#serch bythol

[darkk-academic]

Tease

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III] [Part IV] [Part V]

[Morpheus x F!Reader]

Summary : You, Morpheus and a black light party.

Warning : Tension?

"And it's done."

Since you were still in contact with your friends from…earth? Land of humans? Whatever the term, you've been waiting for a chance to visit them again.

Bet Boss won't give you permission, not until you successfully shape one dream anyway, was Matthew's advice.

So, you'd thrown yourself into the task.

Into the task of actually creating a whole dream.

Your gaze trails over your creation.

Obsidian pillars littered with different imitations of nebulas stand tall along the border of the wide hall. The ceiling covered in the night sky and stars that shine neon lights down at intervals.

Music fills the area from no particular source other than the very atoms present in it. Glittering mist covers the ground, a distinct scent, a mix of champagne and absinthe, permeates the hall. 

A black light party, with a dream twist.

Your very first creation. Your very first dream.

"Enchanting."

At the compliment, your eyes flick in his direction.

He stands with his hands behind his back, adorning the black coat, a hint of pride in his starry eyes.

Crimson stains your cheeks. You laugh, giddy. Gaze scanning the scene once again, this time with delight, a sheen of tears covers your eyes.

"Thank-you," you reply. 

Dreamers will fill up the space soon enough, and you'll get to join, to see the effect of your creation in full.

Your reward, Morpheus had said.

"I'll go get ready," you say. 

Morpheus inclines his head in permission, you aren't certain whether he'll give you permission to leave that easily.

Well, you think, feeling the heat of his gaze on your back, maybe you need to give him a reward instead.

•••

Dressed in scant black clothes that leave your legs—down to mid-thigh—your arms and collarbones bare, you contemplate your makeup.

An array of glitters, sequins and paints lay scattered on the dresser, waiting for you to come to a decision.

"May I be of assistance?"

What the—

You whirl around, the action so fast it makes you stumble.

What is he doing here? In your room?

"No, no, it's… alright." You turn back to the mirror, under his gaze, keenly aware of how exposed you're in this outfit. 

"So…are you going to join me?" You question, diverting his attention. "In the dream?"

You don't think he will entertain something so trivial, busy as he—

"Indeed," he replies. "It is only convention to do as much."

Oh.

The realisation sets in slow, but once it does—

"Dressed like that?" You question, gazing at his reflection.

Morpheus tilts his head, staring at you for a beat, something shifts in his eyes. "I was hoping you could help," he states.

Stepping towards you, he slides his coat off his shoulders.

"What—" your voice octaves higher, "—are you doing?"

"Seeking your service, what else?" 

Your eyes lock on his reflection, watching as he holds your gaze, and in one swift motion he pulls his dark t-shirt off.

I—

What.

You blink. 

Mouth opening and closing like a fish.

The sight of his well-defined pectoral to his toned abdomen, renders you speechless.

Even your vision seems incapable to look past the expanse of pale naked skin.

"You appear deep in thought—"

His voice snaps you out.

In the span of you becoming a staring statue, he has seen it fit to construct a countertop right in the middle of your room and perch upon it.

"—I appreciate your diligence to contemplate in such a severe manner, just to provide me with the best artwork."

He…

He is such an ass.

Fine, two can play at that game.

Picking up red paint and a brush, you saunter in his direction.

Putting the supplies next to him, you get ready, dipping the brush in the paint. 

Stepping between his parted legs, you fight the images threatening to consume your mind, hesitating for a moment before settling your hand on his lower abdomen, his muscles tense under the touch.

You decide to go with the Celtic symbol—Serch Bythol with ivy curled around it, starting from the lower-left corner of his abdomen working up towards his right shoulder, covering his sternum.

Fingers featherlight tease him, as you continue to paint, acting nonchalant, paying extra attention to the hitch in his breath.

Palm trailing low under the pretence of adjusting your hold, comes to rest under his navel. He sucks in a sharp breath.

Biting your lip, you peer up at him through your lashes. "Alright?"

Your only reply is a rather jerky nod.

Hand sliding up slow and deliberate, gripping his shoulder, you step closer, letting your front push against his, you keep your gaze on the shoulder you're painting.

Even when he smothers a strangled groan, you keep the smugness you feel off your face.

Once finished, you turn to face him. Nose brushing his as you do. You move the brush closer to his face—

He captures your wrist in his hold, centimetres from his face.

Staring down at you with fathomless eyes. "My turn," he rasps.

•••

The tables turn.

Now it's your turn to sit on the countertop as Morpheus sits on a chair—which he built again, in the middle of your room—looking up at you.

"There are more supplies on my dresser, and here," you say, holding out the paint and brush to him.

His lips stretch into an almost amused smile. "I do not have any need of them."

"Wh—"

The words turn to ash in your mouth once his hand curls around your heel, and yanks you forward.

You yelp, surprised you haven't fallen.

Or maybe not considering he has excellent control of everything that comes inside the dreaming, so the countertop must've moved to accommodate the gesture.

His thumb and forefinger encircles your ankle.

Your breathing stutters, heartbeat rising.

You watch in awe as a shimmering white and silver design comes alive under his touch, following his instructions, and wraps around your ankle.

He starts by the ankle going up your calf, fingers cold against your heated skin, trail up and up, languid and achingly soft they trace a design around your leg.

Heat pools in your belly, you resist the urge to press your thighs together, resist the urge to surrender under his mellow torture.

A moan catches in your throat as his palm glides up to your inner thigh, thumb rubbing there. 

Please, you want to plead. Fuck the game. Do something. Touch me. Please. Please.

His hand falls away.

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop a whine.

Standing up, he strides closer, leaning down into your face.

His hand snakes around your throat. Nose grazing yours, your lips part as you take shallow breaths.

He holds your gaze, free hand coming up, you feel two of his fingers right on the curve of your chest, below your collarbone. 

He bites down on his lower lip.

Sweet lord...

You swallow hard, fighting the desperate need to wrap your legs around his middle and—

"Finished."

No, I'm no—

You blink.

Becoming conscious of the absence of his touch.

Before you can utter a word, he's leaving with a, "I shall see you there."

As soon as he leaves, your breath leaves you in a whoosh, head hanging low, you try to gather your wits.

Scanning your figure in the mirror, before you leave, you finally notice that the design he drew is actually vines, twirling around your right leg, a mix of white and silver, they glow like starlight—

Gaze narrowing, you scrutinise them a bit more, this time seeing the faint black tracing the centre of the vines, giving the illusion of darkness chasing after light.

•••

You're dancing to the beat of music, eyes scanning the vibrant perimeter for a certain King.

All in vain.

He's here, you know, can feel the current against your skin, and yet, you fail to find him.

It's like he has submerged into the shadows. As though after winning—you admit, reluctantly—the previous round, he doesn't wish for you to spoil it, by winning again like all the other times.

Regardless, you need his permission for something, a permission you'll make sure to get by the end of this dream.

Your search, once again, comes up empty.

You huff in frustration. Very well, you know what will drag him out of whatever hole he's crawled in.

Eyes latching onto the nearest dreamer, you take a hold of their wrist and start tugging them through the crowd and over to the elevated stage.

Taking the centre, you stand in front of the dreamer, back to their front. Grabbing their hands, you place them on your hips, swaying lightly to the beat. Narrow eyes gaze down at the party crowd as you slide your hand up to the back of their neck—

You find him.

Stepping out of the darkness, he stares up at you.

Gotcha, you smirk.

The dreamer's lips meet the junction where your neck meets shoulder. Gaze locked with Morpheus' you tilt your head to the side, giving them access.

You're twirled around, and dipped. Upside down, your gaze still stays on him, letting your fingers glide from the middle of your chest to your belly as you're pulled up again.

The dreamer's hand abandons you all of a sudden.

"This dream is over."

Chuckling, you turn to face him. Hands folding, you raise a brow in question. "And what was that?"

"It is your duty as a host to see to it that your Lord is satisfied." Two fingers under your chin, he tips your head up. "Your Lord, first and foremost."

That so?

"Of course," you agree. "Will you dance with your host then?" You offer him your hand, palm up.

"With honour." He takes your hand.

•••

One hand on his exposed shoulder, you circle him, trailing a finger down his spine as you get behind, delighting in the shiver that runs through him, then you're facing him again.

He spins you in place, then pulls you into him. Forearm supporting your waist, he dips you, nose grazing the exposed column of your neck and jawline—your heart a staccato—before you're tugged up.

You both lose yourself to the music, to the rhythm, to the drunken moment of heady haze.

His hand grips the back of your thigh, locking your leg around his hip, he swivels with you.

Instead of dropping your leg, you tighten it. Palms tracing his front—the muscles flex beneath your touch—moving up, they settle at his nape.

Bringing your face near his, "Morpheus?" You whisper.

His dark eyes track your lips as they form his name. "Yes?" Voice hoarse, he replies.

This is it.

"I need your permission for something," the words that leave your mouth carry a heavy suggestive tone. Intentional. Calculated.

"You needn't ask for permission," he states, gaze still glued to your lips.

Trampling down a grin, you lean into him, lips touching the crook of his neck, you repeat, "Really?"

"Really."

Resting your mouth next to his ear, you tug at the hair curled around your fingers. "So I don't need your permission to do anything?"

"No," he breathes out.

"You swear?"

You roll your hips, the action making the hand that's been running lazy circles at your waist come to grasp your other thigh. 

"I swear."

You do it again, a little more fervent, biting the inside of your cheek to stop from moaning at the feel of him.

His fingers dig into your thighs. A groan rumbles out of his throat, a honey dripped sin, one that forces you to close your eyes.

You don't want to stop.

Morpheus drags you closer.

Oh, fuck.

But if you want to win, you'll have to.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Taking a shuddering breath, you try to recompose yourself. Reminding yourself of the game.

"Thank-you, my Lord," you whisper. 

Nipping at his ear, you pull away completely.

Dubious, he blinks down at you, lips pouting in confusion.

It'll take him a while till he understands what happened, won't it?

"Until next time, my Lord."

Then you're disappearing into the crowd. Breathing and heartbeat at an all-time high because of the encounter, adrenaline rushing through your veins at wrangling out a promise from The King of dreams.

And if there's a small voice inside your head yelling at you for leaving, you shove it deep down.

Victory is yours for now.

A flash goes in your mind, of red paint, pale skin and a special symbol.

You smile.

And so is the Lord of Dreams.

………………………………………………………………………

A/N :

I have never written something like this before, so, apologies if it's not really good.

Serch Bythol is a Celtic symbol which represents Everlasting love. Ivy is a symbol of, among many other things, devotion and loyalty.

Do you guys think that there's a hidden meaning behind Morpheus' design too?

Also, do you guys like Thessaly? If so, you might not like the next part...well some of it anyway.

Hope you guys enjoyed this.

Thankyou! ❤️

[a-silver-dragoness]

This piece represents my marriage with Solaris, who is quite near and dear to me.

Symbolism:

• Phoenix coming out of sun- represents Solaris, since I don't have courage to draw humanoids

• Dragon coming out of moon- me!

• Serch bythol inbetween sun and moon- represents eternal love

• On the yellow side of the serch bythol- the word angel and Solaris's name written in the angelic/celestial conlang

• The sword- his militant nature, his entire realm revolves around war

• The crown- his strength and experience as a leader

• On the blue side of the serch bythol- the word dragon and my true name (Iilah) written in dovahzul

• Circle within a circle- the soul, while Solaris dominates in physical strength, I specialize in spiritual strength

• The sigil- magic, cause I didn't know what else to represent magic as

• Middle of the serch bythol- a silver and gold egg to represent our potential or past child/children

[katherinewilliams221b]

Our Time To Bloom

Chapter 7: The Serch Bythol

<Previous Chapter  - All Chapters - Masterlist

Summary: Two months after the war, the couple is more distant than ever. Kate  accompanies her grandfather on a trip to Ireland, where her past and  present will collide in unexpected ways. Charlie stays in Romania with a decision to make: will he follow her and uncover all unsaid things? Romance/Drama /Mystery

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Kate Williams (hphm mc, original female character) established relationship

7th, July, 1998

Hours later, after dropping off Kate at the station, Charlie perched himself against a wooden fence at the dragon sanctuary. Lost in thought, he observed as Soule, an older Romanian Longhorn, stretched its wings in the air. The dragon flew in circles, pirouetting through the clouds with the bravest birds joining in its dance.

What a coward you have been, mate, not to join in. And what a fool! You wanted to go! You still do... Bernard has both great humour and profound wisdom, maybe he was the right person to talk to. If you want to talk... Simply trying to pronounce Fred’s name out loud makes your throat close up.

Soule walked past the Sun creating his silhouette in the wind for an instant.

A twinge in his knee made him hiss, and suddenly the smell of smoke invaded his nostrils.

‘It’s normal in the sanctuary,’ he reminded himself, but he couldn’t help but find himself on Hogwarts’ ground, lying on the stones and feeling that same smell.

He clung tightly to the fence, unable to move. The image of the man appearing out of the fire, distorted, only his silhouette visible when lit from behind, slipped into his mind without permission. He had hit him in the knee, fortunately, but at that moment, helpless on the ground, he knew the stranger would not miss a second time.

He struggled to steady his breathing and with difficulty set his sights on the mountains in the distance. He imagined waterfalls and rivers, crystal-clear lakes and the reflection of clouds in their waters, paths overlooking the valley, patches of flowering bushes.

He managed to shake off the vision of his near-death by trying to imagine himself flying, soaring through the skies on a dragon. With the wind in his face and breathing clean air, seeing the world disappearing and getting smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller...

“You’re making my dragons nervous...”

A light tap on the shoulder accompanied the voice, which was just enough to make Charlie flinch and turn away from Sonia, bringing his hand to his hip unconsciously reaching for his wand.

“Sorry.” She said with sincerity in her eyes before leaning against the fence.

Charlie brought his hand to his hair, briefly massaging his head and undoing the small ponytail he wore. He leaned back against the wood next to his group leader.

They both stood in silence for a while, just watching the sky. Charlie’s heart started beating normally again, and he was able to take a deep breath. Still, he brought his hand to his opposite arm and started stroking his inner elbow with his thumb.

“Nervous?” Sonia asked without looking at him. “The lists go out the day after tomorrow.” She added at the look she saw out of the corner of her eye.

“A little.”

“The grant is yours, I have no doubt. And Razvan’s too. You are both very capable.” She said with a small smile.

“We’ll see if the folks at Apuseni feel the same way.”

“I’m sure they will.”

Absently, Charlie continued to make circles on his skin.

“Cool tat,” Sonia commented, looking at the pale skin on his arm. “I haven’t seen it on you before.”

“Oh...” He pulled his hand away to reveal the symbol he wore inked in black. “We only got it done last year...”

Sonia raised her eyebrows.

“Kate and I.”

“Damn. That’s bold. I don’t think I could get matching tattoos with a boyfriend. It’s usually contraindicated.” She laughed, coaxing a small smile from Charlie.

“Yeah, well, they’re not permanent. The guy who did it to us can take them off, too.” It dawned on Charlie that this was the first time anyone had noticed the symbol he was wearing, and that no one but Kate knew of its existence. Not even Razvan.

He moved a little closer to her, extending his left arm so she could see better, and began to follow the lines with his pinky.

“It is, in theory, a Celtic symbol made of two Trinity knots flipped to the side and fused together.” He traced the intricate lines from the horizontally pointing tips to the central circle. “The three points of the knots represent the soul: mind, body and spirit, as well as the circle of life. The two knots maintain their individuality, but when intertwined, they create a perfect circle, symbolising the endless unity between two souls.” He recited as he had been told. He focused on the dragons again, less solemn, remembering with a smile the tale they were told when that man was tattooing Kate.

“It’s really just one interpretation, there’s no factual information about it that we know,” he chuckled" but we loved that story so much we adopted it as our own."

When Sonia didn’t comment on it, he kept going,

“It’s called a Serch Bythol. In Celtic Welsh language, serk means Love, and beeth-ohl means everlasting.”

“I wouldn’t have imagined in a million years that you two were corny as hell!” They shared a laugh at her teasing. Charlie was grateful that she took the weight out of his words.

“Oh, come on, be easy on me, boss, I’m opening my heart for you here.” He said half-joking.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” They chuckled again, watching as Soule landed on a tree. “I don’t suppose you got it one night completely smashed in some dude’s basemen…”

“No! Of course not!” He laughed.

“Right…”

“No, we…” he tapped it again absent-mindedly, “it was purely for practical reasons, I assure you.”

He stared at the black ink, praying for it to stay black.

“When the other is in danger, it glows red.”

A look of understanding erased the smirk on Sonia’s eyes. She avoided his stare, focusing on the landscape ahead.

“I always wondered how you knew… That you had to leave Romania that day.”

It scared me so much, the way it burned, he thought. I didn’t know where she was until I received her letter. It didn’t have an envelope or a seal. I couldn’t even recognise her handwriting.

He nodded.

A moment of silence passed between them and left Charlie contemplating his future, his plans. Seeing Soule come down from the sky to take a nap by the rocks made him realise he wasn't meant for anything else. This was the life he hoped for in his teens, and the life he wanted to cultivate. If not dragons, what else? But did it need to be in Romania?

These mountains were his dream since he was a child and he was comfortable here, perhaps too much. He wondered if leaving this place, this group of people he could now call friends would feel like a betrayal. To them and himself.

But then he thought of her.

She had worked as hard as him to get into St Mungo’s hospital as a mere apprentice. And she left for him. To follow him here. She got far as a healer in Bucharest’s hospital. And she left for a cause she believed in. She had been offered a position as a herbology teacher once. And she declined for the same reason. 

Maybe it was time to return the favour.

Perhaps, after the Apuseni program, if he was chosen to go, it could be the last thing Romania could offer him and that dream he had as a child wasn’t the end of the line but the beginning.

Before the war, they hadn’t discussed much about their plans for a future away from this place, they both had secure positions, a home and they were content with that. He never dared to dream further from that.

Then the war happened, and they were forced to do things they never imagined they could be capable of. And that tranquil life they had shattered along with their possibilities.

Now that it was over, he thought, after everything that they went through, it was time for new dreams.

Kate was in the picture, he used to be sure of it. Now, he hoped.

“Sonia…”

“Hm?” She began putting on her fireproof gloves.

“May I get… some time off?”

The dragon tamer stared at him with an unreadable expression. She seemed to be registering his question as confusion appeared on her face.

“You shouldn’t. Not right before the program starts.”

“After that, it may be too late.” She kept silent and continued to secure her gear. “I think,” he insisted, “I could catch up later, I’m sure. I’m a fast learner. Two weeks tops.”

“Two weeks!”

“Sonia, please. I never take breaks, you know this. I never even quit when all of that happened,” he added, referring to the war. She sighed.

“I know. I just don’t want you to lose this opportunity.”

“I won’t.”

She thought for a moment and then clicked her tongue. “At least stay until the first day.”

“Of course!”

“Hey!”

Both dragonologists turned at the sound of Razvan’s voice, who flew towards them with a frown.

“Am I the only one who works around here or what? We’re supposed to start the scouting in three minutes!”

“Yes,” Sonia added with a nod towards Charlie, “let’s go.”

--

Muddy and sweaty, Charlie apparated in front of his house after an afternoon in the forest. He took off his boots before entering the cabin and made his way to the bathroom for a warm and much needed shower.

After cleaning himself, he stepped out of the bathtub in time to hear scratches on the other side of the door.

“Just wait a moment, Grimoire!”

Charlie imagined the condescending expression of Kate’s cat as it sat in their bedroom.

He opened the door with a towel around his hips just so the animal would stop the assault at the door.

“When Kate’s not here, you become an insufferable pain in the ass.” He accused, changing into a shirt and tracksuit bottoms. Grimoire mewled, clearly letting him know that the sentiment was mutual.

After satiating both appetites, Charlie left the cabin and, using a ladder, checked the rooftop for any sign of Whiskey.

He found the owl sound asleep in the small wooden house he had built for him. The redhead frowned and checked his watch. It was late.

While climbing down, he reminded himself that it meant nothing that Kate hadn’t sent a letter. She was probably having fun with her grandpa. Right?

“Yes. She arrived safe and sound.” He said to Grimoire as he entered again.

He made his way to the kitchen counters, hoping that the routine of putting a kettle on would calm his nerves. He instantly felt better as soon as the tea touched his lips, but the nervousness of what would he say to her and, most importantly, how would she react to seeing him there, remained.

Stopping the spiralling train of thought, he gasped.

Her birthday!

He used to be more thoughtful than that, he thought, but the stress of the war and going back to tons of work at the reserve had left him with no energy to think about presents.

The incorporation to the Apuseni program, if that ever happened, would leave him no time to search for something appropriate. He only had tomorrow to figure it out.

Against all odds and without warning, Grimoire jumped on the seat next to him and, tentatively, rested his head on Charlie’s thigh.

“I know,” he sighed, scratching behind the cat’s ear, “I miss her too. You’ll be fine here on your own? I guess you must. Razvan will come, you know him, to check on you.”

He paused, sipping his tea.

“I don’t even know where to start with her…”

He would get to… Cobh? But where exactly? And even if he found her, how would he manage to put in order the things he should say?

Eyeing the coffee table, he saw some random papers scattered around. With a flick of the wrist, a quill and inkwell floated towards him as he set the cup down. With a determined breath, he started writing.

My dearest,

I don’t know if I will have the courage to show you this letter. Maybe I’ll burn it after I’m finished, maybe I will hide it until I’m ready, or maybe I will be able to speak my mind to your face. You deserve as much, and so much more.

My heart stings every time I come home at night. I watch the lights on the tower where you hide from me and I feel as a failure for not being able to reach you. You’ve closed your mind, only to me? Do I hurt you so that you’ve kept your thoughts to yourself?

I talk to Razvan sometimes, about you and I, about what happened, about Fred if my voice doesn’t betray me. He listens, he tries, and I’m grateful to have found a little solace in his friendship, but he is not the person I burn to reconnect with again.

I miss my best friend, my companion.

Is it because I remind you of your own brother, Jacob, that you can’t find it in your heart to speak to me?

I hear you cry some nights. I know about your nightmares. Often I hold you, selfishly hoping you will wake and hug me back. I don’t know what haunts your dreams, I can imagine, but it feels strange in my stomach that you can’t trust me how you used to.

I guess I’ve been guilty of that too, but for different reasons. There is no one else I would trust with my life but you, but I’m afraid I’ve become a burden to you. I find it difficult to know where I stand, where the limits are, how I should act around you.

But I’ve learnt today, the hard way, after seeing you part from me for the umpteenth time and after observing the creatures that roam these mountains, that my approach has been completely off.

You are not a dragon. Never have been and never will. They come and go or they don’t, they can fly, spit fire, the most absolute chaos can burst in any second, destroying everything around them. To be on good terms with them again, you need to sit still and wait. Make yourself as little of a threat as possible.

But you, my love, you are a feline, and cats can sense when one is not confident enough to handle them. So they scurry away. A change of attitude it’s what’s needed or you’ll just see their tails as they leave the room.

All of this to say I hope you will forgive me.

Once I told you, as you lay in my arms, I whispered to you it would be only fair to follow where you lead.

And now I intend to keep my promise, because it was one, whether you know it or not.

Although I should have been quicker to say it,

I accept your offer, if you’ll have me, and I’ll reunite with you in Ireland if I manage to find where you are.

If after these weeks you still seek a life away from here without me, at least I’ll know that my last decision regarding you wasn’t a disappointment or one that I’ll regret.

But for all it’s worth, I want to start dreaming with you again.

With all the love I can possibly keep in my heart,

Charlie.

Before folding the letter, and with utmost care, he drew with his quill a Serch Bythol at the end of the page, hoping she would understand the meaning behind it.

His heart felt lighter, somehow, having put into words his intentions and motives and, he realised as he lifted the quill, that he hoped for her to read it. When the envelope was closed, he placed a kiss on it.

With Grimoire’s head resting on his thigh and a steaming cup in hand, he stared out of the window, watching the trees sway with the wind. He took a deep breath and enjoyed for the first time in months a quiet afternoon in solitude.

--

A/N. A short one but very much needed, if anyone still cares :) It’s hard writing these days

Next chapter >

[grlwtskulltattoo]

When I arrive at the blacksmith I see a grizzly older man working over some iron. I watch him as he works for a little bit, not wanting to interrupt him. He pounds a glowing red piece of iron with a hammer. Slowly the metal forms to his will then he places it in water to cool it. When he turns around he finally spots me.

“Is there something I can do for you, Lady.” He asks, a slight gruffness to his voice.

“I was hoping you could make a sword for me.” I ask, a little nervous for his response.

The man looks at me curiously. “I can make a sword. Is this for your man?”

“No, it’ll be for me…” I straighten my head, slightly lifting an eyebrow.

He looks at me in surprise. I can only imagine that he doesn’t get very many women asking for swords. After the initial shock wears off, he gives me a nod. “What kind of sword do you want?” He motions to a stack of swords in various lengths and styles.

I pick up a couple different ones, testing their weight and the feel of them in my hand. When I find one I like I show it to him. “I want one in similar length and width as this one. I would like the grip to be wrapped in leather and the guard to be straight with a slight curve at the ends.” I pull out a folded piece of parchment that I had tucked into the waist band of my pants. “And I would like this design etched into the blade. Do you think you can do it?”

The man looks over my small drawing of a raven with a Celtic Serch Bythol symbol above it. Slowly he nods his head. “Yes…it can be done, but it’ll take me a few days.”

“That’s fine. In the meantime do you have a sword I can borrow? Until mine is ready.” I ask. I want to start practicing as soon as possible.

The man motions to the sword I’m still holding in my hand. “Take that one.”

I nod at him in thanks, then pull out the little pouch of coins Finan gave me. I pay him half the cost for the sword, with the promise to pay the rest when it’s ready.

When I leave the blacksmith I wander around town, still not ready to go home…

[franniefabs]

The serch bythol with a teal ribbon.

Much appreciated

If I may ask, what is the one she has?

Yay!

[deborahkaya]

A mystical silver cat appears as eight-year-old Beau Rivière sleeps. Beau has  lost his mother who was all he had in the world other than his Uncle Dane in New York City. He has just moved to New York from the Louisiana Bayous and is having a painful time adjusting. The silver cat is so familiar to him and he knows she was once his in a life that was quite different from the one he is now leading. The cat gives him a powerful sense of belonging and clarity, but who is she? Why does he hear the name Geneviève ?

A silver tabby walks into the bedroom and curls up beside me, purring. She rubs her face against my hand. The dream is so clear it makes me sit up. Only it wasn’t a dream and it isn’t a silver tabby. Lying beside me is a purring brown cat wearing a gold collar with pink roses. This cat isn’t one of Sphinx and Dane’s. Where did she come from? I stroke her and she rises and rubs my face over and over, purring louder. I then hear sounds at my bedroom door. Standing before me is the little boy whose pictures are on the mantle.

He rushes over to me. “Gwinveer was my kitty but Mommy and Daddy say she’s yours. I want her to be yours.” Not knowing how to respond, I just smile. He climbs on the bed beside me and we both stroke the cat. “Don’t be sad, Beau.”

“My mama died.”

“I’m sorry.” I notice his eyes are empathetic, as if he understands.

“You must be Griffin. Your mom and dad are downstairs, aren’t they?”

“Yep!” He takes my hand and pulls me up and leads me to his bedroom. The brown cat follows. “You finish my tower?” he asks, looking at the skyscraper I made.

I nod. “I hope you’re not mad.”

“I like it. We build together now, Beau.”

He empties a Lego container and pulls me down to the floor. I follow his lead because he’s kind of a willful little guy and something tells me that it’s best not to upset him. “What are we building?” I ask.

“A castle,” he replies and starts working on the foundation.

I have to work slowly because he’s small and it takes him longer to find and connect blocks but I like playing with Griffin. He’s a better builder than any two-year-old I’ve ever seen. I can’t say why, but being with him pleases me. Griffin scolds the kitty when she wants to lie precisely where we’re building, so I put her in my lap.

Dane comes in and smiles when he sees us playing. “I see you two hit it off.”

“We’re cool, Dane,” I smile.

Dane’s eyes go to the kitty. “David and Lia brought Guinevere all the way from England for you, Beau.”

I’m very happy about Guinevere but I keep thinking about the silver cat in the dream. There was a world inside my head that slipped away. Where did it go? David, Lia, and Griffin… Who are they? I love my uncles very much and wish I wasn’t causing them to worry. I don’t mean to. I just don’t feel like talking or eating. One of the other cats comes in the room and Guinevere chases her out with a hiss and a spit, making us laugh. “We know who the new alpha cat is,” Dane laughs. I’m trying to be myself again but I’m so tired. I’m afraid to sleep because when I do, the bad guys can get to me. It’s been worse since Mama died. It’s as if they’re gloating. I can’t talk about the bad guys with anyone. I wish I could.

Dane leaves, saying he’ll check on us again in a bit. Griffin is preoccupied building a turret so I walk out to the hallway to listen to the voices. I recognize David’s voice from his songs. The female voice must be Lia’s. It’s all so familiar and yet I can’t put my finger on it. They say Griffin and I should play a little longer because we’re such dear friends and the simplicity of a toddler is good for me. Griffin is my dear friend? Is that what I felt? I hear Sphinx saying he hopes Guinevere and Griffin will help heal me. Heal? How do you heal from your mama being taken from you? I’ll never see her again for the rest of my life.

“Come back, Beau!” Griffin calls.

[thisgirlsays22]

Thank you to the amazing @snarkatthemoon for making this edit for me!!! I really wanted a manip of Derek with the Serch Bythol tattoo he gets for Stiles in my fic Eight Hundred Steps Between, and I was shook that there was an actual scene from the show with the underside of Derek's wrist/forearm displayed AND the setting actually matched the scene too. THIS IS CANON TO ME NOW AHAHA.

When Derek got home, Stiles was sitting at the desk with his laptop and papers spread around him that Derek knew were applications to his shortlist of graduate schools.

[...]

The inked skin tingled where Stiles’ fingers explored. There was one triskele on the left and one on the right, and they met and intertwined in the center. “It’s called the Serch Bythol. The triskeles represent an individual’s mind, body, and spirit, and the circle they form symbolizes the love that binds each one together.”

Read on Ao3 (Eight Hundred Steps Between , sequel to Phantom | E | 6.2k )

[shadow--writer]

I Love your Demons, Like Devils can

Somethin soft I wrote while ignoring an essay (something something title)

Maeve x Lucas. When all I see is you 2.6k

CW: talk of past, slight nudity, overthinking

@dela-png

“Why do you love me?” 

It was a lazy afternoon, warm and breezy. She closed up early, inviting Lucas over to stay the night. The sun was still high in the sky, the breeze cooling her room down. She was reading a book in a language he didn’t understand, one about star charting back home. It made her feel homesick. 

He was running his hands through her hair as she laid on his chest, reading and enjoying his company.

Until this, that is. 

“Why do I what?” She traced the scars on his arms, sighing. “Love, did I not give you plenty of reasons before?”

“I just…”

“Oh don’t go doing that again,” she huffed, discarding her book. She flipped over, tangling her legs in his, and pressing her chest to his. “I love you for many reasons. Your sulky puppy eyes are one of them.” She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“I don’t know why I’m feeling like this,” he murmured, kissing her again. 

“One of those days?”

He shrugged, half heartedly. “People stare, how do you...tolerate it?”

“Tolerate staring? I get it all the time.”

“When...you’re with me.”

She smiled. “I don’t tolerate it, I embrace it. I think I’m very lucky, managing to love you the way I do. And to be lucky to have you love me back? Sometimes I think I’m the one who should be asking you all of this, I’m nothing special.”

He kissed the top of her head, nuzzling her cheek. “I think you’re special.”

“I think the same of you.”

“...why?”

She kissed the tip of his nose, pushing herself up. “I’ll show you.” She got to her feet and tugged him off her bed and out of her room. He shuffled after her, watching her as she led him to her makeshift dining room. Humming, she threw open her blinds and dug around for the body paint she was experimenting with.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly as she set the jar down. She knelt beside it, motioning him to sit down on the floor with her. He followed suit, letting her crawl closer. 

“Shirt.”

“What?”

She tugged on his arm, making him move closer. Letting go of his hand she shifted between his legs to hold the hem of his shirt. 

She peered up at him through her lashes, brows set and her mouth pulled downwards in a stubborn look. “Shirt.”

“Maeve-”

“Love, trust me.”

His cheeks reddened and he nodded slowly. She kissed his cheek. “Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Your voice is cracking.” She helped him tug his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side as she kissed the tip of his nose. 

He wouldn’t meet her eye as she brushed his scars with a light touch. 

“Your hands are cold,” he murmured.

She kissed his neck, biting softly. She felt his breath hitch. 

“Do you trust me?”

There was a pause, a small sigh. “Y-Yes.”

She opened the jar of paint, staring at the familiar dark blue. 

“What are you…”

She dunked her hands inside, coating her palms in the paint. It ran down her arms as she stared at him, lips twisting. 

“First we’ll start on your shoulders. Move down your chest…” she swirled two fingers against his scars, pressing her palm against his neck, staring at the handprint she left. 

She kissed the side of his jaw once, cupping his face in her hands and smudging paint along his skin and down his neck. 

She dipped her fingers back into the paint, dragging them down his eyes and smudging the paint along his nose. She dragged her thumb down his lower lip and chin, leaving a strong line of blue. 

“I love you so much I’ll share the greatest honour I can, our warpaint,” she murmured, brushing her hands down his arms. “The sign of our strongest and it’s our most treasured tradition.” She held up her arm. “One we get permanently inked into our skin once we come of age.”

She dipped her hands into the paint again, swirling it around his collar and pecs. 

He stared at her, lips parted slightly and pupils blown wide. Swallowing all that blue.

She tilted his head up, smiling a little.

“Mo anam cara.”

He moved closer, the blue striking against his skin. His hair was soft against her forehead as he rested against her. She let her eyes flutter shut.

“And what does that mean?”

“Something you’ll just have to find out for yourself,” she murmured. 

He chuckled softly, kissing her. “Okay, Trouble.”

She giggled, opening her eyes. She kissed his eyelids, making them fly open. 

She took his hand, smearing paint along her lips and kissed his palm. “A kiss for good luck,” she murmured, kissing his fingertips and watching them turn blue with her touch. Her mom showed her this tradition, one only in their family. A reminder of what you have home when you left to fight. 

“All dressed up in blue,” she hummed. “Strong and beautiful.” She smiled, lacing their fingers. “Look at you, one of us. Well…almost.”

“Al…most?”

She got to her feet, running her fingers along his shoulder and neck. He stiffened as she paused behind him. 

She combed her hands through his hair, pulling it back and tying some of it up in a bun, letting the rest curl around his neck. Then slowly, she started to braid the pieces behind his ears.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

“Scars and pasts don’t make us who we are,” she replied. His hair was hard to keep down in a braid, but she didn’t mind. It made it all uniquely him. “Bloodied hands and closed hearts are but a concept.”

She finished one side and moved on to the other.

“You have kind hands, you’ve only touched me with care and love.” She kissed the shell of his ear, nibbling softly. “Mhmmm. You’re kind, lovely and I love you.”

He let out a small squeak. 

“You make me happy, my love. That’s more than I could have asked for.”

“You deserve to be happy.”

“So do you.”

He went silent.

She brushed the scar around his neck, bending down to kiss it. “I love you, Giant. Mo ghaiscíoch.”

“You’re really good at this.”

“At what?”

He tilted his head back, resting it against her stomach. “Making everything…seem okay. Even if it’s for a moment.” 

“I can’t promise it’ll all go away, but I can promise I can help you. Besides, you look good in blue.”

He chuckled. “I wish I could make you feel the same. I’m kind of…”

“Say useless and I will pull your hair.”

His eyes snapped open. “What.”

She tugged on his hair lightly. 

“You’re not useless. You’re Lucas. Hmm,” she paused. That wasn’t right. “Batsaikhan.”

Ah she liked him blushing, it was cute. It brought light to his freckles and the paint down his eyes and lips. 

“I don’t need any usefulness from you, silly gander.”

He laughed. “Little goose.”

“Honk honk.”

“Is it my turn to offer up wisdom and paint on you?”

She giggled. “Sorry love, I’m already covered in war paint.”

He reached up to cup her face. “Ah, that’s right. How could I forget?”

She smiled, rubbing her nose against his. 

“It’s the least I could do, paint symbols of my people.”

“It’s part of you,” he whispered. 

“And now I’m passing it to you as well.”

“Why?”

She shifted closer, nipping at his lower lip. “Because I love you, and I wanted to. That’s enough.”

“I love you,” he murmured. “I don’t know if I’ll get used to you saying that.”

She let her voice roll into a low purr. “Well you better, because I’m not gonna stop.”

He held her hand, fingertips stained with blue. She sat in his lap, snuggling into him. He dipped his other hand into the paint, caressing her cheek and smearing blue along her skin. 

“Now we match,” he said with a small smile. She leaned into his touch, kissing his fingertips again. 

The dark colour stood out against his skin, making his eyes seem even more electric. She held his hand in hers, moving closer to him. His breathing hitched as she rested her palms on his chest, pressing a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. 

“I think you’re beautiful in blue,” she murmured. 

He tilted her chin with his hand, leaving smudges of paint down her chin and throat. He hummed at the taste of the paint, trailing his hands down her sides to rest on her hips. 

“I’ll wear it more often then,” he said with a small smile, resting his forehead against hers as he squeezed her hips. 

She shifted, huffing a little. He laughed. “You’ll get paint on my clothes. I at least made you strip first.”

He kissed her again, tasting sweet. “I don’t think you mind.”

“If it stains I’ll mind,” she said, flicking the tip of his nose. She wrapped her arms around his neck, playing with the little curls at the nape of his neck. She kissed the tip of his nose, shifting off his lap. She smudged the paint off the center of his chest, slowly looping her strokes. It was messy, uneven, but it made her smile as she finished a serch bythol. 

He only watched her paint, massaging the skin of her hips as she pressed a kiss above the symbol, in the hollow of his collar. She smiled, pushing back on his shoulders to look at her handiwork. 

“There. Perfect,” she said with a hum, pressing her fingertips to the hollow of his throat. “Serch bythol. A messy one, but one all the same!”

“What’s a serch bythol?” he asked, taking her hand and kissing her palms. She chewed on her lower lip, ignoring the flush building under the paint. 

“A...knot we’d paint and make back home. Well, obviously we’d make them back home.” She laughed nervously, her heart a steady thrum in her chest. “It’s...made from two knots to symbolize unity.”

He kissed her forehead. “You’re blushing, what are you hiding?”

She groaned, burying her face in his neck. “It’s sappy.”

He snorted, burying his hands in her hair. She knew he was getting paint in it, making it all stick together…she didn’t mind. 

“Sappy? Now you have to tell me.”

She whined, making him laugh, untangling the ends of her hair. “I don’t make the rules, love.” She squeaked, digging her nails into his back. He smiled, she knew he was smiling based on how he hummed. “Love?”

“L-Lucas,” she whined. 

He hummed, kissing the top of her hair. “Okay, love.”

“Stop,” she groaned. 

“Ah so you can do it but I can’t?”

She huffed, wrapping her legs around his hips. “It’s unfair. You sound too sweet saying it.”

He chuckled, shifting to get a look at her face. She blushed at the knot on his chest, chewing her lower lip as anxiety ravaged her body. It was a dumb old tradition. He wouldn’t want it anyway or to know more about it. It was something dumb she did spur of the moment-

He kissed her sweetly, smiling. “You’re beautiful when you blush, but if you don’t want to tell me what it means, that’s okay.”

She sucked in a breath softly, resting her forehead against his, his bangs tickling her cheeks. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

He blinked, brows furrowing. “Laugh?”

“It’s...kind of dumb. I don’t...know why I did it! It’s so stupid.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not dumb, it’s not stupid. I won’t laugh, love.” She pinkened at the nickname. She was starting to like hearing it from him, it sent sparks of heat down to her toes, making her feel like everything was okay. 

“It means unity between two people,” she murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It’s a fancy way to say it was made for people to express their love, romantic or otherwise. Sometimes we’ll paint it on our shields when we go into battle, the unity of mind, body and soul with your loved ones and your fellows following in battle.”

She chewed on her lower lip, feeling sheepish. It sounded so sappy she was going to turn into her dad. 

He only smiled, eyes growing misty. 

“D-Don’t cry!” she sputtered, pushing back. “Please don’t cry, I'll take it off, I promise! I was dumb I’ll-”

He kissed her roughly, making her stutter off with a tiny squeak. 

“You better not,” he sniffed in between kisses. “I, for one, love it.” He nipped at her lower lip, making her squirm. There was a threat behind the nip. 

“I’ll…” he kissed the corner of her mouth, his breath hot against her face. She flushed, burying her hands in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Make the knot for you then,” she breathed, feeling dizzy with each kiss. 

“Can you show me how?” he whispered, leaving blue smudges as he ran his thumbs under her eyes. It wasn’t overwhelming, the smell and taste of him. In fact, the more she sat there, straddling his hips, covered in blue paint (which she hoped wouldn’t stain) the more she fell in love with him. Him and those electric eyes of his, large and loving. 

“I’d…” she swallowed, smiling. “I’d love to.” Her dad would be thrilled with him, she knew he’d go on and on about their knots if Lucas asked.

He kissed both of her cheeks, making her giggle with the rough touch. 

“I love you,” he murmured, nipping at her ear. 

She squeaked, biting her lower lip. Her face was hot, making him smile. “I...love you too,” she muttered, moving to hold his hands. “Now stop touching my dress, you're going to stain it.”

He pouted, brows softening. “But-” 

She silenced him with another kiss. “You’re going to ruin the paint,” she whispered, shifting away. She knew full well the paint was already ruined. 

He held her hand as she stood, kissing her knuckles. His smile was slightly wicked, his eyes shining as he pulled her back down. 

She yelped, limbs flailing as he held her close. 

“I want to touch you though,” he murmured, leaving small open mouthed kisses along her exposed collar. 

“But I don’t want your handprint stained on my ass,” she muttered, pushing his face away. “If Amani, no not only her, do you know how long we’d have to go before living it down? A lifetime.”

He nuzzled her hands, smirking. “Well maybe I want to leave a stain of my hand on your ass.”

“You cheeky bastard,” she huffed, squishing his cheeks again. “...cute cheeky bastard.”

“You love me,” he said with a lopsided smile. “A lot.”

She sniffed. “You can’t prove anything.”

“But I can, a serch bythol was it?”

“I regret telling you that.”

He moved one hand off her hip, dipping it in the long forgotten warpaint. Her nose wrinkled as he painted on her cheek. “There’s a symbol for love from me,” he said, nibbling on her lower lip. “Now we match.”

“....is it a heart?”

“...maybe.”

She snorted, batting his hands away. “No more touching. You’re banned.”

He whined, it sounded so doglike it was eerie. “But Maeve-”

She pressed a finger to his mouth. “No. Nope. No more. You’ll stain my fabric, and I’ll be sad if you ruin all of my hard work.”

He sulked, making her giggle. Her expression softened when she looked at him. Her swirls and dots were smudged by touches, fingerprints dragged across his skin, he was a mess and she was sure she was too.

But she had never felt more in love with someone than she was with him. 

She bunched up her skirt, shifting over his hips again to kiss him. 

“I love you,” she murmured, tracing the lines of his face with a light touch as she kissed between his brows. “I love you.”

He buried his hands in her hair as he kissed her again, feathery soft. She giggled. “I love you too, Thumbelina.”

[alex-procrastinates]

drew some more fanart of @zeragii's an inner light! this is kind of a cover redraw and kind of an illustration for the scene where the venerable druid discovers asterix has the solas anam.

i've posted a speedpaint of this drawing here: https://youtu.be/Wl6XUufMmYQ

the symbol in the background is called the serch bythol. it's a celtic symbol that represents everlasting love. (i'm not 100% sure if it's real, but multiple sources i found agreed on its design and meaning, and it's made from two triquetra knots, which are a real celtic symbol, so i'm sure enough to use it.) it usually represents love between two people, but here i wanted to use it to symbolise what i think is the key trait of asterix's solas anam - unconditional, everlasting love for others. that's what drives his loyalty, kindness, empathy and courage.

so yeah! also this is actually the first time i've drawn asterix in full colour, and i'm pretty happy with it. the flowing hair and the angle of the head gave me a lot of trouble and i had to redraw them like 3 times, but i think they came out alright. i'm also pretty proud of the lighting on this one :)

[darkk-academic]

Tease

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III] [Part IV] [Part V]

[Morpheus x F!Reader]

Summary : You and Morpheus have a delicious confrontation which you follow by retribution.

Warning : Spice. Self-love(Explicit).

"You are back."

And so, the prey walks in.

"You asked for me," at your silence, he adds.

Nonchalant, continuing to apply kohl, you don't spare him a glance.

"Wait a moment, dulce deliciis," you tell him.

Through the mirror, you see him startle.

Game on.

Putting the kohl down, you give yourself a once-over.

The smokey eyes and crimson lips, and the scant black satin that wraps around your body.

Don't fuck this up, you tell yourself.

Breathing deeply, you straighten your spine and turn.

Willing your racing heart to slow as you finally get a look at him, after three months.

Adorning his familiar all black attire, hair a mess, slightly pouting lips, and darkened blue eyes that stare at you with barely concealed want—

And oh, the distance does make the heart grow fonder.

Sauntering towards him with an extra sway to your hips, internally rejoicing at his look and what that means.

That he's still yours.

"Morpheus," you whisper once closer. Hand coming up to rest on his chest. "How I've missed you."

"Have you?"

"Mhm." Hand sneaking underneath his coat, diminishes the distance between his bare skin and yours.

"I thought you'd abandoned the dreaming."

Concealing the surprise his words bring, you peer up at him, quirking a brow. "You remember my dream? Yes?"

Brows furrowing, he nods. "Yes."

Fingers turning to run circles on his t-shirt, you hum. "And you remember the design I painted on you?"

Silence.

"... Yes."

"And I take it, you know the meaning behind the symbols?"

His eyes scan your face. "I do."

You smile, razor-sharp. "Tell me, what they mean?"

He turns rigid, lips pursuing, eyes flashing with equal parts curiosity and confusion and a hint of hope.

Yet, he stays quiet.

Hand stilling, you let your nails dig into the thin layer of his t-shirt. "Tell me," you demand.

He clears his throat, licking his lips—

Don't do that.

Your nails dig just a bit deeper.

"Serch Bythol is Celtic, symbolising everlasting love—" Inhaling sharply, his gaze darts around the room. "While Ivy denotes devotion, fidelity—"

"Then why would you think I'd abandoned you?" You cut him off, voice deceptively saccharine. "Hmm?"

He's silent, head turned away from you—

And that simply wouldn't do.

Gripping his jaw between your thumb and fingers, you yank his face in your direction.

"Something caught your tongue?" You ask, referring to a certain unwelcomed guest. "But that couldn't be it, right? Considering I haven't captured it, and if not me, then who could?"

Morpheus is thrown off by your rather bold actions, it's apparent, although he's doing an impressive job at hiding it.

"Pardon me, seeing you after such long time has caught me by surprise," he says. Once again recomposed.

"Oh?" Letting go of his jaw, your hand curls around his neck. "Surprised, huh? Tell me, did you miss me?"

"Your absence has been felt by all of the Dreaming—"

"That's not what I asked," you hiss. Stepping closer, front brushing against his. "Have you missed me?"

Your other hand goes to join the one playing with his hair, at his nape.

"I have indeed missed you, I confess."

"Hmm." Gazing into his eyes, you lean into him. "But have you ached for me?"

His hands, that'd been dangling useless by his sides, rise to hold your waist and pull your hips against his.

Oh.

"Do you deem this aching, enough?" He questions, voice hoarse.

Biting down on your lip, you breathe deeply. Control. Control. Control.

"I see," you rasp. Fingers twining with his hair, tug, earning a soft gasp. "Have you spent every second, every moment devoted to me?"

"I saw you in the reflecting windows of the throne room, in the empty corridors all I heard was your laughter." Face lowering, his nose grazes yours. "In the shadows of my chambers all I felt was your heat as your phantom touches brought the fervour thrumming under my skin to the surface."

Heat pools low in your belly at his confession.

"What I wouldn't give to kiss you until your lips are bruised," you whisper.

His eyes drop to your lips. "What stops you?"

Thessaly.

Mouth turning sour at the reminder, you centre yourself.

Pulling away from him a bit, your hand trails up to his cheek, proceeding to go down in a slow, featherlight, descent—touching his lips, the hollow of his throat before curling around his t-shirt.

Gripping tight, you start to move backwards, tugging him along as you do.

Leaving him to stand, you sit down on your bed, legs down.

Morpheus starts to move towards you, holding your hand up, you stop his approach.

"Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, Morpheus."

"I do not understand what you are asking of me."

You smile. "I'm asking you to kneel before me."

His expression turns baffled. "It does not befit one such as I to kneel," he states. Lips turning down.

Holding his eyes, you remove the satin slip off in one go to reveal your bare form. "Alright."

Breath hitching, he makes to take a step—

"Don't you dare," you command, curt.

He freezes in place.

Spreading your knees, fingers skimming the lines of your neck, you gaze up at Morpheus through hooded eyes.

"Kneel and I will let you come closer."

He hesitates for a few seconds and then—

Then he drops to his knees, eyes fixated on your exposed skin.

Oh, wow.

You stamp down a hysterical laugh.

He starts inching closer, again.

In a flash, you stop his approach by placing the tip of your feet on his chest. "Nuh huh, you don't get to touch me. Watch."

Leaning back against your hand, the feet pushing at Morpheus's chest rises up to settle on his shoulder. You hold his eyes as your other hand drifts down, slipping into the only article of clothing you wear.

He gasps, arms falling onto his knees, clenching his jeans.

Finding the most sensitive bundle of nerves, you let out a shuddering breath, half a moan.

His hand moves up—

"You touch me and I stop," you rasp. Daring him to try.

"Please." His whole countenance is desperate, but no.

You're set in your resolve. "No."

His hands fall back. Eyes closing as if agonised before fixing on you again.

Head falling back, you sigh and moan with no restraint as you work on yourself.

"Tell me, Morpheus," you whisper, "will you do anything I ask?"

"Yes," is his quick response.

He watches your fingers move, hunger evident in his eyes, breathing raggedly.

The feel of his eyes on you causes the heat coiling in your belly to tighten.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Do you want to touch me, Morpheus?"

"Yes." He leans forward.

Your fingers speed up.

"Say, Domine non sum dignus." Heart racing, you try to find a semblance of clarity.

"I…"

Your fingers still, and you stifle a frustrated whimper.

"Are you worthy of your Lord?" Beyond himself in intoxicated want, he shakes his head. "No? Then say it."

"Domine non sum dignus," he repeats, voice deep and husky.

Your fingers pick where they left off, the sensitivity causing your breath to hitch.

"You want to prove yourself worthy?"

He nods, transfixed.

"You'll have to do something for me," you speak through pants.

"Yes."

Pace quickening you buck into your hand, and he—

He whines, eyes meeting yours, pupils blown wide and dark.

Muscles clenching and releasing repeatedly, light explodes behind your eyelids, throwing your head back, you moan as you fall over the edge.

It takes a few moments for you to come to yourself and once you do—

Feet coming down his shoulder, you bend yourself forward, stained hand caressing his lips.

"You will do anything I ask?"

"Yes," Morpheus chokes out.

His lips part, welcoming as you push your fingers into his mouth. Groaning low in his throat.

Trying hard not to focus on the way his tongue—

"Cast Thessaly out of the Dreaming."

And then you're leaving him dumbfounded on the floor of your bedroom.

Two thoughts in your mind :

I need a shower, the coldest shower and—

I win.

•••

"Well…sorry to be the bearer of shit news, caw! But Shaper, that bitch hasn't left."

Your grip on the book you've been reading tightens. "What!?" You exclaim.

The sound of a throat clearing comes. Lucienne.

"What?" You whisper.

"Uh huh, boss has sent you this." He lifts his feet—claw, showing a piece of wrapped parchment. "Caw! Like I'm some damn pigeon."

Taking off the letter, you unfold it.

'I cannot ask for her to leave after extending an invitation, it would be most discourteous of me should I do so. Please accept my apology for not complying with your rather irrational demand.

Your Lord.'

What a coward.

You tear it into shreds.

Silence.

"Um… Shaper?" Matthew speaks up, "There's something you should know."

You raise a brow, prompting him to speak.

"It's about your connection to the Dreaming…"

•••

Shades of coral, vermilion and amber spill across the blue canvas of the sky. Cold breeze blows in soft waves, carrying the scent of aromatic flowers along with the melodious chirps of birds as it rustles the leaves in its wake.

On the high balcony from where most of the Dreaming is visible, you sit on a plush chair—accompanied by Matthew who's perching on the railing—a cup of tea in hand.

In the serene atmosphere, you both gaze down at the most fascinating scene.

Vines encircling Thessaly's ankles are dragging her around, this way and that, round and round, as a door builds itself a few feet away at a slow pace.

Her friends are shouting and following her, but it appears they can't quite catch up to them.

"So…" Matthew drawls, laughter in his voice, "no complaints because I'm thoroughly enjoying this, but caw! How long until you speed up the door?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you reply. Smirking.

"Ah! Of course, I was just kidding," Matthew says, following your lead. "What about Boss?" He whispers.

"It so happens he's very busy, there's some trouble that needs to be sorted," you answer. "All the way to the other side."

Matthew breaks down in chortles. "Shaper! Look!"

Glancing down, you bite your lip.

The vines have taken the shape of a human, and are dangling Thessaly upside down, facing the door.

Bye bye, witch bitch—

Oh no, that's an insult of the witches.

Bye bye, bitch.

The vines land a hard kick on her back that sends her out the door.

Out the Dreaming.

In a blink, both the vines and the door disappear.

You take a sip of your tea.

•••

"It has come to my attention that one of our guests was escorted out of the Dreaming in the most unsuitable manner."

"Were they? Well, damn."

Tilting your head to the side, your eyes wander around the throne room, sparing the Lord sitting on his throne no glance.

"Do you truly have nothing else to say on this matter?" He questions.

It's not really a question, though, no. A statement. A warning.

"Sucks for them, I guess," you drawl out, nonchalant.

"Is it to be believed that you had no hand in this? Will you still not confess, after having been caught in your folly?"

Your lips quirk up. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"Your impudence knows no bounds," he snaps. "Perhaps a punishment—"

Eyes snapping to meet his, narrow. "Enough."

His mouth shuts in surprise.

Walking up the stairs, you inhale sharply, squaring your shoulders. "The only one getting a punishment in this room will be you."

"Pardon?"

Coming to a stop in front of him, you put your palm on the throne, next to his head with a slam, the other hand rests on the handle, effectively caging him in.

"I'm quite done with you being an ass," you state.

"I—"

"Not a word when I am talking." You glare down at him. "Tell me, Morpheus, are you such a fucking slave to your paranoia, to your fear that I'll abandon you, that you'll just what?" Brows knitting, your voice lowers. "Find someone else?"

Something akin to guilt flashes behind his eyes. "I…that is," unable to find words, he looks at you helplessly.

"If you can't even find it in yourself to trust m—"

"I do," he professes, softly, "I do trust you."

"Then how come she was here?"

"It was rather thoughtless of me—"

"Do you want me?" You demand.

"You are well aware that I do," he replies with no hesitation.

"And you know what those designs meant?" You ask, referring to the symbols you drew for the party.

"I do. And I confess—" His stare pierces into your eyes. "—Your feelings are very much shared."

"Good." You nod. "You should know, I don't take well to people coming after what I consider mine—"

"Am I yours, then?"

"Indeed." You lean into him, nose grazing his. "Mine, entirely and comple—"

His lips crash against yours.

Momentarily sending you off balance as he stands abruptly, your fingers curl into his lapels for support.

And then you descend.

Reciprocating the kiss with harsh intensity, hands abandoning his coat in favour of delving into those messy hair of his.

Body pressing to yours, his fingers dig into your waist, he bites down on your lips.

Retaliating by tugging at his hair roughly, you take advantage of his gasp, sliding your tongue in, demanding, possessive, you dominate the kiss.

Pulling back once the need for oxygen makes itself known, forehead touching, you both take shallow breaths, chest heaving.

"You lost."

"I lost," he agrees, "Will you have me now?"

"Be certain," you warn. "You won't be able to return to your duties after."

"I am more than capable of satisfying your needs, I assure you."

Oh.

He thinks you have doubts about how much time he'll take to get you to…

"Oh, love," you breathe out, huffing a laugh.

"What?" He frowns. Confused.

"You misunderstand me," you answer.

Hand trailing down, your fingers wrap around his throat.

"By the time I'm through with you, you'll be a crying mess."

………………………………………………………………………

A/N :

Apologies if it's not well written.

I know I said smut but, like, went every shade of crimson writing this considering have never written anything like this before so...yeah.

"Dulce deliciis." Is latin, meaning— "Sweet Delicacy."

"Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and Domine non sum dignus should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it." Is a quote by Oscar Wilde. "Domine non sum dignus." Is latin too, meaning— "Lord, I'm not worthy."

Hope you guys enjoyed this.

Thankyou! ❤️

Tags : @withoutyouimsaskia, @chantzmar, @tiredlattes

[see-aperfecttree]

Eileen wears cowboy boots to her wedding. She’s always liked a lovely, sturdy boot; stomping monsters feels twice as elegant when you’re doing it in an indestructible pair of low-heels. Her wedding boots have the serch bythol embroidered on them, a Celtic symbol for everlasting love. All evening long she can’t stop tapping them against the ground to feel the satisfying vibration of them clu-clunking against the floor.

Dean is absolutely thrilled with the re-appearance of Winchester wedding cowboy boots; “Sam, she is so much cooler than you.” Eileen lifts her chin and nods; this is true.

[katherinewilliams221b]

Our Time To Bloom Chapters

Summary:   Two months after the war, the couple is more distant than ever. Kate  accompanies her grandfather on a trip to Ireland, where her past and  present will collide in unexpected ways.  Charlie stays in Romania with a decision to make: will he follow her and uncover all unsaid things? Romance/Drama /Mystery

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Kate Williams (hphm mc, original female character)  established relationship  

1930 - Imogen Elopes

Lost

Will ye go, lassie?

1933 - Potion Making

So, fare thee well

Secret Garden Inn

The Serch Bythol

1933- Ghost Stories

Unblock

Walsh & Son Broomsticks

1934 - The Three Mosqueteers

The Apuseni Program

Eric Jackson

A Misplaced Paper

1934 - Treasure Map

53 Years

A Night In Cork

1937 - Flannigans’ Last Day

The Hidden Farm in Ballymore

Suspicious Behaviour

Sicilian Defence

1939 - In Lebor Ogaim

The Squib’s Curse

What I Should Tell You

Aresto Momentum

Cards On The Table

Cap’n Walsh, At Your Service

1939 - It Was Right Here

Like Maimeó, Like Gariníon

Star Of The County Down

More Than Justified

What Happens in Marlogue Woods

Shared Dreams

1941 - In Loving Memory

You Can See Them, Too

I Thought I Knew You

A Well Kept Secret

Rocky Road To Dublin

I’ve Just Lost A Cat

Fód te

1941 - A Kids Game

The Wake

Mr Mulloy’s Coffin

The Woman With Green Robes

Magical People

As Simple As That

Want A Ride, Gorgeous?

Big, Flashy and Crowded

Pub Crawl

No Time For Springsteen

1942 - It’s Safe With Us

Revelation

Sam’s Proposition

Legend of Cliodna

Claddagh Ring

Cavan Girl

Following Instructions

Legally Binding

Kiss The Stone

Brú na Bóinne

The Great Dispute

Unbreakable Vow

Forbidden Access

1945 - Frown Upon

Arm in Arm, Row in Row

These Are The Hands

Á Stor

Lift Your Hearts And Sing With Us

Night Escapade

1945 - On Board

And When I Return

YES.I.KNOW.

[dapper-ships-herself]

Birthday gifts

Happy birthday, Dazai, my love!

---------

Gillian lay in her bed, blanket fallen half way down her back as she propped herself on her elbows to stare at the sleeping face of her boyfriend. The day was new and the sunlight peeking through the curtains cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting each feature in ethereal beauty; from his slightly parted lips to his loose strands of fluffy, brown hair sticking out around him. She loved him. She always knew that fact; Osamu Dazai had her completely and utterly in his thrall, in love in a way she'd never been before and never even thought possible. She could talk for days upon days upon eternity about the ways that she loves him, and it was in the soft, quiet moments like these that she had to sit and reflect that all those reasons really danced about the surface of her thoughts.

She reached over and brushed a piece of hair away from his cheek, lightly caressing his skin with her finger tips as she did so. He stayed perfectly asleep, and she smiled at how unburdened and adorable he looked like this. Gillian leaned and oh so delicately placed a kiss on his cheek, and then another when he still stayed asleep, chest falling and rising evenly. She trailed feather light kisses on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, all along his face. Still though, despite being normally a pretty light sleeper, his chest stayed falling and rising in even, sleepy breaths, seemingly still fast asleep.

She huffed, but there was no mistaking the fondness written clearly all across her face. "Come on, lazy, wakey wakey. If kisses are too gentle, then I can always give you a good pinch to wake you up." She grabbed his cheek with two fingers, ready to pull at it; but before she could, two arms quick as a whip, despite their owners apparent sluggishness, wrapped around her and pulled her flush against Dazai.

"No pinching, please~ I like your kisses so much better~" He spoke with his face pressed to her hair. One hand held onto her shoulder, while the other day securely on her waist.

"I knew it, you were already awake." She jabbed him in the shoulder.

"Ouch. Of course I'm awake; I could feel the delicate gaze of an angel upon me~" He kissed her hair, running his thumb down and up along her shoulder.

"Well, this angel has been trying to get you to stop playing sleeping beauty and get you to wake up because it's a very important day today."

"Oh? And what day would that be?" He shifted to press light, sweet kisses along down to her neck, where he buried his nose in the crook between her neck and shoulder.

"June 19th ring any bells?"

"Hmmm, nope. Can't say that it does." He smiled into her skin.

"Really? And here this whole time I thought you were such a genius, but looks like you're a dumb ass after all."

"Hey! That's no way to talk to the birthday boy!"

"Aha!" She propped herself up to hover above him. "So you do remember~"

He put his hands up by his head. "You caught me, you caught me!" He laughed, eyes closed. When he opened them again, he gazed up at her with such love and fondness that matched her own.

She hummed, an adoring smile also on her own face. She pinched his nose in playful revenge before lowering to finally kiss his lips. "Happy birthday, Osamu, my love~"

His hands came up to tenderly hold her, a hand on her hair and her side, as he brought her into another kiss. "Thank you, Gillian, my darling~"

When they broke their kiss, Gillian lay on top of him, idly playing with and twirling his hair. "So, anything in particular you want to do today? It's all up to you; you can pull me along on whatever craziness you want today." She teased.

"Hm, tempting, but," Dazai's hands caressed along Gillian's sides, down and up. "I think what I'd much rather do today is spend the morning pretending the rest of the world isn't out there while I lay in bed with my beautiful girlfriend," he leaned up to kiss her to punctuate his statement. "and we can save the crazy for later in the day."

"As the birthday boy commands~" She snuggled up into his chest, his warmth surrounding her and his arms holding her perfectly secure in his embrace. "You're so lucky I love you; the sacrifices I make for you for today~"

She felt his laugh jostle her. "Yes, the things you do for love. I'm the luckiest man ever, to have a girlfriend as generous as you, my Gillian."

"Damn straight."

The sun's glow continued to stream into the room, and the couple continued to enjoy each other's embrace well into the day.

---

True to Dazai's wish, he and Gillian spent most of the day simply enjoying each other's company; sometimes talking, over times sitting and relishing in the fact that the two of them have each other. They did venture out into the city, but only to go to the park for a shirt while to feel the grass under them and look out over the waves while they are their lunch. Yokohama is a truly great city that they both care for deeply, but hanging around too much outside tends to get them both wrapped up into some trouble or another, and on this day they both agreed that trouble was what they wanted to stay away from. And on that, fate decided to be merciful; peaceful sunshine and gentle, salty breezes were all that came to greet them.

They returned home before the sun set, where they watched movies and joked and teased, laughing and poking, and doing a fair bit more kissing and holding each other as well. Finally, it came time for dinner. Gillian insisted he sit while she cooked, coming out with a crab dish that she knew he loved.

She clapped her hands as soon as they both finished. "Okay; now it's time for cake and your present!" She stood up, giving Dazai a quick boop on the nose before collecting both of their plates and taking them to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a homemade cake encircled by lit candles. She set the cake on the table in front of him, sitting and wrapping her arms around him while she sang happy birthday to him, kissing his cheek when he blew out the candle. "Happy birthday, love~ What did you wish for?"

"You know as well as I do that that's supposed to be secret." He looked down at her, one arm slung around her.

"Lame, you can tell me."

"Let me think... Hm, nope!" He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Hmph, really making me rethink giving you this present." She pulled out the carefully wrapped box from her pocket, kept there because she knew for certain he would sneak a peak unless she kept it on her person. She stood up from the table and walked a few steps away, crossing her arms.

"Awe, belladonna please!" He approached her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, leaning to rest his chin on her shoulder. "I'm sorry~ Please may I see my gift? I'm really curious to know what you got me."

She glanced at him. "How about you guess."

"Playing hard to get on my birthday of all days? Alright. Silk bandages to replace my usual ones?"

She snorted. "Definitely not, take another guess."

"A signed copy of the complete suicide manual?"

"Nope, anymore guesses?"

"What about... A solid gold, life sized statue of yours truly!"

She giggled and reached back to smack his arm lightly with the box before waving it in front of him. "You can see how big this box is, can't you? Hurry up and open it already, enough guessing."

Dazai took took the box from Gillian, and she turned to face him while he opened it, undoing the ribbon and ripping the wrapping paper. He revealed a long, flat box that he took the lid from to reveal a necklace; a purple crystal sat lodged securely in it's center, Serch Bythol craved into the crystal.

"Do you know what the Serch Bythol means, Dazai?" Gillian asked.

"Can't say that I do." He said, running his fingers gently over it's surface.

"It is a Celtic symbol," She grabbed the necklace and walked behind Dazai, unclasping it and reaching up to secure it around him. "it symbolizes everlasting love; the two three cornered knots, each representing the three aspects of a person, coming together to symbolize two people joined forever in love." She came back around to hold the pendant in her hand. "I know you're not as into jewelry as I am, but you gave me a beautiful necklace not long ago," she reaches up with her other hand to touch the necklace sitting under her shirt. "and I couldn't get you out of my mind when I saw this. Plus, look at this feature." She presses a button on the necklaces side, and it open to reveal that it's actually a locket, a picture of her and a picture of Dazai already nestled inside. "Now, no matter what, not only am I always with you, but we're always together. Do you like it?"

"Like it?" He tilted her face up towards his. "I absolutely love it." He kissed first her forehead, then both cheeks, and then her lips. "You're the only person to put so much thought into a gift for me."

"Well, I'd be a pretty shitty girlfriend if I only gave you some random bullshit."

He chuckled. "I'd be happy with anything so long as it came from you." He kissed her again, a light peck. "Now, speaking of gifts, I know it's untraditional, but I have something for you too."

She blinked. "But, it's your birthday, not mine."

He held up a hand. "I already said I know it's untraditional."

"Dazai-"

"Ah ah ah." He put his hand to her lips. "It would make the birthday boy so very happy if you would at least see what it is~"

She rolled her eyes, but made a "go on" motion with her hand.

He grinned, stepping back and sliding his hand from her mouth to her hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Gillian, you are the unequivocal love of my life. Once upon a time, I thought I would know nothing but darkness, that my life was already lost to a meaningless existence. I craved nothing more than to throw myself to bloodshed to try and fill the void within myself until I finally found relief. There've been multiple factors leading me away from that thinking, and you have been one of the most powerful. Everyday, from the moment we first met, you fill my life with more and more light, coloring the dreary monotone. You know what I've done, the pain I've caused and the evil I've spread, and you still see hope within me. I look at you, who's brave enough to hold these blood stained hands and still call them home, and I know that not only do I want to be a better man, I need to be a better man as to not disapoint your expectations. I love you so much, I want to hold you close forever, remind you every day how special you are to me, to kiss you and hold you every opportunity I get, always and forever. I promise to make you feel safe and loved and happier than anybody anywhere, if you will please stay with me; notsimply as my girlfriend, but as my wife." Dazai gets on one knee then, smoothly pulling a little box out of his pocket and popping it open to reveal the most beautiful opal inlaid ring Gillian has ever seen. "Gillian, will you marry me?"

She'd already started crying half way through his speech, maybe not even halfway; tears rolled along her face the moment she realized where this was going. She couldn't even respond at first, all words caught within her in a jumbled blend of emotion. She goes to her knees to be level with him, still clutching his hand tightly, so warm and so secure. Her free hand cups his cheek, and she replies. "Of course, of course I will be your wife. You're my love, my darling Dazai, I never want to be apart from you. The emotions you give me, I need life times upon life times to be able to describe them all to you, so I am more than happy to start with this one. I love you, Osamu Dazai, as you love me, and I always will."

They kissed, deep and passionate feelings flowing between each other. Without separating, Dazai slipped the engagement ring onto Gillian's finger.

This is only the events of one birthday, but there will be many more for the happy couple, Gillian and Osamu, Mr. and Mrs. Dazai, to be with each other, happily and forever in love.

[itsmonika]

Celtic Symbols

For quite a long time, Celtic images and signs held unbelievable power for the old Celts all around of life.

"Celtic" alludes to individuals who lived in Britain and Western Europe from 500 BC and 400 AD. Celts were of the Iron Age and lived in little towns drove by fighter bosses.

Ireland has been home to different civilisations for millennia with its rich history and culture.

A portion of these Celtic images have even become images of Ireland itself.

It's nothing unexpected that Celtic images and their implications are a necessary piece of Irish history and culture.

In any case, did you had any idea about that these images have more significant and astounding implications?

Celtic Symbols That You Will Find In This Article:

Top 20 Celtic Symbols And Their Meanings

Snap to leap to any of them:

The Awen - addresses the congruity of alternate extremes in the universe.

St Brigid's Cross - Brigid's Cross is attached to Brigid of the Tuatha de Danaan, which, in Irish Celtic Mythology, is known as a nurturing goddess.

The Celtic Cross - According to one hypothesis, the Celtic Cross addresses the four cardinal headings.

The Green Man addresses the richness of vegetation and the appearance of spring and summer.

Irish Harp - The public symbol of Ireland

The Dara Knot - The name Dara comes from "doire," which is the Irish word for "oak tree."

The Shamrock - The public blossom of Ireland.

The Celtic Tree Of Life - Symbolizes the Druid faith in the association among paradise and earth.

The Trinity Knot - represents everlasting otherworldly life, one with no start and no closure.

The Triskele - addresses three phases of life: life, demise, and resurrection.

The Claddagh Ring - addresses love, reliability, and fellowship.

The Shillelagh - The Irish battling stick

Quaternary Celtic Knot

The Celtic Bull

The Ailm Celtic Symbol

Serch Bythol - The Celtic image for everlasting affection

Beltane - Celts image for the start of summer

Celtic Five Fold Symbol - The heavenly Celtic image.

The Eternity Knot or Eternal Knot

St Brigid's Cross - 1 February - Celtic Symbol

1. The Awen or the Three Rays of Light - Celtic Symbols

Awen - Celtic Symbols

This neo-Druid image, a famous plan for tattoos, adornments and work of art, is said to have been developed by Iolo Morgannwg, an eighteenth century Welsh artist.

In any case, studies recommend that the image may be more seasoned than at first suspected.

"Awen" signifies motivation or pith in the Celtic language, and it initially showed up in the ninth century book "Historia Brittonum."

The Awen was said to address the amicability of contrary energies in the universe.

For example, the two external beams address manly and female energy, while the beam in the center addresses the harmony between them.

There are different implications for the Awen Celtic image.

[magichcuse]

I can see Ebony going down a rabbit hole of researching good luck charms and Celtic culture because she wants to show her appreciation to Odelia. This would be reflected in the gifts Ebony gives to her.

Ebony would go through the effort of remembering important holidays and whatnot, even if Odelia hasn't mentioned them to her. For instance, she'd give Odelia a Brigid's Cross on the first of February. She also may or may not give gifts that could come across as Not Platonic, like a Claddagh ring or Serch Bythol. She'd definitely struggle to pronounce the Irish words and hope Odelia is able to identify the gifts because she would feel Awkward trying to explain everything.

Also, Ebony would try making actual good luck charms. The first dozen would likely be duds, but she's able to make a proper one on her 13th try (ironically). It wouldn't be super strong, but Odelia would start having minor conveniences happen more often—like someone accidentally delivering a pizza to her dad's address because of a prank call or Maude setting off a fire alarm before Odelia has to do a demonstration for dueling class. Ebony is under the impression that all of her charms were duds and would stop making them unless Odelia asked her to make more because she doesn't want to keep letting Odelia down.

[katherinewilliams221b]

Just yesterday I was thinking about that but I don't have that hc fully developed just yet. The option that I liked the most was:

a brunette girl that wants to be just like her aunt Ginny and be a badass quidditch player with the oddest taste in clothing. You would recognise her on a broom because you would see her fluorescent socks that of course don't match. Obviously dad trains her and couldn't be more proud.

And a, at first very shy boy, that they end up adopting for whatever reason but of course they love him to pieces. He just likes hanging out with momma while she studies or reads but watch out because when he discovers ancient runes and archeology he will not stop talking about all the treasures he could find.

Also I've been thinking about if they get married or not and I ended up scratching the idea. They will discuss it for economic reasons maybe but since I don't really know how the magical world works in that regard I'm nor really sure.

I have this hc that Kate perfoms a symbolic handfasting in Ireland because they learn about the concept so they do it during a picnic with no witnesses. But at that point they already have a small serch bythol tattooed so that's c o m m i t m e n t.