but she is not going to force you to talk.

Sometimes this could lead you two into an argument or a fight, but unlike Jeff, She is not going to just throw a knife at you unless you go too far. It was mostly just an argument, and you two stayed out until the two of you cooled down.

Overall, she is just a sweetheart around you and more respectful than other proxies. But sometimes, getting into an argument with her is sucky because she could give you a silent treatment for an entire day, and you had to be the one who apologised.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

In the dimly lighted room, (Y/N) sat in the corner, perched on the bed, a book laid open in front of them. The sole light came from a lantern, which created faint shadows over the walls. Despite the lack of air conditioning, a cold persisted in the air, adding to the spooky atmosphere.

With a flick of their/her/his hand, (Y/N) flipped the page of the dark fantasy novel they were reading, the plot unfolding before their eyes. The story spoke of an evil dragon who chased humans behind the walls of a city consumed by terror and gloom. Each word seemed to pull them more into the story, bringing them vivid visions of hazardous encounters and epic fights between forces of light and shadow. Lost in the world of the book, (Y/N) sought peace in the frigid seclusion of the room, relying on the tale for escape.

As a faint tap echoed through the room, (Y/N) removed their gaze from the pages of their book and shouted out, "Come in," enabling whoever standing outside to enter. The door creaked open, showing Jane, (Y/N)'s girlfriend and the one person they/she/he had a soft place for. Jane's presence added warmth to the space, contrasting with its coldness. "Are you busy?" Jane asked her voice calm, as she moved farther into the room. "No, but I am reading a book right now. Would you want to read with me? (Y/N) replied with a tinge of happiness in your voice.

Jane nodded as she scanned the titles on (Y/N)'s bookcase, her eyes eventually settling on a book with a striking red cover. It was a novel about an evil hero and a kind villain, a story that intrigued her. Holding the book in her hands, she turned to (Y/N) and asked, "Can I read this book?" (Y/N) looked up from their own book and nodded with a smile. "Yeah, you can read Vicious. It's one of my favourite books," they said, their voice filled with warmth and fondness for the story.

As the girl nodded in agreement, a smile graced her lips. Remembering she had prepared some tea earlier, she spoke up, "Wait, I made tea for us. I hope you don't mind Earl Grey." With a gentle kiss on (Y/N)'s cheek, she then made her way to retrieve the tea kettle. (Y/N) couldn't help but smile at the gesture, feeling a slight blush creeping onto their cheeks from the sweet kiss. Setting aside their book, they eagerly anticipated sharing a quiet moment over tea with Jane, grateful for her thoughtful gesture and the warmth of her affection.

When Jane returned, the room was filled with the soothing scent of Earl Grey tea. She gently poured the hot liquid into two glasses, placing one in front of (Y/N) and took her seat next to them. As they sipped their tea, the warmth of the beverage matching the warmth of their bonding, they fell into a comfortable stillness.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

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CLOCKWORK

She is in between understanding but also as a menace as Jeff the Killer. As an extrovert, she sometimes would not leave you alone when she is bored and doesn't have anything to do that day.

Well at least she will not be throwing your books away when you are busy or repeatedly calling your names when you are meditating but she definitely going to stare at you all day which can be bothering you sometimes.

Despite not being noisy, the sound of the ticking clock in her eyes can be a little bit loud. She would also sometimes go around your room and just skim a few books and if there were no pictures, she's just gonna put it away instead of putting it back which is why this can be annoying.

To be honest, she finds your hobbies to be boring and she really just wants to drag you out so the two of you could go on a killing spree together or just hang around the forest. But she doesn't want to bother you so she just waits for you to be done.

The reason she can be understanding is because she would also give you some space if you need to be alone. She understands that you hate getting distracted or bothered, especially when you are in a bad mood.

As a result, she would also probably not let any proxies interact with you and ask you if you are fine. Just like Jane, she can be protective so she won't let anyone bother you at all and she will scare anyone who tries to mess with you.

Also a bit annoyed that sometimes you shun yourself and you are too close to yourself and not interacting with her at all even though the two of you are dating. She wants to communicate with you, ya know?

Enjoys bantering with you and has a tough shell so you can roast her and she will not be easily offended by your roast. Instead, she just will sass you back and snickers, and would be laughing if you cannot retort back.

Also would enjoy seeing you roast someone else, calling out other killers or people's stupidity. To the point, she will clutch her stomach and she is crouching down while letting out a tea kettle-like laughter.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

As (Y/N) climbed the stairs to prepare her breakfast, she noticed an interesting sight. Nurse Ann and Clockwork stood facing one other, arms crossed in a protective position and staring furiously. The tension in the air was apparent, and (Y/N) felt a sense of unease. Clockwork, your girlfriend, was not known for getting into fights with others.

(Y/N) listened intently as Nurse Ann and Clockwork's argument escalated, each accusation escalating the tension in the room. "Because of your dumbass ticks, the victim escaped and probably going to tell the police," Nurse Ann accused, jabbing her finger in Clockwork's direction. "Me!? You're the literally slow one! I told you to bring something smaller but no! You bring your chainsaw! You know those are heavy!" Clockwork retorted, her voice tinged with frustration. "But they are portable! Besides, you have an axe and those are heavy!" Nurse Ann countered, her tone defensive. "These are machetes!" Clockwork defended herself, her words dripping with exasperation.

Now, you are not the type to start an argument but this Clockwork is your girlfriend and no one can harass her. Deciding to step up, you came from the shadow and stood in front of clockwork while facing the red-headed nurse. "(Y/N)? What are you doing? You don't need to do this" Clockwork said.

The nurse wasn't even fazed that you were there. Instead, the nurses think it's ridiculous that you are trying to intervene between the two of them. "Aww, is someone who cannot protect herself and needs their baby? Fucking grow up, Clockie," Nurse Ann rolls her red eyes at the two of you. "So what, at least she is not miserable. No one even wanted to kiss you, heck. Even take doesn't want you to be his," (Y/N) leaned to the counter. "W-what?" The nurse's eyes widened in surprise.

Clockwork who heard that immediately tried not to laugh but failed, even you could hear her snickering in the background. Those words escape like a river, you do not even control them, they just flow out. "Just try to ask other proxies if they want to date you. They probably going to say no to your face. Do I have to say more?" (Y/N) continued to roast the hell out of Nurse Ann.

The nurse could not help but bite her own lips, her eyes glaring into your eyes that were staring at her with boredom. She pointed her finger at you but no words coming out from her lips and she glared at your girlfriend since she was speechless. "You two will regret it, both of you. I promise that" she storms off, knowing she could not even give any comeback to you.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

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[johnwickb1tsch]

18 👀 I’m curious to see if there’s any scenes that didn’t make the cut in one of your fics?

Oh man, that's a good question Scoob! Usually I manage to jimmy things i write in SOMEWHERE, but this is the only scene I could think of in my scrap pile that I'm absolutely sure I'm going a different direction after banging my head on the table about it. This was fun but way too tame for what the story requires. It's from the Constantine x femVampire!Reader fic. Reader is feeling sorry for herself because Constantine is ghosting her AGAIN, when she meets a mysterious stranger... I know you can guess who it is. 🤣🤣

The Girl Next Door - Deleted Scene

You do your best not to think about John Constantine–and fail at it most of the time. You find that the blood of evil doers nourishes your body, but does not really satisfy. What you really crave, like the most filling meal, and the most delectable dessert, is a 6’1” drink of sardonic demon hunter.

You do wonder why. Things had seemed fine, when you parted ways just before dawn. He’d kissed you with a tenderness that tied up your heart, his big hand dwarfing the side of your face, holding you like you were something precious to him. 

The memory just twists the knife a little more to the left. 

You continue to feel that presence, that omnipresent seething energy, that sensation that you are being watched. But it never shows itself, so you do your best to be vigilant, and continue to go about your business. 

You are delighted one night when you find a bookstore/cafe open late. Shopping has become hit or miss, with your new nocturnal hours. You can order things, of course, but it’s certainly not the same. 

The old hippy at the register offers you a smile before going back to his dog eared copy of Invalids Home From Hot Climates. The place smells like coffee, and books, and you feel like you might have stumbled through the gates of your own personal little heaven. 

Aren’t you supposed to burst into flames or something?

Thinking that maybe catching up on your reading will help get you out of your funk, you start to wander the stacks, pulling titles that interest you. Classics you’ve always meant to read, but never really had the time. Sylvia Plath, D.H. Lawrence, Virginia Woolf and John Steinbeck, James Joyce, Octavia Butler, Margaret Atwood, Herman Melville, and Agatha Christie all pile up in your hands. 

On the highest shelf, Anais Nin catches your eye. You reach for it on tiptoe fruitlessly, balancing your stack of books in your other hand. It is way over your head. You could jump for it without spilling your bookish burden–but you know it would not look human to the few other people milling around the shelves and curled up in the comfy reading nooks. 

A long arm reaches over you, plucking out the book, and only then are you aware of a solid presence looming behind you. No one has managed to sneak up on you like this since the night of your undeath. Unnerved, you whirl, putting your back to the stacks. Only narrowly do you manage not to bare your fangs like a startled kitten in this public venue. 

You find a tall man dressed all in black standing very close to you, his arm still raised with the book dwarfed in his big hand. His angular face is accented by a short beard; longish raven hair brushes his collar. Dark eyes fix on you curiously; the weight of his gaze almost makes you squirm. “Saw you struggling,” he explains simply in a deep baritone, offering you the cloth-bound tome. 

You find you cannot look away from those bewitching dark eyes, almost as though you’ve been hypnotized. It’s more than the fact that he is panty-drenchingly handsome–there is something mesmerizing about him, and you’re not sure if his power is sinister or simply…profound.

Almost absently, you accept the book, adding it to your stack balanced in your hand. 

He looks at your copious selections with a smirk. “Someone’s been eating her wheaties.” 

You realize it probably does look odd, for a woman of your size to be toting around such a load one-handed. You make a show of clutching your stack to your front with both hands, feeling ridiculously shy as a school-girl, as though the barrier of old books might provide some protection from this stranger’s charm. 

 “Just…catching up on some reading.” 

He offers the slightest smile for that, not showing teeth, and you cannot tell if he is flirting with you, or sizing you up. There is something odd about his energy. Human, and yet…heavier. His aura is like a thundercloud, and you’re not sure if you are intrigued, or afraid. He’s just this side of being in your space, and a part of you wants to ask him to back up–a part of you really doesn’t.  

“Have some time on your hands?”

“Something like that.” 

He nods, and makes no indication that he intends to move, his attention fixed fully down upon you. 

He gets the honor of being the only man, aside from John Constantine, who has made you feel even a little nervous since you turned. You’re not sure you like him very much for it. 

“What did you find?” you ask, hoping to break the tension, pointing at a little green book in his other hand. It looks old, older than any of your selections. 

“Robinson Crusoe.” 

“Looks like it's seen better days,” you observe with a sad pout, sorry to see a book in disrepair. 

“I’m going to fix it,” he tells you, the first hint of warmth entering his expression. 

“Oh?”

“It’s a hobby of mine.”

Like this man couldn’t get any hotter. 

He smirks at you, like you said it aloud. 

For some stupid reason, you start to blush. 

“Can I…buy you a coffee?”

“Why?” you blurt, mortified the moment it leaves your mouth. 

His smirk widens to a smile, and he seems to struggle with himself, trying not to show his teeth. 

“Just thought you have a nice stack,” he answers utterly deadpan, and you are dumbfounded as those eyes that seemed like black holes moments before sparkle. 

“Um…thanks for the offer…” 

He takes a step closer, and then he is crowding you against the shelf, his broad body dwarfing yours. Something about his presence makes you forget that you’re a vampire, and you could rip out his spine with your bare hands if you wanted to. He makes you feel small, and a little vulnerable, and fuck you if you don’t kind of like it. 

“You don’t drink coffee?” he fishes, and you feel like the two of you are speaking in code, but only he has the key. 

“It’s not my favorite,” you admit, resisting the urge to tack on anymore. 

“What do you like to drink?”

As though on cue, the spiced scent of his cologne and his skin makes its way to your nostrils; and beneath that, what you are sure would be a heady taste of his lifeblood. If you didn’t know any better…you would think he was baiting you with vampire pheromones, or something. The wave of longing that hits you is intense, and you have to close your eyes and lean back from him. You take a deep breath–which does not help. You feel like you’re paralyzed, and when you open your eyes you find he is leaning over you with an arm on the shelf again, nearly nose to nose with you. 

You try twice for your voice, and it will only come as a whisper. “Please don’t.”

Don’t what, you don’t even know, but something is weighing on you and you feel like you can’t move.

You flinch as he reaches up to touch you, the tips of his fingers resting on your throat, just above your surprisingly pounding pulse. His eyes settle on your mouth, before rising to meet yours, and you are both hopeful and terrified this strange, captivating man is going to kiss you. 

He speaks, though it doesn’t really break the spell. 

“Be seeing you, vampling.”  

With wide eyes and utter shock you watch him stride away from you–and my god, what a glorious view. Long powerful legs, and an utterly biteable rear end. There is a pause in which you presume he pays for his book, before the bell over the door chimes, and he exits onto the street.

You stand where he left you for a good half hour, re-learning how to command your limbs, and maybe, your brain. 

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Chapter Three - Anguish

Summary: The error of his ways is seen in a new light. Morpheus realizes that perhaps he is the monster he claims he is not.

Notes: ~7.4k words. This chapter flips between Reader and Morpheus a bit since they're not always together so I apologize if the timeline is confusing... Lightly edited, if you see the tenses switching between past and present, no you didn't

Warnings/Tags: more angst, self destruction/mental breakdown. Morpheus learning he's the problem

Tag list is open! Just let me know if you want to be added :)

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Anguish (n.) - extreme pain or suffering, both emotional and physical 

That night, the King doesn't join you at dinner. Your company is that of footmen and maids as they try to not stare at you eating alone at the long table. The next night, he doesn't show again, nor the next, nor the night after that. Matthew and you have begun to fall into a comfortable silence as he follows you around. 

The knight is starting to take his role more seriously and even resists eating another bug in front of you when you go back to your garden and tend to the nursery plants. In turn, you have started to talk to your plants, even if you know they won't respond back. You fear if you never use your voice again, it may as well be lost. 

A common bird in a golden cage, with no one to sing to. 

It is to none of your surprise when you walk into the private dining room and see the empty seat across from your place. Again. The royal chef always cooks enough for two, and he didn’t hold back tonight either. 

It is so unbearably quiet when you eat, you can hear each chew of your food, every scrap of your silverware against the plate, each clink of the glass back onto the table. Looking down at your half-eaten food, you’ve long lost your appetite. 

Perhaps you would’ve had your fill if your mind wasn’t constantly running with thoughts, feeding into your loneliness. These thoughts formed into hideous monsters that follow you no matter where you went in the palace. In every crevice, every nook, in every page you want to read. It was exhausting, to say the least. You could feel them as tingles on the back of your head and through the whispers of palace staff and attendants. 

“I am done for the night,” You announce as you push away your half-finished dinner. 

“Was the food not to your liking, Your Majesty?” A maid came by to take your plate as you stood. 

“It was adequate, I simply am done. Thank you.” You send a small smile to her before you leave. 

Matthew was waiting for you when you exited the room. His armor jostles as he stands up straight, seemingly surprised at how fast you finished your dinner. You don’t wait for him as you already set your sight on your bed, walking with purpose down the long halls. Your head was pounding, again, and sleep seemed like the perfect resolution to the problem. 

“Was the food that good?” He asks behind you. 

“I can’t complain, not any good as any bugs you have eaten?” You ask in a small joke. 

Mathew doesn’t bother with a response. He had in fact eaten bugs again, but this time nowhere near his queen in fear that Jessamy is going to randomly appear in front of him again. A blush creeps onto his cheeks as he thinks of the woman and he’s glad for the cover of his raven helmet. Whether the blush was from embarrassment or admiration, he isn't quite sure of yet.

“You can leave for the night, Matthew. I’m going straight to bed,” You say as soon as the two of you make it to your room. 

“I still can’t do that, as you know. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” Matthew comments and remains in position with no plans of leaving. 

With a sigh of resolution, you enter the room. The maids haven't arrived yet to light any candles, too busy eating their own dinners. So it was up to you to undress yourself. Thankfully, Agnes was kind that night and left the corset untieable by your hands. You pick a random nightgown to wear and head straight to bed. 

Your headache is still prevalent, but with your head against the cooling pillow, the intensity seems to dwindle slowly. Pulling the covers over your chin you close your eyes as you beg for sleep to come to you. 

♔♕

In a different part of the castle, sits Morpheus. He rubs his fingers against his temples as yet another piece of paper is placed down in front of him. Lucienne stands in front of his daunting desk with even more in her hands. His dinner plate has long since been forgotten, cold and with only a few bites taken out of it. The fork stabbed into the meat in a most unprofessional way; if his mother saw this, she would have his hands spanked. 

“Is this the last of it?” Morpheus asks slowly as he picks up the parchment. 

“Do you want me to lie… or…” Lucienne drags out the last syllable as she speaks. She peers at her King over her glasses as she does so. The stacks of papers in her hands were obvious enough. 

“Ha!” A new voice laughs.

“Something funny, Robert?” Morpheus basically spits out his name. 

“Oh, sorry, didn’t know laughing was banned in the castle,” The man holds up his hands in fake surrender. He lays languidly on some grand couch, a hand resting over his eyes and his legs folded over each other. “Also, seriously, we’ve been friends for how long? Just call me Hob.”

“No,” Morpheus mutters and returns his attention back to the paper on hand. Hob throws out his hands in exasperation as he gives a look to Lucienne, who only returns it with a shrug. 

The markings on the large piece of parchment were starting to swirl together, or his eyes were beginning to become crossed. Either way, there was no way he could make out anything. With a groan, he throws the paper back on the table and rests his head on the back of his chair. 

Flashes of his discussions today play in his mind. There was the possibility of a drought this year, and last year’s food rations had already run out. He needs to think of something for the farmers. Desire’s pettiness is still willing to wage some unknown war on his kingdom, but he currently has no information about their plans, only that they managed to wrangle Despair into their plans. Then, his out-of-commissions brother, who decided to leave the country to “find himself.” Whatever that means. 

Then there was his wife who he hadn't seen for several days in hopes of avoiding you. His lover who won’t even speak to him alone. His older sister, whom he has no idea where she is. There was too much on his plate, and he could feel each new task weighing down on his shoulders. 

With another groan, he presses his palms into his eyes, making swirling patterns behind his eyelids. When he opens them again, Lucienne is waiting patiently for him. 

“Shall we stop here for the night, my lord?” She asks. 

“Gods, please, let’s stop now.” Hob comments, voice slowly slurring as he fights sleep. 

“Robert, you did not help at all. How can you be tired?” Morpheus glares at his friend though he knows he can’t see him do so. 

Hob doesn’t bother with a verbal response, instead faking a loud snore with a slight smirk on his lips. 

“Let us continue,” Morpheus sighs and picks up the parchment for the third time.

“Actually, there is something I wanted to bring up,” Lucienne pauses and waits for Morpheus’ attention before she continues. “Just gossip, really… There’s rumors going around that you didn’t consummate your wedding, is it true?”

“The rumors… are quite true,” Morpheus admits, unable to lie to his loyal advisor. 

Surprise takes over Lucienne’s face as she hears the news. She blinks as she tries to think of an appropriate response. Witnessing how the two of you acted a few days ago, she felt as if something was off, but she didn’t think it was because of this. 

“Then you must consummate at once, it’s for the betterment of the kingdom,” She responds calmly, holding his gaze. 

“Is it?” He huffs out a small, fake laugh. The question was not at all genuine, and sarcasm lay heavily within it. “It is none of anyone’s concern except ours. Though, you should find a way to stop the rumors. They are doing more harm than good within my walls.”

Lucienne does little to hide the displeased look on her face. Why was it her responsibility to stop the rumors, didn’t Morpheus just say the concern is none of hers? 

“He’s saying he can’t get laid, is all I’m hearing,” Hob voices his thoughts once more. 

“Stop jesting or I will hang you by your inflated head,” Morpheus growls at him.

“No, you won’t. Or else you lose 50% of your friends. And that, my friend, is some pretty bad math.” Hob scoffs.

The titled royal heaves as he sits up, his outfit having long since wrinkled from his position. The tunic was starting to wrap a bit tighter around his abdomen and he swears he will start exercising the next day. Perhaps get back into the sport of hunting before his body gets wasted away. But that was a thought for the next day, or the day after if tomorrow didn’t suit his taste. 

“Ignoring him,” Lucienne quickly interjects the two men loudly. “I think it wise if you were to do something for your wife. If she doesn’t look so forlorn, perhaps the rumors will stop on their own. They’re obviously feeding off something.” 

The message was clear for both Lucienne and Hob: “You’re acting like a shit husband and everyone can tell.” Morpheus was willing to brush off the topic, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind agreed with them. He stares at the bracelet that wraps itself on his wrist, following the red string that intertwined with the black. The King doesn’t voice it often, or ever for that matter, but Lucienne and Hob’s company were always appreciated. 

The king taps his finger against the wooden desk in thought.

Fate.

What a horrible thing. 

“I will think of something.” His words were the final verdict of the night. 

♔♕

Your morning starts as it always has. With a sharp tug of the bell, Agnes’ face is the first to greet you. Sleep is still evident on your face, the early retirement last night wanting you back in its grasp. Agnes and her maids dress you in something simple today, the weather is far too hot for anything else. 

“Anything planned for me today?” You gasp as your lady’s maid pulls the last string on the corset. She should become a sailor instead if she can tie ropes this tight. 

“None of your schedule, Your Majesty.” She responds as she backs away from you, a satisfied smile on her face as she gives you one last look over. 

“Great,” You grit through your teeth. Same as always then. 

Agnes gives a curtsy and she and her army of maids leave you once more. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you cross your arms over yourself. The self-hug was all you had going for you. Long since another person touched you and even if you missed the way your mother treated you, you long for her gentle touches on your scalp. 

With a deep breath you open the door, perhaps a little more forceful than necessary. As always, Matthew is waiting for you. This time, however, he’s standing with his hand raised in a fist, ready to knock on the door before you open it. 

“You scared me,” You say with a sharp intake of breath. “And why are you staring at me like that?” If you were wearing pearls today, you might as well be clutching them. 

“G’morning, boss lady!” Matthew greets you as he looms over you in his armor. It was ironic how stoic his armor set made him look, only for his personality to be the complete opposite of it. 

“Is there a special occasion?” You reply with a smile. This was the first time he used the term “boss lady” for you and you remember him asking ever so nicely those days ago. 

“The king handed me this, he said it was for you and that special locked door we found on your first day here.” Matthew opens his palms and a single key is laid within it. 

When you go to pick it up, it’s heavy and rustic and reminds you of something that would lock up the basement. There was a small note attached to it which read “something for you to do” written in excellent penmanship by His Majesty. 

“He touched me…!” Matthew’s voice gushes a mile away in your head as you reread the note. Morpheus remembered that you wanted something to do. That was new, you were sure he had even forgotten you existed ever since that unplanned visit in the gardens. 

“That makes one of us,” You mutter back at him. The snide comment didn’t process all that well in your mind before it launched itself from your mouth. 

“Do you think it means I’m blessed by the Gods now?” Matthew asks, choosing to ignore the statement. 

“More like cursed…” You respond absentmindedly again.

Your fingers go to touch the bracelet the Crone had given you. You did try to take it off your wrist, several times. But each time proved futile as the string just twists tighter around your wrist until your hand turns purple. It only returned to its normal size after you stopped fiddling with it. Blessed by the Fates or cursed? At this point, you’re starting to think these two are the same thing. 

The string bracelet glows with a soft and warm touch as you touch it this time. Perhaps there is hope for the two of you yet; a gesture was a start. At the very least, Morpheus hasn’t forgotten about you. 

Before you know it, you stand before the grand doors once more. Its secrets are no longer hidden from you as you insert the key. With a sharp jiggle, the key turns and the resounding click of the large locking mechanism opens for you. A simple push was enough to open the doors. 

Rows upon rows and aisles upon aisles of books greeted you. Staircases and ladders ascended upwards to even more beautifully bound pages of knowledge, other worlds, and art. Your jaw slackens at the sheer beauty of it. 

Natural light was in abundance as you see dust and dust sprites floating in the air. The dust sprite glowed brightly, the only thing you could make out was their insanely fast-beating wings as one flew past you. Their chatters were nothing but the sound of jingling bells and gibberish as they held conversations with each other. One sneezed, a light sound and new dust exploded into the air. 

They part as you walk into the library, running your fingers across the spines of a few books. The feeling of parchment and bound leather briefly remind you of home and the library it housed as well. Though this was much grander, the sentiment was still felt. 

Muffled human voices catch your attention, and when you round the corner a familiar face greets you.

“Lucienne,” You say excitedly and your smile grows when she acknowledges you. 

“My Lady!” She says in surprise, eyebrows shooting to the high heavens. 

“Oh… the something he thought of…” The other person whispers to himself. 

When he notices that your attention is on him, he clears his throat and introduces himself. 

“Sir Robert, erm, Hob Gadling of Bourneberrel.” He drops an exaggerated bow, flourishing his arms as he does so. An easy smile rests on his lips as he comes back up. 

“Bourneberrel? I haven’t traveled there before,” You respond. 

“Ah, good wine, even better hunting grounds. I would love to host Her Majesty over the summer.” Hob’s arms are spread out as he describes his land to you with a tone of nostalgia. 

“I would be delighted, so long as our King finds privy to the idea.”

“Eh, knowing him, I unfortunately doubt he will.” Hob rubs his earlobe as his plans suddenly fall apart before they can form. 

“How do you know him? The King?” You ask, sudden interest perked.

“Oh, our families are old friends, been with him since we started primary school together. Though, that’s nothing to our Lucienne here. She’s been here since they were both in diapers,” Hob explains with a soft smile. He gestures to Lucienne as he does so, who is more interested in rearranging books at the moment than the conversation. 

“So the two of you must be familiar with royal life,” You say.

“I would say so, I spend more time here than in my own estate. Though, my late wife would not have complained much,” Hob sighs with a distanced look. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, my condolences for your loss.”

Hob nods at your comment, thanking you silently for your condolences. He misses his wife and his son whom he left out of conversation. It would have made it all the more depressing and he didn’t want to make your life any more difficult. Perhaps in a different time and circumstance, with a little bit of alcohol in his system. 

A silent pause fills the room, only accompanied by the squeak of the chair as Hob sits back down and Lucienne files through her books. You turn to leave, no longer wishing to bother the two. However, something stops you and you turn back around.

“Is there something that I can do here?” You chew the inside of your cheek after you ask. Your breath held in anticipation in hopes that there would be something.

“Is there anything Your Majesty pertains to?” Lucienne's question comes soon after. Her glasses fall down her nose a bit and she pushes it back in place with the back of her finger. 

You think for a moment, looking around at the library. You enjoyed reading, but that was something you could do on your own time. If Lucienne was going to offer you something to do, it should be worth thinking about. You dig through your hobbies and when you decide on one, you look her dead in the eyes and speak. 

“Painting, is there anything here for painting?” You take another step forward towards Lucienne at your request. It may be a long shot, but it’s worth asking. 

Lucienne and Hob share a look, exchanging a conversation using only their eyes. After a particular look from Lucienne, Hob stands and beckons you to follow him. Excitement courses through you as you fall in step with him. You fight back a smile as the two of you venture further into the library. 

Hob leads you to another set of doors. He stops and takes a deep breath, then he opens them to a studio. Easels, canvases, unfinished pieces, and paint buckets greet you as he leads you further inside. Dust sprites scurry away in fright at the sudden intrusion, whizzing past your hair. 

In the corner of your eye, you see Matthew flinch at the sudden intrusion and you wonder if he got spooked by the sprites or if he was fighting back the urge to grab one for a taste. Matthew moves to stand by the door, guarding the entrance as Hob continues speaking. 

“This is, was…sorry, my wife’s studio,” He says after a deep breath. His finger glides across an unfinished portrait of him and his wife. 

Hob looked happier in the painting, clean-shaven and fit. His wife hung onto him by his arm, but her face was unfinished, leaving only a blank canvas of her skin tone. Hob thought he was over the death of his sweet Eleanor, but grief never truly leaves you, does it? It waits in the memories of your treasured loved ones and hurts you all the same when you recall them. 

“I can not possibly take this from you…” You say softly as you watch him. His face falls as he finds another canvas, this time of a young man.

“My son,” He cries out as he holds the canvas in his shaking hands. “Forgive me,” He apologizes as he sees you staring at him, his own vision blurring from his tears. 

Hob is quick to leave the studio, the portrait of his son still in his arms. Before he fully leaves the space, he turns to you. 

“I want you to know that I do not regret coming back here.” He pauses to collect himself. “These memories… They are sad but they are all I have of my family. My wife, she would have wanted it if you showed this studio love again.”

Hob leaves by shutting the door and you hear him sigh once more on the other side before his footsteps recede. It takes a few moments longer for you to unstick yourself from your position. You explore the space a bit more, occasionally looking towards the door in case Hob returns and goes back on his words. 

Reluctantly, you set up a blank canvas on the easel and begin to paint. Finally, there was somewhere to put your emotions to. Your thoughts take control of the brush as it swipes across the linen canvas. It dips, swipes, swirls, and blots as an image slowly begins to form. 

You place everything you could into the image, the emotions that you’ve bottled up since you’ve arrived. What were you doing wrong here? Was it enough to really harbor such hate from Morpheus? From the helpers and gossip mongers that will never truly know you for who you are? 

When you set your brush down, you stare at the art you’ve produced. A lone swan in a vast lake has its head hung low. The scenery was beautiful, but the algae and duckweed around the lone animal were slowly dying as it cried out for help. 

♔♕

Another week has passed since you arrived at the library. And like every night, Morpheus doesn’t show up for dinner. Instead, he stays alone in his office, having long since dismissed Lucienne from her duties for the night. He sits pondering, his entire day he wondered if you liked the gift he gave you. He’s heard of your exploration adventures and knows of your attempts to enter the library. 

Lucienne’s library isn’t the only one in the castle, but it certainly is the most special. Not only is it the largest, but only a select few may enter it. Last week, you would’ve joined the concise list of guests permitted within its walls. 

Morpheus tells himself it was so it would be easier to face you when the two of you have to host the Summer Eclipse Gala that’s coming soon. On that day, once every year, the celestial lovers Sun and Moon meet. For that one night, the people of the Dreaming drink, dance, and feast until they can no longer understand the physical world. Then, when the total eclipse locks in place, it sends the kingdom into darkness for the rest of the day. 

It was a wondrous occasion, even he cannot deny it. At the very least, the two could pretend to be amiable during the celebration. They would have to put up a unified front so as not to spread any more rumors about their marriage. However much Morpheus hated the idea of it. 

Time passes as he stays within his thoughts, before he knew it the moon was high in the sky. Its fullness illuminated his path as he took a midnight stroll. It had recently rained, covering the colonnade to his gardens in a thin layer of water. Petichor follows him from the castle to the outdoors as he breathes in the earthy scent. 

He doesn’t really know where he’s going, only that when he is out here, no one can bother him; no responsibilities could chase him. He didn’t have to be king in the dead of night. When it was simply the moon, gentle and caring as She, he could breathe. The moon’s dominion over the night sky casts a blue glow over his figure, illuminating his pale skin as he basks in Her guidance with closed eyes. 

When he opens them again, a small flickering figure stands before him. The figure grows two flame-like limbs and motions Morpheus towards itself. The will-o-the-wisp glows a warm yellow and slowly turns purple when Morpheus walks closer to it. He glances at the moon one last time before the will-o-the-wisp disappears. 

Just as it disappears, another one appears further down the path. Slowly, it turns purple just as the last did when Morpheus walks closer. The will-o-the-wisp lead him further from his original path, taking him deep into the gardens. His pants gather leftover raindrops as he walks across the flowers. 

When he looks in disgust at his foot after stepping in a particularly deep puddle, he notices that the will-o-the-wisps he had been following have gathered around his legs. They dance between his legs and try to untie his shoelaces, though with their astral bodies, they find difficulty in doing so. Morpheus only rolls his eyes as another one gathers with its friends and a new yellow will-o-the-wisp beckons him again. 

A soft humming pulls him out of his small quest and he notices that the will-o-the-wisp no longer appeared. He follows the humming, and in the pale moonlight, he sees you. The will-o-the-wisp that gathered around him trill in excitement as they notice you as well. They fly towards you so fast their flames almost flickered out in the cool night air. 

Morpheus watches in awe, jaw slackening as you move across the pavilion under the moonlight. If the moon was kind to him, then She absolutely dotes on you. Her light hugs your figure like a cloak, passing through the fabric of your clothing, and leaves close to nothing to the imagination. Morpheus finds himself unable to move, simply entranced by your beauty.

He stands as the will-o-the-wisp surrounds you, holding hands as they dance with you. Your humming continues, not noticing the little fire sprites. Your feet were bare and you wore simple clothing, as if you had snuck out of your room not too long ago. Your arms were held up as if dancing with an imaginary partner as you twirled again across the mosaic flooring. 

Morpheus recalls the conversation you two shared on your eventful wedding night, about how you loved to dance. How much has he avoided you to the point of you dancing alone in the middle of the night? The question zips across his mind like an icicle to lava and guilt takes over him. Just as fast as it appeared, he buried it deep and let anger take its place instead. He needed to have a serious conversation with his eldest brother. At his departure, the will-o-the-wisps leave your side and follow Morpheus. His robe billows behind him as he abruptly turns, the sound hidden behind the whispers of the wind, leaving you all the more ignorant to his presence.

♔♕

It was easier said than done to sneak out of your own room. Matthew, ever loyal to his station, was posted outside your door. And no matter how long you waited by it, listening carefully for his unforgettable snoring so you could sneak past him, midnight came sooner. 

Your room was becoming stuffy and even standing out on the balcony felt like you were trapped. You only considered it once, barely fornicating the plan in your head before you threw yourself over the ledge and climbed down the ivy that scaled the side of the castle. The bark was surprisingly soft under your skin as you slowly made your way downwards. 

When your feet touch the cooling grass beneath you, a smile erupts from your face. Goosebumps scatter across your body as the night air easily nips through your sleepwear but you pay it no mind as you begin to wander. Eventually, you find yourself back in the royal gardens. A pavilion with astronomical stars scattered beneath you greets you in the dead of night. 

You peek around you, even though you’re sure no one would be awake so late. Then, carefully, you tiptoe onto the pavilion, the stone proving much colder than the grass. You don’t mind, though, and slowly begin to hum to yourself to fill the silence of the night. Humming turns to dancing as you pretend you aren’t dancing alone, but rather attending a grand ball where you get to wear your favorite dress and gems. When you close your eyes, you hear laughter as you twirl, and the sound of glass clinking against each other. The wind blows and you swear you could hear the draw of strings as the orchestra begins their next piece. 

A twig snaps and echoes across the garden and you stop, your eyes opening quickly. The full moon gave you enough light to see a silhouette hidden within the trees, but not enough to make out who it was. You suddenly feel exposed and slowly back away from the silhouette. Matthew’s name perches on the tip of your tongue at any given notice. 

“Well, hello there,” The silhouette speaks and comes into the moonlight. He joins you in the pavilion, hands placed inside his suit pockets. 

His smile was charismatic, posture perfect, and any question as to whether or not he was a part of the palace would have been thrown out the window. Yet…

“Can you see out of those?” You ask cautiously as you stare at his dark glasses. 

He chuckles at your straightforward question, but it doesn’t pass you when he doesn’t answer it. Instead, he asks his own. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

You don’t answer him and risk turning your head back in the direction you came from. 

“A whooole lotta dangerous people out there y’know. Even within the castle walls.” He continues and takes a step closer to you. His voice carried a slight accent to it

“Who are you?” You reply, taking your own step back to maintain the distance, feeling the edge of the pavilion on your heels as you do so. 

“Our, oh so gracious, King calls me the Corinthian. Sends me out when there’s dirty work to be done…” He looks at your figure slowly with a deep sigh.

“Am I… dirty work?” You ask. The tremor in your voice was hard to hide, at the very least you’d say it’s because of the cold air, but then you’d both know you’re lying. 

The Corinthian chuckles again, this time open-mouth and towards the sky. “Ah, no, I can’t lay a finger on Your Majesty,” He sucks in his breath through his teeth.

His comment held a certain lilt of sarcasm in it, and it didn’t at all help you feel any more at ease in front of him. Saying he can’t doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to or could. He’s simply obligated by something that’s holding him back. 

Something about this man was dangerous even though he desperately tried to hide it behind his aloof manners. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Corinthian,” An obvious lie, a perfect farewell. “But, I’m afraid I must be going now.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty. Sweet dreams.”

You risk another look behind you to make sure to not fall off the pavilion, but when you turn back around, the Corinthian is gone just as fast as he appeared. With one last look around, you begin your way back to your room. Your walk slowly turned into a pace as your eyes darted across the dark garden, any shadow reminding you of him. Soon enough, you’re panting hard as you barrel through the gardens on pounding feet. 

You look behind you as you begin to scale the ivy to your room and close the door with a slam, locking it, and pulling the curtains tight. The room turns pitch black and you light a candle to illuminate the space. That night, you slept with the candle going, something you hadn’t done since you were a child. 

It felt childish, but the fear that followed you from that pavilion was anything but. You swallow your beating heart as you lay in your bed. Staring at the ceiling, you count the swirls once again. Tomorrow morning, you will ask Agnes for more Natterhorn milk to be added to your bath. Matthew will be outside your door should anything happen and he will greet you tomorrow morning just as he always has. When you close your eyes for the night, you dream of teeth. 

♔♕

To others, he was the archbishop of the church, the one who speaks the will of Gods, the Reverend Destiny. But to Morpheus, he was simply Potmos, his eldest brother. Morpheus finds him within the rose maze of his garden, as he often does. Destiny rarely spends time in his church, except for special occasions, as he hears the voices of Gods no matter where he goes. 

In the dead of night, Destiny wanders, the faint clinking of his chained book the only sound he produces. He leaves no footprint, and Morpehus only finds him when the smell of dust and books grows heavy. 

“Potmos,” Morpheus seethes at him. 

Slowly the archbishop turns, his hood covering his pale eyes. He doesn’t speak, waiting patiently for his younger brother to start speaking to him. Morpheus storms closer as the will-o-the-wisp follows close behind. As the sprites slowly come to recognize their master, they leave Morpheus’ side, and with more trills, they fly under Destiny’s cloak to hide. 

“What games are you playing at? Will-o-the-wisps?” Morpheus accuses, adamantly pointing at Destiny’s feet. 

Once again, Destiny stays quiet as he listens to his brother's rant. Anger was evident on his face, but if he was willing to dig deeper, even his blind eyes could see the small boy drowning in guilt. He feels the will-o-the-wisps dancing around under his robes, their fire tickling his exposed ankles. Will-o-the-wisps came to him soon after his powers did as a small gift from the Gods. 

From that day on, he was no longer Potmos, crowned prince of the kingdom, but merely Archbishop Destiny. His job now was to make sure that the Gods’ voices were heard and their plans were placed into action. An idea all too novel to Morpheus, who seeks control over anything he could set his hands on.

“If the will-o-the-wisps led you to your fate, I am not one to deny their claims.”

“She is not my fate. I do not love her.” Morpheus can’t bring himself to even say your name. 

“Perhaps not now, but it is fated. She was created for you, you are created for her. Sun and Moon, Light and Dark, Land and Sea. Balance in duality, my brother.” Comes Destiny’s answer. 

“I do not love her. It is forced love. Fate cannot tell me who to love, I choose to love Calliope, I wish to have her.” Morpheus whispers the last few words, mainly to himself. Destiny, as always, hears them. 

“Does she wish to have you?” Destiny asks instead. 

The question strikes him hard, like a cold, hard slap of reality to the face. Ever since that conversation with her on his wedding night, Calliope had been the one to ignore him; not at all dissimilar to how he had been avoiding you. 

Morpheus was unwilling to come to fruition with the truth and he turned to anger once more. Grabbing at Destiny’s book, he opens it and watches as the pages flip to the page he needs. He faces the book towards his older brother and points at the names written in golden ink. There were plenty of other words written on the page, about unification, about soulmates, but he looks past all of that. 

“This,” He jabs his finger where he signs his name next to yours. “This is why I ‘love’ her. It is not real.”

“It is real. Open your eyes.”

Morpheus shuts the book with force, the slam echoing in the hedge maze. It only floats back gently into Destiny’s after he drops it. Morpheus storms off, arguing with Destiny is like arguing with a brick wall, except the brick wall is always right. He can’t deny it, his brother is the voice for forces even greater than him, but he can hate it.

“It is time you come to recognize her. Find her soon or let disaster run its course.” Destiny’s voice reaches him even after he leaves the maze, his voice carried by the wind and the fragrance of roses. 

When he gets back to the castle, thinking at the very least that he may turn in for the night, the Corinthian is waiting for him. The conversation was brief, both men were tired and wanted to sleep, but Corinthian had important information he must let his king know. 

He tells about one of Desire’s plans, to send a man named Rodrick Burgess after his sister. To manipulate the man into thinking his sister could bring back his dead son; it would be Rodrick’s greatest wish, his greatest desire. 

The solution was easy, and with the promise of increased pay, Morpheus instructed Corinthian to deal with the man before he became a problem. The Corinthian only smiles, pay was not the reason he spied on the other kingdom, nor the reason why he was all too satisfied to end another’s life. He was great at it: the drama of killing another, the power he feels when he hears them beg beneath him. It is what he was made for. 

That night, when Morpheus closes his eyes, he dreams of you. He watches as you’re taken by Rodrick Burgess, just as his sister might soon be. When he woke, the king didn’t dare to go back to sleep again. 

♔♕

Destiny’s vague warning and his dream last night make him seek you out after his daily responsibilities the next day. He finds you after spotting Matthew standing in front of Eleanor’s old studio. Lucienne wasn’t in the library at the time, and Hob was off doing some new exercise cleansing ritual that he didn’t really bother to listen to. 

“Your Majesty,” Matthew greets with a salute, his voice laced with something between panic and bewilderment.

“Is she in there?” 

“Huh?” Matthew caws in confusion. Who?

“Is Y/N in there?” Oh…. Oh!

“Oh, yes. Her Majesty has been here since the morning.” Matthew replies with a smile, though his king couldn’t see it. 

Morpheus motions Matthew to stand aside with a wave of his hand and he does. Jessamy follows Morpheus like a poisonous shadow and goes to stand next to him as well. She doesn’t bother to look at the knight, but still, he shakes with anxiety at her close proximity, or the fart he was suddenly holding in, he can’t tell at the moment. 

Morpheus hesitates to open the door, in fact, he almost leaves, but the bracelet that rests on his left wrist constricts as if unhappy about his decisions. When he places his hand on the handle once more, it releases itself in content. 

Slowly, he turns the handle, hoping to not make a noise and startle you. When he comes into the room, you don’t notice him, too entranced in the process of your painting. Your brush was held mid-stroke and you stayed still in thought. 

From this angle, he could see the slope of your nose and the curve of your lips and eyelashes. In the late afternoon sun, he can see every detail of your face. Morpheus opens his mouth to greet you, but a glint is caught by the sun and he stops. 

He watches with a frown as a tear slowly falls from your eye, it collects itself on the tip of your chin before falling and splattering itself on your painter’s palette, diluting the colors. Another tear forms in your unblinking eyes and joins the other. Your arms begin to shake as you let your tears collect and the sudden rush of emotions makes you lurch in pain. A whine tries to make its way out of your throat, but you clasp a firm hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

Your brush staggers across the canvas at the movement and you stare in shock at your ruined painting. You don’t know why, but you scream at the canvas, the defining streak runs across what would have been a perfectly adequate art piece. Everything seems to mess up in front of you, no matter how hard you try to be perfect. 

“Stop,” Morpheus calls out to you at your outburst, but you’re too deep to hear him. 

Perhaps it was all of the emotions you’ve kept bottled deep within yourself finally bursting. Your hands grip the frames of the painting as you scream again, tears now freely coming out in fat drops. Anger runs through your body and you let it. 

This stupid painting!

You scream again and throw your palette across the room, the paints splattering across the wall like blood. Sobs rack through your body, shaking you to your core as you find your hands toppling over the canvas, watching as the wooden frame cracks after coming in contact with the floor. 

“Y/N, stop!” You hear his voice closer to you this time, but the buzzing thoughts keep you occupied. You see your monsters seeping in through the cracks of the stone walls and they echo out your thoughts.

“Let yourself feel rage, Y/N,” they whisper tauntingly in your ears. They stick to your skin, they drown in your lungs, restricting you in any way they could. 

This stupid marriage!

It’s getting hard to breathe, your hands grabbing your hair's scalp as you look around the studio. All of your past paintings look back at you and you feel their melancholy coming back. 

“Why did you make me like this? Y/N, why am I sad? Y/N, why am I alone? Y/N, why am I scared? Y/N…! Y/N…! Y/N…!” The paitings ask as their forms take on black goo like monsters. You're storming towards them, to hit them, destroy them, anything to allow the anger to stay.  

Anger would be better than feeling lonely anymore. 

Arms wrap around your body from behind and hold you back as you begin to thrash in the hold. It was so constricting, your body heaves gulping breaths and your teeth buzzes at the brink of hyperventilation. Your fingers go numb, your mind blank and you scream again. 

“I hate you!” You cry out in the embrace, squirming as you try to break free.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Morpheus whispers back as he tightens his grip on you. Your trashing doesn’t die down and he grunts as a particularly hard elbow hits him in the ribs. 

“I hate you, I hate you!” You continue screaming. 

“I’m sorry, please, stop. I’m sorry.” He holds on tight. An uncomfortable feeling creeps up his throat and he realizes he’s holding back his own tears. His knees buckle and he brings you with him, falling to the floor with you in his arms. He turns you towards him to hold you closer, to shield you from the outside world. 

“I HATE YOU!” You sob one last time as the pent-up energy is finally spent, leaving you nothing more than a bag of flesh and bones in Morpheus’ arms. You slam a weak fist against his chest, throat screamed raw. “I hate you…” 

Your body is racking with hiccups and remnant sobs as you feel the warmth of his embrace. You grab onto his jacket lapel, knuckles turning white and you realize that this is the first time someone has held you, touched you, embraced you since your wedding night. He still smells like earth and licorice.

The two of you stay like that for a while, and despite all circumstances, Morpheus can’t find the will to let you go. Your eyes and nose were cherry red from crying and the guilt once again starts to eat at him. This was his fault because he was too pretentious in what he thought he could control. He runs a delicate finger across the top of your forehead when your breathing evens, moving the hair away from your face. 

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing Morpheus could think of saying. 

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Went fishing around in my greifcase for this one I think. Found the angst pretty deep in there

See you next time ( ` ᢍ ´ ) ᵐᵘʰᵃʰᵃ

♡ Yours, Layla

Tags: @dnarez @arunawayheart @acdassenza @ella33 @karma-is-a-god @bluespecs14

[always-andromeda]

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐫, 𝐈 𝐀𝐦 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞

𝐃𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⭐︎ 1,119

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⭐︎ The dark never quite appealed to you until Din showed you the delights that could be hidden within it. Tucked away in the shadows of the Razor Crest, his mouth seeks out yours.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⭐︎ I can't even pretend that I came up with the title for this fic. Last semester I read an article by Leah Comeau analyzing Tirukkōvaiyār, an ancient Tamil poem. That line appeared in the poem and it immediately gave me Din vibes. Thank you college education for giving me ideas for my internet smut.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⭐︎ smut (minors, please do not interact), oral (female receiving), Din gets absolute drunk off of pussy lmao, Din using bits of Mando'a (sorry I am a sentimental whore) lots of intimacy and bits of angst here and there, nothing else I can think of!

The dark never quite appealed to you until Din showed you the delights that could be hidden within it. Tucked away in the shadows of the Razor Crest, his mouth seeks out yours. And right away it comes off as an apology. An apology for the secrecy in which your relationship operates.

Working with him was already risky enough. If those who wanted the Mandalorian's head on a pike knew just how much he values you...Din doesn't even want to conceptualize how the danger would only multiply. All he wants is to anchor himself in your being.

He hovers over you, letting messy kisses land wherever he wants them to. Some hit your jaw,  your chin, your cheek. As soon as he catches the corner of your lips, he focuses in with smaller pecks until one finally lands right in the middle of your mouth. There it waits, parted slightly in anticipation. There's a second of silence as his nose bumps against yours and you know right away that it's not an accident. It's affection.

Din doesn't spare another moment before he dives back in. You can hardly keep up with his desperation. Given your deprivation of sight, you have no choice but to feel every landing of his lips on your skin.

Though it’s just light kisses, each one chips away at you with its ravenous energy. In a way, you can't blame him. When was the last time he'd been able to take that helmet off so he could feel the touch of another? When will the next time be? Because for all you both know, he could be killed before next time comes. You push that thought away. Instead, you tell yourself that he's far too intelligent, far too skilled, far too shrewd to let anything bad happen to him. And for a little while, that staves the worries away.

At least it's long enough to focus on his mouth, smothering your abdomen with open mouthed kisses. The smacking sound of them makes your breath catch in your throat as the vibrations get closer and closer to where you need him.

Always the noble giver, Din provides generously. He takes his time running his tongue through the nooks between your thighs and your cunt. Though his navigation between your legs is imperfect, it's still welcome. Whether it's the dark that causes this or his innate urge to savor this moment, you don't know.

Either way, you need it. But you don't have it in you to whine or whisper for him to give you more. Slowly, he tastes you. Lets the musk and sweat of your skin build on his taste buds until he becomes intoxicated from the potency. You let your soft gasps fade into the white noise of the enclosed room.

You don't think you'll ever get over this; trying to picture what his face might look like as he works. This time you feel the prickle of facial hair on your inner thighs, making you twitch. Then there's his nose. You have no clue what it looks like but you're fully convinced that it's perfect based entirely on the way that the bridge of it gently nudges at your clit.

Hand fanning over the expanse of your thigh, he squeezes. A low groan from his throat mixes with the wet sounds of his tongue attempting to drink up every bit of sickly sweet nectar he can.

Starved. Ravenous. And you still can't blame him.

He feels your walls clench and shiver around his tongue and chooses then to retreat. Teasingly, he kisses around your labia. He bides his time before he spreads you out once more, runs his tongue through the folds and finally latches onto the thrumming core that begs for his attention.

By the time your legs begin to shake and you gasp out, "I think I'm close," you swear you detect a hint of disappointment in his tone when he replies, "Already?"

Time must've flown by while he was having his fun because without even meaning to, he'd brought you to the edge and back more times than you could be bothered to keep track of. Part of him longs to do it all over again.

But he doesn't have nearly enough self control to even try to exercise it. You know exactly what he needs. He takes as much as he can get from you, knowing full well that at the end of it he'd need to disappear once more. As long as he held onto his faith, this would have to do. You'd be his breath of fresh air, keeping him going when the way becomes difficult for him to find a point in following.

Besides, you cry out so beautifully already. Your figure squirming, heels digging into his back, you feel almost like one of his bounties, begging for his mercy. But because it's you, he truly feels pity. With his eyes adjusted to the dark, he can barely make out your eyes as they squeeze shut. And he bets that if the light were on, he'd see glimmering trails of tears making their way down the sides of your face. That image motivates him enough to finish the job properly.

In an instant, the quiet and almost claustrophobic atmosphere of the Mandalorian's bunk crumbles away as you're sent into hyperspace. And then you simply float. In the infinite, unending darkness of the room, Din's presence envelopes you as he whispers one word against your skin, over and over again.

Cyar’ika.

It protects you; lets you feel the full weightlessness and peace of pleasure before letting you gently drift back into gravity's grasp. There isn’t just desperation, hunger, or simple affection in this act. There’s love. Trust. All things that you know how difficult it is for the Mandalorian to muster for someone outside the bounds of his creed.

You couldn't be more relieved when he surfaces to hold you in his arms. Amongst all of the chaos that comes with being with him, you wouldn't want it any other way. Not when you feel his head nuzzle into the crook of your neck. You laugh a little weakly when you comb your fingers through his hair and feel how damp it is.

Din hums halfheartedly, wordlessly wondering what was so humorous to you.

You don't bother answering, knowing that he'd probably be out before too long. You burn this feeling into your bones. And you hold each other the way that only two people in the middle of an uncertain galaxy can; with an almost impossible sort of faith. Entangled with you, Din feels just as safe and sure as the beskar he hides beneath.

[do-it-jakey-baby]

Umbra Perpetua

Vampire!Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Synopsis: plagued by the pain of your Dad’s passing, you uproot your life to a new town. Peace, however, is extremely far from what you find there as your world is turned on its axis.

Warnings: mentions of loss, grief, painful memories, aggression, profanity, blackout (sorry if I’ve missed any)

18+, MINORS DNI

Chapter One

That’s it. Everything was packed.

Truth be told, you were just leaving one miserable town to move to another, equally miserable town. But you needed to get out, to get away from the painful memories that lined the streets you grew up in. You couldn’t bear the creak of the swing your Dad had spent days tirelessly making, winding it around the maple tree and ensuring it was structurally sound before letting you take it for a spin. You couldn’t stomach the sight of his favourite flannel, still draped over the back of the worn, leather armchair that sat proudly in your reading nook.

Every single element of the house you called a home reminded you that he was gone, and was never coming back. It wasn’t just the house, either. It was the entire town. The sense of nostalgia that grew within your soul used to light you up from within, but now it engulfs you in darkness. Walking past the spot where you first learnt how to ride your bike, or to the ice cream parlour that you frequented every Friday. The unbearable agony that came with reliving these milestones was chewing you up and spitting you out into the abyss.

No more, it had to end. So off you went, on your journey to Washington. You weren’t even sure why you picked Washington, possibly because it held no place in your heart. It was somewhere you could start fresh, void of any characteristics that would remind you of your Dad. That’s what you needed, if you were to ever begin to heal.

As you unpack in your tiny apartment, you feel a sense of hope. Your new home was in need of a hell of a lot of TLC, but it was something you could channel your focus into. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. The money that had been left behind for you wasn’t a lot in terms of inheritance, but enough to get you away from the town you grew up in. But the money would run out, so the first thing on your agenda was to find a job.

The town was small, with a population of around 5,000. As you walked the streets, trying to gain your bearings and familiarise yourself with the area, you stumble upon a quaint little store. It looked like it belonged in a horror movie, with its carbon painted, extremely vintage-esque exterior. The name of the store is carefully etched onto the front of the building in a white, old English font.

𝕬𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 𝕬𝖓𝖎𝖒𝖆

A spark of intrigue floods your senses, your feet carrying you to the door on impulse. As you gently push it open, you hear a soft chime. The gothic interior of the store perfectly compliments the exterior, with the scent of incense carrying throughout the space. You could make out notes of frankincense and vetiver, mixed in with dusty, well-loved pages of leather-bound books. There’s a section in the corner filled with vinyls, the rest of the store littered with literature, candles, and delicate crystal trinkets. You venture in further, fully entranced within the environment.

“Hello, can I help you with anything?”

A raven-haired woman walks from behind the counter. She can’t be much older than you, if at all. Her beauty almost knocks the wind from your lungs, with her perfect porcelain skin and deep, ruby lips.

“Hi. Wow, this place is… wow.” You feel embarrassment flood to your cheeks at your lack of articulation.

“Thank you, it’s my pride and joy.” She smiles softly, tucking her silky strands behind her ears.

You couldn’t help but wonder how someone, likely in their early twenties, owned a store like this. Flitting your eyes around the space, you smile back. “It’s beautiful.”

“Passed down through the family to me.” She answers, as if you spoke your question aloud. “So, do you need anything, or would you just like to have a wander around?”

You nod, cursing yourself for your inability to form a coherent sentence. She giggles under her breath, turning to resume her place at the counter. You walk around, taking everything in as you do. Fingering through the records on the far side of the store, you come to the realisation that you’ve listened to each one of the albums. After you’ve explored every nook and cranny, you head over to the counter with a book in hand.

“Edgar Allan Poe, hm? Great choice.”

“My favourite poet.”

She rings up your purchase, then carefully wraps the book in brown parchment. She ties it together securely with a piece of twine, then hands it to you.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“Ah, yeah. I just moved here, today. I was actually just out looking for a job, but I couldn’t resist coming in here.”

“That’s opportune. I’m hiring.” She smirks.

“You are? Oh my god, I’d love to apply.”

“Consider yourself hired.”

You furrow your brow. “Hired? You’ve only just met me.”

“I trust my intuition.” She reaches behind the counter, pulling a stack of papers from underneath and places them on top, sliding them towards you. “If you want the job, it’s yours. Hours are 9 to 5, Monday to Friday, with some weekend shifts. $20 an hour.”

You stand with your mouth agape, staring between the woman and the paperwork.

“You do want the job, don’t you?” She cocks her head to the side.

“Sorry. Yes. Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much!”

“It’s Adeline.”

“Adeline, right. I’m Y/N.” You extend your hand out to her. When your palm comes into contact with hers, the difference in temperature startles you. It was like you’d just placed your hand onto a marble statue, her skin cool and smooth against yours.

“Get the paperwork signed and come in for 8:30 tomorrow morning, ready to start at 9. It was lovely to meet you.”

You continue to stare at your hand, the chill still lingering from her touch.

“Yeah… you too.” You pick up your book and the paperwork, turning towards the door. As you make contact with the handle, you look back to say goodbye, but Adeline has vanished.

~

You toss and turn all night in your bed, unable to shake your encounter with Adeline. You felt completely enamoured by her. She was undeniably beautiful, but there was something else there. Her movements were so fluid, and the way she laughed was almost musical, as if she was singing you a song with her joy. By the time the morning sun graced the sky, sleep had barely found you. You fought through your exhaustion and peeled yourself from your sheets. You felt the innate need to prove yourself to Adeline, seeing as she had offered you a job on the spot without knowing anything about you. In fact, she didn’t even know your name until the end of your conversation. And the way she seemed to know what you were thinking without you voicing it aloud…

Shaking the thoughts from your mind, you get ready for the day. You remember passing a coffee shop on the way home yesterday, so decide to stop by and attempt to quell your lack of sleep with caffeine. You place your order at the counter, then sit down with your new book and begin to flip through the pages while you wait.

“Vanilla latte for Y/N?”

You look up to find a young man staring back at you, holding your coffee.

“Yeah, that’s me. Thank you.”

The first thing you notice is his skin. It seems oddly sun-kissed, considering the town is spent in an almost constant state of overcast weather. Perhaps he’s just been on vacation recently?

You arrive at Alligatus Anima five minutes before instructed, but the door is unlocked. You let yourself in, walking through the quiet space until you reach the counter.

No sign of Adeline.

All of the hairs on your body prick up as an unfamiliar feeling takes over, causing your fight or flight to kick in. Your eyes dart around the room, but find nothing out of the ordinary. Still, that uneasy feeling remains, until you hear rustling in the back. You breathe a sigh of relief, realising it’s most likely just Adeline setting up for the day. You push past the beaded curtains that separate the shop floor from the back of house in search for her.

“Adeline?”

As you walk further, it feels like you’re being watched. You stop in your tracks, fear rooting you to the spot.

Why are you so afraid?

Then, you hear it. It’s so faint, you could convince yourself that you imagined it, but the quiet gruffs of muffled laughter find your ears. “Adeline?” You repeat, this time a lot lower in volume as your voice shakes.

“No, not Adeline.”

You don’t stop to have a conversation with whoever, or whatever just spoke to you. Letting your feet propel you back to the front of the store, you almost collide with Adeline.

“Y/N, is everything ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” She drops her bag down behind the counter, placing a hand on your arm.

“Or heard one…” You mumble under your breath.

“Do you have your paperwork?”

“Oh, yeah, let me grab it.” You fish around in your satchel for the documents and hand them over.

Adeline sets you up with a list of books that need re-stocking, then heads out back with your paperwork. You sit down at the counter, going over the list and familiarising yourself with the titles. Although you try your hardest to focus, you can’t stop your mind from wondering back to the encounter in the back of the store. That was a male voice. You think on if you should mention it to Adeline for a moment, but you’re quickly broken from your thoughts when she re-enters the room.

“Ok, all done. You’re officially employed. Let’s get you trained up.”

The majority of the day is spent learning the systems, which in reality consists of an old cash register and an iPad. Adeline shows you where the stock is kept, which makes you shudder due to it being in the exact vicinity of where the mysterious voice came from earlier. When she’s satisfied that you’ve learnt everything you needed, she leaves you to mind the floor whilst she gets to work pouring candles out back.

The afternoon had been quiet. You served only a handful of customers, all of them finding what they needed without any intervention. You’re busy mopping the floor in your preparations to close up shop when the door chimes once more. You look up to find a man standing before you unlike any you’d seen before. His skin bore the same shade as Adeline’s, a crisp alabaster. His features looked as if they’d been carved from stone, sharp and captivating. His hair, spilling in soft waves onto his shoulders, was a deep chestnut brown. He had slight stubble on his upper lip, and a pair of black sunglasses perched atop his nose. As your eyes wandered further, you noted he was wearing a black button down, secured by only the last 3 buttons, exposing his gleaming chest. He wore a silver chain with a multitude of pendants dangling from it, but you weren’t close enough to see the detail. His pants were black too, and the outfit completed with a pair of Chelsea boots. You were positive you’d never seen a more beautiful man in your life.

“Is my sister here?” He speaks in a velvety rasp.

“Uh- Adeline?”

“That would be her.”

“Yeah, she’s out back. I’ll uh, I’ll go get her.”

You turn to find Adeline, but the man speaks again.

“I don’t know you.”

You swivel your body back towards him, unsure of what to say.

“We don’t get a lot of new people around here.” He speaks again, moving closer towards you. As the proximity between you lessens, he seems to become uncomfortable. He halts, standing still a few meters from you.

“I just moved here.” You gulp, that same feeling from this morning seeping back into your bones.

You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his breathing becoming harsher. His hands beside him ball into fists. Your heart thumps in your chest as the overwhelming urge to run takes over your mind, alarm bells ringing loud and clear. Something wasn’t right here.

“Ah, Jacob. I see you’ve met my new recruit, Y/N.”

Adeline. Oh, thank god.

“Indeed, I have.” He snarls.

You turn your body towards the direction of Adeline’s voice, only to find that she’s now standing next to you. You could have sworn she was behind you only a second ago.

“She’s a very hard worker, a great addition to the team.” She continues, stepping in front of you slightly.

“Oh, is she?” He smirks, and you think you like it even less than his earlier expression.

“Y/N, this is Jacob. My younger brother.”

Before you can register what you’re doing, you step towards him with your hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”

You watch as he takes in a deep breath, but before anything else can happen, Adeline is between you both. Her hand is placed firmly on Jake’s chest.

“No, not this time. Not her.” She whispers, but you hear it anyway.

Jacob exhales sharply, rubbing his hand over his face. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N. Pity.”

Adeline looks back towards you, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’.

In an instant, the world around you fades to black.

~

Air floods your lungs as you take in a gasp, thrashing around manically as you come to. You bolt upright, to find that you’re at home, in your own bed. With your head in your hands, the visions of the moments before you blacked out flash before your eyes.

What happened?

As you look around your room, you spot a figure in your peripheral. Your blood runs cold as you back yourself against your headboard, bringing your sheets up to your chin. The figure rises from it’s seat in the corner, stepping into the light that streams through the crack in your curtains.

Adeline.

“Please, don’t be scared. I just had to make sure you were ok.”

“Adeline? Wha- what.” You stammer.

She sits beside you on the side of the bed.

“He won’t hurt you. I promise.”

“Hurt me? Why would he hurt me?” You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, more from fear than any other emotion.

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, I wish I could. But what I can tell you is that my brother and I, we are… different.”

“Different?”

“Yes different. But I like you. There’s something about you that I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“How did I pass out?”

“Uh, that was me. Call it a protection measure…”

“Protecting me from who? Jacob?”

“Y/N, I can’t answer your questions. It’s more dangerous for you if I do. But I promise you, you are safe. You have my word. Take today off, get some rest. You have my number, I’m only down at the store if you need me.”

She swiftly makes her exit, leaving you even more confused than you were to begin with. You pick your phone up from your nightstand, finding it open on your contacts.

Adeline Kiszka

You cross your legs under your body, bringing up every social media app you had on your phone and typing the two names in. You find nothing. Deciding what you need is fresh air, you pull on a pair of leggings and a hoodie, then head outside. You aimlessly wander down street after street, trying to find a distraction, until your feet carry you to the little coffee shop you’d visited the day prior. As you walk in, you’re met with the same face as yesterday, eagerly waiting to take your order.

“Another vanilla latte?” He smiles.

“You remember my order? I’ve only been in here once.”

“No one orders the syrup around here, so it’s pretty memorable.” He chuckles. “So, new in town I’m assuming?”

“Why does everyone ask me that, is it that obvious?”

He grins, and you can’t help but notice the small dimple in his cheek. “Kinda yeah, but we don’t get a lot of newbies.”

“So I’ve been told…” You murmur.

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

“Yeah that’s right.”

“I’m Alex.” He hands you your coffee, then looks like he’s about to say something else.

“Speak your mind, Alex.”

“I, um, I get off in like ten minutes. Do you wanna, maybe hang out? If you’re free.”

You could use a friend in this town…

“Yeah sure, I’d love to.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later Alex is walking towards you, sans apron. He doesn’t tell you where you’re going, but you end up at a park on the edge of town. You sit down on a bench together and he pulls out a sandwich from his backpack.

“You want half? It’s PB&J?”

You feel your stomach growl, realising now how long it’s been since you last ate. “Yeah, sure. Thank you.”

You both sit in silence, taking bites from the sandwich and enjoying the warmth of the sun that is peaking through the clouds.

“Do you know anything about the Kiszkas?”

Alex almost chokes on his sandwich as he turns to you, his eyes wide. “Stay. Away.”

You furrow your brow. “Well, that’s kinda hard for me to do seeing as Adeline is my boss…”

“Shit. No, no. Y/N, you have to quit. I can see if we have anything available at my place.”

“What is so bad about them?”

“Look, I know you only just met me yesterday, but you need to trust me. They aren’t good people. If you can even call them that…” He mumbles the last part so quietly you almost don’t catch it.

“Why can’t anyone be straight with me around here?” You mutter, taking another bite of the PB&J.

“I’m sorry, I wish-”

“You wish you could tell me, but you can’t, right?” You roll your eyes.

“No. I like, really, really can’t. Can you at least promise me you’ll be careful? And don’t walk anywhere alone at night.”

“I can’t really avoid that, I don’t know anyone here yet. I only moved here yesterday!”

“Well, then take my number. I don’t mind walking with you.”

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Because, you seem like a good person. Someone who probably moved here to get away from it all. I understand that.”

~

You and Alex chatted for hours, finally moving on from the Kiszka conversation. You learnt a lot about him, what made him tick, and about his home life. You came to the conclusion that you liked him very swiftly, especially when he told you he also loved The Rolling Stones. Talking to him was pretty effortless, it didn’t feel like a chore and it was actually quite enjoyable. He had a certain “golden retriever” type energy about him, that somewhat matched your “black cat” energy well. You were like yin and yang, and it worked. He dropped you back at your house when it got dark, becoming shifty as soon as the moon lit up the night sky. You said your goodbyes and he made you promise again that you’d call him if you needed him.

As soon as you crossed the threshold into your house, you could tell something wasn’t right. The air smelled… different. Not in a bad way, in fact it was an incredibly intoxicating fragrance. Nevertheless, it put you on high alert. Remembering you placed one of your old baseball bats from high school by the door, you grasp onto the handle. Moving at a snail like pace, you begin towards your kitchen.

Clear.

Your bedroom is next, just down the hall. The floorboards squeak as you try your best to remain silent. The door to your room is ajar, which is strange because you always close it before you leave. You peer in through the gap, seeing the room is empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, you enter the room and walk towards your bed, but before you get to it the door slams shut. You brace yourself as you spin around, the bat raised in your hands as you prepare to use it.

Jacob.

“Hello again, Y/N. Are you planning on using that on me?”

[swampstew]

KillerCook Chapter 11

Welcome to Raven’s Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Join us in the family room as we sit around and browse our phones, and eat some Girl Scout cookies as we begin tonight’s story. Rated Mature for language. Minors DNI

*Phone app notification goes ping*

TikTok – KillerCook has uploaded a new video. Check it out!

Title: HACKED Description: This ain’t your regularly scheduled programming punks!5 minute video. The thumbnail is a shadowed figure with a menacing looking ‘X’ mark over the body.

*Press Play?*

The video began with what appeared to be a hostage situation.

KillerCook was tied to a chair with rope and chains, a blindfold over his helmet and duct tape adhered to most of his face holes.

“Uhh, this isn’t what it looks like,” Killer was able to voice out from behind the bondage.

“No, it’s exactly what it looks like,” barked Kid as he stepped into the frame. “This effin idiot was gonna make content on HIS birthday. Not in my house. Today is technically Killer’s birthday but we’re kidnapping – shut the hell up – him so he can actually let his hair down for once in his life.”

Heat stepped into the frame on Killer’s opposite side, “Originally, we were gonna take over the channel and cook for him. BUT, Kid had a light-bulb moment and we developed a scheme to treat the birthday man. You all will be seeing this next week, but rest assured, we’ve got it covered. Wish Killer a happy birthday in the comments and he’ll read them all when we come back!”

Wire came from behind the camera shaking a can of whipped cream, stepping menacingly towards Killer. Aiming the nozzle into one of the helmet holes, he pressed down on the can until Killer began thrashing, white whipped cream oozed from behind the taped holes. “THIS IS FOR THROWING FOOD AT ME ALL YEAR!”

The video transitioned to a blue and white screen with a traditional birthday melody laid over it.

A slideshow of videos and still-shot frames from Killer’s birthday kidnapping started playing.

Killer’s hostage-wear stayed on as the crew drove to the marina, where a punk-looking yacht was moored. The bow of the ship was adorned with a skeletal body, and there were blue and red flames painted to the sides of the hull. Black cursive spelled out the beauty’s name – Victoria Punk.

“The bag over the helmet is really pointless, I know where we are,” Killer’s muffled complaint went ignored as he was marched up the boarding plank.

About 30 pictures went by with various crew members and friends posing with hostage Killer; one photo had him wearing a beer helmet over the bag over his helmet, the straws tucked underneath all the materials to give Killer some libation.

Finally liberated, Killer – dressed down into swim trunks and his helmet – took a running leap off the yacht to cannonball into the sea. As he resurfaced, the rest of the crew cannonballed after him, created a wave of water to shower down on him and the camera, which promptly died.

_______________________

Kid’s pissed-off scowl came into focus as he adjusted the new camera perspective, “{Redacted} idiots killed my phone instead of using the {redacted} GoPro.”

The next clip showed Killer relaxing with a beer bottle in hand, laying against a giant pizza slice pool float as people drifted by him, playing in the water. All was calm until Quincy, Bubblegum, and Heat swam underneath the float and flipped it over. When Killer broke the surface, the laughter tripled as his hair was plastered all over his helmet and chest, but his beer-bottle was still in one of the face holes.

“There’s sea water in my beer,” he said flatly.

A new clip had a heavy metal anthem roaring in the background as the yacht was sailing at high speed on the open ocean. Killer was standing on the bow, holding a Scottish flag, and thrashing his hair to the music.

More photos of the crew and Killer celebrating his birthday with drinking games, strength competitions, and gorging on fresh seafood flooded the TikTok video. Amongst the main crew and personal friends, there were also members of the Straw Hat crew, and even some ‘frenemy’ rivals that had been spoken of but not ever invited on to the KillerCook channel before. By the time the lighting in the photos grew darker, Killer’s helmet had been exchanged for a face mask and his cerulean eyes were noticeably glossy.

“Hap-hic-happy birthday, Kill, -hic- the best-{redacted}-friend a punk could-hic ask for,” slurred Kid as he gripped Killer’s shoulder. Both men swayed as a cake was brought out to the main deck. Sunset had long passed, the yacht was brightly lit up with swarms of bulbs on strings that hung tastefully along the walls and railings.

Everyone began to sing the birthday song and Killer might have shed a tear, shoving a palm roughly to his face.

“{Redacted}-A, I don’t even know what to say,” Killer drawled out. “All I was going to do was make a small cake and smoke my pipe. You {redacted} are so good to me. Well, not all of you, but I like most of yah. Some I don’t know how you got invited, seriously. But I’m glad you’re here celebrating anyways. I don’t have a wish to make, truly. I’ve got everything, everyone. So thanks. Alright I’m not going to get mushy on all you freeloaders!” Killer ripped off his face mask.

With deep-purple stained lips, Killer’s gorgeous smile shined brightly as he took a gulp of air and blew out the sparkler-flame candles. The party participants roared in celebration at the same time an airhorn started blowing off-screen.

The camera quickly panned to the culprit of the sound. A modest sized cruise ship with a flag waving proudly on the masts pulled up portside. On the side of the hull it’s name was proudly presented: The Baratie. The camera’s change in perspective did not allow for viewers to see who let out the strangled, high-pitched scream of excitement.

Sanji was clutching Killer’s soldiers and babbling incoherently before jumping into the water, swimming towards the restaurant ship.

Hands covering his face, Killer sobbed out, “I’m so fucking happy!! LET’S EAT!!!!”

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

[daniellesreadingnook]

I can’t wait to see the next part of Harley Quinn’s journey!!!

Check this book and series out if you haven’t done so already!!

[unhappy-last-resort]

Astral Desires (Yandere Watanabe x Commandant GN Reader)

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, stalking(?), sneaking into your room without your knowledge, mentions non-con fingering, touches you in your sleep but nothing nsfw

A/N: This was sitting in my drafts for too long. Inspired by that out of pocket secret his astral frame has, that as far as I know, is not given any context or explanation so I assume he's just secretly insane and honestly. Fair.

Not proof read, please lmk any mistakes or improvements.

The lounge was quiet, save for an occasional patrol by the Gray Ravens checking in on their Commandant and making sure nothing was out of the ordinary. They've failed.

Watanabe knows this because Lee hasn't noticed his presence at all and he's willing to bet that he'll leave without checking every nook and cranny. Maybe one day he'll teach him to properly check for enemies without disturbing the Commandant, maybe. Right now though, their lack of awareness made sneaking into your room all the easier.

Lee appeared in his vision once again, doing his final cursory check of the lounge. Watanabe moved with him, staying crouched while evading his line of sight and the lounge security camera until Lee finally exited the room. Thankfully, Babylonia upgraded his Astral frame significantly, replacing his old stealth module with a new one and even adding additional modules and settings to enhance his abilities, turning what was an outdated frame into one that provided him with more of an edge over enemies and proved useful in ensuring a few deals for the Forsaken went smoothly. He should thank you for encouraging him to take it despite his dislike of Babylonia, he thinks to himself. Having verified the coast was clear, and knowing that the none of the other Ravens will make their rounds again for quite some time, Watanabe quickly opened the door to your dorm and entered, silently observing your dorm room as the door shut silently behind him.

Watanabe rolled his shoulders slightly, now he could relax a little more. He stood up straight and slowly walked to your sleeping form, not bothering to hide his presence save for his sound suppression module. You had a thin T-shirt on and he didn't care to guess what the sheets were hiding, he already knew. The artificial moonlight shining through your window illuminated your face beautifully, although he hated that you left the curtains open like that, he had to admit that he never tired of this sight. This was his and his alone.

During the daytime hours you're always putting on a brave face, keeping it together for your squad and others around you so they don't see the way your fingers trembled ever so slightly during the Space Station mission, or your anxiety as you're being shuttled to another mission, wondering if it's your last. At night however, it was different. When you think you're alone you'll let down your high walls and let your shoulders drop under the invisible pressure you always feel with every step. Sometimes you cry, stare at a wall in thought, or write in your journal. Watanabe always liked when you did that, because that's where all your unfiltered thoughts and feelings are put down. He's read every single page more times than he could count. It brought a faint smile to his lips, thinking about all the things he knew about you. You never opened up to him unlike the humans at the Forsaken HQ and his patience started to wear thin after a while.

He couldn't help it. He wanted- no, needed to know you more. Who were you under the heavy title of "commandant"? What were you like before? What would you be doing if it weren't for the Punishing Virus? Would you be happy if you lived on Earth, or do you prefer to live among the stars? Are you loyal to Babylonia or your companions? He wanted to learn so much about you, but you always kept a distance. He could feel it, he could feel an invisible wall you would put up, barring him from getting any closer and from your secrets slipping out, but you...you were like a flower blooming in the desert. Beautiful, resilient, and wonderous, can you blame him? Can you blame him for finally cracking and taking things into his own hands?

He moves towards your window and draws your curtains closed, careful not to be visible from any potential passerby. After all, your sleeping form and all the thoughts and expressions you don't let anyone else see is for his eyes and M.I.N.D. alone. He walks towards your bed slowly, as though he might wake you even though he knew you wouldn't, not even if he pried you open with his fingers. He only knows that because it done it a few times, oh how sweet your soft little whimpers were as you would squirm and writhe in your sleep. The memories tug a small smile out of the corner of Watanabe's lips and his eyes instinctually drag away from your face and down to your thighs at the thought.

Watanabe gently brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek, admiring the way your warmth seeps into his synthetic skin so easily, making his M.I.N.D. hum in satisfaction. He wonders if you'd ever let him this close to you if you were awake, he tilts his head in thought as his fingers brush your skin. Perhaps it's best that you don't, your position as a commandant might be put in danger if you allowed him to display his affection for you this way in public.

He pauses. Affection? Is this really affection, or just obsession at this point? He'd throw away everything for you if you asked him to. He would abandon everything if it meant he could have you, if it meant you'd devote yourself to him the way he does to you. God, if such a thing exists then grant him this one prayer.

Let him stay by your side until your youth fades and your body wilts and withers. And in your final moments, he'll capture your conscious and your memories so he can keep you and protect you until eternity.

Yes. Watanabe smiles softly as he gently lays next you, inhaling your scent and feeling your warmth. You are so naive, so trusting, but it's alright. He'll keep you safe. He's been around for longer, seen the deluge both humans and corrupted bring, he knows what's best. He knows what's best for you, he just needs you to trust him more. Watanabe slowly leans forward and softly kisses your cheek as his nose brushes against your skin.

"I'll keep you safe, Commandant. Even if you struggle against me, I'll make you come to me in the end."

[unpredictable-probabilities]

Of Spells and Sons

Summary:

Hob and his crew are stranded on an island after their ship got damaged from a storm. 

When his crew gets captured in a sorcerer’s palace, Hob follows and negotiates with the sorcerer to free them. 

He only hopes to resist getting ensnared himself.

Word Count: 7,310

Notes (more at the end):

For Dreamling Week Day 1: Indulgence and First Time

Have fun reading!

(Read on AO3)

---

The ivory gates stood tall on the sand, intricate carvings of fantastical creatures adorned every surface.

They looked exactly like how William described them; Hob had found the palace.

The most remarkable thing about the gates was that they were open. Hob would have expected such sturdy fortifications to serve the purpose of keeping people out, and perhaps it would have been better that way, if these gates had been closed and quite troublesome to open.

Perhaps then Hob would have had an excuse to heed William’s words and just leave while they still could.

But even as he pondered it, Hob knew that he would not be able to turn away when his men were still trapped inside. They trusted him as their captain, and he would not abandon them in the hands of a sorcerer.

Hob steeled himself and walked in.

The gates opened up to a garden; the sweet smell of herbs and flowers permeated the air, and birds twittered on a small fountain filled with flowing water. A set of steps led onto a wide porch where shelves of books were carved into the walls, reaching a tall ceiling decorated with a stained glass window which allowed colours to dapple softly onto the floor, the cushioned chairs, and what seemed like a large reading nook in the corner furnished with a round mattress and a few pillows.

At a glance, it looked just like what one would expect of a lord’s house, but the hairs on Hob’s arms stood on end. The air seemed to prickle, like the moment just before a lightning strike, and Hob recalled his conversation with William no more than half an hour ago.

“William?” Hob stood up from inspecting the damage to the ship’s hull. The storm last night had caused them to bash against an outcropping of jagged rocks on the beach, and until the hull was fixed they were left stranded. “Why are you back so soon? Where are the others? And by the gods, what happened to you?”

William’s eyes were wide and his breath came in huffs, sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool weather. Hob half-expected him to say that a wild boar was chasing him.

“A palace… There was a palace, Captain…” William ran a hand through his hair as he panted. “We were scouting the island like you ordered, and we came across a palace. The lord was out in his garden, and he invited us to dine. I hesitated to accept such a sudden offer, and I warned the others of the risks. But they were insistent, and in the end I didn’t stop them from going inside; we’ve had a terrible night dealing with the storm, after all. Still, something didn’t feel right, so I waited outside and kept watch…” He glanced nervously over his shoulder.

“Did the palace get attacked?” Hob asked in concern. He didn’t know anything about the inhabitants of this island, but perhaps the lord had enemies.

William looked back at Hob and shook his head. “There was a burst of light from inside, and I heard what sounded like a commotion. I was about to rush in to help, but I saw Hector running out. He grew a snout, and his screams turned to squeals as he shrunk down and grew a tail…” his hands trembled as he opened his waterskin and drank in large gulps.

There was a rustle behind Hob and he whipped around, a hand gripping the hilt of the sword at his hip.

A raven flew past him and perched on the roof; it seemed to have come from the tree nearby.

Hob let out a breath, forcing his muscles to relax. He would be slow in battle if he were too tense. He continued walking towards the porch, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He glanced up and saw that the raven was still on the roof. It had a spot of snow-white feathers on its breast, and the rest of it was black as night. Its beady eyes trained on him, and he felt a warning in that gaze that made him stop in his tracks.

“We have to go save them,” Hob told his second-in-command.

“No we don’t!” William said adamantly. “We already lost many of our men in the war and the storm last night. Think about the remaining ones before there are none. Let’s repair our hull as soon as we can and sail far away from this island with the rest of the men and Lady Marzana. You promised her safe passage to her home island, did you not? How will you do that if you are lost here?”

“I can’t abandon our men, William,” Hob said somberly. He could still hear the screams of the soldiers as the waves of the storm took them; they called out for him but he couldn’t do anything. He will not lose any more. “You don’t have to go with me, and if I’m not back by dawn tomorrow, prepare to sail away with the others.”

“We are no match against the power of a sorcerer; you don’t have to go either, Captain!”

“I have to try.”

Hob lifted his chin defiantly at the raven. He will not leave this place without first speaking to its lord.

The raven flapped its wings and flew further behind the palace, outside Hob’s line of sight.

Hob walked to the steps of the porch and ascended, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.

There was a rustle, and a figure stepped out from behind one of the shelves, looking down at a book in his hands.

Hob stopped as his breath caught in his throat, all fear momentarily wiped from his mind as he took in the vision before him.

The man wore a silk robe that seemed woven from the night sky, its fabric catching the sunlight in such a way that it looked like stars were dancing across it. A cape draped over his shoulders and flowed down to his ankles, clasped at the chest with a crimson ruby. His skin was incredibly fair and yet it did not look pale as to be sickly, but rather as if the moon were lighting him up from within. Pitch-black hair grew untamed on his head, and Hob had the fleeting thought of wondering if it was as soft as it looked.

Brilliant blue eyes glanced up and aimed right at Hob.

“Lord of the palace?” Hob blurted out, if only to stall the sorcerer from attacking.

Those eyes narrowed at him and Hob felt the instinct to reach for his sword, but reminded himself not to do so lest he be seen as an attacker.

He was fortunate that Lady Marzana had been on their ship. She had overheard Hob's conversation with William, and warned him not to appear aggressive.

“What a noble heart you have, Sir Gadling.”

Hob stopped on his way into the forest and turned to face his unexpected companion. “Lady Marzana. I had thought you in the tent that the men had assembled.”

“I could not help but overhear your disagreement with William. Surely you do not intend to barge in the sorcerer's gates and demand your soldiers back?”

“Not barge in, no. Though I'm hoping that he would not be averse to a negotiation of sorts. There must be a compromise we could reach.”

Lady Marzana smiled but it did not reach her eyes. “Unfortunately, the sorcerer Morpheus does not share your inclination to see the good in everyone. You must be prepared.”

Hob frowned. “You know his name?”

He realised that he knew very little about Lady Marzana. She appeared before them after they won the war, as one of the healers in the island, then asked for safe passage aboard their ship to the island of Mercuria. Hob agreed as a show of thanks for her help in tending to their wounded, and it would not be an inconvenience at all because they would pass by that island on their way home to Ithaca.

But now that she revealed knowledge about the sorcerer, Hob remembered the little fortunes they have had since she came aboard their ship. Their nets were almost always bursting with fish after only some time in the ocean; the winds favoured their sails often, and the soldiers weren’t nearly as fatigued as they should be right after a long battle.

“Who are you?” Hob asked cautiously.

“Just a friend who can help you save your men. A foe such as Morpheus is not to be lightly trifled with. If you face him on your own with nothing but your sword, you will be no good to the friends you are attempting to rescue.”

Hob stared at Lady Marzana, gauging to see how much he could trust her. She had never lied to them, and whatever sorcery she did—for Hob was becoming increasingly certain that she was a sorceress herself—only helped and never harmed them. And in the unlikely event that she did intend them harm, there was a far more urgent enemy right now. And his men were waiting for their captain. 

Hob sighed. “What do I have to do?”

Lady Marzana seemed relieved at Hob’s acceptance of her help. “I advise you not to consume anything once you reach the palace, as he has the power to enchant food and drink. He wears a ruby that fuels his powers, and he may have only gotten stronger since we saw each other last. Even I do not know what he is truly capable of.”

“Can you cast a spell to shield me from his magic? I know how you helped us on the ship, surely you are powerful, too.”

“Not so against Morpheus,” Lady Marzana shook her head. “Which is also why I cannot go with you. Without his express permission, I cannot cross the threshold of his domain.” She held out her hand over a cluster of plants at the base of a tree; the ground trembled, and a flower floated into her palm, roots and all. “There lies a power within the root of the moly plant which would protect you from the sorcerer’s magic. You must consume it, and you will be granted immunity from his magic for ten minutes.”

“Only ten minutes? If I eat more than one, would I be protected for longer?”

“I’m afraid moly does not work that way, and it might do more harm than good if you consume any more.”

Hob nodded, feeling a little more confident in his plans. He took the plant and carefully held it in his palms. “Thank you, Lady Marzana.”

“Do not thank me, my friend. It is you who would have to face Morpheus,” Lady Marzana smiled gently.

“How do you know so much about him?” Hob wondered aloud.

“He is my brother.”

Now Hob stood in front of the sorcerer, who seemed nowhere near as friendly as his sister. And Hob had no delusions that he would be as helpful as she was.

“And who might you be… soldier?”

Hob swallowed. Morpheus’ voice was not as he had expected, as was everything else about him. For all of Lady Marzana’s warnings, she didn’t say anything about how utterly beautiful the sorcerer was. Not just in appearance, but with the way he carried himself, and how each word fell gracefully from his lips.

Hob had eaten the moly root before entering the gates, and now he seemed to feel its weight in the pit of his stomach, grounding him. Ten minutes. He had to move quickly.

He straightened his posture. “Captain Robert Gadling, my lord. I apologise for the intrusion, but I had been informed that the scouts I had sent to look through the island had wound up at your gates.”

Morpheus tilted his head. It was a subtle motion, but Hob felt gooseflesh all over his arms.

“You must be tired from being on your feet for so long; it is a long way from the beach. Take a seat, you may rest wherever you like. Allow me to bring you some refreshments.” Morpheus closed the book he was holding and placed it on a shelf.

“No,” Hob answered immediately. “No, thank you, my lord. I should prefer to know if any soldiers have passed by here, or if I had been misinformed by my friend.”

Morpheus seemed to glide towards Hob, his footsteps barely making a sound as his cape softly billowed behind him. “There is no longer any need to worry. You are here now.”

They were standing close enough to each other that Hob had to look up to hold Morpheus’ gaze. Perhaps he should have felt alarmed that the sorcerer’s eyes were now black pools with pinpricks of light, but all Hob could think of was how much they looked like the night sky on a cloudless evening.

The ruby pulsing with a red glow on Morpheus’ chest eventually caught Hob’s attention, and he felt waves of warmth on his skin.

The sorcerer was attempting to enchant him.

“Quite right, my lord,” Hob managed to force a casual smile onto his face. “Then perhaps you might have a cup of tea to spare? I should like to wait here in case my soldiers pass by again, if it’s all the same to you.”

Morpheus nodded once. “Of course.” Without looking away from Hob, he waved a hand to the side and a cup floated towards them along with a teapot. “Stay as long as you wish.”

Hob took the cup in his hands, and the teapot floated back to a table in the corner.

The sorcerer's face remained impassive as Hob raised the cup to his lips, feeling the warmth of the drink in the steam that rose from it.

His plan was madness; more likely than not it would get him killed and his soldiers would be trapped as pigs for the rest of their lives. But it was the only plan he had. He must make haste and act upon it before the effects of the moly fully wore off.

Hob flung the tea in the sorcerer's face and smashed the cup on the side of his head.

As Morpheus yelled and stumbled backwards in surprise, Hob grabbed hold of the ruby pendant with one hand and pushed the sorcerer away with the other.

The pendant came off; the ruby hissed and smoked in Hob's hand before its glow disappeared, leaving the stone a dull red.

“Impossible.” Morpheus stared at Hob in bewilderment, tea dripping from his cheekbones and ceramic shards in his hair. “How are you unharmed after touching my ruby?”

“As you can see, my lord, magic has no effect on me,” Hob pocketed the ruby—he wouldn't risk the sorcerer getting hold of it again—and took out what remained of the moly plant. “So you might as well tell me where you took my soldiers.”

Morpheus used his sleeve to wipe the tea from his face, and his slender fingers brushed away the shards in his hair. His eyes fixed on Hob, but they were blue once more. “You are lying. No mortal can acquire the moly plant without dire consequence.”

“Then I must be a sorcerer like you,” Hob grinned. “For I dug this up myself with my bare hands and consumed its roots.”

“My sister gave it to you, did she not?” Morpheus narrowed his eyes in realisation.

Oh well. It was worth a try.

Hob pocketed the flower again and cleared his throat. “Regardless, my lord, you and I are now evenly matched. Without your ruby, you cannot cast your spells. Now release my men and we shall leave this place undisturbed,” he said with confidence that he did not feel. After all, he wasn't certain whether the sorcerer's magic was truly only limited by his possession of the ruby.

Morpheus’ lips twitched into what almost looked like a smirk. “Evenly matched? You presume that I would need magic to get rid of one such as you.”

He reached to his hip and drew a sword from a scabbard that was hidden beneath its folds.

Hob blocked the blade with his own just in time before it would have struck his neck.

Morpheus lunged and Hob sidestepped, the sorcerer's sword cutting through the air right next to his ear.

Hob pushed forward with his attacks, but Morpheus moved like a viper; he darted out of the way with refined footwork and struck back faster than Hob could track him.

Hob could feel himself getting tired. He was a seasoned fighter, but he had not gotten much sleep because of the storm last night and the sorcerer was evidently trained in battle as well.

He decided to go for a gamble, stepping inward and risking a closer reach from his opponent.

He gained a cut on his cheek, but he gritted his teeth and struck at the hilt of Morpheus’ sword, locking and twisting his blade before maneuvering it forcefully to the side.

The sorcerer's sword flew out of his grip and clattered on the marble floor.

Hob pointed the tip of his blade under Morpheus’ chin. “You’ve lost.”

He felt sweat beading on his forehead, his muscles ached from the exertion, but he kept his grip steady on his weapon.

Morpheus stared at him, and it made something twinge in Hob's chest when he saw an unexpected vulnerability in that gaze.

“Do you know what happened the last time we had welcomed soldiers like you in our home?” The sorcerer's voice was quiet, but Hob felt the weight behind the question, and he almost feared the answer. “It was a tragedy for all of us; I myself faced a heavy loss which I will never forget. So tell me, Captain, can you blame me for aiming to protect my subjects at any cost?” His eyes shimmered with unshed tears even as he glared defiantly, and there was something so deeply wrong about seeing such a beautiful creature in anguish.

Hob's hold on his sword wavered for a moment, but he tightened his grip. “I'm sorry to hear of that terrible misfortune, my lord, but you have my word that my soldiers are men of honour, and would never harm any innocents.”

“Your word?” Morpheus’ voice had grown deeper and he took a step forward, not giving notice to the blade pointed at his throat. “And what is that worth, the word of a soldier?”

He kept walking forward, and Hob instinctively pulled the blade back in order to not injure him.

“What can you do, Captain Robert Gadling, in order to prove your good intentions?”

Hob didn't realise he had been backing away until his back hit a wall.

Morpheus looked at him through his long eyelashes, and didn't break eye contact as he slowly pushed Hob's sword to the side and out of the way. The movement caused him to shrug off his black cape, letting it fall to the floor.

Hob’s sword probably went the same way, though he barely felt it drop out of his hand as he tried and failed not to stare at the pale clavicle that the absence of the cape revealed.

“You have given me no reason to bestow you with my trust.” Morpheus leaned closer, his breath warm against Hob's ear. “But perhaps if you stay longer, we could… come to an agreement?” He ducked his head and the tip of his nose brushed Hob's jawline.

Hob's eyes fell close as his mouth dropped open in a shivering exhale.

He had just enough wits about him to sidestep and scramble away. “Lord Morpheus, I only wish to negotiate for the freedom of my men. Tell me your terms, and maybe I might persuade you to—”

“Persuade me?” Morpheus gracefully walked towards him, and Hob was vaguely aware that he wasn’t moving away nearly as fast as he should. “If you must, then, Captain, show me just how knowledgeable you are in the ways of persuasion.”

Morpheus put a hand on Hob’s chest and pushed.

Hob gasped as he fell backwards on soft cushions; he must have backed away towards the mattress without realising it, fool that he was.

Morpheus easily slipped between Hob’s parted knees and loomed over him with a promising smirk, propping himself up on his arms on either side of Hob’s head.

Merciful gods.

“Do not worry,” Morpheus purred as he lightly traced his fingers down the side of Hob’s neck to his chest. “I’ve got you now.”

Hob couldn’t help the soft groan he made as he arched into Morpheus’ touch, his body craving for more. He found himself placing his hands on the sorcerer’s narrow waist, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. How he wished that they had met in more normal circumstances; he would have liked to welcome this beautiful creature into his home…

His home… Ithaca… Robyn…

“I can’t,” he choked out and pushed the sorcerer off of him.

Hob nearly fell off the bed in his haste to stand up. He stumbled a few feet away and closed his eyes, digging the heels of his palms against his eyelids and taking a deep breath to get himself in order.

“My son is waiting for me back home,” his voice cracked with emotion. He put his hands on his hips and took another steadying breath. He knew it was unwise to keep his back turned on an enemy, but keeping the sorcerer in his sight didn’t do him any good either. “It has been five years since we lost his mother to sickness, I’m all he has. And I have been away at war for more than a year…” He could feel the fatigue and emotion well up in his chest, as if all that time away from home and his son were finally catching up to him.

He turned to face the sorcerer once more and did the only thing he could think of that might give him a chance.

He went down on one knee and bowed. “I beg of you, Lord Morpheus, let me and my soldiers go back home. Grant us mercy and we shall never disturb your island again.”

There was silence for a few heartbeats, and Hob held his breath, expecting to be struck down at any moment.

“Father?” a young man’s voice made Hob look up. “Jessamy said she heard sounds of battle.” He stood in the entryway and looked in concern at the sorcerer, and then cast a wary glance at Hob as he walked in. “Who is this man?”

Morpheus was still looking at Hob, an expression of contemplation on his face. “He was just leaving.” He turned to the young man. “Release the prisoners, and give them the potion to recover. Head to the beach where their ship is stranded. Bring Merv and immediately start on repairs.”

The lad looked like he had more questions, but in the end he just nodded and left the way he came.

“On your feet, Captain.” Morpheus took his cape from the floor and draped it once more across his shoulders. “It’s a long walk to the beach.”

“Wait, you’re helping us?” Hob furrowed his eyebrows as he stood up.

Morpheus sighed as if in resignation. “Yes. Now come along.” He headed for the gates without waiting to see if Hob was following.

Hob’s mind was still catching up to everything that had just happened, but he retrieved his sword and quickly went to walk alongside the sorcerer.

“You expect me to just trust you, after everything?” Hob raised an eyebrow.

“I do not.” Morpheus kept his gaze forward as they walked out of the gates. “I am merely taking you up on your offer to leave my home undisturbed.”

“Why are we going ahead of my soldiers? Can’t we wait for them?”

“Your soldiers would trust me even less after what I did to them. Orpheus has a far more trustworthy disposition. He will lead them back to your ship.”

“Orpheus…” Hob recalled the young lad’s blue eyes and raven hair. “Your son?”

“Yes.”

Things began to make sense; now Hob understood what could have convinced the sorcerer to let them go. It eased his worries a little to know that the help he was getting might be genuine.

“All right. Then, why are you here with me? I know the way back to the beach.” Hob didn’t bother to hide the suspicion in his voice

“I’m here because I’m interested.”

Hob’s eyes widened and his traitorous heart skipped in his chest. “In me?”

“In your experience.”

Hob almost managed to convince himself that he didn’t feel disappointed.

“You said that you are all that your son has. Why leave him to go to war?”

“Ah. I had to.” Hob stared in the distance, remembering that day he had to say goodbye. His tearful son had embraced him and Hob dearly prayed that it wouldn't be the last time. “A neighbouring kingdom was threatening to invade us, and I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let my little Robyn grow up under invaders. As king, it was my responsibility to lead the army myself.”

Morpheus looked at him in mild surprise. “You are their king?”

Hob chuckled. “Why, do I not look kingly enough for you, my lord?”

Morpheus gave him a curious gaze. “I have known kings who are content to let others die in their battles.”

Hob grimaced; it was always unpleasant to be reminded of his ancestors. “I’ve known them, too. Never did like them. But anyway, the war is won now. And it’s time I make it up to Robyn. He needs a father.”

Morpheus only hummed in acknowledgement. It would probably be wiser to be quiet the rest of the way. No reason to draw more attention from this dangerous sorcerer.

Only, Hob never claimed to be wise. And he always knew he was too curious for his own good.

“Orpheus. Where is his mother? Is she all right with him leading a group of armed soldiers across your island?” Hob recalled how his own mother fussed over him before he left for war.

Morpheus stiffened beside him, and for a moment Hob wondered if he had gone too far.

“She was killed. While protecting our son.”

Hob felt a sense of dread and he suddenly remembered what Morpheus had said when Hob’s sword was at his throat.

“Do you know what happened the last time we had welcomed soldiers like you in our home? It was a tragedy for all of us; I myself faced a heavy loss which I will never forget.”

“Five years ago.” Morpheus’ voice broke through Hob’s thoughts. “The sickness that took your wife was most likely the same one that brought scarcity throughout the kingdoms. Men were too sick to farm, to trade. And resources were dwindling. Soldiers came to this island under the pretence of friendship, then they turned around and betrayed us.” He recalled the events in a distant tone, as if they were things that happened to someone else. “I was not powerful enough then. They were taking whatever they could find, including people to be made slaves. I was shackled, and could do nothing as they took Orpheus as well. Calliope, she… She fought them. And she was killed in front of our son. In front of me.”

There was a silence that Hob didn’t dare break. He felt sick to his stomach. It broke him when Eleanor died, and she had gone peacefully in her sleep. He didn’t know what it would have done to him if she had been killed so tragically in front of him and Robyn.

Morpheus continued in a quieter voice. “I do not recall what happened next. Orpheus tells me that I gave a cry of anguish, and a bright light burst forth. When it dissipated, the soldiers were dead. I vowed then to never let that happen to my people again. To my son.”

The silence grew heavier; no sound could be heard apart from the leaves crunching underneath their footsteps. After a while, Hob managed to find the words.

“Your son, Orpheus. He’s worried about you.”

Morpheus turned to him with a frown. “What?”

“Have you ever talked to him, about your grief?”

“What my son needs is a strong father. I will not burden him.” Morpheus sounded offended.

“Isn’t being shut out by a loved one a burden in itself?” Hob pointed out. “He wishes to care for you as you do for him. You can let him in and still protect him.”

Morpheus’ frown deepened, but it looked more like confusion now. “And this is relevant to you? Why should you care about my relationship with my son?”

Hob shrugged. “Maybe I’m worried about you, too.”

Bewilderment appeared on the sorcerer's fair face. “I tried to kill you.”

“And I’ve killed many soldiers to protect my son. I’ve got no high horse to look down from.”

Morpheus stared at him with an expression that Hob couldn’t quite read. And before he could ask, a voice interrupted them.

“Captain!” William jogged over to them, several yards away from the beach where they could see repairs being done on the ship. “So it’s true, what Lady Marzana said. The sorcerer is our ally now?” He frowned at Morpheus.

“For the time being,” Morpheus said evenly.

“He is, Will,” Hob said. “He would help repair our ship if we promise to leave the island in peace.”

“You couldn’t just say that to us when we first arrived at your palace?” William was still frowning at Morpheus. “I knew my friends were fools to eat at your table.”

“Not you, though. I heard you talk to them, Will. Convincing them to leave. You were smart enough to see through my tricks, and clever enough to call for aid.” Morpheus’ blue eyes regarded William, and the latter seemed caught off-guard.

“I– Of course I was!” William said defensively, though Hob noticed that his face had gone red. And not from anger. “You couldn’t have gotten me to stay even if you tried.”

“Is that so?”

“Will,” Hob cut in. “Go help with the repairs. And make sure everyone gets enough rest and food before we sail.”

“Yes, Captain,” William nodded before going back to the ship.

“Do you talk like that to everyone?” Hob asked Morpheus, who just stared blankly at him.

“Like what?”

Like you’re trying to charm their pants off. Hob shook his head to clear it. Why was he even letting it affect him? “Never mind. Your sister’s tent is nearby, I can take you to her if you want.”

Morpheus nodded. “Lead the way, Captain Gadling.”

“Hob,” he said without thinking. ”If you’re going to call him Will, might as well call me Hob.”

“What?” Morpheus frowned in confusion.

Hob wanted to thwack himself on the head. Gods, but he was so gone for this man. “Uh, Hob. It’s what my friends call me,” he tried for a casual tone as they continued walking.

Morpheus tilted his head curiously. “And you see me as your friend?”

“I’d rather that than my enemy. We’re here,” he gestured to the tent ahead.

Just then, a figure walked out of it and beamed at them. “I thought I heard voices.” Lady Marzana approached. “Brother.”

“Sister.” Morpheus spoke with a mild hint of exasperation.

“I see you’ve met my friend Hob.”

“If he really is your friend then why send him to me? You knew I could have harmed him.”

“But I wanted to believe you wouldn’t. And I am pleased to see I was right.” Her eyes were twinkling as she looked at the two of them. “It is good to see you again, brother.”

Morpheus sighed. “And I you, sister. Despite your penchant for meddling with my life.”

“It always works out in the end, doesn't it?” She glanced at Hob and winked at Morpheus. “Anyway, I heard my nephew's voice. Is he here?”

“He is down at the ship, helping Merv with repairs.”

“Oh lovely! I shall go see him.” She made her way to the beach where they could hear the voices of men conversing.

Morpheus turned to Hob. “How do you know my sister?”

“She was a great help in healing my men after the war. So when she requested passage to Mercuria, we welcomed her to our ship. Though we didn't know she was a sorceress then.”

There it was again, the curious look from Morpheus. “You let a stranger onto your ship with no questions asked?”

“Like I said, she helped heal my men. It seemed only fair to help her in return.”

“A man who talks of fairness right after a war,” Morpheus mused. “You are too trusting, Robert Gadling.”

“Worked out in the end, though, right?” Hob winked, grinning as he repeated Lady Marzana's words.

A smile lifted the corners of Morpheus’ mouth; it was barely noticeable, but even his eyes were alight with mirth, and to Hob it looked like the sun coming out.

There was a loud snap from above, and Hob looked up to see a beehive attached to a broken branch falling right on his head.

Before he could react, a red glow surrounded the beehive, stopping it mere inches from his face.

Hob stared at it with wide eyes, frozen in place. The beehive slowly lifted, and Hob looked to see Morpheus with his hand out, his eyes black as the night sky and dotted with stars. He guided the beehive back into the forest where it disappeared into a thicket of trees far away from them.

“Last night’s storm must have weakened the branches. You must be cautious.” Morpheus’ eyes returned to their blue hue.

Hob gaped at him. “I thought you couldn't do magic without your ruby.”

“Yes. So it is fortunate that I have it now.” He reached into his sleeve and pulled out the red gem.

Hob looked down and patted his pockets, emptying them to see that he only had the moly plant and nothing else. “How…?” he looked at Morpheus.

“I took it back when you were on my bed.” Morpheus put the ruby back in his sleeve.

Hob’s mind suddenly recalled just what happened on that bed, and the sounds he had made at the barest touch from Morpheus. “Ah.” He cleared his throat and hoped the heat on his face wasn’t noticeable. “Wait, if you had that on you this whole time… You could have killed me.” Hob felt a chill down his spine. It was like being told that an arrow had almost hit him in the neck and he had no idea.

Morpheus arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Did you want me to?”

Hob stared at Morpheus with his mouth open, then he laughed, a proper one that made his shoulders shake. He couldn't help it. The relief of surviving the storm, successfully freeing his men, and now the certainty that he was right to trust this sorcerer. Morpheus. Who loved his son as much as Hob loved his own. Who would go to great lengths to keep his people safe, much like Hob did when he decided to sail off to war.

“Was that a joke, my lord?” Hob said in mock disbelief. “I didn't think you were capable of making one.”

“Crude.” Morpheus’ tone was affronted, but his lips held a smile.

A cheer rose up in the distance where the ship was docked, and they heard the sound of waves as the ship must have been pushed back into the water.

“Orpheus and Marzana do put a livelier spin on things whenever they are together,” Morpheus said fondly, looking in the direction of the sound. He turned to Hob. “It seems like your ship is repaired. Your soldiers would be waiting for you now.”

For the first time since sailing away, Hob felt some hesitation in going back home. He still wanted to, of course, but now… Maybe he could allow himself to want other things, too.

Hob stepped closer to Morpheus. “Can I… I mean, will I be able to… visit, here? Whenever? You're not going to magically make the island invisible after we leave?” He tried to laugh to make light of the question, but it sounded nervous to his own ears.

Morpheus raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You wish to come back?”

Hob nodded and fidgeted with his earlobe. “I do.”

“Why?”

“I'm interested?” Hob tried for a charming smile.

Morpheus shook his head lightly in what Hob dared to believe was a gesture of fondness. “I would not conceal the island. You will find this place again if you wish.”

“All right. Good.” Hob shifted on his feet, stepping closer. “Are you sure you don't want to come with me to the ship?” He nodded to the beach.

“Quite sure. Even if Marzana has convinced your soldiers that I am not an enemy, it would be best if you are not seen with me. You cannot risk losing their trust.”

“Right.” Hob said, but somehow he still couldn't get his feet to move. It somehow didn't feel right to just leave.

Morpheus didn't make a move to leave yet either. And for a moment they just stared at each other.

“What you said about Orpheus… About not shutting him out. I will keep it in mind.”

Hob smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. You…” You deserve to be cared for, even if you don’t realise it. “You take care, Lord Morpheus.”

“And you as well, Your Highness,” Morpheus nodded politely. “Leaders deserve their rest after times of adversity. No one should have to put up a facade of strength all of the time.”

“Even you?” Hob teased.

“Even you. Hob.” Morpheus spoke sincerely, looking right into his eyes.

Hob’s breath caught in his throat. That soft, deep voice curled around his name as if it were something precious. It was a breath of a syllable, and yet Hob felt drawn to it. A moth to a flame. 

They were standing so close to each other, and Hob felt his mouth go dry. He instinctively licked his lips, and he noticed Morpheus’ eyes unmistakably track the movement.

Morpheus swallowed, a subtle thing, but Hob was already staring. His gaze lingered on the pale throat, traced up to rose-pink lips, to piercing blue eyes, imprinting each detail in his mind.

Morpheus’ face drew closer, and Hob’s heart was drumming so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t even tell who was leaning in. Maybe it was both of them. Maybe it didn’t matter. What mattered was Morpheus wasn’t pulling away, that they were so close they shared the same air.

Hob looked into the sorcerer’s eyes and saw an uncertainty he had never seen in them before. Morpheus knew what he wanted, but he was waiting, unsure whether Hob wanted the same thing.

Hob decided to remedy that.

He crossed the gap, holding the back of Morpheus’ neck as he pressed their lips together. Morpheus inhaled sharply in surprise, but then Hob felt hands on the small of his back, pulling him closer.

The glide of their lips against each other was soft, sweeter than Hob could have imagined. There was a split-second of irrational worry in the back of his mind; he had never kissed a man before, and he was afraid to be found lacking.

But then Morpheus’ tongue was tracing his bottom lip, and all thoughts fled him. He reached out with his own tongue and heard himself groan as Morpheus met him eagerly.

Hob could not on pain of death tell how much time had passed. It felt like he had always been here, exploring the heat of Morpheus’ mouth, clutching at his midnight hair. After everything he had done as king, as captain, Hob felt that he deserved such indulgence, heedless of how it might slowly be driving him mad. Morpheus held him close, returning the kiss with equal fervour, his arms strong and sure around Hob. 

When they parted, they were both flushed and out of breath. The sight of Morpheus—with his cheeks red and his enraptured eyes focused entirely on Hob—was something Hob knew he would never forget even if he tried. And he certainly wasn’t going to.

“I…” Hob finally remembered how to speak. “I’ll come back, after—”

Morpheus put a finger to Hob’s lips. “No promises, Hob Gadling,” he said softly, before releasing Hob’s lips to caress his cheek. “We have this moment, now, and that is enough. I am… glad. To have met you.”

Hob leaned his forehead against Morpheus’ own, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath. “Me too, Morpheus. Me too.”

They finally pulled away from each other, then Hob grabbed Morpheus’ face with both hands and kissed him again, only for a moment, but it was firm and adoring. He took a moment to look at Morpheus’ face, now soft with mild surprise as opposed to the cold stoic one he had first seen.

Hob smiled, nodded, and turned away to quickly head to his ship. He was afraid that if he stayed a second longer, he would find more reasons not to leave.

***

Hob stood at the stern of the ship as they sailed away, watching the island get farther and farther. Behind him, he could hear William shout orders, could hear the soldiers’ footsteps as they manned the sails and secured the rigging. But all of it seemed so distant, as far away as the stars that were beginning to come out.

“Feeling alright, Captain?” Lady Marzana walked up beside him.

Hob smiled politely, but he could feel that it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, my lady. I just need a bit of rest, that’s all.”

Lady Marzana nodded and followed Hob’s gaze on the island. “I hope my brother did not give you too much trouble.”

“No more than I gave him,” Hob said easily, the smile on his lips now genuine. He had a suspicion that it would always be the case, him grinning like a fool at the mere mention of Morpheus.

The look that Lady Marzana gave him was both intrigued and knowing, and Hob averted his gaze as he felt his face warm.  

“Ah, I see.” Lady Marzana chuckled. “It’s good to see that you two got along quite well. Meanwhile, I shall get some rest myself. Captain,” she tipped her head politely.

Hob returned the gesture, and he was left alone once more.

With the winds favouring their sails, the island was now only a small speck of green in the distance. As he watched it get even smaller, Hob made a promise to himself.

What they shared on that island might have been enough for Morpheus, but not for Hob. With the stars as his witness, he will return to Morpheus. And if the gods were merciful, Morpheus would want him still.

He looked up at the sky and felt himself smile, taking a deep breath of the refreshing ocean breeze. Robyn was waiting for him back home. Morpheus—though Hob dared not hope too much that he was waiting—was on an island not too far away. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt excited.

Mornings of laughter with his rambunctious child, warm evenings with his beautiful sorcerer. Some might say that his fantasies were far too banal for a king to have, but Hob didn’t need anything else.

With such a future ahead of him, there was so much to look forward to.

And so much to live for.

---

Notes:

This is the result of two of my hyperfixations combining in my brain. I hope you liked it!

Here are the songs from The Circe Saga that I based this fic on:

Puppeteer

Wouldn't You Like

Done For

There Are Other Ways

Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! <3

---

(Dreamling Week 2024 Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[blueaugustcries]

I just reread all of aftg and have moved on to the sunshine court. At the same time I’m rereading all of the raven cycle. What year is it?? I feel like I’m 14 again, sitting in my closet with my make-shift reading nook, reading until 3-4am, falling in love with these characters all over again. It’s almost as if the past 4 years have never happened, it’s still covid times and I’m almost me again

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Hello, for October prompts, 10 with Riddle please

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

10: Reading Nook

Riddle has always been a fan of the autumn season since he was a mere child. The colors, the weather, the changing or the world around him, the chill up his back as the hot air of summer flows to the nippy gust of breeze welcoming him to the land of dead leaves and sweet scents of nutmeg. And things have changed since he arrived to Night Raven Collage, in fact it only grew his love for the season.

The trees were no longer that beautiful green of the spring time or summer heat and are now many shades of reds and orange, the wind was colder, the skies were slightly gray thanks to the morning dew fog and colder clouds against the blue backdrop, the walls of the school were perfectly warm and toasty as magic tries it's hardest to maintain that calmness as students move about in varies ways.

Riddle Rosehearts, however, had a mission to maintain.

The library was rather calm on this gentle chilly afternoon, the scent of book and leather was a nice smell for those who are lounging about, and a certain red haired dorm leader onto onto his toe tips grabbing hold of a brown hard cover book with his gloved hands. "Gotcha!" He whispered to himself as he smiles in victory. Carefully, he settles his feet flat to the floor and hugs the book close, silently inhaling the scent of the yellow aged pages in his grasp. With a spin of a heel he makes his way North of the library to a little awkward corner of two bookshelves, away from others but not enough to be forgotten when the large wooden doors lock. Thanks to his petite size, a thing he always have hated ever so slightly more than failure, he managed to squeeze between the wooden beams to the entry way of a quant little reading nook perched perfectly by one of the larger windows of the room, the view perfect of the autumn weather as it stares down at the courtyard of the school.

It was a mere accident when chasing Floyd during a interrupted study session that Riddle found this little slice of peace and comfort in the library he's so familiar with. And since it's discovery, the boy spent plenty of his free time seated in the soft larger cushions with a book or four and just relax there with the library's fireplace making a calm music with it's gentle pops and cracks of the burning logs and coals and sometimes the rain that drums against the window. This was his escape of any harsh moments in life. With a flip of a page he dives into worlds of dreams and openly welcomes the sweet embrace of peace around him.

Riddle snuggles his body against the window and slipped his shoes off, a taboo for him mostly but it's allowed just once to get more comfortable. As if one cue, the rain began to drizzle slightly, making the red head sigh in bliss. He tucks a piece of his hair behind his ears as he snuggles deeper and opened is first book of the brief escape. . . "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “ “'Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— Only this, and nothing more.”." Deeper did he sink as his eyes fluttered half lidded as a smile comes to his lips the further he reads, almost hearing the voice that speaks through the pages, feeling the warm sting of emotions in his rib cage once more... "Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore..."

[astarioffsimpmain]

Writer Interview Game

Thanks for the tag, @brabblesblog!!

When did you start writing?

I started writing in fifth grade when one of my favorite teachers I've ever had set a short story assignment, but I didn't truly fall in love with it until sixth grade, when - for a poetry memorization assignment - I discovered a book full of Edgar Allan Poe poems and short stories. I memorized the whole of The Raven for the assignment and pretty much became obsessed with his works. Poe's writing was the spark to my writing flame, and he is my favorite author to this day.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I loooove reading adventure fantasy. I'd love to write adventure fantasy too, but I'm not confident enough in my world building just yet. Eragon, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Inkheart, The Hunger Games, Gothikana, Cirque Du Freak, etc. I love it!

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

As previously stated, I would love to emulate Poe. He's my inspiration and pretty much the reason I started writing for more than school assignments. I haven't ever been compared to another writer before, except in the spirit of spite, so I've got nothing there. haha

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

Anywhere I feel I can tuck away. I have a spot on my couch with a blanket, my laptop, and a spot for my coffee. I have my multiple soft blankets on my bed and a pillow to prop my Kindle on for ambience and music, and my side table - for my coffee, of course. But I've also written curled up in my seat on a bus driving through the Scottish Highlands, as well as in a corner seat in a hotel lobby in York, England, and in a little bookstore nook in London. I write where I feel inspired, however or whenever that may be.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Mustering it up myself is not often an option for me. My ADHD brain seeks dopamine where it can, but anyone with a dopamine deficiency will tell you that it's not an easy feat. lol But I always feel my most inspired before and during thunderstorms, or when I go to a location that excites me. I love abandoned places, cozy coffee shops, old libraries or bookstores, and castles/cathedrals. They give me a rush of energy which helps propel me to write. Hopefully once I get my physical health sorted, I'll be able to travel more, and therefore write more as well!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I want my readers to know just by reading my writing that I come from my heart. Everything I write is a part of and an extension of me, and I put care and consideration into every word that ends up on the page once I publish. I want them to be able to feel that my work is a labor of love in every word.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I think scene setting and narration is probably my strength. I'm someone who is very detail-oriented in everything I do, and I tend to do more narration than anything else. Over the years I've been forcing myself to write more dialogue-based pieces just so I could practice getting better at it. So uh... hopefully I eventually do. lol

How do you feel about your own writing?

I'm of two minds about it most of the time. When I don't settle into my "writing trance", which is where words are essentially flowing out of me without anything to hinder them, I'm not too fond of it. When I am forced to kind of slug through the words until I have a flow, I usually don't like what comes out or how it sounds, and it takes me much longer. The writing trance happens very rarely, but when it does happen, it's amazing. I usually really enjoy what comes out of those moments.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

It's definitely a mix of both, because often times I garner inspiration from what others get excited by. I know that when others get excited about what I'm doing, I'm far more likely to be excited about it too, and my excitement is essential to me even hoping to finish something. But on the flip side, I will also write things that I feel like will only mean something to me, but they end up meaning a lot to others as well. I feel as though that's somewhat of the human experience: sharing the things we accomplish through the insistence of our hearts. When we share and are received positively, we are inspired to continue sharing.

~

Tagging, Darlings: @senualothbrok @thechaoticdruid @dark-and-kawaii