#the realm of consciousness is also supposed to reflect

[twilightichor]

𝐂𝐗𝐂𝐈𝐕. As a continuation of this addendum (heck, it really has been past two years), 「Bedtime Story」 made me quite happy at the notion of realm of consciousness since it became a visual thing through Raiden Ei and further confirmed to be something that happens in 「Flowers for Princess Fischl」, as it was stated that those who are strong enough in magic can have one and we could say that Caribert fit that criteria.

Now, as for what Dain's in particular looks like it's quite emotional that what catches the attention the most is the Sea of Flowers at the End and how it's meant to soften both the Inteyvats' petals and the heart. This would make the perfect scenery to soften once again his weary heart after spending so long without a real home of his own. Suffice to say, it would be a show of deep trust from Dain's end if he were to bring someone to his realm of consciousness. Moreover, that trust and appreciation for the individual in particular would only cement further if he actually brings them to the Sea of Flowers at the End properly.

[intrepidacious]

time after time [11]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 9.8k

chapter warnings: time travel 101 (until your head hurts); suicidal ideation within a time loop; a dash of smut 💚 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: it's like 3am and i've definitely missed some typos and/or descriptors but i really wanted to post this one. we've almost made it folks!!

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

eleven: tomorrow we live

You weren’t well after the battle.

You’d kept yourself out of sight for the most part, evading Strange and the other Masters while kicking alien ass and trying to save as many of your people as you could. You managed, right up until Tony’s snap.

You’d never known him that well, hadn’t particularly liked him much from what you were told, but Pepper Potts had invited you to Morgan’s third birthday party along with Natasha and you’d seen the way that little girl’s eyes lit up when she looked at her dad, and the way he looked back at her. It had made you ache.

Now, you saw him make the decision to end all of this, far ahead in the distance, and all you could do was scream. Because you’d seen what kind of toll it took on a person, and you knew what it meant for his child.

You tried to reset it, but your powers were weak and you were tired and too far away. You only made it back a few seconds and had to watch him snap again. Then, your knees gave way and the world turned black.

You had a strange dream. You were standing in a twilight realm with nothing but a shallow body of water surrounding you. It was quiet, the air impossibly still, and when you moved, the water didn’t make a sound.

"Still not good enough, I see."

Kaecilius looked the same as he did in your nightmares, a stern face and purple-rimmed eyes.

"You’re not here," you whispered. "You’re dead."

"For now," he agreed.

Your hands balled into fists by your sides. "I’m not afraid of you."

Your voice only shook a little bit.

"Of course not," Kaecilius replied. "Fear would be useful." He lifted his arms. "Look around. What do you see?"

"Nothing," you said. "It’s empty."

"Is it, now?"

You watched the shaking reflections at your feet. A dull greenish glimmer surrounded your mirror image, like something was shining at you from behind. When you turned to look over your shoulder, there was nothing.

"Untethered," Kaecilius said quietly.

"What?"

"That’s the price for freedom." He tilted his chin to look at you, and there was that familiar tug in your chest. "Tell me, was it worth it?"

"I lost everything once. I’m not doing it again."

"Oh, but you will."

You couldn’t tell if it was meant as a promise or a warning. Before you could say anything else, the world around you began to flicker at its edges and faded into true nothingness, once and for all.

When you woke up in the med wing, they told you Steve had gone.

"Gone?" you asked, confused. "Gone where?"

"Back," they said, but that was impossible. He was a man out of time, always had been, but he wasn’t supposed to get lost. He had found his place, right here, with his friends, with his family, now that everyone was finally back. He was supposed to be there as you all rebuilt the world.

After Nat, you hadn’t expected to lose him, too, when you’d already lost so many people, and so your body didn’t know how to react. You were stuck in shock and grief in a frozen universe for hours before sleep finally dragged you back down and the world resumed, as it always did.

Continuing, despite.

If this was victory, you didn’t want any part in it.

* * * * *

You’re so warm.

You blink into consciousness deliciously slowly, the midday sun tickling your nose. A steady heartbeat thrums right underneath your ear. You cannot remember the last time you slept this comfortably.

Bucky gently squeezes your side, his right hand continuing to trace invisible lines on the back of your neck. "Hey."

"Hi."

How strange to think that you might just be allowed to kiss him now. How adrenaline spiking.

So you do.

You’re still sprawled on top of Bucky, and nothing has ever felt as right as brushing your lips against his and having him hum into your mouth in response. Again. Again. Why couldn’t the rest of the loop have been just like this?

"We should probably get up," he says finally.

"Are you kidding? I’m never getting up from this couch again." You snuggle closer to him, your nose pressing against his neck. "Tell me something I don't know."

His soft laugh shakes your entire body. "There's several books I could fill with stuff you don't know about."

"Well, I'm starting to run out of things to read, anyway."

Bucky’s fingers keep wandering, brushing your ear, your cheek, careful, soothing touches. As if he’s not quite certain, yet, that you’re not just going to vanish between his hands.

"You were never afraid of me," he says quietly.

You keep playing with the collar of his shirt, the fabric softened with wear. "Why would I have been afraid of you?"

"Even when we first met, when I was awful to you—"

"You weren't awful—"

"No, I was. And you didn't care. At first I thought it was because of your powers, but …" He lets out a sigh. "It's been a very long time since a complete stranger's treated me like a normal guy."

You prop up your chin on his chest. "You are a normal guy."

There's protest in his eyes, but he doesn't voice it. "It was nice," he says instead, "to get to just be myself."

"Ah. So your true self is a complaining asshole."

A playful grin twinkles in his eyes. "Don't pretend like you've hated all of our fights."

You roll your eyes and kiss him again. "I much prefer this."

"Good," Bucky says into your mouth, his voice lower than usual. "Me too."

"Glad we’re agreed for once."

He smiles against your lips, deepening the kiss. You trace the ghost of his dimples underneath his stubbled cheeks, slipping your hands into his hair as he rolls you both over, his weight pressing down on you, your mind finally, blissfully shutting up. You could stay forever in this moment.

"Really? On the couch? Don’t you people have rooms? You know, with doors you could lock?"

"Busted," you stage-whisper.

Bucky’s pupils are huge as he stares down at you, lips red, his hair perfectly mussed. The sight makes you stupidly happy.

Sam clears his throat exaggeratedly, and when your gaze turns to him, he has a shit-eating grin on his face. "Nice to see the two of you … getting along."

"Shut up, Sam," you both say at the same time.

"Seriously though, this," he gestures vaguely at both of you with his spoon, "is good, and it's about damn time, but get a room."

"Don’t you have a speech to write?" Bucky says roughly.

"Get lost, Barnes," Sam replies.

Bucky's smile flickers as he catches your lips with his one more time before sitting up, pulling you with him. His fingers interlock with yours easily, like he's been doing it for ages, his thumb circling the back of your hand.

Something in your chest aches when he pulls away from you, half-expecting the world to fall away and for you to wake up alone in your bed again; but nothing happens. Still, you don't want him to stop touching you, and not just for reality's sake.

"Did you want something?" Bucky asks, talking to Sam while keeping his attention on you.

"Lunch. How do you guys feel about Italian?"

"God, no," Bucky says.

"Literally anything else, please," you say.

"Alright, subtle," Sam snorts. "What, then?"

Bucky raises his eyebrows at you. "I can make lunch," he suggests.

"Jesus Christ," Sam replies.

"Italian sounds great, actually," you add.

"Hey," Bucky says, frowning at you.

"I don't want flames erupting from the oven again."

"That was one time and also not my fault."

One time that he remembers, at least. "Then whose was it, the cat's?"

Alpine, who’s just entered the couch table, meows in protest.

"I can cook," Bucky says.

"Anyone can cook," you reply sweetly. "Doesn't mean everyone should."

"Bold statement from someone who burns coffee for a living."

"If I don’t get another suggestion in the next ten seconds, you can both starve," Sam interrupts.

You think about any options you’ve not grown completely sick of yet. "How about Korean?"

"Thank you," he says, going back to his laptop. The conversation stalls for a while as you try to ignore Bucky’s sideward glances. Finally, Sam looks back at the two of you again, his eyebrow raised. "So when exactly did that happen?"

You exchange a quick look.

"Now, come on, Sam," Bucky says with a smirk. "It’s not like it came overnight."

"You sure about that?" you grin.

"Ew," Sam says. "Whatever that just was, ew. I’m retracting my question. I’m going to make a call."

"Say hi to Sarah!" you call after him.

He makes a crude gesture with his spoon that makes you laugh.

"What was that about my cooking?" Bucky says.

"We’ll work on it," you grin. "We might need another fifty Fridays or so, but one day I’m sure you’ll—" You yelp when he abruptly pulls you into his lap.

"I’ll what?" he asks, and his breath brushes over your lips.

You swallow. "Get there eventually."

"Anyone ever tell you you’re awfully bossy?"

"You did." You lean closer again, lowering your voice. "I think you like it."

He doesn’t respond verbally to that.

Without breaking the kiss, you reach for his left hand and pull it around yourself, shivering pleasantly at the cool touch against your skin. He hesitates briefly before letting his metal fingers curl around your waist, grasping you tighter.

Finally, with a groan, he gently pushes you away.

"I hate to say it," he says, sounding almost wrecked, "but Sam might be onto something."

"You okay?"

He laughs breathlessly, a distinct blush spreading on his cheeks. "Give me a moment."

Alpine chooses that exact moment to claim her spot on the couch once again, meowing at both of you disapprovingly. You can’t help but grin, pulling her onto your lap as you move back onto the couch, careful to keep touching Bucky in at least some way or other.

"Dialing it back, Sarge. Understood."

"Don’t," he hisses.

You tilt your head in delight. "I’m learning so much about you."

He pokes your side and you snort.

For a couple of minutes, you scratch Alpine’s chin and play with her paws, leaning against Bucky’s vibranium arm. She seems perfectly content with all of it, not even extending her claws.

"How do you feel about coffee?" you ask when you feel Bucky relax behind you again.

"Why not," he replies.

"Perfect. One sec." You raise your voice. "Do you want something from Starbucks?"

"Something iced!" Sam shouts back from the other room. "Is the kitchen safe again now?"

"Shut up!" you both reply.

Bucky’s picked up on the fact that he shouldn’t let go of you so the universe doesn’t reset again, or he simply doesn’t want to. You can’t bring yourself to mind either way.

You’re almost delirious with happiness when you’re back in the elevator and he pulls you against him again. You’re still in your pyjamas, probably spattered with blood, and you couldn’t have given less of a shit.

There’s something solid peeking out from underneath Bucky’s shirt, and you frown. "What’s that?"

He hesitates for a moment before pulling on the chain of his dog tags.

It’s your ring.

The ring you used to wear on your pinkie. The one you thought had vanished many loops ago on the floor of your bathroom, threaded through the metal chain to rest above his heart.

"It kept appearing in my pocket," he explains. "I didn’t want to lose it."

You press your lips against his again, a soft, silent thank you. "Keep it," you say.

Something catches your eye like a glint of impossibility, a strange trick of holographic lighting: a tiny spec of green. Before you can take a closer look, however, the elevator pings and you have to step outside into the lobby.

You raise your free hand and look at the rings you’re still wearing out of habit. They’re all pitch black.

"You okay?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah," you mumble. "Yeah, never mind. It was just the light."

It’s busy outside, the midday sun frying the concrete. You don’t talk as you make your way through the crowd, sticking as closely together as possible. At a red light, you manage to steal another kiss and Bucky looks at you like you’ve hung the moon.

"They’re out of iced tea at this time," you tell him, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your lower back. "But if we get Sam a cold brew, I think we should be …"

Your voice trails off when you look around the store. Apart from the two people behind the counter, it’s completely empty. A shiver runs down your spine.

"Something’s wrong," you say.

Bucky tenses, grasping your hand more tightly and putting himself in front of you. The coffee grinder howls, the sound echoing in the empty building.

Slowly, you step up to the counter.

"Hi, welcome to Starbucks." Lucy looks past you like she’s talking to someone invisible standing right between you two. After a pause, she nods and taps at the register. "And will that be for here or to go?"

"Luce?" you say carefully.

"Alright," she smiles. Her colorful make-up is running down the side of her face like red-white-and-blue tears. "It’ll be right over there. Oh, careful about that spill, we’re working on it. Hi, welcome to Starbucks."

"Whole place looks deserted," Bucky tells you.

"Sorry, what was that?" Lucy says.

"It’s like we’re not here," you say quietly.

"It’s not just her," he says. "Look."

Over at the pick-up counter, there’s a pile of spilled cups on the floor. The second barista behind the bar doesn’t notice any of them. He keeps shoving them down by placing new cups in the same spot. Perfectly rehearsed and executed each time, except he’s performing for nobody.

"Like they’re stuck in their script," Bucky says.

"This is bad," you say, "this is really, really bad."

"Hey." He tugs you closer, his eyes locking with yours. "It’s probably just another glitch."

"No, Strange warned me something like this would happen at some point."

Reality folding in on itself.

You bite your cheek so hard it hurts. "The loop is at breaking point. We’re running out of time."

"But that’s good news, right? We’re getting closer to it being over."

"No, it’s not." Your voice is wavering. "I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

"Ask for a frappuccino and I will fucking murder you," Lucy says.

You turn towards her again.

"I swear," she continues, fixing her hair with perfectly mechanical movements, "if I see another child today, I’m gonna quit."

"That bad?" you ask quietly.

Her gaze focuses and she turns to stare right at you with clear, empty eyes. "Please kill me."

There’s not a hint of her usual dryness in her voice. You instinctively retreat, bumping into Bucky as you do. The steamer howls, the only noise in the sudden silence.

Lucy keeps looking at you, not keeping up with her own lines. Like she’s waiting for you, or something else.

Please kill me.

You shake your head, sick to your stomach. "I can’t."

An actual tear rolls down her face, and then she snaps her head back to stare at empty air again. "Usual," she says, but it’s not a question this time.

Useless.

You rip your hand out of Bucky’s, and the world around you vanishes in a stream of multicolor as he shouts your name.

* * *

"You talk to her," Sam says, his voice muffled through the door.

There’s a murmur too low for you to understand from where you’re hiding underneath your blanket, pressing the palms of your hands to the sockets of your eyes. The band around your wrist is whirring wildly.

One day.

You’d gotten less than a single day, a single morning of everything working out, of finally thinking that maybe things wouldn’t always be this bad. Of feeling something like hope.

It’d been foolish.

You’re still stuck on Friday, and reality is still crumbling around you, or fading away, or maybe melting into another one; you don’t even know anymore. You’re so sick of this.

You can hear the crunch of your lock being reduced to pieces, and then slow, soft steps into your room. With a soft click, the door closes again. You stay under your blanket.

"Y/N," Bucky says softly.

"I can’t."

He lets out a breath, and your mattress dips. Gently, he pulls the blanket off your head.

Geez, you hate the way he looks at you. Like you’re about to break, and he’s just waiting patiently to pick up each piece and mend them together again.

What the hell have you done to deserve to be looked at like that?

"Hi," he says, and your vision blurs.

You want to kiss him again. You want to wrap yourself around him and protect him from whatever bullshit this day decides to throw at you next.

"Everything is falling apart," you whisper. "It’s gonna keep happening until we find a way out. I’m nowhere closer to knowing what I’m supposed to do, and so we keep circling around, making everything worse. And what if—" You cut yourself off, pressing a hand to your mouth.

"What if what?"

What if it’s just you?

These past few weeks, it’s been a quiet thought, pushed to the very back of your mind with everything else going on. You know that you’ll make it out, which is some relief, but what if it’s just you?

Strange never said anything about Bucky, and you’re still beating yourself up over not asking.

What if this, all of this, will have been for nothing?

No, you can’t think like that.

You put one hand on Bucky’s chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath your palm, soft and steady. He’s still breathing, and that’s all that counts for now.

You’ve made it this far, right?

"I’m just so scared," you whisper. It’s the truth, after all.

"Me too," he says quietly. Both of his hands cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. "But we’re getting so close. I know it. We just need to keep going. You need to keep going."

A wet laugh bubbles up your throat. "You’re putting a lot of faith into someone who’s not been able to use her powers at all in months at this point."

"Is that what you’re worried about?"

Is it? Truth be told, you’ve gotten so used to the absence of time magic running through your veins. There’s an empty space at your core where you used to be able to feel it, tucked safely away, a reassuring connection to the flow of time itself.

Ever since your visit to the Sanctum, you’ve become very aware that you’re missing that link now. There’s a void inside you that’s been growing whilst you were looking away, a black hole that tastes like regret and loneliness.

All those years, and still …

"My powers were never something I wanted to have, and they’re … I used to feel like an anomaly. Like a mistake. But now …" You swallow a sob. "Everything is going wrong, and now they’ve been gone for so long, and I feel like a part of me is just missing."

It’s such a selfish thing to care about, but Bucky’s been nothing but honest with you, and you owe him as much.

"And so I keep wondering, what if I can never get them back? Or I do, just to stop the loop, but the price to end all of this is giving them up? I mean, what am I going to do then?"

What a waste of time.

You’re so tired, and weary, and sick of having to lean on other people. You should be able to do this, of all things, on your own.

Even when you couldn’t properly control your powers, at least they were yours and yours alone. There was a certain merit in being the only one of your kind, too; no one knew how to control you.

And yet, looking back, it all seems like wasted time you could’ve spent doing good, learning to understand them more intricately, to use them for more important things than getting out of awkward conversations and keeping yourself safe.

Without them gone, would you ever have honestly stopped trying to avoid situations that left you cut open and vulnerable, just as you are right now?

Untethered.

"Hey," Bucky says again and you blink back into the moment. "Didn’t you tell me that the Winter Soldier doesn’t define me? Well, your powers don’t define you."

"But I don’t want to lose them," you say quietly.

Despite the chaos they’re brought. Despite all your mistakes and shortcomings, despite the loop, despite everything that would never have happened without you having these powers in the first place. Because you’re just starting to accept them for what they really are: a gift, and a curse.

It doesn’t have to be one or the other.

"You’ll get them back," Bucky says. Sometimes, you do wonder where he gets his relentless confidence in you from.

"You don’t know that," you say quietly.

He huffs. "You hate clichés. Stop thinking you’re doomed to live in one. That’s not like you."

"Then what is?"

He presses his forehead to yours, and your eyes flutter closed. "You fight."

You can’t help but laugh. "I’m not a fighter."

"Didn’t say you were. I said you fight. You don’t give up so easily."

"Maybe I should. Might save me a lot of racing thoughts."

"You would be bored in five minutes." The knowing smile in his voice is really annoying. "You’re not so bad the way you are, you know."

"I’m not that great, either, though."

"Look at me?"

You do, his hand gently tipping your chin. He’s always so gentle with you.

"Powers or not, doesn’t matter. You’re still you. I wouldn’t want you to be anything else. It’s more than I … it’s more than enough."

His heart is pounding underneath your palm, and there are too many emotions written across his face to make sense of them all, but you feel them. Heartbreakingly so.

"It shouldn’t be," you say. "It’s killed you. Multiple times."

"I don’t care. I’m still here, and so are you. I’ve watched you do great things with and without your powers, time after time, and you’re gonna continue doing that over and over again." He smiles at you in that way of his, soft and sure. "We’ll be okay."

You love him. The thought rushes through you without a shadow of a doubt, a knowledge so certain it might as well be written across your forehead. You love Bucky Barnes with every fiber of your heart.

The problem is, he’s right. You hate clichés.

And so you’re afraid that in the grand scheme of things, love alone won’t be enough.

You lean in to hug him again and his arms envelop you perfectly, like this was where you were supposed to be all along. You bury your nose in his neck and inhale deeply, and you’ve never wanted to freeze a moment in time more than you do right then.

"I want to kiss you so bad right now." A whisper against his skin, another teardrop on his shirt.

His hand comes up to your neck again, pulling you back.

The look in his eyes is devastating, and you wonder how it’s taken you so long to recognize the longing in it. He lets you see it so clearly now, but it’s been there for a long, long time, in flashes and stolen moments, barely concealed behind a veneer of indifference. You’re sure he can see it mirrored in your own gaze right now; you’re almost bursting with it.

You nudge your nose against his, once, twice, and he shivers.

"We need to stop," he whispers, even though he sounds like stopping is the very last thing he wants to do. You can relate. There’s a hair’s breadth between your lips and it takes every single ounce of self-control you have not to close that distance.

The memory of how he kisses you is still too fresh in your mind. The way he perfectly molds into you, the way he holds you like you’re something precious, even now. Like he’s got all the time in the world.

Except you don’t.

There’s still so much you haven’t figured out, and no telling how many loops you have left before reality collapses entirely.

Reluctantly, you pull away from him once again, wrapping your arms around yourself instead. No matter what you do, it always seems one step forwards and two steps back with you and Bucky.

"Okay," you say quietly, letting out one long breath and then nodding. "What’s the plan?"

The corners of Bucky’s eyes crinkle with a grin.

* * *

"What do you want with Redwing?" Sam asks skeptically.

"Repair it." Bucky leans against the kitchen counter. His hair is still damp from his shower, and your eyes keep getting drawn to a single curl that’s hanging into his face.

Sam scoffs and continues his typing. "If it were that easy, I’d have fixed them already. One’s sensors got fried in that explosion, and the bullet that hit Two splintered into about five million tiny pieces."

"Sorry about that," you say.

"You didn’t shoot at him." He pauses, narrowing his eyes at you. "Tell me you didn’t shoot at him."

"I did not shoot at Redwing." You didn’t reset it happening, either, but you feel like now might not be the time to fess up.

"It’s going to take forever to patch them both up again, and I’ve not had that kind of time lately," Sam says, tilting his head at his laptop as a case in point. You feel awful.

"Let me take a look," Bucky presses.

"No offence, man, but you’re not exactly MacGyver," Sam grimaces. "And it’s not like there’s spare parts just lying around the place."

"Redwing’s Stark tech, right?" you ask thoughtfully.

"Wakandan. But the hardware’s still similar enough."

"I have an idea," you say, checking the time. "Either of you guys hungry yet?"

"I don’t know about this," Sam says about forty minutes and one time loop explanation later, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "How old did you say you are?"

"He’s a great kid," you tell him. "He’s a candidate for MIT."

Peter blinks. "I didn’t say—anyway, I, uhm. I used to intern at Stark Industries, so sure, I could take a look at it."

"Did you now," Sam says dryly.

"Yup. Just one summer though. Before the …" He swallows. "I was gone."

Something softens a little in Sam’s expression. "Same here, kiddo."

"Yeah, I know. I mean, I heard, I wasn’t there." Peter clears his throat, tucking his hands into his armpits. "So where’s the bird?"

"Why are you trying to fix your archnemesis?" you say, catching up with Bucky.

"It’s not my—" He cuts himself off, rolling his eyes when you grin. "I’d like an audio recording of the crowd when Sam gives his speech."

"Why?"

He hesitates. "It’s probably not even about the loop. It’s just …"

That frown you can recognize. That inkling suspicion, that 'it’s probably nothing, but I’d like confirmation'. It usually means he’s onto something.

"A clue?"

"Sure. Maybe. A clue."

"Okay then." You slip your pinkie into his.

"What," he chuckles, squeezing back, "no criticizing my plans?"

"I am nothing if not out of ideas," you sigh. "And who knows, maybe it’ll help."

You don’t usually go into Tony Stark’s old workroom. Most of the interesting stuff got packed up before the move to Avengers Campus, leaving a sterile looking, well-lit room with a large work bench and a single old rolling chair that Peter plops onto.

The Redwings are a rather sorry sight, laid out in their cases with all the extra pieces collected in small plastic bags. All of you watch as Peter cracks his knuckles before he carefully unscrews the busted top of Redwing One’s casing. Sam is hovering over his shoulder like he’s about to grade his efforts.

Waiting’s the worst part. At your request, FRIDAY puts on a 70s playlist that makes Sam tap his foot while he questions whether Peter’s declared his major yet—"no, uhm, they want us to do that at the end of our first year and I’ve not been admitted yet, so"—and his most recent eye appointment—"my vision’s 20/20, sir"—until they both finally let out a deep breath.

"Getting the spare parts won’t be the problem," Peter says, swiveling around in his chair. "I have that sorta stuff at home, it’s just a question of replacing the nanosensors and soldering the PCB."

"Sure," you say, understanding most of those words individually.

"The problem is, it’ll take me a couple of hours. There’s no way for me to get it done until, what, 2 p.m.? If we rush, dust could get into the circuit and it’ll all be a worse mess than it is right now."

"Told you," Sam says.

"What about the other one?" Bucky asks.

Peter grimaces. "That one’s gonna need a proper cleaning, ideally with ultrasonic equipment to get all the particles out. Sorry, Sarge."

Bucky just nods, then leaves the room without another word.

"I got it," Sam tells you when you start after him. "Put that lid back on and step away, MIT."

Peter holds up both of his hands, eyes flicking towards you. "Can’t break it if the loop resets, right?"

"You’re good," you confirm, still looking at the door.

His shoulders lose some of their tension as he leans back in his chair, clearly still impressed with everything going on. "So, how does it work?"

Your laugh comes out a little shrill. "I wish I could tell you."

"There was an episode of Star Trek TNG where they got stuck in a collision loop." He plays around with the screwdriver he’s still holding, his hands surprisingly quick. "Have you tried sending yourself messages as well?"

"Kind of," you say, thinking of Bucky’s writing on your arm and the tally marks on your legs.

"So cool."

"I don’t know about that," you reply. "It’s been weeks, and I still don’t understand how this loop is working. Especially now that there’s two of us who are aware it’s happening. Does that mean it’s still just one reality on repeat?"

Peter shrugs. "I dunno, I don’t know much about it, but in my experience, reality’s just what people remember. Who says there’s much more to it?"

"Right," you say. "It’s just us two getting looped. Your reality is mostly fine, it just happens over and over. But if you don’t realize that it does, it’s not actually a loop."

"I mean, maybe, maybe."

Maybe.

You can’t just separate one from the other. There’s that thing called the first law of thermodynamics.

"You know much about thermodynamics, Peter?"

"The, uh, basics, I guess? Perpetual motion is impossible, energy consumed by a system must be resupplied by an external source, everything is balance, that sorta stuff?"

Magic, as a whole, is always a balancing act.

You massage your stinging temples. "Top of your class, were you?"

Something flickers across his face before he smiles. "Nah. I’m more of an applied physics guy."

Once all of this is over, maybe you could introduce him to Bruce. He might enjoy the pop culture references as well.

Before you can suggest as much, Peter takes a look at his phone and curses under his breath. "Shoot, I’m sorry, I gotta go, I got a—photography club."

"Sure, don’t worry about it," you say. The symbols around your wrist tingle again, and you distractedly trace them with your thumb.

Funny, you think, how the timing of your intervention seems to completely derail his day. Last time, he said he was visiting his aunt.

* * *

Here’s the thing: When you’re able to travel through time, looking at the past becomes surprisingly emotionally taxing. Remembering what could have been, what might have been, what should have been in another, better universe is, you suppose, hard on everyone.

For someone with the ability to theoretically do something about all these what ifs, it’s ulcer inducing.

These are the kind of things, therefore, you force yourself to suppress most of the time. Ironically, it’s mostly the sort of moments that, at the time, you want to freeze and preserve forever. Looking back, they’re the ones that hurt the most.

Sometimes, though, you can’t help it. Some routines, some rituals that were established during happier times demand to be maintained, even if you’re the only one who remembers them anymore. Even if there’s other, more pressing things to do, secrets to work out, realities to stabilize.

Your hands know this rhythm.

You’ve let FRIDAY put on some music from one of Sam’s favorite playlists again, and you watch him nod along as he’s typing away on his laptop with a faraway focus. You smile as you wash your hands again, preheat the oven, grease your pan.

It takes him a little while to consciously notice what you’re doing. "Really?" he says. "It’s in the fricking nineties today and you’re baking?"

"We have a functioning AC," you reply. "I thought we should celebrate that."

"The planet is dying."

Be that it were only the planet.

"I’m making turtle pie," you say. "And cinnamon rolls."

That seems to placate him for the time being, because he moves to the living room area without further complaint.

You grimace in concentration as you transfer your pie crust to the pan for prebaking. You’ve never been particularly skilled at pies, but you’ve been living by the motto "trying counts for something" in all other aspects of life lately.

"You’re hovering again, Barnes," you say without turning.

"You’re baking." The surprise in his voice makes you smile.

"I am," you say. "Notice how there aren’t any flames erupting around me."

"Yet," Bucky says, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "I didn’t know you could bake."

"You never asked." You dust your hands off the excess flour. "It’s easier to think when I have something else to focus on, you know?"

"Can I help?"

You’re tempted to make another dig at his baking skills, but the way he looks at you makes you reconsider. "Can you knead with that arm?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

"I won’t be blamed if you malfunction. Are you dishwasher safe?"

"Give me that." He frowns slightly, looking at the ingredients you’ve started to measure out into your mixing bowl. "I thought you’re making pie?"

"I am. Well, and these."

"Ambitious." He swoops a finger through the mixture to try.

"Lots of thoughts require ambitious projects to procrastinate with."

He nods, and you fall into a sort of companionable silence you’ve not felt with him in a while. Sometimes, your arms brush as you work, and it sends a warm shiver up your entire arm.

You want to interlock your fingers again, pull him towards you, see if you can taste a hint of cinnamon on his lips.

"During the Blip …" you start, immediately unsure whether you want to share this particular story or not.

You watch Bucky’s hands, continuing to slowly and methodically fold the flour into the dough.

"Nat wasn’t allowed in the kitchen at all. She was so much worse than you." You laugh when he elbows you. "But there’s this stress-relief in baking, you know? In doing something with your hands, and by the end of it, you’ve got something you can give to others."

"I get that," he says, scraping at a particularly sticky piece of dough.

You nod and measure out your sugar. "Steve had a lot of late nights, especially those first couple of years, and there was only so much to do at all when you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with everyone blaming you for half the globe being gone."

"How was he?" There’s a careful fondness in Bucky’s voice that he usually hides. It makes you think about your answer.

"Lost, I think," you say, even though it seems lacking. Steve’s out-of-timeliness had always been very different to Bucky’s. You used to think he’d managed to rearrange himself over the years, to reorient himself in this new reality.

You didn’t realize he’d used an old compass before it was too late.

"I mean, everyone was," you add, even though you don’t really know why you’re defending him.

"Were you?"

"Desperately," you huff. "Turns out, though, when the world around you is upside down, it’s really nice to have some fixed points to look forward to."

"Like what?"

"Bath towels. Or making cinnamon rolls on someone’s birthday."

Bucky stops kneading, calculating in his head. "Is it—"

"Yup."

He curses under his breath.

"Yup." You sigh and grab the mixing bowl again. "Hand me the butter?"

"You need to add a pinch of nutmeg. And … cardamom, I think."

You stare at him in surprise.

"That’s ma’s recipe. I used to beg for these when I was a kid. I’ve not had them in ninety years or somethin’."

A warm feeling spreads in your stomach. "About time, then."

Usually, you’d get to skip over this part; the waiting. It’s your least favorite, when you’re stuck in between tasks, your crust in the oven, the other dough still proofing. You’ve never been very good at waiting.

You start scrubbing the counters furiously, your thoughts returning with a vengeance as soon as there’s a lull in your blessed distraction plan. The loop on your wrist is particularly itchy again today.

"Talk to me."

With a frustrated groan, you drop your sponge. "I keep thinking about physics. Like, maybe there’s some sort of equation or quantum experiment that’ll help us out."

Past and present and future all folded into each other and wrapped into one.

But how does any of that make sense with what you’re experiencing?

Humans can only be in one state at one particular time.

"You reckon we’re gonna be spacetime experts before the universe implodes?" Bucky remarks.

"They should just hand us our doctorates right now."

"James Barnes, PhD. My ma’d lose her mind."

"Eh, not as impressive as a racecar driver in the family if you ask me." You turn on the hot water tap to let the bowls soak and yelp when you’re pulled back against his chest.

"That so?"

"Hmm." Your heart is beating wildly as Bucky interlaces your fingers. "I’m still not convinced you should be allowed to drive with that flimsy piece of paper you call a license."

He rests his chin on your shoulder. "That’s pretty hurtful, doll. I’ve never had any complaints about my driving."

"Maybe everyone else you drove had a danger fetish."

You should probably turn off the water again. For the environment. But Bucky’s laugh fans across your cheek before he inhales, deeply, and you are so sick of pulling away from him.

"God, it’s so unfair," he whispers, leaving a trail of goosebumps running down your neck.

"What is?"

"You."

The oven timer starts beeping and you want to smash it with a baseball bat. Reluctantly, Bucky releases you from his hold to retrieve the pie crust while you prevent the imminent flooding of your kitchen sink.

It’s not even noon yet, you remind yourself. You’ve been over this. You don’t know how many semi-stable loops there are left, and you can’t afford to waste another one of them.

No matter how much you want to.

There’s a tense sort of silence between you as you finish up the pie and let Bucky revise your cinnamon roll ingredients.

"You know," you tell him, wiping another bowl clean, "Steve’s tried to recreate these for years."

Bucky crosses out another measurement. "That’s what you get for stealing a family recipe."

It’s started to smell heavenly in here; like dish soap and warm cookies. By the time the rolls are finally ready to bake, you’re sweaty and excited, and Sam’s checked in on the status of the goods twice. The air’s turned giddy with sugar and anticipation, the silence shifting into something more comfortable, almost peaceful.

How lovely to know a day like this can have pockets of lightness, you think; even if they’re fleeting.

Bucky’s hair has started to stick up in the back a little as you move around each other in a routine so easy it feels choreographed. Whenever you look at him, he’s already watching you, and it makes your heart jump every time.

"Hold on, you have a little …"

With a small grin, you reach out to wipe away the trace of glaze on his cheek. He catches your wrist, his eyes darkening.

You don’t breathe.

He pulls your hand closer to his mouth, licking the icing off your thumb without breaking eye contact. Fire rushes down your spine.

"Now who’s not playing fair?" you whisper.

"Fuck fair," he says. It comes out like a plea.

You despise yourself for shaking your head. "It’s too early."

You’ve agreed. There’s too much left to sort through. You’ve not even been to the astral plane today.

"Feels late to me," Bucky says, keeping hold of your hand. "Couple weeks late, at least."

Every part of you aches to close the distance between you, reality be damned. So what if it all unravels? No one but the two of you would remember, anyway.

It’s just you and Bucky, in the end, and doesn’t that count for something? You’ve already lost so much time getting stuck in this single day, time you can’t ever get back, because unlike everyone else, you can’t just go back to the beginning.

Not as long as you’re in the loop.

And just like that, with a sudden, crashing sense of clarity, you know how to finish this.

* * *

"Space and time and reality are related," you explain, drawing a bunch of overlapping circles and labeling them. "That’s what Strange said, that’s what Wong said. Even Peter."

In my experience, reality’s just what people remember.

"Dimension’s all a question of perspective. Right now, for Bucky and me, time is experienced as a loop, but for Sam here, it isn’t. Because he is physically in a different space than we are."

"No, I’m not."

"Yes, you are. This here," you hold up your arm, letting the green runes shimmer in the sunlight, "is breaking down the barriers between dimensions. If reality was stuck in a loop for everyone else, everyone else would remember, but they don’t. It’s just us. It’s just our reality."

"I’m getting a headache," Sam groans into his pie.

"Your timeline is normal," you tell him, drawing an arrow pointing to the left. "July fourth today. July third before that. No detours or anomalies. Your day always goes the way it’s supposed to. It just happens to intersect with our loop." You draw an infinity symbol cutting through the line, then point at its center "We meet right here, at this junction, and then your reality continues the way it’s supposed to and ours resets."

"I thought I’m the one that’s getting reset."

"So did I, at first. But we’re the ones continually jumping back to when Friday begins, over and over, with our memories intact. All of this," you trace over the infinity symbol multiple times, "is one linear timeline that’s weeks long, but been compressed to a single day."

"So then, if my reality continues …" Sam starts. "That means, for every single time you’ve been through the loop, there was a different version of me that just went on from there?"

"Exactly," you say, relieved. "Infinite versions in infinite universes."

"Sometimes I miss the simplicity of a good government conspiracy," he mumbles, grabbing another cinnamon roll.

Bucky frowns. "What does that mean for us?"

"There are versions of us outside the loop—obviously, we don’t just stop existing on July fifth. But because of the time loop, we can’t access them. Our consciousness can’t move on from this day, if you will."

Thus, Friday ad nauseum. And because the universe isn’t built to sustain all of this excess energy in just one single point, reality’s started to fracture; trying to relieve some of the added pressure through cracks and TAGs and inconsistencies.

"Then how do we get out?" Bucky asks.

You rub the empty spot on your pinkie. "That’s the part you’re not gonna like. As long as I’m stuck in the loop, my powers have to keep it upright. They’re tied up in it, that’s why I can’t use them. It’s perpetual motion in a closed system."

"So?"

Your wrist tingles. "So the only way to stop it for good is for me to be on the outside. I need to be the external source of the equation."

"How are you gonna do that?" Sam asks.

All the color drains from Bucky’s face. "No."

"You know I’m right," you say softly.

"No," Bucky repeats.

"I’m not liking this," Sam says, looking between the two of you.

"There’s no guarantee it works."

"It’s the only thing we’ve not tried." You look at Sam with a feeble smile. "I have to die."

"What?"

"I’m not watching you die," Bucky says loudly. His hands are balled into fists so tight they’re shaking. "There has to be something else we can try."

"And what would that be?"

"I don’t know! Maybe we need to go back to the astral plane, try something else."

"It’s not enough. It’s a liminal space."

"It has to be enough!"

"Bucky—"

"I’m not losing you!"

With a single slam, the couch table breaks straight down the middle. Bucky’s breaths are heavy, every muscle tense. A cursory glance would tell you his walls are all the way back up, but his eyes … his eyes tell a different story.

"We’re running out of time," you say gently. "If we do nothing, we’ll inevitably lose. And then we’re all fucked. We don’t know what a disintegrating reality is gonna do to the multiverse at large."

"To be honest, I don’t really give a shit."

Sam reaches out a hand. "Buck …"

"No, Sam. Why don’t I ever get to be selfish?" He shakes his head, his eyes welling up. "Why is it that every time I get a little bit of good in my life, the world’s about to end?"

"It’s going to work," you tell him.

Again, he shakes his head. "You can’t know that."

"No, but I do." You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. "I know because Strange told me I make it out of the loop. I’m the one who tells him how to find me. I can’t do that if I’m dead. It’s going to work."

For a while, Bucky just stares at you, shoulders drooping.

"When were you gonna tell me?" he asks quietly.

You shrug helplessly. "It never seemed like the right time."

"We’re stuck in a goddamn loop, and it never seemed like the right time?"

"Be angry with me all you want, but it doesn’t change the facts. We’ve been going around in circles, because that’s the very nature of this timeline. I need my powers back to set things straight." He refuses to catch your eye. "The only way for me to break the loop is not to be in it."

"How are you even going to know you have to do that if you don’t remember anything about today?"

Your mouth opens, then closes again. It’s a very good question, one you don’t know how to answer. How do you finish something you won’t know you’ve started?

"Plus, the loop’s still there and bound to you, right?" Sam cuts in, nodding at your wrist. "Regardless of perception. Who’s to say it’s not gonna implode if you can’t remember it?"

You let out a long sigh. "Because it’ll have to be bound to Bucky instead of me."

"Then just do that," Bucky argues. "I can handle it."

"I know that," you say. "But I still need my powers back."

"There’s another problem, too," Sam says frowning at the whiteboard. "Say it all works out like you’re saying and you get out of the loop while Bucky’s still inside. That means you have one shot. And if it doesn’t work …"

Yeah. You’ve seen it, too. It’s the biggest risk of your plan, and there’s no safety net that you can put up.

If it doesn’t work, Bucky’s going to stay stuck in the loop forever.

* * *

On the day you’re gonna die, you wake up on the couch in the living room area, alone. A deserted cup of coffee sits on the couch table. Everything is quiet.

You sit up slowly, stretching your aching limbs. Sam must’ve already left for Madison Square Garden, because the shield is no longer propped up against the counter. It gives you a nice window of time.

You bring your cup to the sink and finish the washing-up, carefully setting everything on the rack to dry. You wipe the counters. You check the fridge. You write a post-it for Bucky, just for the hell of it.

Right when you’re about to leave, there’s a meowing at your feet. Alpine stares at you with her wide, solemn eyes, like she means to impart long forgotten wisdoms on you.

More likely, she wants a treat.

"Hi, hellcat," you say fondly and she accepts a couple of scratches under her chin. "You seen your dad?"

She purrs for a bit, then bumps her head against your legs and occupies herself with the leftover tuna in her bowl. You sigh, deciding to leave her to it before she decides you need to be reacquainted with her claws.

"Bye, kitty," you whisper.

Her tail twitches.

You’re not surprised to find Bucky on the roof, looking out over Manhattan with an unreadable look on his face. It’s another perfectly sunny day, cloudless cerulean skies and too many degrees to be wearing a leather jacket.

He doesn’t turn when you step up next to him, and it makes your heart ache a little.

Look at me.

"Are you angry with me?"

He lets out a bone-deep sigh. "No."

"Could’ve fooled me."

It’s been a couple of days since you realized what you’re going to have to do, and to say the bubble has burst would be an understatement. There’s been more arguing; more negotiating; both of you clearly seeing where the other one is coming from and yet unwilling to accept it without a fight.

In the end, it’s made no difference. No matter which way you twist it, you need to stop this loop. And he’s not been able to come up with any other ideas towards that goal, either.

"I’m worried," Bucky says quietly.

You reach out for him, intertwining your pinkie with his metal one. "I’m not going to leave you in the loop. I promise."

He shakes his head. "I don’t give a shit about what happens to me."

"Well, I do."

"I’m worried about you." He tucks his chin into his chest. "That’s a helluva lot of pressure you’re putting yourself under, and you won’t even remember where it came from."

"You forget I thrive under pressure." You cast a sidewards glance at him. "Besides, I’ve got you on my side. So I’ve got nothing to be scared of."

It’s a half-truth. You’re terrified. You keep thinking about all the things that could go wrong, all the ways you could fail and condemn him to an infinity of loops in which he’s gonna die and you barely even know him yet.

And yet, when you look at him, your worried mind is soothed, every doubt replaced by something much more certain: He’s going to have your back.

You trust him with your life and you trust him with his, and that’s just going to have to be enough.

"If I—" you start, your voice cracking. "If I don’t get my memories back, when it’s done, I just … I should probably tell you now, right?"

For a few short, unending moments, Bucky doesn’t say anything. Your hands are getting sweaty.

"You know," he says quietly. "We never did try the Groundhog Day option."

Your hand tightens on the railing as your heartbeat kicks up. You glance at him from the side. His face is still hard, but determined. And there it is; that little glint of a challenge in his eyes.

A beat passes.

Your gaze drops to his mouth and he surges.

There’s a new edge to the way he kisses you this time. He holds your face in his hands like you’re something precious, and you can feel him pour all of his desperation into the kiss.

Tears spring to your eyes. You want nothing more than to just melt into the moment, forget everything else and keep kissing him forever. It’s not that simple, though.

"Just in case," you whisper, pulling his mouth to yours again.

You kiss him like it’s the last time and Bucky responds with the same urgency because you both know, deep down, it might well be.

"Just in case," he repeats against your lips as you come up for air, his voice dark and rough and full of fear.

You nod, almost imperceptibly.

He picks you up in one quick, fluid motion, and you rub your nose against his, breathing him in before you find his mouth again.

Again.

More.

You lose your shirt somewhere on the stairs. Your hands are shaking as you attempt to lock his door behind you.

His belt won’t unbuckle. He snaps it in two without taking his lips off your neck, and you let out a surprised laugh as he drops you on his bed.

Despite the growing heat, neither of you hurries this; quite the contrary. It’s a slow, reverent dance. Every inch of clothing that gets removed feels like peeling back another layer, leaving you both fully exposed for the very first time.

You kiss every single scar on his chest as he watches you through half-lidded, glassy eyes, his heart beating so wildly you can feel it just as well as your own. You interlace your fingers and pull him even closer, and when you press another kiss to the palm of his metal hand, he lets out a shaky breath.

When he finally sinks into you, you can taste yourself on his tongue, and your eyes roll back in your head because yes.

Nothing in your whole life has ever felt this right before.

I love you, you think, and the words are at the tip of your tongue when you tumble over the edge as Bucky mumbles sweet praises into your mouth. I love you I love you Iloveyou.

You think that maybe he knows, anyway.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?"

The sun is setting outside, leaving a reddish hue on Bucky’s hair. Your voice is rough after hours of talking and sex. You’ve spilled so many of your secrets you’ve lost count, and he listened to all of them.

Just in case.

You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and Bucky shudders. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Nothing."

His eyes betray him, like they always do.

"You are the worst liar I’ve ever met, Barnes."

"Being a good liar isn’t something to be proud of, you know."

There’s something so devastating about the way he looks at you, like he’s watching something shatter right in front of him. He kisses you again, softly, and it makes you forget your next thought.

"You …" He sighs. "I don’t want to lose this."

"Do you still trust me?" you ask him, voice quiet.

Bucky looks at you, huffing breathlessly, hesitant in a way that only lends more conviction to his answer. "Of course I do." Like there’s no doubt to be had.

It sends a thrill through you.

"I think it’s a good plan in theory, but it puts everything back on you again." He cups your cheek in his hand. "You’ll go back to hating me, and then I won’t be able to help you."

"I never hated you," you say. "I mean, you drive me up the walls sometimes, but I never hated you."

"Why not?" he asks. "I would."

You sit up a little to look at him straight, one hand pressed to his chest. "James Buchanan Barnes, you are more than worthy of all the good things in the universe to happen to you. I’m only sorry it took me that long to tell you."

The saddest little smile curls at the edge of his mouth as he evades your eyes.

"Hey," you say. "We’ll be fine."

"Yeah."

You lean in to kiss him, short and sweet. "I need you to promise me something."

"Hm?" A vibration against your lips.

"Don’t do anything stupid."

He grins, and it’s almost honest. "You know me."

"I do. That’s what I’m concerned about. When I do this, we get one try, and if I fail …"

"Don’t worry about me, sweetheart."

As if he’s not made that quite impossible.

"Fuck you, Barnes," you whisper.

His eyes melt a little, and you trace the little lines in their corners. "There she is."

You roll your eyes. "Bucky?"

He looks at you questioningly, and the words die on your lips. Instead, you pull him in for one more kiss, trying to pour everything you’re not able to say into it, your heart beating wildly.

He presses you deeper into the matress, and you savor every second of this feeling. His stubble scratching across your cheek, the way your fingers slip perfectly into his mussed hair, the low, soothing hum of his arm.

This, you think. This should have been the kind of day that got stuck all along.

You roll on top of him again. His hands catch your waist, warm and cold against your skin, and you shudder as he smiles into your mouth.

One more, you think, sinking back into the kiss. One more. Just one more.

You bring him even closer to you with one hand as the other one slips under his pillow, carefully angling yourself forwards.

Just in case.

"It’s strange," you whisper. "Somehow I wish we had more time."

A hot tear falls on Bucky’s cheek. His eyes widen.

It’s the last thing you see before you put his gun against your temple and pull the trigger.

chapter twelve

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚 we're in the endgame now and you are so welcome to shout at me in the comments/tags 😈

[bloodlust-1]

.·:*¨ Night Affairs ¨*:·.

Astarion x fem Tav — Explicit 18+

Summary: Oops! Tav accidentally ate a mushroom that causes her to completely lose her mind. Astarion finds her in this state and enjoy each other’s company, A little too much.

T/W: smut!

Notes: this is Pre- Astarion telling Tav his feelings for her. Also, this takes place in the under dark! Happy reading~

Tav’s body felt a subtle change that began to take hold on her. At first, she felt a gentle warmth spreading through her veins, accompanied by a tingling sensation that danced across her skin. Colors seemed to intensify, becoming more vivid and vibrant with every passing moment. Gods, she was feeling the consequences of mistaking a mushroom for something safely edible. Damn it, these mushrooms in the under dark are all confusing to her. How was she supposed to know it’d make her delusional?

It was already time for everyone to settle in their tents. Tav would have been trying to catch some Z’s like everyone else, but As time passed, Tav’s perception of reality became distorted. The world around her transformed into a kaleidoscope of swirling patterns and shifting shapes. Sounds became amplified, echoing through her ears with an otherworldly clarity. Her senses were heightened to an extraordinary degree.

She wondered outside her tent, away from the camp unknowingly, and stumbled her way around the underdark. It was beautiful with its luminous plants of all kinds. Tav’s thoughts took on a dreamlike quality as her mind wandered through uncharted territories. She experienced a profound sense of euphoria and introspection, as if she had been granted access to hidden realms of consciousness. Time lost its meaning as minutes stretched into hours and hours into what felt like an eternity.

From a short distance sat Astarion, admiring the access he had to life again. He wouldn’t admit it, but he loved the adventure away from home no matter how much he missed Baldurs Gate. He was in deep thought about his situation until he heard dragging noises. He reached for his knife as he saw Tav, clumsily dragging her feet around. Her eyes were widened, almost sparkling from reflections from all the glow of the mushrooms. There was definitely something off about her.

Tav's eyes caught Astarion, by his lonesome in deep thought. She noticed his odd stare at her, "Oooh, Astarion! My favorite person in camp. Isn't it soOooOoo beautiful tonight?" She drunkenly plopped her body onto the ground, now sitting next to him.

Astarion's eyebrows crocked, and he noticed her pupils were dilated. "Oh dear, I see what's going on here. What did you eat?"

In this altered state, Tav's emotions fluctuated wildly. Waves of laughter washed over her as she found humor in the simplest things. Tears welled up in her eyes, not from sadness but from an overwhelming sense of beauty and interconnectedness with the world around her. "I didn't knoooow, please don't be mad at me. I just want to see the pretty plants tonight." Tav wiped away her unjustified tears, her mind was going insane. She could only cling to what little hold she had on reality.

Astarion tilted his head and stared at her. He was unable to take his eyes off her, often staring directly into her eyes or admiring her physical features. He adjusted his posture to face her. Admittingly, Astarion was already catching feelings for Tav the night they indulged in each other's bodies. It was just a part of his plan to manipulate her, something he knew how to do all too well. He just didn't expect to enjoy himself more than usual. It actually felt— good?

Astarion cleared his throat, "You must be losing your fucking mind. I bet anything we talk about now you won't even remember by tomorrow."

Tav slouched her head on his shoulder, her body twitching every so often, "I reaallyy don't want this to end. I lovE traveling w-with you guys, so much fun. I'm scared to go back home..." She spoke with slurs and all kinds of messiness. However, due to the fault of the mushroom she ate, the truth comes spilling out of her mouth uncontrollably.

Astarion perked up, "Scared? Darling what in the hells do you have to be scared of?" It wasn't like she had Cazador hovering over her shoulder. She couldn't possibly feel what he felt.

Tav's face ingrained with sadness. She clutched her trembling hands together, trying to steady herself. The fear that gripped her was suffocating, threatening to consume her entirely and the high didn't help her cope either. Home for her was anywhere but home. She wanted to run as far away as possible from this place that held nothing but darkness for her. "It's hard t-to talk about...You know that feeling that power someone has over you. It's hard to escape something that happened for soooo loonnngg." She rubbed her wide tired eyes. The area around her started to feel like it was melting with colors.

Astarion furrowed his brows, oddly, yes, he knew that feeling. But why did she know that feeling, "I do. But why—“

Tav cut Astarion off quickly, "I LOVE making bread. I have a hidden talent for it...Although now it isn't a secret anymore, so now you know." Tav cracked up a laugh, the little random bursts of confessions entertained her. It was hilarious to her. For no reason of course other than the mushroom effect.

"Uhh, right..." Astarion chuckled softly. She's ridiculous. It's actually entertaining to him how obliviously out of her mind she was. This was great blackmail fuel, or perhaps something he could poke fun at her for.

"Y-you are my favorite camp friend." She smiled goofily.

"Friend? What about our late-night tryst, Did you not enjoy yourself?" Astarion felt offended at her comment. Favorite, sure, but friend? This 'friend' comment did not fit into his plans. Although, lately he has been catching himself smiling at Tav more. He started to notice himself staring at her longer, maybe even lustfully? His heart raced whenever she got close to him, this was unfamiliar territory for Astarion. He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, "Would it make you happy to try again?"

"Oh! Yes, yes. Something in me tells me that'd make me very happy. But hold on! You dont reallyyy mean that do you?" Tav leaned away from him, and crossed her arms doubtfully.

"I— actually don't know. It doesn't really matter what I say now, you'll wake up tomorrow with not a zero clue." His mind wondered. Even if he confessed maybe having feelings for her, she would be oblivious. But it could also be a good moment to test the waters. If Astarion got a bad reaction from Tav, she'd forget all about it the next day. This could be an advantage for him.

"What if I told you you're incredible? That my plan to easily course you didn't work. That my master plan fell apart and every little thing we did together felt— meaningful…That in the midst of this mess I actually find myself caring for you?" He softly pushes away a strand of hair that swayed over Tav's face. His heart started to race to see her reaction.

To his surprise, Tav fell quiet and stared up at him. Her face flushed red and her eyes went a little watery. "You do..?" She spoke softly. Her breathing became heavy. Tav went and wrapped her arms around him in a warm and comforting embrace. The world around them seemed to fade away as they held each other tightly.

At that moment, all of Astarion's doubts melted away as he felt genuine affection and acceptance from Tav. He couldn’t believe that she reciprocated his feelings, and it filled him with an overwhelming sense of joy and relief. As they sat there embracing each other, time seemed to stand still.

The hug spoke volumes without the need for words. It conveyed a deep connection between them, finally acknowledging their feelings for each other. It was a moment of vulnerability and trust, where they could let down their guards and allow themselves to be open to the possibility of love. After all, Tav was Astarion's first consensual sex affair where he didn't worry about Cazador. He could not ever imagine taking her to him. She actually made Astarion feel love. This made him only want to protect her from any harm.

"I promise I'll make this sound better when you're not out of your damn mind." Astarion held her close. It was such a refreshing feeling to love someone instead of loathing someone. He felt the heat of his cheeks flush, and Tav tugged on his sleeve.

"C-Can I kiss you, Astarion?" The way she looked at him with those eyes of hers. Big, full of lust. He saw this same look the night they had sex.

He chuckled cockily, "You couldn't help yourself? I would like that." No one ever asked for his permission, it was admired greatly by him. His lips covered hers in a swift motion, and a soft smooch was placed on her lower lip. Her skin was so warm compared to his, and it only made him yearn more for that warmth.

There they were, in an atmosphere lushed with glowing plants as they held each other tightly in its nature. They kissed each other until it got sloppy, their breaths going in haste. Astarion pushed his body over hers, forcing her back onto the soft moss.

Astarion gazed down at Tav. It took him back to that night, how beautiful she looked under the moonlight, and how beautiful she still looked now. He felt lucky to have met such a beauty, she had a charm he only saw from royalty. The kind that has people swooning over her hand, begging to make her their beloved. Not many people could say they bestowed these kinds of looks.

"Astarion?" a whisper left her lips, cutely yet— begging. Her eyes averted from his and she felt her body tense. No mushroom could mask her lust for Astarion's touch, it was written all over her face. Her little trembles of excitement gave it away.

"Just say the words, love. You know I can give you all the pleasures, Your wish is my command." His hands traveled up and down her thigh, caressing her skin tenderly.

Tav nodded as a shiver ran up her spine from his touch. She spoke with a soft tone, one that begged for him tenderly, "I need your touch."

"As do I." He hovered over her small stature, placing his lips gently on hers. A soft kiss it was. It was different from their last kiss because that one was just lust. This kiss had a heart in it, so naturally it felt so much better. Especially when the warmth of her blood heated his cold lips.

Astarion shut his eyes tightly, and a tingle ran up his spine. The passion from the kiss scrambled his mind because why did love feel this good? Love never felt good. Cazador claimed all of his spawns were a family, something to love. That was no love. But Tav, however, felt completely different. Even regular sex felt amazing, which was also just bland for him.

Astarion kissed her lips until they couldn't no more. Both gasped for air as their adrenaline ran threw their bodies. Astarion's shaft pushed hard into the seam of his pants, and it poked her inner thigh. He then adjusted himself so that he wasn't poking at Tav anymore.

"I want to save that for later, my dear. A day when you can wake up and remember it. So you can come to me in the morning with flushed cheeks and a racing heart." Astarion didn't want to sour a moment where he could make love and not just have sex. He'd rather wait for Tav to be completely aware of herself.

Tav nodded in agreement. Her body felt like she was floating on a cloud. Her high still clouded her mind, and her body still yearned for him. "Could you suppose still spoil me...?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Cheeky aren't we?" His hand raced down her curves, exploring the warmth of her skin, "I suppose I can, pet." Without a thought, Astarion swiftly tugged down Tav's pants. He pulled her legs apart so that her core was to full access to him.

His lips planted kisses all over her neck. The heat of his rough breaths hit Tav's skin, causing her goosebumps to crawl all over. All the while Astarion's hand was caressing over her folds. His fingers moistened as it stroked over her slit. Tav let out small moans as his fingers rubbed her clit. His motions were skilled, almost like a second nature to him.

“M-mphh…” Tav clutched onto the cloth of his shirt. His kisses grazed over her neck tenderly, and he nibbled on the lobe of her ear, “How does that feel?” He spoke in a breathy tone.

“Amazing.” She purred. Her legs twitched from Astarion’s touch. She became sensitive and more wet as he circled around her clit. He seemed pleased with the performance Tav was giving, the moans were a validation for him. But he wanted feel more of her.

With two fingers, he slipped it into her entrance. Tav gasped out of pleasure, the feeling was all too much and she spreader her legs more for him. He bucked his hand in and out of her. The warmth of her walls encased around his fingers, begging for more.

Tav cupped Astarion’s face, pulling him into a kiss that was muffled between her moans. His tongue danced with hers, a sweet taste he’s been thinking about the day they first kissed. Her back arched for him more, and it was granted, a third finger slipped into her and she pulled away from the kiss. A pleasurable wince left her lips and Astarion looked at her with red piercing eyes. He enjoyed watching her crumble under him. It made him feel powerful.

Tav’s head hung back as moans and groans left her mouth like a lyric to a song only Astarion could produce. Her wet core made it easier for him to fuck her with his fingers fast and swiftly. His arm burned as it continuously fucked her, he didn’t break his motion while beads of sweat formed on his temples.

Astarion suddenly lowered his head, he kept his fingers in her, and now his tongue was over her clit. His saliva trailed down between her inner thighs as her moans grew more intense. Her hand gripped a chunk of his hair, forcing his face closer into her core.

His tongue played with her clit, rubbing it in circles as his fingers thrusted in and out of her. An intensity swelled in her lower stomach, she gripped Astarion hair tighter as her finish comes to a near.

“F-fuck! Ahh— S-starion..” her back arched more and more against his face, like a two magnets attracting each other. His steamy breath huffed against her sex, awarding him with more groans. It was absolute bliss for Astarion. It was his first time spoiling someone like this. It felt so intimate and so passionate. If this is what sex felt like with a lover, he wanted to do it over and over again.

Tav yelled out a final moan of pleasure before releasing onto Astarion’s face. His tongue dragged along her folds, licking up any wetness he could as if he was drinking blood. He kissed her moistened core, he then picked up his head from between her legs.

Astarion used the back of his hand to wipe the cum off his mouth, his eye contact was like daggers. “Mmm…That taste of yours. It’s amazing.” He wrapped his fingers around the band of her pants, and pulled them up. Cleaning her up was a love language for him. To destroy someone sexually and then cleaning up the mess he caused, it was so liberating. Especially since it was Tav.

Tav sat up, her skin moistened red on her cheeks, “you’re too good at that. Do it again.” Tav teased him. She liked to have fun with Astarion even at the most tense of times.

“Cheeky pup. You might get tired of me if I keep spoiling you like this, however I couldn’t imagine ever getting bored of that taste of yours. You’re magnificent.” His finger stroked the side of her face softly. “Shall we get some rest? You’ll be needing it tomorrow when you’re sore.”

💤

The next morning Tav woke up with an aching head and also…a soreness between her legs? She brushed off the feeling and greeted her fellow camp members. Gods was she never touching another mushroom ever again. She pretty much went blank but she remembered a faint memory of Astarion face. But, she couldn’t tell if it was a wet dream or not.

She yawned and went to stroll around the camp to chat. When she made her rounds to Astarion he flashed her a welcoming smile, waaay nicer than he usually was, “Well look who we have here. How’d you sleep my dear?”

Tav pleasantly nodded her head to his kind words. “It was strange…but much needed. How did you sleep?”

“Wonderful. I wanted to say thank you for last night. It was…an experience I won’t forget.” He clicked his tongue softly. His face was smug and he walked away from Tav, who fell silent.

Her heart dropped in her chest and it all clicked together. The soreness, the stickiness she felt in her pants, and Astarion being extra nice. A moment she had alone with him and she could barely remember what was said. Tav was mentally cursing herself in her head. She was very fond of him and honestly, she wanted to figure out their dynamic. Only Astarion could tell the tale of their late night affair, but for now, Tav wondered all about her wet dream. Or so she thought.

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage !

[literatureloverx]

Hello mother it has been some time. I was reflecting a bit myself and I wanted to ask you this question: Do you know why you’re attracted to fyodor? We talked about how he sometimes scares me and that his nature is sometimes difficult to keep up with. You know all of this but you like him anyway (I like him too ofc)

Why is your love so unwavering mother? This is also a question for my other siblings.

- 🐨🖤

Hello, my dear. It truly has been some time, hasn’t it?♥️ I find your reflections to be intriguing, and I would love to hear your thoughts if you feel comfortable sharing them.

I have reflected for a very, very long time on my unwavering commitment and love for Fyodor, though for different reasons. I have never found his extreme actions to be a concern, that much is certain.

This will be a very deep and unnecessarily thorough answer to your question. I hope you don’t mind!♥️

To me, Fyodor is an ideal—or an ideal type, if you prefer. Though, I think it is unrealistic to consider him as such. No one could ever be Fyodor, nor could anyone come close to what he is. He is simply too perfect, and very much inhuman, to be captured immaculately by a real human being.

To understand why I appreciate the aspects that make Fyodor Fyodor, I first need to explain how I operate, whether consciously or unconsciously.

I am someone who does not wish to dominate anyone, but I sometimes push limits and boundaries to see if someone is worthy of my submission. My submission is earned, not granted—just like my true respect. While I respect anyone and everyone simply for being human (or a living being, if we push this aspect even further), my real respect is something different entirely. I will not dwell on that aspect, however, because our main focus here is Fyodor.

Fyodor is inhumanly intelligent, overwhelmingly powerful, and undeniably dominant. The reason I remain so drawn to him is that he would see and understand my “mind games,” yet deflect them with almost nonchalant ease.

He would never, ever be defeated by me. And that is the key—he would overpower me in every regard, in every aspect, because he is above everyone else and, therefore, above me as well. He is the ultimate force. My submission would not be an act of surrender, but a recognition of his superiority. He does not need to prove himself; he simply is what he is.

Thus, Fyodor, with his inhuman intelligence, becomes the ultimate intellectual puzzle. I do not merely admire his intellect; I admire the way he wields it. His intelligence represents a mirror to me—almost a kindred spirit in the realm of the mind—yet he also transcends it effortlessly. He is not my equal; he is a force that outweighs me in every single aspect. I do not seek simple exchanges. I seek individuals who can match and surpass my mental capacity, those who stimulate my desire for growth and validation.

I suppose I like the mental chess game?

Fyodor would not engage with my mind games in the traditional sense. Instead, he would acknowledge them and brush them off in a way that is both effortless and, oddly enough, in a fatherly manner. (Damn it, I am starting to sound like all those girls with major daddy issues.)

To put it simply, I would compare it to a puppy and a fully grown dog. The adult dog humours the puppy’s shenanigans, never taking them seriously, and engages in a nonchalant, playful manner. Likewise, Fyodor would never see me as a true challenge, yet he would humour me for his own entertainment, deriving pleasure from the dynamic precisely because it holds no real weight for him.

This is where my pride comes into play. I know, I don’t look like the most prideful person on Tumblr, and admittedly, I am likely not. But I have a certain amount of pride that is undeniable and shows in certain circumstances. I test people because I want to see if they can respond in a way that proves their value—not in a moral sense (everyone is valuable, please don’t misunderstand), but in a way that holds personal meaning to me. Fyodor is that ultimate challenge. He does not react impulsively, but with calm, almost fatherly wisdom (yes, I’m doing that again—don’t come at me), which would both reassure and challenge me.

My attraction to Fyodor’s dominance is tied to my pride. Submission, for me, is not about weakness—it is about recognising someone as worthy. I do not wish to be overpowered out of fear or a need for control, but because the person has earned my respect through sheer force of presence and intellect.

I have mentioned before that Fyodor does not like to be challenged in the literal sense. If he sees a real challenge, he will undoubtedly win and make you regret ever crossing his path. He is merciless, cruel. But in this case, he would not mind my little challenges at all. He would be aware that I am not a real threat and would simply humour me.

That is the difference—he does not need to fight back. He simply overpowers because his presence is naturally overwhelming.

People tend to see Fyodor in one of two ways. Some view him as fragile beneath the surface. A cunning yet ultimately breakable man whose appeal lies in watching his defences crumble.

But I do not see him that way. Yes, he has weaknesses, but they are overshadowed by his strengths. His intelligence, his control over every situation, and the way he keeps himself untouchable define him far more than any vulnerability ever could. And yet, beneath it all, he has the capacity to be deeply loving and caring—though in the most nonchalant way, as if such tenderness costs him nothing at all. (Why I become extremely poetic whenever I talk about him is something I do not understand, haha. Please just go with it. I do not do it knowingly. It simply comes to me.)

Fyodor embodies a certain balance. He wouldn’t crush my spirit with his dominance, but redirect it (almost protectively?). I am not seeking someone to smother me; I seek someone who is so far above me that their presence alone provides a safe force. His “gentle dominance” offers a form of emotional security, though that is just my take.

He does not need to engage with my games, yet he sees through them. He does not need to prove himself, yet he stands unchallenged. His ability to remain unthreatened by me—simply allowing my tests to pass without breaking his composure—is exactly what makes him so compelling.

I would never give in to weakness or need, but I willingly submit to those who prove themselves worthy. Submission is not about surrendering power—it is about recognising who deserves it. In this case, Fyodor, with his dominance and intellect, embodies the ultimate challenge to my boundaries.

Anyway, upon reviewing this, I have recognised that I have some major issues, haha. If anyone you come across has similar views as mine in the romantic regard, run away from them, children. This is literally toxic. I should not be allowed within a 10 km radius of any man, to be honest. Poor men.🥺

To make all of this less toxic (and for the possibility of settling down with a real person at some point in my life, rather than hopelessly dreaming of a literal nonexistent fictional man), I have thought of something. I carefully analysed what the main aspects would be for me to feel content nonetheless, and since I lack real romantic experience, I looked up fictional characters that are more “real.” A man like Nanami Kento from Jujutsu Kaisen would be totally fine, for example. (Not me randomly spilling my darkest secrets here, haha). He is dutiful, responsible, safe, and secure. He is caring and not overly extreme or over the top with his care. A man who knows what he wants. He definitely understands the concept of accountability perfectly and he is very intelligent too, so talking to him would be delightful.

As you can see, I can totally ground myself in reality. I am not merely living in my fantasy bubble (do we believe this? No, no we don’t. Haha.).

Overall, my dear, the moral of the story is this: the princess needs a king.

[nxndrafts]

Ever since I gained sexual consciousness, I’ve never looked back. My lustful energy has only grown. Anyone who knows me is aware of my sexual fantasies. But that energy has only ever created fantasies—nothing more.

I might also be someone who likes the idea of sex more than the act itself. Or maybe I just didn’t like the way my ex touched me—as if his eyes held only sexual curiosity, and I was the object of that curiosity.

I am someone who sees sex as something deeply spiritual. Maybe that’s why I never liked how he touched me. Or perhaps the man (or should I say boy) who touched me simply didn’t understand the art of touch. Maybe it’s just my delusional mind over-romanticizing the idea of touch, but isn’t touch supposed to be deep? After all, it’s the sense organ of feeling.

The idea of being touched—anywhere, everywhere—is, in itself, an act of preaching. I want to be preached. I am made to be preached. My body is a temple.

And I want men, women, or men in multitudes to seek me, to devote themselves to me, to hail me. A devotion like that of a servant to their God. If I were God, and I had to choose a ritual to worship me, it would be sex.

I would have no limits.

Seek me. Preach me. Hail me. Devote to me.

Let it be my name on their lips.

One devotee kisses my mouth, another holds me in his lap and spreads my legs wide. One seeks my hand to hold his shaft, another jerks it off to offer his seeds as a sacred gift. And there is lines of men waiting to bury themselves in me, believing they’ll gain good fortune. Lines of devotees trying to collect the remnants—my essence mingled with theirs—as holy relics.

It’s deep. It’s dark. But within it lies a need—a deeply suppressed want—that has shaped itself into something sinful.

The thought of being sought out by men, the desire to be desirable in their eyes, has morphed into something almost sinister.

Or it just reflects a deep hidden insecurity of mine—one buried beneath layers of fantasy and longing.

But is it truly sinister?

Is purity really that important in the cosmic or spiritual realm?

Or is it just another rule we agree to follow in order to belong in society?

I am someone who deeply abides by the rule of purity.

I might never have sex before marriage.

I may never allow another man to touch me.

And yet, where does this desire come from?

I’m clearly torn.

My consciousness is split—one part dark, one part light—and I exist in both realms.

To me, the female body is analogous to the flower.

The act of coitus is, spiritually, no different from pollination—both leading to creation, both sacred in their essence.

I believe there’s so much more to sex than what meets the eye.

It’s not just an act of curiosity for a teenage boy.

It’s not merely a surge of desire or lust within a man or woman.

If we stripped sex of all worldly desire—removed the ego, the craving, the need to possess—

we might uncover something pure.

Something not only the body enjoys,

but something that deeply fulfills the soul.

-My first post in here😚. I would appreciate if you could critic my writings. I have never shown anyone an ounce of what I write so I donno how my writings are but i hope for some tips. Thankyou❤️

[mystic-kentah1]

Your consciousness has been completely transformed with Spiritual Awakening. Now what?

Congratulations! You have gone through the storm and the veil has lifted in front of you. You feel like the world has gone through a spiritual awakening and allow me to say this for you, your consciousness feels forever changed. 

Your heart is in a different realm now and so is the world around you. It beats with a gigantic connection that is yet to be discovered. But If I state my assumption that you are right now pondering at what is next, I would not be wrong.

At Mystic Kentah, we believe a lot of synergy is present after one achieves a state of awakening. After talking about the phenomenon in detail, we are now here to talk about solutions to how to stay strongly grounded. After mystical #ProTips below, you will be ready to explore the world with beautiful purpose after spiritual awakening.

Step 1: Integration of Awakening

I completely resonate with you as my awakening consisted in my case the feeling of being sucked out of the Matrix while you start floating. With no help reciprocation, an easy process that is blissful confusion can be achieved where spiritual bypassing will become the new norm.

Integration is a fancy word that can mean bringing temporary higher awareness to your hyperactive lifestyle which in other words does not help and support slip into routine life. You can make plans around getting in the middle of nature to do activities like hiking and camping.

Tip: I highly recommend journaling as it creates an option to reflect and also gives immense space of quiet moments that has the potential to aid your entire systems. Allow me to caution that it will also offer perspective change in the new age moments that follow.

Step 2: New Me

 It is not hard to notice that most people do completely evolve as different beings and I did mention the fact your spiritual state evaporated and added them after your awakening does eliminate you completely. This pep talk is intended to remind you there is a possibility if not simply enabling hope or your pre-existing state do make you upside down. Now is the moment to embrace this shift. That entails living your truth—not merely speaking of it.

Consider these questions:

What ignites my passion today?

What is not aligned anymore?

What is my unique purpose I am meant to create, share or heal?  

At Mystic Kentah, the shifting and integration of the self sessions we offer facilitate this energetic integration from an anchored awareness so that you may ground it into reality.

Step 3: Don't Go It Alone  

The new route you’re taking is one less traveled. This can feel heavily lonely at times, especially when your inner circle fails to comprehend everything you’ve witnessed.

Your soul tribe is just a click away.

Make sure you cultivate a conscious community: some who’ve set aside their egos and done deep inner work to heal and transform themselves.

You can take advantage of our mentoring sessions or participate in healing circles and community gatherings designed to allow safe sharing and growth in a sacred space.  

Step 4: Keep Doing the Inner Work  

Receiving insight is not a point of completion, rather one of many milestones. Following through with the embrace of your true self: the offer is the ‘what’, and everything else after is the ‘why’.

It is now time to accelerate your healing techniques:

Breathwork for releasing emotions

Shamanic healing to recover fragmented souls

Meditation and mindfulness Practices for staying in the now

Shadow work to confront the aspects of yourself that still harbor pain or fear

You keep transforming as you evolve, layer after layer.

Step 5: Serve and share

Once your cup starts overflowing, it is natural to give back. You do not need to become a guru or ointment (unless you call you) -But whatever role you choose, you can live in the form of light.

Supposed to mean:

Showing with love and patience to others

Making something that inspires others

Speaking your truth in your work, family or community

Supporting others who are waking up now

A spiritual awakening gives you a gift - but also a responsibility. Live what you have learned.

Step 6: Stay grounded in human experience

One of the largest traps after awakening is trying to avoid reality. But here is the truth:

You woke up to be more present, no less. This human life is sacred. Pain, happiness, anarchy, beauty - this is all part of the spiritual path.

Base yourself:

Daily routine

Movement and physical activity

Spend time with loved ones

Eat well and respect your body

The goal is to be both spiritual and real. This is the Mystic Kentah path - Moulaise, Truth and Avatar.

Step 7: Keep learning, keep searching

Awakening opens you to a lifetime path of search. Now you can feel that it is said to find out:

Astrology, energy healing, or sacred ceremonies

Plant medicine (where legal and guided)

Ancestral healing or past-life work

Creative expression through art, music, or writing

At Mystic Kentah, we offer tools, workshops, and guidance to help you navigate this expanded state of consciousness in a safe, grounded, and empowering way.

Step 8: Trust the Cycles of Transformation

Spiritual growth isn’t a straight line. You’ll have highs and lows, breakthroughs and breakdowns. There may be moments when you feel “lost” again, but this doesn’t mean you’ve failed—it just means you’re leveling up.

Just like nature, your journey has seasons:

Moments of clarity and action (summer)

Moments of rest and retreat (winter)

Times for planting new intentions (spring)

And releasing what no longer serves (autumn)

At Mystic Kentah, we honor these natural cycles through rituals, ceremonies, and healing practices that help you stay in tune with your inner rhythm.

Pro tip: When things feel off, don’t resist. Pause. Listen. Something new may be ready to bloom.

Step 9: Set Energetic Boundaries

After a spiritual awakening, you become more sensitive to energy—your own and others’. You may notice when someone’s words feel off or when a space drains you. That’s your awareness expanding.

To protect your peace, learn to set clear energetic boundaries:

Say no when your body says no

Cleanse your energy regularly (sage, sound, salt baths)

Avoid people and spaces that pull you into old patterns

Don’t absorb others’ emotions—observe and release

Our energy healing sessions at Mystic Kentah can help you identify energetic leaks and teach you how to seal your field with love and power.

Step 10: Develop a Personal Spiritual Practice

Your awakening may have started with a sudden shift—but the long-term growth comes from daily commitment.

You don’t need a complex ritual. Just consistent intention.

Create your own daily spiritual practice:

Morning breathwork or gratitude

Evening reflection or oracle card pulls

Weekly journaling to track your growth

Regular connection to Spirit—through prayer, meditation, or nature

In the Mystic Kentah, we can help you prepare a personal routine that fits your lifestyle and enhances your spiritual path, whether you are just starting or diving deep into mysteries.

Final view: The journey continues

If your consciousness has moved through a spiritual awakening, then congratulations - you have just opened the door to your real power and ability. This moment marks the beginning of a deep journey, not the end. Awakening is a spark, but awakened - with awareness, appearance and purpose - the real challenge and gift.

Now, it is about embodiment and its truth every day. It is about healing chronic lesions, aligning with the calling of your soul, and the path remains in the present. Surround yourself with those who understand this change-a troupe that is walking on the same path, treaters and conscious spirits.

Keep doing internal work. Keep selecting development. Live in their humanity, but open to the divine. In the Mystic Kentah, we walk next to you on this holy journey - treatment practices, spiritual guidance and community support to help you integrate, develop and flourish in support of the community.

You are not alone. This is just the beginning.

[thoughtscarla]

Blog Post 2

I really enjoyed watching The Blackening, especially reflecting upon the themes of racism, power dynamics, and identity/representation.  Something I particularly enjoyed about the film was the emphasis on community and how one’s close circle (of friends and family) is a vital part of fighting back against oppressive forces. This was especially important within the realm of racial discrimination. An example of this from the movie is when the group of friend face the masked killer together. Instead of succumbing to division and fear, they come together and rely on one another and their collective strength to navigate the situation. This theme of unity reinforces that idea that solidarity is essential in overcoming systemic challenges and that the unity helps confront immediate threat. 

Additionally, another aspect I enjoyed from the film was the subtle theme regarding authority and power dynamics. The choice to cast a park ranger, rather than a police officer, really illustrated the deep mistrust of traditional authority figures, especially in a situation involving Black individuals. This somewhat subtle detail really alluded to the generational trauma, and even institutionalized racism, that the Black communities face due to their historically dangerous encounters with law enforcement. For many Black people, calling the police is not a safe or viable option, even though law enforcement is supposed to protect us. This also remains a significant issue in our society today. This mistrust is rooted in experiences where interactions with police have disproportionately led to negative outcomes for Black individuals. I believe that in the context of the film, this was a subtle yet intentional choice in order to really highlight the traumas that are embedded in the consciousness of Black Americans, showing that they often avoid authority figures who are intended to “serve and protect,” yet end up unwarrantedly harming Black individuals. 

Something else that was eye opening was the discussion that we had with Dewayne Perkins during tuesday’s lecture about the film. Dewayne touched on how black women are often victimized, yet simultaneously played as heroes in Black films. I thought this was an important theme to mention because Black women do not receive nearly as much recognition as they should (or to their counterparts) in their contributions to film, entertainment, etc. The Blackening included female characters that challenge traditional traditional roles in horror films. Unlike lots of horror films where the female characters are sidelines or given helpless victim roles, the women in this film demonstrated resilience and depth. This helped highlight the intersectionality of race and gender and helped convey how black women navigate not only racial discrimination, but also gender based biases. This added to the layers of their experiences and reflected broader societal issues that black women and women of color face. 

[blackvahana]

Anyway. Lightning field.

Closer to being able to consciously understand it now the Daisy Fields - knew the names being similar was related - are a thing developing into... something similar.

There's mindspaces (mental spaces that have decent mimicry of real life) , there's reality shifting realities (elaborate mental spaces), there's... dreaming spaces, uh. There's places in the astral that blend with mental - realms displaced from atomic reality for lack of a better word seem to be on a scale from Perceptual reality to Mental reality for lack of better terms, and no, they're not (here at least) the same thing. Uh. But anyway. This body isn't caught up on things. There's also very mental astral spaces, places where the mind of an entity is undivorceable from the space. Thinking about the End of the World, a place where Lev is just... reality itself. These terms and boundaries are just not... something I'm going to stick with, I'm just laying this out to make a contrast to what I have to talk on

What's interesting me is these specific "ind of God" places that serve as, well, not mindspaces, not "realities", but explorations of the workings of the mind itself. They're like what I call Means of Access, which is effectively these Mental-Real intersections used to create and programme things in the astral, where the programming itself is presented as mental constructs but it's more just perceived that way because it doesn't exist in spacetime. For example, one of the MOA for ANVD is a control room - OK. thanks Grey for that image then - another is... actually, I forgot, so he probably doesn't want to share. But you could translate the programming into say a control room where you turn knobs and a forest where you water trees and such, it's not so much visualisation as it is almost interactive real-time visions

It's like that. It's also like those places in the astral where the spirit is indistinguishable from reality... It's. also. hence why I listed all these things. it's own distinct category

Traversing the minds of spirits - but specifically like MOA where it's not that you're in a mindspace, you're in the minds workings and programmings itself being filtered through Perception

Yeah. Anyway. That's where the lightning field is. The lightning field exists at the gateway point of Indra-Zeus' sort of. I'm going to sya barren womb. The place where a womb should be between the black starry gateway of the cosmic waters that reflect the stars and night sky, and the specific lineage from Zeus. That's twice now I've typed Xeus what's the deal here - oh I know the deal. Thoughts overseen by Lev and not the other old man. Thanks Lev.

Specifically... The lightning field is the electric field of his own brain, metaphorically. It's... I can't stress enough how much it's this circle home around the - hole* around the. nothingness. The cold and the hot that create storms is a distant metaphor. This is... Primordial

So... In setting up the lightning field again... Zeus is one of those people whose brains I'm supposed to be reordering and such now. I guess that's what the lightning field is about... But there's also a lot to be said about how he wants it more accessible again. There's a lot to be said about it full stop, there's a tonne of intricate metaphor that goes into it (thinking about how it holds the cave hand prints of him and select children, and how it's red layered clay, and so on)

It's... interesting. The thing that bothers me is that he's very much the type of person - I say type as if anyone else is like him - to coax people along into doing things for him that are completely and utterly obscured, encoded very literally to the point that various parts of his mind and bodies hold only partial keys and speak their own codes so that even if you gathered all of him present you wouldn't be able to get the whole picture, even he doesn't carry the whole picture... So you know. A little "I'm not taking orders right now" given that holding the keys to deep mind things is... it's not the truth. It's never the full truth from him.

And yet... I know this place like the back of my hand, I'm so familiar with it, and with the way we blur there's a lot in it for me, presumably.

[lightcreators]

Usually, how predictable current circumstances were would have bored him soon enough. It wasn’t funny when his poor victims succumbed to their own temptations, unable to self-controlling themselves, unable to holding back consciousness inside their brain --- it was part of the game to seeing them agonizing with their desire to put him back in his place, where every following words escaping his lips will turn the task harder, where every second will be an magnificent struggle he would be the discrete whisper on their ears … Nevertheless, how different it tasted --- he appreciated it. An brave Gryffindor who volunteering themselves to be swallowed whole by an Slytherin --- he had been awaiting such opportunity even since his obsession with Potter started over that never-forgotten moment of rejection … Amusement was single emotion vibrating all across his expression, managing only not to be condescending even if temptation stayed. Regardless whatever defence they could use against him, he had the control. For now, how he wanted to playing with them was quite the unanswered thought. Another mocking smile welcomed their last remark. Talent? Oh yes, maybe for common wizards. No, what he was seeking for was achievement, and they could becoming one little fragment of it. Achievement. International acknowledgement, world-wide reputation, becoming part of the large history … it will be his most bright revenge against a world that left him down once. It was the place who merited his metaphoric twin, that ghost he had to brought justice for --- to be known by everyone, to be scary for everyone but remaining trapped within the shadows of the underground, for be that dreadful Emperor in middle of the witches spheres … an combination of three realms he had been dreaming during an entire past life in mental torment. Did they think he could be affected concerning reminder of his reputation? As an Malfoy, mistakes weren’t something he could afford without consequences. As an Malfoy, he cannot experience his teenager years the same manner of other people, for be remnant of a lost legacy of noblesse who had to representating his own family … and he cannot escape responsibilities of an heir he embracing happily. They were also funny to remind him about his wealth. Ah, he was well-placed for know what to expect of rich people. How he was supposed to be offended?  ❝ You have little expectations then~ ❞ He noticed mockingly slowly inside an intense sound before following slowly, remaining deeply amused. ❝ Something terrible~ ❞

Even since consciousness had been made his dream had come true, that he could finally embracing his metaphoric twin perspective and resurrecting him, he promised to himself to never fall into misery again. He wouldn’t become the boy he had been twice. He wouldn’t losing himself inside an complete lack of identity --- regardless if definition of self had becoming more and more complicated to define, inside that stagnant impression none of his feelings belonged to him, nothing of his being was truly unique, remaining that horrible mirror … of reflection where his different features had to looking like his past --- by missing his only chance to becoming another name inside the name of Malfoy. Another giggle betrayed his lips. If his reputation of a tyrant inside Hogwarts was too much to handle for the students, they weren’t ready to having him as future God of the Underground inside the wizarding world --- being the one deciding, and show how tyrannical he can be otherwise. He was curious. Oh, he was really curious. ❝ Are you jealous of me? Are you envious of me? Are you the one standing each time with stars in the eyes by looking at me? ❞ Calmness was added inside these provocative questions, as he supposed it was positive. That inferiority complex, these possible desires swallowed back, he had been experiencing them before, still experiencing them harder that they could imagine. ❝ Reputation and wealth can be anchored.❞ What did he have? What kind of question was what? He was playing with his reputation. With his wealth, he didn’t have to care on the future. ❝ I have an confidential surprise for making sure I’m losing nothing. ❞ 

Oh, interesting answer! Meaning they weren’t all clinging towards the Known-It-All of the Gryffindor House! Well … his gaze cared more about what Potter was doing, his bad. No matter how he was searching to distracting his attention elsewhere, his attention always returned deeply focused over dear Potter. ❝ Oh, interesting! ❞ He offered a happy smile. Happiness was definitely inside his expression, as disconcerting it could be for them.  ❝ Such prideful sentence --- ❞ His reaction won’t be what they could have expected. Impressed? Maybe. Possibly. Probably. For sure, at the moment their form transformed, an spark of intense interest looked at them with an swallowed contentment, where expression of his smile almost turned fully inhuman --- as there was something he could dig inside their psyche. He knew, he was totally aware they had wanted to prove themselves worthy by showing him some proof … but how fast they releasing themselves was a treasure he will not waste. Himself was amused about how he automatically wanted becoming part of their conscience. Himself appreciated how he wanted becoming an slight fragment of their psyche. Waves of approval resonated still inside his gaze, as something truly honest at the moment, as a message that had to be exposed regardless current circumstances, having no consideration for how they might be troubled in consequence for his immediate acceptance. For their surprise, he won’t even comment of it. It was part of the surprise. It was part of butterfly he searched. ❝ You will have a hard time to convince me. ❞ Only these sentences were said carefully. In front of Illusions that could confirming everything, what kind of magic could be higher that it? What kind of magic can be better than him when he was shaping emperors and queens? What could be higher where he was the veil of the universe? What could be higher where he was every form inside the world? ❝ How much do you really understand magic? ❞ He answered another time amusingly and calmly, as he desired wanting more words on their part. Playfulness returned soon enough inside their features, larger than before. ❝ I didn’t buy myself an place inside this school. I’m here because it’s my stepladder for be the best  ---  though I would reconsidering the term best for describing Hogwarts … ❞ He laughed another time. ❝ Glad to know you are happy my future is all prepared for me I have nothing to bother! Isn’t wonderful? Having all the time for having fun for have only that to do of my time! ❞ He was an hard-worker and they probably knew that, about how they must had heard how he wanted to be excellent … as he was feeling incredibly bored by current lessons they received, about lowered magic they were involved with when he had to find that high magic himself. No returned poison was returned during such innocent sentences, as he didn’t care about the amusing attempted venom supposed to hurt him. ❝ My name is more interesting than your thoughts, another surprise! ❞ He mused playfully. ❝ Besides, if I listen to you, and have no identity on my own, I can be anyone I want, mh? ❞ Another laugh followed. ❝ Oh, sorry to inform you I do have real friends able to handle my bullshit, which I am deeply grateful for!❞ Without warning, a darkened gaze born inside his expression, watch them right into their eyes, always mockingly inside his next words. ❝ Do you want to keep me company? Are you begging me to becoming your real friend for making me feel less alone? ❞

               ˜”*°•.      Leave .  Leaving  was  perhaps  the  cleverest  option ,   the  only  way  to  not  give  the  other  the  reaction  he  so  desperately  craved .  However  it   was  impossible .  Every  single  word  that  escaped  Malfoy’s  lips  only  adding  to  the  fury ,  the  aversion .  This  was  exactly  what  he  wanted,  though,  wasn’t  it ?  Touch  a  nerve .  He  was  right .  They  wouldn’t  have  reacted  this  way  if  they  didn’t  care ,  if  there  wasn’t  indeed  a  nerve  to  touch  .  But  at  the  same  time,  maybe  he  was  wrong .  Maybe  it  was  his  face  just  asking  to  be  punched  and  their  good  heart  telling  them  to  give  Draco  what  he  so  desperately  yearned  for .  ❝ Talent  is  what  remains .  Reputation  and  wealth  can  be  lost,  and then  what  will  you  have  ?  ❞  This  was  the  difference  between  them .  Between  most  people  in  the   world ;  people  that  had  too  much  could  lose  it  all .  But  when  you  didn’t  have  anything  ?  You  could  only  earn .

An  eyeroll  was  all  given   upon  the  other’s  remark .  ❝ To  your  surprise  I  am  not . ❞  Granger  was  Granger  and  they  had  nothing  to  do  with  her .  Didn’t  particularly  like  her ,  didn’t  particularly  dislike  her .  They  had  their  friends ,  they’d  sneak  out  in  the  Forbidden  Forest  more  often  than  not  -  not  exactly  what  Granger  was  known  for .  Another  push  as  Draco  laughed  ;  oh  how  close  they  were  to  hexing  him  into  a  frog ;  they’d  be  much  more  useful  as  a  frog  anyway,  much  less  annoying  too.   ❝ I  understand  magic  better  than  you . ❞  The  words  echoed  abrupt  as  they  transformed  into  the  female  form  mostly  subconsciously  than  anything .  Mostly  because  subconsciousness  had  wanted  to  show  off  ,  to  prove  the  other  just  how  much  more  special  they  were  than  him .  ❝ What  about  you ?    Did  you  buy  yourself  a  place  in  this  school ?  Must  be  nice .  Doing  everything  with  your  dad’s  money . ❞  Words  that  came  hostile,  dripping  with  belligerence,  with  something  the  venomous .   ❝ Tell  me  this  Malfoy .  Do  you  like  it  ?  Having  no  name  of  your  own ,  being  none  but  your  father’s  son  .  Having  some  adopted  followers  pretending  to  be  your  friends  because  you  can’t  have  real   ones .   ❞ 

[hypewinter]

Tw for blood just in case

Danny stared up at the sky, for once grateful that he didn't have to breathe. If he did, he'd imagine it'd be very painful considering all the wounds that currently covered his body. He couldn't even remember who he had just fought. Between all the challengers to the throne and the "threats to the timestream" as CW put in, he couldn't keep count. They all kinda blurred together after the 5th fight. All he knew was that his body hurt. And I'm probably bleeding profusely he mused morbidly as he felt liquid trickle from his nose and down his cheek. He barely had time to recover between each fight before he was thrown into the next. Not that the recovery periods were any better. When he wasn't fighting, Danny was sorting through years of backlogged paperwork. His healing factor reflected his state of exhaustion by mending his broken body at an incredibly slow pace.

The young king closed his eyes as the sun set. I'm so tired he thought. With nothing else to do until he was healed enough to move, Danny began cataloguing things that needed to be done once he got back to the Infinite Realms. There was a territory dispute that definitely required his immediate attention. Oh! And then there's that annoying meeting with the observants. Eh, he had been putting that off for a while, what was a little more time. He had to pick his new royal guard. Something Fright Knight was quite insistent on. Ellie also wanted him to visit soon. Danny continued going through his mental checklist, deciding which things could be put off and which things needed to be done right away.

Satisfied with his list, Danny began drifting off. Why waste valuable sleep time right? Before he could fully succumb to sleep's sweet embrace though, a glowing green portal opened up just above him. Danny screamed internally, expecting another challenger to come through. He was currently physically incapable of fighting off another opponent right now and hoped that whoever came through would take pity on him. At the very least maybe they would let him recover his strength out of some sort of honor code? Who was he kidding? He knew the odds of either option happening were slim to none.

Tears slipped out of the boy's eyes as he prepared for his second death. "It was a good run I suppose." Danny croaked. Oh God! He can't believe those were going to be his last words. That was when the figure finally came through the portal to reveal.... Clockwork!? The time ghost blocked out Danny's view as he came close and observed the boy. Then he uttered one sentence "Take a break." With that, green flooded Danny's vision as he was portaled away somewhere, his consciousness slipping away.

--------

Superman stared at the boy in front of him. He lay unconscious in the grass and looked so peaceful one would think he was sleeping. Except for the blood. It was everywhere. Flowing freely from his body and soaking into the soil. Superman couldn't even tell what his original hair color was or what he was wearing because of all the blood. There was also the unnatural way some of his limbs were bent. In fact, the Kryptonian would have assumed the child was dead, had it not been the barely noticeable rise and fall of his chest.

Superman swallowed as he opened his comlink. "Get me Green Lantern and prepare the MedBay." He said as he crouched down. He wouldn't dare to move the kid without proper support. "Don't worry." He whispered, "It's going to be alright."

[stevesbestgirl]

Dreamweaver

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, a few curses, briefly mean!Morpheus, soulmate tattoo bs, I took liberties with the lore

A/N: I started this forever ago when I was dealing with some stuff with my brother, so if it feels like a self-insert 🤷‍♀️ (no descriptions of reader's appearance)

5775 words

"Dream."

Lord Morpheus, also known as Dream of the Endless, raised his head from his desk, where he was pouring over a book.

"Dream!"

He heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before standing.

"Dream of the Endless, I hold your sigil and I call to you."

"Yes Death, I am on my way to my gallery as we speak."

"Forget your gallery, come here."

Morpheus suppressed a sigh. But with a sound suspiciously like the flutter of a raven's feathers, Dream disappeared from his library, appearing instead beside his sister. Death's gaze did not waver; she appeared to be watching a young pair seated on a mattress on the floor of a simple bedroom. One, a young woman, seemed to be comforting the other, a young man with enough resemblance to be a sibling.

Dream spared only a quick glance, "Why am I here, sister?"

Death finally tore her gaze from the two mortals, "Can't you see it?"

Morpheus watched the pair again, unsure of what he was supposed to be seeing.

"Maybe I'm just bad. That's why she left." Dream could see the wisps of despair puffing up around the boy, evaporating like drops of water on a hot pan.

"You took the fall when I broke Mallory's lamp when we were ten. Don't tell me you're bad," the woman insisted despite her soft tone. "And nothing you did made Bella leave."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Dream's gaze swiveled back to his sister, "I am unsure what it is I should be seeing."

Death huffed impatiently, "Open your mind for just one moment and consider that a mortal may surprise you." When he still stared at her, his jaw growing tight with impatience, she rolled her eyes, "She's dream weaving, Dream. You of all people should be able to tell."

"The dream weavers died out hundreds of years ago."

Death grabbed her stubborn brother by the shoulder, twisting him to face the girl again, "Watch."

Dream watched, albeit a bit disdainful, as the young woman continued to speak. She offered musings about their past. Their childhood seemed to have been a difficult one. But she made jokes, reminiscing and reflecting on what they could learn- how they could create better for themselves. And then he saw it.

Human consciousness, all consciousness really, clung to the Dreaming with tethers. Needless to say, humans clung particularly closely compared to most other sentient life. Each dream, though they varied in strength, was a connection to the dreaming. When a being began to lose the will to live, those tethers weakened.

Her brother's tethers were weak; not quite on the brink of severing, but looking rather exhausted. And while it wasn't possible for her to strengthen the tethers- only their owner could do that, she was reinforcing their connection to the Dreaming. The dreams she was sharing were indeed woven into an intricate web, right on the cusp of his realm.

Her own web was vast, ethereal silver glimmering in elaborate knots and designs, each one a waking dream. This girl's very existence was tied up in his realm.

His only show of emotion was a small parting of his lips, but that was enough for Death. "I told you so."

Dream said nothing, watching the girl speak.

"What are you thinking, brother?" Death prompted, clearly awaiting some kind of response.

"It appears that a new age of Dreamweavers may be upon us, sister."

"Are you going to speak to her?"

"I suppose I am duty-bound to make contact. Soon, more like her will appear, if they haven't already. If they go on unsupervised, they could damage the realm."

Death cocked an eyebrow, "Why do you sound so reluctant? You've never had issue with dream weavers in the past, have you?"

"Not yet. But I have an odd feeling about this one."

*

After departing with Death, Morpheus tasked Matthew with keeping an eye on the girl. She stayed with her brother through the night, the pair of them departing early in the morning and returning a short while later with what appeared to be a third sibling.

Only once the two young men were in each other's company did the girl leave, returning to her own home a short distance away.

She seemed lost in her own thoughts as she puttered around the house, cleaning up odds and ends before changing into a tee-shirt and climbing into bed. Underneath her eyes, dark circles were beginning to swell. She was exhausted.

Morpheus almost felt bad for her; this sleep would not be as restful as she might be expecting.

*

Y/N always had vivid dreams, both waking and while asleep. But she immediately knew tonight was different. Dressed in nothing but her tee-shirt and underwear, her bare feet were chilled against the dark stone floor underfoot.

A shadowed figure sat in a throne at the head of the large room, as though waiting for her.

"Hello?" She took a hesitant step forward, hands clinging to the too-short hem of her tee-shirt, which was barely covering the tops of her thighs.

"Approach, Y/L, L/N."

She did as the voice instructed, stepping forward on unsteady legs. It was male, authoritative and nearly stern. But it wasn't aggressive, or even raised in volume. He simply spoke and expected compliance.

It was also beautiful, deeply toned and unrushed in its delivery. He had an accent she couldn't identify, her mind reeling with thoughts as she approached the throne, still cloaked in shadow.

She felt exposed, painfully aware of his gaze on her. She gave her shirt another nervous tug down, trying to make sure she was covered. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, "What is this place?"

The silence stretched, her fingers abandoning the hem of her shirt in favor of fidgeting with the cuticles of her fingernails. But her hands parted hastily and she sucked in a gasp as she suddenly found herself fully clothed in a pair of dark jeans, socks, boots, and a black jacket over her tee-shirt.

She was relieved for both the privacy and warmth granted by the clothes, but her heart was pounding at the magic, "Am I dreaming?"

The figure remained in shadow, "Yes," he confirmed. "But more importantly, you are in the Dreaming."

She blinked, willing her eyes to make out the figure in the dark as questions bubbled up inside her, "And that would make you-?"

He rose slowly from his chair, towering over her at his full height, somehow still shrouded in shadow, "I am Dream of the Endless, creator of the Dreaming, King of Nightmares."

It suddenly became quite clear to her as she gazed up at him that he wanted her to be intimidated. The question of why still loomed.

"King of Dreams then too, right?" She couldn't find it within herself to give him the reaction he wanted, king or no king.

His voice remained level, "Yes."

"Am I forbidden from laying eyes on the King of Dreams?" She cocked her eyebrow, only slightly, in a challenge. She took a step backwards, inviting him to step into the light.

There was another long pause before he answered, "No, you are not." But instead of moving, the shadows seemed to loosen, pale skin blooming behind the darkness until his face was wholly visible.

It seemed the perfect match for his voice, slim with sharp cheekbones and a shock of deep ebony hair. Long, dark lashes framed his eyes, which were dark, almost entirely black in a way that should have been eerie. But they glimmered like stars, little specks of light dancing deep within their depths and seeming to invite her inside. She felt as though she was falling forward until the darkness swallowed her up.

But inside was far from dark. It was a massive stretch of blackness, yes, but far from nothing. The black was a canvas, swirling with color and light and looking like entire galaxies.

A mess of incoherent thought washed over her, driving her own thoughts from her mind. The galaxy showed her a beautiful woman. She felt insecurity, fear, but also something warm and safe she could only describe as love. Then she saw the sun, but the sun as she'd never seen it before. The sun through the eyes of someone who couldn't go blind. And then came pain, rejection, grief-

"You should not be here."

Then she was back in the throne room, balled up on the floor, her cheeks wet with tears. She sat up, hastily wiping her cheeks, but Dream was already hauling her up by the shoulder of her tee-shirt, her extra layer of clothing stripped away in an instant, "You dare to invade my mind?" His dulcet tones were reduced to a mere hiss. "As the King of Dreams, it is my responsibility to warn you that if you or others like you meddle in the affairs of my realm, it will cost you dearly. It seems that every time I show compassion to a human, you are determined to make me regret it. Cross my path again and you will not receive such mercy a second time."

She wanted to plead with him, to make him understand that it had been an accident. She didn't even understand what she'd done- were those his thoughts?

His change in demeanor stung more than it should have. But his sudden rage combined with what little she'd seen made it clear he would not leave himself vulnerable to her, and perhaps for good reason.

"I apologize for any offense, it was not my intent. I will do my best not to get in your way again." She offered him a sad smile, "And I'm sorry for your suffering."

His eyes glimmered in a brooding smolder and then she found herself jolting awake in her bed, a sheen of sweat glittering on her skin. She made a half-hearted attempt to tell herself it had only been a dream, but there was no denying what she'd seen- what she'd felt.

She felt out of place going back to her everyday life, but her work wouldn't wait for her. And there was plenty left to do for her brother, so she put it behind her, hoping that whatever she had done to draw the King of Dreams' ire was a one-time thing. Their interaction had left a lingering bad taste in her mouth.

She had hoped that her responsibilities would drive the memory from the front of her consciousness, but it continued to creep up on her each time she had a moment to breathe, haunting her rare moments of rest with nightmares. She suspected the King of Nightmares was wholly capable of sentencing her to a lifetime of nighttime terrors, but she wasn't convinced this was his intention. But if she was connected to Dream, as he'd called himself, the only way to fix it would be to visit the Dreaming again.

And now she was thinking about it again. She gave herself a shake; she had another long night ahead of her. So she turned up the music in her car and left for her brother's apartment.

*

"I thought I might see you back here, brother." Death looked smug as Dream appeared beside her in the same place they'd watched from last time.

"And why are you here again, Death?"

"To catch you in the act, obviously."

Dream made a disapproving noise at her joke, but didn't press further. He watched as she and her brother played a video game together. He'd done some reading in her book after her uninvited foray into his mind, though mostly out of spite. It had done nothing to reassure him that he'd acted appropriately.

Her childhood had not been an easy one. Teenage parents, poverty, and drug use had rendered her functional guardian to her two younger siblings at a young age. Once he arrived at the abuse resulting from her first romantic relationship, he'd stopped reading.

The two Endless watched for quite some time before speaking again, but surprisingly to Death, it was Dream who broke the silence. "Why are you truly here, sister?"

"It is part of my responsibilities to check on the humans whose ties grow weak."

"Do you spend this long on every one?"

She huffed a sigh, "No." Stealing a glance at Y/N, she admitted, "When she weaves the dreams, that strengthens the connection, giving a weak tie more time to recover."

Dream tipped his head, "Yes, as you explained last time."

"I'm starting to suspect that the dream she's woven around the center tether may be permanent."

"Is such a thing possible?"

"I don't know. Like you said, this could be a new kind of dream weaver." They both watched her laugh, drawing a laugh from her brother as well. "I wish I could just ask her what she's capable of."

Dream looked back on the way the girl had collapsed in his throne room, realization making his stomach sink, "She is unaware of her abilities."

"As far as I can tell." At Dream's silence, Death glanced at him sharply, "Why do I get the sense that you may have done something foolish?"

Dream was silent, reassessing his interaction with this new information. He'd brought her into his realm, exposed and confused, then put on a show of being intimidating and immediately lost his temper, resorting to threats and expulsion.

He refused to feel shame over actions taken to protect his realm, but he couldn't identify the strange pit that seemed to have opened in his gut. She likely thought him a monster, a nightmare himself instead of their king.

"Dream, what did you do?"

Death's voice broke him from his stupor, though he kept his gaze on the girl, "I brought her to my realm and lost my temper."

Death couldn't suppress an eye roll, but Dream didn't seem to notice, "What was it this time?"

"I suspect one of those new abilities allows her access to memory."

There was a long pause. "She got inside that thick skull of yours?"

Dream broke his gaze to send his sister a scathing look, "Yes."

Death sent her an appraising glance, "She seems to be holding up rather well, all things considered." It was meant to be a joke, but Dream thought the circles under her eyes were damning.

"You are typically far slower to admit you are wrong, so I ask you again, brother, what are you doing here?"

"After my meeting with the girl, I spent an entire evening working on new dreams and nightmares. It was the best work I've done in ages."

Now Death did smirk, "She inspired you then? Is she your latest muse?"

"My days of muses are behind me, sister. Aside from the fact that she is a mortal, my realm needs my full attention."

"Of course, brother."

*

That night, when Y/N fell asleep in her bed, she found herself back in the throne room. Muttering a curse under her breath, she stood, grateful that she'd slept in a pair of shorts this time.

"Approach, Y/N."

She did not obey the voice this time, stubbornly remaining in place and gazing resolutely into the dim light, which was only slightly improved from her first visit.

A moment, then two, passed before there came a sigh. "Very well." Several long strides later the King of Dreams had left his throne to stand before her. She avoided his eyes, afraid to repeat her mistakes.

"Dream King."

"Yes, I suppose I deserve that as well."

Tipping up her chin, she nodded, "You do." She seemed to catch herself, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what I did to end up back here."

"I brought you here- in both instances. You've done nothing wrong, I have realized too late."

She was stunned. She hesitantly met his gaze, relieved when her feet remained planted on the floor.

Dream held his expression steady and nodded, "I apologize for my prior behavior."

She surprised herself by tipping her head, "Thank you." She chewed her lip for a moment, "I'm sorry too. For before. I'm really not sure how I did it."

She knew she didn't have the leverage to flaunt a grudge against the Kind of Dreams. She was pleased with her own politeness, but she would not trust easily.

Dream was silent for a long pause, "What exactly did you see?"

She looked away, "Not much. A woman- a beautiful woman. The sun. And I felt-" His eyes seemed to pull her gaze back in, "I felt some of your pain, I think."

"I apologize."

Her brow furrowed, "For your suffering?"

He shook his head, "For yours, at my hands. We have much to discuss, but you will not struggle with nightmares from tonight on."

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile, "So, I can rest assured?"

Dream either didn't catch the pun or was ignoring it, nodding, "You may. Now come, have a seat." He led her back toward his throne, where a small tea table and a wooden chair sat on the dais beside his own.

She waited, watching him take his seat on the throne before she sat on the wooden chair, ruefully thinking of her own chair at home. And then it was her chair she was sitting in. No sound or movement accompanied the change, it simply was.

Dream raised an eyebrow, as if challenging the action, "Did you just alter the Dreaming?"

Face flushing with warmth, she stumbled over her words, "Not with intention."

His gaze seemed inquisitive, "Have you always manipulated the Dreaming so skillfully?"

She raised a brow, a reluctant smile forming at the corner of her mouth, "I'm not sure that was a compliment."

"Simply an observation."

"Sounds a bit sinister though, doesn't it? 'Manipulating the Dreaming.'"

"What would you call it if someone were to create their own clay sculpture on a block already used by someone else?" Dream wasn't offended by the action so much as he was curious.

"If it serves a new function, I would call it repurposing," she replied thoughtfully.

There was a long pause, "Indeed." She couldn't decipher his tone. "What if I told you that the person who made the original sculpture also created the clay? And that the only clay that would ever exist was his creations."

She sobered up a little, "I'm sorry if I've ruined your work. Once again, not my intention. I have a lot to learn about your realm."

His gaze trailed over the chair she'd conjured, noting the details. The golden colored thread in the stitching that glinted in the dim light of the throne room. The slight wear to the fabric around the arms. Dreams were often vague, even half-formed, because mortals struggled to shape the Dreaming. But Dream suspected he'd find a perfect match to this chair if he were to visit her home.

"Clay is never ruined for having been used for creation. However, some do not take kindly to their working being- repurposed. But that is what I brought you here to discuss."

She gave him a nod, "I'm listening."

His dark gaze seemed to pierce her, "You are something known as a dream weaver. Historically, dream weavers used their abilities to tether many humans to the same dream."

She blinked at him, expression blank for a long time, "I don't mean any disrespect, but could you be mistaken?"

"I could be, but my sister is almost certainly not."

"Your sister?"

"Death."

She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that had grown thick and slow.

"Why would you want humans to have the same dreams?"

"Back in the early days of human development, human dreams were chaotic and disorganized. Dream weavers helped drive human development by uniting many humans under the same dream."

"Dreams affect human development?"

That drew a surprising chuckle from the Dream King, "Dreams are human development. The world exists as it is because of dreams- because of the Dreaming." There was a marked note of pride in his voice at that.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"So like, the depths of the ocean and all the scary stuff down there was all dreamed up by humans?" He nodded. "What about space- the entire greater solar system? Is any of that real?"

"Created by dreams, but very real." She took a moment to process that, stifling a sigh. "You are displeased?" Dream raised a curious brow.

"That's a very human-centric reality. I kind of liked it when we were just little specks of dust among the vastness of the uncharted cosmos."

The corner of his mouth lifted in almost a smile, "You still are. But only because humans have dreamed it so."

"How have we survived this long? It seems to me that human beings have a tendency to destroy more than we create."

"Humans can be very destructive. But they are also very clever. No other species has demomstrated such an capability to dream up solutions to its problems like humans."

"So like, climate change. The solution to all of the pollution, to the whole climate crisis, exists?"

"Not exactly. It may or may not exist now. But it could exist if enough humans were to dream of it."

She rested her head in her palm, forcing a breath; she was starting to get light headed. This was overwhelming. Her next breath did not come as easily as the first, a fact not unnoticed by the Dream King.

"Are you alright?"

"I-" she swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump in her throat, "I think I'm having a panic attack."

Dream calmly reached out and brushed his hand over her forehead, his intent to soothe her distress. Instead, a sharp spike of heat burst through his palm, quickly going icy. He heard her gasp, but couldn't tear his gaze away as the trails of ice left behind dark lines of deep purple criss-crossing over his wrist.

"What the fuck?" Her voice was barely over a whisper, the only evidence of distress the high-pitched strain that overtook her tone. Tearing his eyes from his hand, he saw the same design decorating her hand in a blue so dark it was almost black.

Her wide-eyed gaze flicked up to his, "Did you-" She left the question unfinished, not wanting to make an accusation and unsure of what to ask even if she did.

"No."

"Do you know what this is?"

"No." His voice had gone cold and hard, just like it had been their first time meeting. Her eyes flicked back to the lines marking her skin and Dream saw the panic begin to rekindle in them.

After only a split second of hesitation, he pressed his palm to her forehead again, "Sleep, now. We will speak again soon."

Her eyes grew cloudy, but she fought against his magic with surprising vigor, "No- the- n-nightmares-"

Dream's hand seemed to slide down over her cheek to cup her face of its own accord as her eyes started to glisten with fear, "You will suffer no bad dreams tonight, Dreamweaver."

And as she faded from his realm, her consciousness joining her body in sleep, Death's words about the girl's resilience to seeing inside his head echoed again. But the lines swirling over his wrist stretched from his fingertips all the way up his forearm, nearly to the elbow, demanding his attention. They were delicate, weaving together and knotting at the crossroads between, like a tangle of flower stems and intricate lace. And at the apex of it all, the palm of his hand had an empty circle at the center.

As he stared at the mark on his hand, Dream of the Endless felt something he was neither accustomed to or fond of- he felt lost.

*

"You look like a kicked puppy today, brother," Death remarked, not breaking pace on her way to the next destination. The city street seemed to blur behind her, though her pace appeared normal. Dream's long strides quickly made up the distance, though he said nothing.

Death's raised eyebrow slowly lowered as she noticed the markings on his hand. "It appears that congratulations are in order."

The frown lines on his face only seemed to grow more pronounced.

"Unless-"

"Unless." Dream was unamused.

"Unless you are not pleased to have found your soulmate."

If he were mortal, those words might have rung in his ears, the vibrations enough to make everything he'd known crumble. But they were not enough because he was not mortal and he did not have a soulmate.

"You believe such foolishness, sister?"

"You are so confident it is foolish with the evidence staring you right in the face?"

"This?" He raised his right hand, "This is not evidence. I have never encountered such delusion in any text or reading-"

"And you will not. But if you sought out the people who can remember the farthest back in human history, they would remember."

"If it is so certain, why is it not documented?" Dream sounded annoyed that it was becoming more difficult to be skeptical.

"It is. But it has been changed in writings, splintered and embellished, transformed into something not quite the same. They never quite get it right. But they dream of it. Surely you have seen that."

"I have. Yet I have never met a mortal with markings like this."

Death suppressed a chuckle at his determination to disprove her theory, "I myself have not seen a soul mate marking in a long time. But they exist. I suspected as soon as you'd told me the girl got in your head."

"I suppose that was a sign as well," he mused bitterly.

"Yes, it was. Why are you so determined not to believe, Morpheus? You aren't usually the type to ignore evidence. I thought you would be happy."

"Happy at a cruel joke? Even if I accepted this as truth, it is clearly the result of Desire's interference once again."

Death shook her head, "Soul mates go even beyond Desire."

"Then why is my soul mate a human?" he demanded. "Am I meant to destroy human-kind in my pursuit of happiness, sister?" He knew he was being unfair, demanding such answers from his sister, but he would not allow her to light the hope inside him. He would not have what he wanted, that much he knew.

"Of course you aren't. I don't have all the answers, Dream. But be patient. They will make themselves clear over time."

That was not what he wanted to hear. "Thank you, sister. I must go." And he did, leaving Death alone just as a sigh fell from her lips.

*

All day long, Y/N got remarks about the lines twisting up her wrist. After a night of blissfully peaceful sleep, she woke up feeling refreshed, taking a moment to examine the designs that had followed her from her dreams.

The lines had filled in more since while she slept. What had been dainty lines had thickened to nearly an eighth of an inch- she'd measured. What was more, the deep, rich blue that had made up the original color was deeper now, with glimmers of royal purple, black, and the occasional glint of something golden- like a raven's wings.

The lines seemed to connect at every possible juncture. The empty circle at the heart of her palm seemed like the center, although she didn't quite understand why.

There was a lot she didn't understand; why did she have a tattoo at all? It wasn't exactly normal to wake up with new ink. And based on the Dream King's reaction, it was also not normal for ancient royalty to find themselves with a flash tattoo. But she would hopefully get more answers tonight.

She was embarrassed- mortified actually, at the way she'd freaked out last night. But she had to go back. He'd called her a Dreamweaver, whatever that meant.

But when she climbed into bed that night, she tossed and turned, anxious thoughts keeping her mind active. She felt a strange sense of trepidation whenever she visited the Dreaming; she wasn't exactly in a hurry to piss off the Dream King any more than she already had at their first meeting. But more concerning than the shadow of fear was the sliver of excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.

Despite her efforts to convince herself it was the remnants of the dream, muddling her emotions, even now she could feel his pull. She could practically feel him waiting for her on the other side of her consciousness. And when she finally did drift off to sleep, she never reached a state of rest.

Instead, she found herself seated in the chair she had left behind the night before in the throne room of what she presumed was the Dream Castle. Dream was waiting for her, his throne no longer shrouded in shadow. In fact, the whole throne room was warm and well-lit, her breath catching as she gazed around at the stunning architecture.

"Did you sleep well?" Dream's voice broke her stupor, somehow managing to catch her off guard.

"What?" Her head snapped to the throne, where he was waiting.

She watched the corner of his mouth curl up in a faint smirk, "You were concerned about nightmares, if I recall."

"Oh. No- yes, I um, slept fine." She wasn't sure why she was so flustered.

Dream let out a low hum, "Excellent."

She wasn't sure what to say, especially since Dream hadn't seemed to be in the best temper when she'd been here last. She had questions, starting with what had happened to her arm and ending with what the hell it actually meant to be a Dreamweaver.

"I'm sure you have questions."

She nodded, "A couple, yes."

"I will answer to the best of my ability."

Though her gaze lingered on the marks on her arm, the words that came out were, "What do I need to know about being a Dreamweaver?"

Dream was pensive before answering, "You must remember that the Dreaming, no matter how it responds to you, is my realm. What I say goes." You had to consciously suppress the shiver that wanted to rattle you at the intense way he held your gaze while he spoke.

She nodded, "You mentioned others- who may not take kindly to my abilities."

That elicited another pause, "That question leads to many more questions. Rest assured, I will provide an overview on my siblings, but not tonight."

She bit back the torrent of follow-ups and asked instead, "Are there more like me?"

He gave his head a solemn shake, "There were a great many Dreamweavers at one point in time. But eventually they stopped emerging and died out."

"No immortality then, I take it?" She was only joking, but he shook his head seriously. She suddenly felt shy meeting his eyes, "Are you immortal?"

He cocked his head like he was determining her intentions, "Not as you might think. I am not mortal- I do not age, grow old, or die by natural causes. Though it is exceedingly difficult, I can be killed."

The silence seemed to stretch as she processed what she had just learned. Everything should have seemed overwhelming- she shouldn't believe it. But she could feel the truth of it.

Finally, she held up a clenched fist, her eyes on the dark lines glistening in the light, "What is this?"

Dream was silent for so long that she almost asked again, but he finally said softly, "It is a soul bond."

Her gaze flicked to his eyes; the dancing lights there seemed to be waiting for her reaction. Then it fell to his own left hand, where the matching lines seemed so much more elegant on his pale skin.

"What does that mean?" She asked even though she already suspected.

"I do not know." That caught her off guard; she expected him to know everything. He certainly seemed to know more than she did.

She surprised him by asking, "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

He'd expected her to push for more information. "Have you always had these abilities?"

She offered a chagrined smile, "I didn't even know I had abilities, to be honest."

"You are quite skilled."

He made a vague hand gesture and she wasn't sure what he'd done. Then she caught a glimpse of light above her head, her mouth falling open at the intricate web of silvery white that seemed to hover over her head. She didn't quite understand how she had created this masterpiece of dreams, but she believed him.

It took her a moment to realize that he had paid her a compliment, "Oh- thank you." Her face felt a bit hot. "I have another question." At his nod, she continued, "Will I see you again?"

She couldn't explain it, since his eyes were so difficult to read, but he seemed pleased as he mulled that over, "You are not bound to me; you are free to go back to your life. But should you have need of the Dreaming, it is always here. I trust you can make your way back."

She couldn't place why she felt as though he were flirting with her; he clearly avoided expressing any kind of desire to see her again of his own volition.

She felt the urge to admit she wanted to see him again, grateful to her own good sense for stopping her before the words formed. Dream hadn't spelled out what kind of being he was to her, but she knew he was likely high above whatever a 'soul bond' meant. He was the definition of being out of someone's league.

So she nodded her head, "Thank you, Dream King."

A beat of silence. "Morpheus. You may call me Morpheus."

Her lips curled into a half-smile, "Thank you, Morpheus."

He wasn't prepared for how his name sounded when spoken from her lips. She wasn't prepared for the soft smile that graced his handsome face. Even solemn, he was beautiful. But a smile, faced directly at her- because of her- it was like knowing the sun was shining because of her.

She was so unprepared that she blinked, waking up in her own bed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. A wave of emotions washed over her; loss, frustration, hope, longing. She felt desperate to fall back asleep, to see that smile grace Morpheus' face again. But if that was going to happen, she would have to go to him.

[helldenizen]

Here's a masterpost for John Doe so he can be a part of @smallartistocbracket

I'm sorry in advance for all my description and text, I'm god awful with writing text and whatever I made up is kinda difficult for me to articulate. If there’s something you don’t get from this description, or have some general questions about John Doe(or my other characters) you’re free to ask!

They are an eldritch being who despite their pretty grim nature, generally is pretty chill. What makes them quite different from other eldritch beings is that they developed a genuine interest in humans. This is also why they have a pretty consistent human body avatar, which they use to interact with people and just hang around in the deep forest of their realm.

His powers are “Delusion” and “Lost”(explanations for those under read more)

Some bullet point facts:

They use any pronouns, but prefer they/him.

They managed to befriend one human, who is a conspiracy theorist and cryptozoology enthusiast(and who is also my other OC: Irwing Pasternak)

Their favorite animals are maggots(and he's generally really like insects, bugs and worms)

Their current avatar body is 188 cm(6’2 ft)

John kinda doesn't understand the way humans communicate with speech properly. So their speech patterns and intonation are all over the place. He doesn’t use intonation on the whole sentence, instead he uses it on every single word. He uses different intonation for every word, and he also makes small pauses between words.  (and that’s apart from them obviously, not understanding some social norms , a.k.a. “things you aren’t supposed to speak with others about”)

Smile is kinda the “default” of his face. It’s also important that no matter the expression he makes, their mouth will always be kinda open.

More info(and art) under the cut:

There’s quite a lot of things I made up about him, but a lot of them are related to other characters and aren't polished enough, so I will write some essentials.

What’s his “Delusion” power?

John Doe is one of four “eternal lies” siblings, and his birth name is Delusion. Though the name doesn’t represent what they are as a whole. John “Delusion” Doe represents the way consciousness affects and interacts with itself. Reflection, Imagination, and everything physiological(and psychiatric) is in his prerogatory, no matter how exactly it affects someone. You can say they kinda “keep” all those things in reality.

What’s their “Lost” power?

But there is more. First, a little background. You see, in my made up universe eldritch beings either spawn into existence themselfs or they are created by another one. If an eldritch being decides to create another one it is expected to do so alone. And that's how it went until John Doe, they were created by two pretty different beings. That’s why he’s responsible for two quite different powers.

“Lost” power makes things, well, get lost. But it’s not just power, it’s kinda the way he “feeds”, and is similar to what is breathing for humans — they are constantly “doing” it, can control the rate and some other factors to an extent, but most importantly, they can’t just stop it.

What can get “Lost”? Everything: humans, animals, plants, different inanimate objects, even information. 

But very basically, getting “Lost”, is being sent to John’s realm, and the consequences of being there. You see, the more you’re in this realm the more information about you is being erased from existence. So even if you get out of there(which is possible), you can find out that your friends and family don’t remember and even legal documents regarding you. If you spend enough time in the realm you will start losing memories yourself, and the end result of this is that you stop existing altogether. Though it’s highly unlikely that you will survive long enough to enter that stage, because this “Lost” realm is pretty dangerous.

On how his avatar body is made

Oh…um…buckle up with this one. And I think this one can be kinda distressing (yea this one, not the whole “Lost” realm stuff). 

You see John can't just create a body for themself out of nothing, he must use something for it. And the thing is, he can only use something that is lost in his realm. If he wants to look human… well… while it is technically doesn't matter if someone/something is alive for him to "use their matter" John really doesn't like the idea of actively killing someone, so he just waits for them to die… and he uses human corpses… and, like, he can just overtake it or "stitch" body from several corpses, but he learnt how to deform body matter that he “owns” to some extent… their avatar body is like, a corpse amalgamation. 

So, basically, what I'm saying, is that his body tone appears purplish, for a reason.

John also struggles with keeping eyes solid because of this, so they don’t actually recreate human eyes with their form. Instead he either makes you see(makes you hallucinate, basically) purple and yellow irises in place of eyes or just normal eyes(that depends on the situation). But mostly, they just wear shades.

[amxrany]

The World on the Other Side of the Mirror

WARNING THIS IS A VERY LONG POST AND ALSO CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM CHAPTER 6 AND SPECULATIONS ABOUT CHAPTER 7

Once again this is just my theories/speculations, they may be right or wrong but it all depends on you on what you're going to do with the information my potato brain came up with (also this was supposed to be posted a long time ago but my thoughts were so scattered so 😅)

(Translations are from Otome Ayui and ガスマスクゲーマー/Gasmask on Youtube)

So watching the translations for Chapter 6, it can be noted that Mickey appears a lot more in this chapter. In the scene where Epel and Yuu chase after Rook, Mickey appears and says this...

(From Otome Ayui on Youtube)

After all that it also shows scenes of Grim getting taken away to STYX and Ace and Deuce in the infirmary.

The next part where Mickey appears once again is near the end of Chapter 6, where everything was resolved, and we see Mickey again through the mirror. We were also about to show to Grim that Mickey was real but Grim also says that there's nothing reflecting onto the mirror...

(From ガスマスクゲーマー/Gasmask on Youtube)

Mickey also found it strange that he can't see Grim either, only us. He also states that he can only see fog around us, Mickey then proceeds to describe how his room looks like and ask us if we can see it...

(From ガスマスクゲーマー/Gasmask on Youtube)

But since we're on the same case as Mickey where we can only see fog around him, we say no. He was sad that he can't meet more friends in his dream. And then Mickey proceeds to tell us that while we're away he saw someone in his dream room, he also described how they looked like...

(From ガスマスクゲーマー/Gasmask on Youtube)

After that part we hear an alarm going off with Mickey saying he needs to wake up. Mickey then says his goodbyes and him wanting to meet again before leaving which causes to think "Is the other side of the mirror a dream world?"

Now let's go to my theories/speculations:

Let me break this down into parts so that it's easier for me and you to understand:

About Mickey

The Person Who Appeared in Mickey's Dream Room and The Dream World as a Whole

What Will Happen in Chapter 7

1. About Mickey

So now we know how important Mickey is especially in the future parts of the story. But with the things he's been saying throughout Chapter 6 such as wanting to help us find Grim and wanting to make new friends made me think...

Could it be possible for Mickey to find a way into Twisted Wonderland?

It was mentioned at the very beginning of this post that Mickey wanted to help us but he couldn't, so wouldn't there be a possibility that when we're in grave danger Mickey will find his way into Twisted Wonderland? Like Mickey could possibly help us in fighting OB! Malleus, heck maybe even OB!Grim.

2. The Person Who Appeared in Mickey's Dream Room and The Dream World as a Whole

As of right now we don't have that much information about the Dream World other than Mickey's Dream Room and how it was the first time that someone enters his room. Based off Mickey's description, there's only one person who fits the description of "silver hair and mysterious eye color" which happens to be Silver (Mickey why you gotta make our lives harder with the mysterious eye color part 😭), which meant that Silver most likely ended up in Mickey's room in his sleep.

However, since we do know that Silver has his curse/narcolepsy, how did he only end up in Mickey's room now even though he sleeps a lot?

The answer to that question would most likely be that Silver was probably in a deep sleep after the fight with the Charon. He most likely wasn't fighting his sleep anymore which caused his consciousness to move somewhere else. Now this is where it gets interesting...

How did Silver end up in the Dream World of all places?

This would most likely connect to Silver's magic. It's possible that Silver could go into different dream realms or dreamwalk. It is also noted that Silver mentioned he saw us before in a dream, which could either mean he actually saw us in a dream he had or it's just a reference to "Once Upon a Dream". A lot of people also speculated that Silver also has the same dreams as us about the Great Seven.

How come Mickey can see Silver but he couldn't see Grim?

Once again that is most likely because Silver was in Mickey's dream room, not in our actual room or Silver might actually be from another world, since Mickey can also see us, who's not from Twisted Wonderland. Well not necessarily from our world, he could be from another world that we don't even know of. Maybe Silver's ability of dreamwalking is seen as unusual or dangerous in Twisted Wonderland but in the world he was supposedly in, it was normal?

Another thing I thought about is how Silver can help Mickey end up in Twisted Wonderland to help us. Since Silver can travel from the dream world to Twisted Wonderland, Mickey might go with him.

I also have a question clouding my mind for awhile which is...

Is it possible for someone to be stuck in the Dream World?

3. What Will Happen in Chapter 7

Now we do know a lot of things will be brought into light during Chapter 7 (which means a lot of suffering and angst). The biggest topic Chapter 7 would tackle would be about human mortality. We know that Malleus and Lilia are both faes, which means that they'll eventually outlive everyone. Lilia has seen a lot of things in his lifetime (such as the war, serving the queen etc.) but for the case of Malleus, who only saw the castle walls his entire life and when he was the given the opportunity to go out and create relationships with humans, he was treated as an outcast.

Another factor to consider is our friendship with Malleus. We can't forget that we landed in Twisted Wonderland by accident and we're now fighting overblots and all that stuff while trying to find a way back home. For Malleus, we are literally his first friend outside Diasomnia so of course we would be really important to him. But if he gets the news that we're going back home, he wouldn't probably take it well.

Speaking of finding a way home, if Silver's UM or magic in general involves the ability of going through the Dream World and its different realms, then there could be a possibility that Silver can be the key into bringing us back home. Cuz think with me here, Twisted Wonderland as a whole feels like a dream right? Like beasts, flying brooms and magic all feel like a dream, and if Silver can actually go into different realms or whatever then he must have seen our world . Another factor could be the arrangement of dorms by chapter, well more importantly Chapter 1 and Chapter 7. Heartslabyul's story was Alice in Wonderland which is about Alice entering Wonderland, a dream, while Diasomnia's story is Sleeping Beauty, which can be related to waking up from a dream where Aurora is awoken by Prince Philip and they live their happy ever after.

If that's the case, then Malleus would try to prevent that from happening by putting everyone to sleep or perhaps out of blind rage, he unknowingly tries to kill Silver to prevent us from going home, or both could happen who knows. Now before you attack me on the killing Silver part we do know that murder is possible right? Leona tried to kill Ruggie when he OBed and Jamil really tried to murder Kalim to free himself from his servant title so that is possible as well.

If Malleus actually puts everyone to sleep then there's a chance that we might need to go the dream world and enter each of the boy's dreams to wake them up. One more thing I like to think about is what if Malleus breaks the mirror, which causes those who are in the other side of it to be stuck there until someone can find a way out. Their bodies will remain unconscious in Twisted Wonderland until their conciousness finds a way out of the mirror...

But what will happen to the other characters such as Sebek, Lilia, and Shroud Brothers?

The most common theory I've seen for Sebek is that he'll most likely be against yadi yadi yada and all that stuff. While that is possible, I highly doubt it honestly. I really want Sebek to get smacked with character development, that he's more than just a guard of Malleus, but he can also be his own person instead of just patronizing someone so much to the point it's kinda getting out of hand. Sebek is also an easily misunderstood character (I swear some of ya'll don't read his vignettes and it shows), I just really hope that Chapter 7 will explore more about his personality outside of Malleus and his personal issues, especially with his half and half thing going on and his mindset about humans, which is most likely caused by his environment. Sebek's motif is also unclear, so maybe he'll possess multiple motifs such as Maleficent's lightning and Shield of Virtue to correspond with Silver's Sword of Truth.

Ok now for Lilia, I'll be honest I'm quite unsure as to what will happen to peepaw. Yes he does set off a lot of death flags, but the "last wish" part could be interpreted as something else as well. It could mean that it will be last time Lilia will wish to the stars because there is now someone who will be the solution to that problem, which is most likely us. Lilia dying is still possible though, since a lot of games do kill off characters yet still make them playable, but then again this is also Disney so if they do kill him off, they'll most likely revive him out of nowhere so who knows 🤷‍♀️.

I absolutely love how smart it was for the creators to let Ignihyde help us for Chapter 7. Since Chapter 6 tackles about Death and Chapter 7 is a deeper dive into said topic, which is perfect, really. Idia knows what's it like to lose someone, and it was sudden too. So Idia would probably smack some sense into Malleus, telling him that he still has people who accept and love him for who he is, and that he should cherish them because you'll never know how important they'll become once he loses them. Since goodbyes are inevitable, it would be best to spend your time with them as if it's your last time together.

Ortho would also play a significant role in helping us defeat Malleus. If everyone is put to sleep, then Ortho probably isn't affected by it because he's a humanoid robot, and robots don't need sleep. Technology is also something Malleus isn't familiar with, so that can be used as a weakness in fighting. In terms of fighting Malleus...

Wouldn't it be more sad and painful that instead of Silver delivering the final blow, it will be us doing it? How sad will it be that Malleus's only friend is the one who has to smite him down...

But that is all for this post thank you so much for reading and making it this far 🙇‍♀️ You can also send in your own questions or theories in my inbox, since it's currently open. I will try my best to answer any of your questions and I would also like to listen to your speculations as well 😊. May the world prepare us for the emotional roller coaster of sadness, pain and suffering which is Chapter 7.

[windvexer]

Hello chicken, I read on Tumblr that you can die on the astral plane... But I haven't understood properly what it means. If you die there, what happens to the soul? What about the body? If you can't go back to your body, do you fall into a coma?

Thank you for your time.

Hello!

Yes, you can, but you'd really have to work at it. I've spent hundreds of hours in the astral, much of it doing pretty stupid shit, and never been at risk of having my astral body die.

What happens to you depends on the specific definitions of what we're talking about.

For example, I believe in a difference between astral bodies and souls. I do not believe people send their actual souls out when they astral travel. They are basically sending out a copy of themselves into which they have temporarily transferred their focus and attention, almost like an avatar in a video game.

This focus and attention can be mild and low in intensity (as when someone is only partially focused on the astral, but also doing things in their day to day lives), or it can be extremely focused and intense (as when someone loses all awareness of their physical bodies).

However, regardless of focus, all that is dying is an energetic avatar. Your consciousness is still safely rooted inside of your physical body.

We also have to question what we're talking about when we say "astral". The type of astral most people go to is unable to inflict physical harm on our physical bodies. You can absolutely have traumatic experiences, which give you memories of being harmed, but that harm often fails to reflect upon our physical bodies.

There is a method of sending your consciousness out not into a faraway astral realm, but directly into our own world. There is some amount of precedent to suggest that traveling through our world is more physical in general (physical world, physical experiences I suppose) and by moving through the etheric layer of our planet, injury may be much easier to come by. Reports of receiving actual injury or harm while traveling in the "middle world" seem to be more common. Consider old stories where a hare was shot, and they went to the suspected witch's house to find an injury on her person in the exact same space. As to actual death, I do not know.

It is sometimes believed that if your consciousness cannot find its way back into your body (whether or not you consider consciousness to be the same thing as 'soul'), then yes, your body will be in a coma-like state. I recall one account by a woman who practiced advanced dreamwork, and became lost in the dream world and lay asleep, unable to be woken up by anyone, for many hours until she was able to navigate her way back.

However, neither dreamwork nor skin-walking are "astral travel" in the popular sense. The "get relaxed and imagine yourself going through a door" type of travel is very unlikely to bring harm to anyone in and of itself, unless you choose to involve yourself in unsavory situations while on the other side of the door.

[ladywhistleclown]

Benedict Bridgerton x M!Reader: Valentines Fools

Summary: Benedict does something special. Word Count: 3334 A/N: I read this post about Valentines in Regency England, and found it so interesting that I had to write about it. of course, I made it gay. duh. Also, I wrote the ‘poem’ later myself, but its inspired by many LGBT poets/writers from history who wrote poems like it, about hope for future LGBT folks, just very simplified. This is some of my best work, and I don’t want it to get snubbed just because its not f/m, so like, give it a chance! MLM fic is also fun :) Enjoy! Warnings: Fluff, Drinking, Giggly men doing giggly men things (being stupid) -- Valentines Day, in your mind, was a rather dreadful event. Ladies and Lords spent days agonizing over hand-made letters, writing disgusting poetry about love, or rejection. You had never partaken in the act, partly because you had never had anyone to write to, and partly because even if you had, you had neither the patience nor skill to craft such detailed notes of devotion. You thought it best to leave such things to artists and ladies, of which you were neither. This year was only slightly different. After having met Benedict at Lord Granville's, striking up conversations about art, women, and your places in society, you had developed a rather strange relationship, one that you would almost call a courtship, if it wasn’t so clearly an impossibility. Benedict simply wanted to explore something new, something outside the realm of society and expectations, and you, lovesick fool that you were, happily obliged him. It was nothing more than attraction and curiosity. Second son or not, Benedict could never marry a man. Even if he wanted to.

At least you could drown yourself in booze at Lord Granville's. He was a good listener, with even better advice, and you knew that he understood exactly your pain. It was here you found yourself, a day before Valentines, throwing down your sixth beer and lamenting to Granville, who sat patiently by your side. “Society is not kind to those like us.” You sighed, running the tip of your index finger along the outer edge of your glass, staring blankly at it, as though if you drank enough, the answers would appear in the liquor. “No, it isn’t. But we are kind to each other, and ourselves.” He replied, looking over you with pity. You had never been much of a drinker, not for as long as Granville had known you, but your infatuation with Benedict had brought it out in you, and he wondered if it was a mistake to invite the Bridgerton boy here, if it caused an old friend to suffer in a way that was very familiar and personal to him. He knew the pain of impossible love too well, and saw himself reflected in your morose state. “Of course. You’re too kind to me, Granville. I talk your ear off about my foolish troubles with Bridgerton, but never think to ask of yours.” “I am not nearly as troubled as you are. And as I said, we must look out for each other, as the ton certainly will not.” he lifted up his own drink, pausing just before it reached his lips to glance at you, “Perhaps I should dis-invite Bridgerton from future events?” “Oh hell, Granville, don’t torture the man on my account. He enjoys the art and the company, and besides that,  I’d rather him here than at some brothel.” you grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth, an embarrassing slip revealing just how deeply attached you were. “Apologies. The alcohol has loosened my tongue.” “No bother. I understand that jealousy quite well.” Granville said, his voice still light and amused, and you couldn't help but laugh as he took a sip, winking at you before putting his glass down. “What jealousy?” Came a loud voice from directly behind you. You jumped, Granville almost knocking his drink over in his shock. Of course, he would arrive now, when you were drunk and foolish. You breathed out quickly, praying that you would say nothing incriminating before turning to face Benedict. He looked confused, glancing from Granville's face to yours, before reiterating, “What jealousy, Granville?” “Merely of other artists. I’m sure you know it too.” He recovered, taking another drink before gesturing to the table, “Care to join us?” Benedict sat in the chair closest to you, and you shot Granville a look of pure spite. In your drunken haze, everything seemed too much. His voice was too smooth, his smile too large, and the way he draped an arm across your chair, caging you in, was entirely too casual. You promised to whatever God was listening that you would slaughter Granville for this. “Of course I do. You know better than anyone.” He agreed, sliding easily into the conversation. You remained silent, not trusting yourself in your inebriation to respond beyond a simple hum of agreement or a grunt of displeasure. If you allowed yourself to speak freely, no doubt you would be weeping in Benedict's arms like a little girl within minutes. “What do you think?” You started, retreating from your thoughts to find both Benedict and Granville looking at you. Benedict’s eyes shone with thinly veiled concern, tilting his head and gently shaking you by the shoulder, while Granville simply smiled in amusement. “I..was lost in thought. My apologies.” You said quickly, waving Benedict’s hands away and sitting up completely. You were drunker than you thought, and briefly you wondered if you would even be able to make it to your carriage without help. You figured if you couldn’t, you would force Granville to escort you. He certainly owed you, after pulling this little stunt. “You’re wasted. Perhaps you should head home.” Benedict said gently. You huffed, shaking your head. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I can take care of myself. Now. My opinion on what, exactly?” “Valentines,” Granville supplied, glancing into his empty cup, “we were talking about all the effort that goes into such cards and letters. Artistry, in a way. What do you think of it?” “I find the holiday wholly unnecessary. And it takes far too much time to make such delicate things. A canvas is much more secure.” you huffed. Benedict stiffened beside you, although in your semi-consciousness, you barely noticed, your eyes fluttering between shut and open. “So you wouldn’t make any?” Benedict asked. “No.” “Would you receive them?” “I suppose it would be rude to deny such labors of love. But I have never received one, and I doubt I will this year. Ladies don’t send cards to men like me.” you shrugged, drooping over the table. The longer you sat, the harder it was to hold yourself up. If you passed out, it would be a good escape from such intimate topics with Benedict, so you allowed yourself to slump on the table, sighing. “Alright, that's enough. I’ll help you home.” Benedict declared, standing up and taking you by the arm, heaving you up. You groaned in protest, but didn’t fight as he slung your arm over his shoulder and half dragged you away from the table, Granville following behind. “Apologies, Bridgerton. Next time I won’t allow him to indulge quite so much. You may end up getting more than 10 minutes with him that way.” He said cheerily. “I’m sober enough to know when I’m being mocked, Granville.” you opened your bleary eyes to glare at him, finding his eyes twinkling with amusement. He patted your shoulder. “It’s no trouble. I was about to head home, anyway.” Is all Benedict said as he helped you into the carriage, climbing in after you and seating himself on the same bench. Granville waved you both off as Benedict rapped his knuckles on the carriage, directing your footman to take you home. “Now you have me alone and vulnerable. Not very gentlemanly of you, Bridgerton. What would the ton think?” you teased, leaning lazily against the side of the carriage, away from him. You hoped it was subtle, that he thought you were just drunk and loose and tired. You couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out just how weak you were for him. Then he would leave, and you would be crushed. “They would think nothing, because we’re men.” He pointed out, leaning closer to you. You hummed, acknowledging his words, but didn’t reply beyond that. It was only then that you realized how precarious a situation you were in. Drunk, alone, with a man you loved, who seemed to be moving closer and closer by the minute, although maybe you were imagining that part. Anything was possible when you were this drunk. “They would be wrong, though.” Benedict finished softly. He reached over, brushing his fingers along your jaw, moving downward to loosen your cravat. You sighed, tilting your head back to allow him easier access, cursing yourself but unable to shove him away. You were such a fool. “Are you planning something?” You asked. He finally managed to pull your cravat away, revealing your neck to him. He laughed at your question. “With you this drunk? No. I only wanted you to be more comfortable.” He tossed the cloth onto the other bench, leaning safely away from you to stare out the window after. While you were partly disappointed, you were mostly relieved. You wouldn’t have been able to resist, and only would have brought yourself more shame and confusion in regards to him. But Benedict was a good man, and he would never take advantage of you in your current state. Your heart squeezed. Too good of a man. “I’m sorry to be such a burden tonight.” you blurted suddenly. Benedict looked at you, his head whipping away from the window so quickly it almost made you dizzy. “I shouldn’t have drank so much. It was foolish.” “You’re never a burden to me.” He said, his voice soft and indignant, almost as if he was offended by the mere idea that you had inconvenienced him. “You shouldn’t have to chaperone me home like a weak debutante.” “I’d rather you than a debutante. Trust me.” You chuckled, shaking your head and glancing out the carriage window. You could see the square, and your home, fast approaching. It appeared as though your time with Benedict was over for tonight. Relieved and downtrodden, you sat up and attempted to right your swirling vision as the carriage came to a stop. Benedict stood, helping you up and out of the carriage. After explaining the situation to your housekeeper, he hauled you all the way into your home and bedroom, even being kind enough to help you out of your boots as you lay back in your bed, arm over your eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. “I’ll be going, then.” He said quietly, standing up and brushing his hands together. You lifted your arm, making certain you weren’t going to puke before crooking one finger, beckoning him closer. “Come here.” You breathed. He obeyed, moving dutifully to your side, remaining silent despite the question in his eyes. You sat up slowly, ignoring your dizziness. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him closer. Benedict, realizing what you were after, leaned down and forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You flopped back into your bed after he pulled away, grinning, although you couldn’t see it, having already rolled over and buried your face in the covers. “Goodnight. I hope you enjoy tomorrow.” He said ominously, the clicking of his heels against the marble floor the only indication you had that he had left. Before you could even think of the meaning of his strange farewell, you were dragged into rest. -- The first thing you registered after waking was the pounding behind your eyes. Moaning in pain, you lifted your arm over your face, blocking out the light that your butler had let in through the curtains. “My apologies, My Lord. Should we have a cure made?” He asked politely, noticing your haggard state. “Quickly.” You begged. He nodded, bowing before swiftly leaving the room to procure you a bit of relief. Sitting up, you turned away from the windows completely, opting to try and find your balance. After a moment, you were able to make your way to your wardrobe, pulling on your breeches and doublet. Today you had no need to dress formally. Valentines was a day you dedicated to staying completely shuttered away from the rest of the ton, tending to your estate and business ventures. It was easier than being bombarded with reminders of love, and much easier than running into any Bridgerton, although one, of course, you wanted to avoid above all else. It would only pain you to see him giving or receiving such intimate letters, especially with the women of the ton. Once your butler had delivered your cure, and you had thrown down the slimy, disgusting mixture, you were feeling much improved. You made your way to your study, smiling at your maids as they bowed before rushing off, no doubt in a hurry to finish their work and make off with their sweethearts for the day. You felt a twinge of jealousy, smiling sadly as you opened the door to your study. Oh. In your study sat piles and piles of cards, all handmade, some gilded with gold while others were trimmed with lace. You picked one up, in awe at its intricate gold-foil flowers, embossed on the front and lined with sharp swirls and embellishments, all clearly hand done with a calligraphy pen. You opened the card. The script inside was as lovely as the rest of the card, although it was the words that brought tears to your eyes. I sit and I look into your face And I see those before us, Who have loved as we do, And I see those after, And I pray that our impossibility Will become their reality. Yours. You choked on a sob, quickly closing the card and setting it down. The last thing you wanted was to ruin something so perfect with tears. It was not signed, and it didn’t have to be for you to know. Benedict. You looked around the room. There were at least 3 large piles of cards, enough to last an entire year, all handmade and intricate. You wondered how long this had taken him. It would take you days just to read them all. Surely, your servants thought you were either the biggest rake in the ton, with all these notes. You couldn’t care less. You gathered them all, handling them as gently as you would glass, slipping them into your desk cabinet and locking it. They were yours, no one else's. Benedict's words were just for you. Dazed, you leaned back into your office chair, holding the first card, running your fingers over the edges and rereading the lines over and over. It wasn't quite a poem, nor a letter, but a sentiment. A dream, a wish. You would be lying if you said that it wasn’t your dream too. A future where love like yours would be special, not sinful. Love. You jolted. And then laughed. How could you ever have doubted him? Surely, it was only love that would drive him to do this. Only love that would have him escort you home, make sure you were safe and comfortable. That would make him sit for what must have been weeks, if not months, working tirelessly on card after card just to take advantage of the one day where letters between unmarried men and women could be sent freely. Of course, he did so for a cover. But was that not also love? He wanted to protect you from ire, from harm, and so he delivered all the letters he felt he couldn’t today, just to keep from drawing unwanted eyes. Crying and laughing all at once, you pressed the note to your chest. How had you doubted his love for a second? His devotion? You truly were a fool, although not in the way you had expected. It took you half an hour to calm yourself, and by that time, your headache was back and worse than before, thanks to your emotional outburst. But another thing was back, too. Your butler, standing in the doorway with an impassive look on his face, glancing about the room, no doubt looking for the heaps of cards the servants had dropped off. “Do you know what card came from which maiden?” You asked, holding up the first card. It was the only card you had yet to put away, and though you were loathe to show it to him, you thought you should make it try and seem as though you had no idea who they had come from. “The cards were delivered mysteriously early this morning, My Lord. No names, no signatures.” “I see. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. None of them will be receiving a response.” You laughed, setting the card down. “What is it?” “A visitor, sir. The Second Bridgerton. Says he has something to discuss with you, about Lord Granville's gathering last night.” Your heart stuttered. “Send him up. No doubt he wants me to apologize for making such an ass of myself last night.” You joked, and he smiled back, giving a quick nod before rushing off to fetch Benedict. You quickly tucked the last letter into your desk drawer, pulling out a decanter of whiskey and pouring yourself a small glass. “No better cure for a hangover than more drink, right?” Benedict stepped into your study, shutting the door behind him even as he teased you. You laughed, pouring him a glass as well. He took it gratefully, sitting down in the chair across from yours, the desk between you two. “You may mock me if you wish, Benedict, but I am feeling positively delightful.” you said dramatically, lifting your cup in cheers. Benedict touched his glass to yours, and you took a sip. He did not. “Would that have anything to do with any deliveries?” He questioned, a secretive smile spreading across his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “That’s why I asked.” You snorted, shaking your head quickly. “It would, if you must know.” Dropping all pretenses, he leaned forward, smiling even brighter now. “So you’ve got them. Do you like them?” “Of course I do,” you breathed, leaning in as well, dropping your voice to a whisper, “how long did they take you? They’re beautiful. True artistry.” “Much too long, as you said last night. But they were worth it, if you like them.” You nodded once. Smiling, he brought one hand to rest on your desk, palm up and spread open. You took it, intertwining your fingers. “Do you truly...love me? In that way?” you asked nervously, avoiding his gaze in favor of staring at your two hands. “No, I spent hours of my precious time making hand crafted love letters for a man I consider a friend.” He rolled his eyes. “If anyone would do such a thing, it would be you, Benedict.” “Certainly not. It would be Colin.” You laughed, and he grinned. Standing, he quickly rounded your desk and pulled you up by your still connected hands, pulling you against him and kissing you firmly. It was sudden, but not unpleasant, and you wrapped your arms around him, carding your fingers through his hair before resting your hands on the nape of his neck. After a long moment, he pulled away, eyes shining mischievously. “I do love you.” “And I you.” you said quickly, desperate to reciprocate. You had spent so long convinced that Benedict only saw you as good fun, that the revelation of love had left you reeling. But you would be damned if you passed up this opportunity to tell him of the affections you had kept secret since your first meeting. In response, he kissed your jaw once before pulling away, still smirking. “But you taste of garlic and egg. You truly should not have indulged so much. Now I can’t kiss you.” Groaning, you turned away from him, clamping your lips shut even as he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing kisses to your neck and cheek lovingly, cooing affections like a lovesick fool. You smiled at that passing thought, leaning into Benedict and returning his whispers in kind, leading him with purpose to your bed chamber. Perhaps you were both lovesick fools. You could live with that.

[elstreem]

ALBW Roleswap AU...thing?

Trying to write about this idea where it's Hyrule that got devastated and so Link seeks help from Ravio and Hilda in Lorule. Long post, but here's what I've written about it. I don't think I'm gonna do anything more substantial for it, but it's fun writing this.

Here's a google docs version that's prolly easier to read: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ar_f6wXBTeY3DGfWeM667QqwvyS-2GfrlZTMCcKQ6BY/edit?usp=sharing

ALBW AU: The Appointed Knight and the Feral Hero

Among the realms created by the Divine mothers, two were tied like the two sides of a coin - both fair kingdoms, with a royal family who protected the sacred relic, Triforce. The Triforce was the sum of the Goddesses’ powers left in these realms, and was even said to be able to grant wishes, leading some to seek its power...unbeknownst to the guardians of the Triforce, it also serves as the cornerstone of their respective realms. No one knows what would happen if the Triforce was broken in some form, for it has never happened before…

As mentioned, the Triforce was left in two particular realms, so close and yet far from each other. The realm bathed in warm sunlight was called Hyrule, while the realm under the cover of soothing darkness was called Lorule. Without knowing of it, the denizens of these two realms prospered similarly to each other. But they were never able to meet, save for when a slight distortion in time and space would show times and places through mirrors and reflections. Only a passing mystery, and were it not for a grievous calamity, perhaps there would never have been a time when Hyrule would need aid from Lorule…

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

The clamor of war rang loudly throughout Hyrule Castle. The castle was besieged by terrible forces, slavering monsters and twisted ghouls, howling as they clashed with the soldiers of Hyrule. Men shouted and attacked, hoping to defend their kingdom to the last. However, this was not where the real battle was to be found. In the chaos, there was only one place of stillness - the castle sanctuary, where the princess stood and her knight stood against the demon king, who had risen again. Behind the two protectors of the kingdom, the Triforce shone with a radiant light. “Hand over the Triforce,” Ganon rumbled, hands flexed around a trident. The princess stretched out a hand, tapping into her magical heritage. Link readied his blade and shield - they would never let this monster ruin the world with the Triforce’s power. Never.

The battle began, trident slashing, magic weaving, sword and shield parrying. Link and Zelda fought desperately against the strength of Ganon, who shrugged off their attacks as though it could only annoy him. With a roar, Ganon swatted away Link, the young Hylian’s slight frame getting thrown into the wall with force to crack his bones. Zelda cried out, but she did not waver - even as Ganon lunged forward to lay his hands on the Triforce, she spun around and reached for the relic herself.

“Oh goddesses, protect us!” Zelda wished with all her heart, but even as her words tapped into the Triforce’s power, Ganon’s own hand had reached the relic.

Even while bloodied and bruised, and screaming from the effort, Link got up, trying to move, desperate, as Ganon wished for Hyrule’s destruction.

The two wishes, opposite to each other, warred within the activated relic. Link tried to run, to reach for Zelda even as the Triforce shattered with explosive power, with blinding light pouring out of it.

In those terrible last moments, Link saw the princess turn to him, her form becoming rigid. Ganon too, had stopped - and Link found his own consciousness dimming, burning with only one thought. He had failed his home.

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

The sun was yet to rise and all was still in the dark hours preceding dawn.

Or so it was supposed to be, if it weren’t for the angry yells of a woman and a sound of scurrying feet.

The village Blacksmith groaned and hauled himself up from his bed, drearily wiping a hand across his face as his wife rushed into the room.

“Now what is this ruckus all about!?” the Blacksmith complained.

“The stinking thief is back! I told you to report it to the castle, but no, you just had to wait for proof! Well, here’s the proof you want!” the hassled woman said sharply, and she grabbed hold of her husband’s arm and fairly dragged him outside, causing a string of complaints. She ignored the fact that he was barefoot and still in his sleeping clothes and hurried him into the cold air of the early morning. She paused very briefly to grab a fresh torch, and continued along. When she stopped, the Blacksmith was not in the most agreeable mood, but even he could see the damage.

The pots they used for storing water and grains were smashed, and their little garden that had once been full of promising vegetables had been ransacked. But even with the messy scene one could see paw prints in the dirt.

“What was it?” the Blacksmith asked, taking the torch from his wife. He knelt to take a closer look at the destruction.

She sniffed and crossed her arms. “I wasn’t sure - I just heard the sounds of a pot getting smashed and I rushed on over here. I only caught it running away, but it looked beastly, all matted fur and glowing eyes - ugh!”

It would be no match for you in your state, the Blacksmith thought, and he hid a grin. Keeping a straight face, he stood up again and said, “Well, I’ll call on our neighbor to help. No need to alert the Castle.”

She gave a disbelieving snort. “That lad is good for nothing but lounging around!”

“But still, he’s the appointed knight of the realm. Go on inside dear, that is enough trouble for one morning,” the Blacksmith said.

After putting on work clothes and making sure that everything was secured, the Blacksmith walked on over to a house on a hill, keeping his eyes peeled for any lurking creatures. However, upon reaching the house, the man gave a groan - of all the mornings he made this trip, today was the miraculous day the appointed knight was not sleeping in. The house was dark and a piece of paper was tacked to the door. The paper read:

“If you’re looking for me, I’m at the Castle!” - Knight of the Realm, Ravio.

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

Morning came and went, the sun’s rays bringing cheer and light to the land. Within the Castle’s kitchen, the maids and cooks were bustling about, preparing food for lunch. But in the middle of all this activity, a boy was sitting still, snacking on an apple as he idled the time away.

“Surely you have business to do, Ravio?” one of the exasperated cooks asked, watching Ravio take another apple from the kitchen’s stores and eat it.

“I’m in the business of filling my energy up after an early morning training!” Ravio said, grinning as much as he could with a mouthful of apple.

“...right,” the cook muttered. Sure, Ravio had been in the castle before dawn’s light, but all the staff saw of him was him taking a nap in the knight’s training room.

A page popped into the castle kitchens, and seeing Ravio, marched up to him. Ravio’s grin slid off his face as he saw the page’s gleeful look. He knew what that meant.

“Her Grace, Princess Hilda, commands the Knight of the Realm to the Counsel Room!” the page said as loudly as possible. The nearby kitchen staff snickered as Ravio stood up and wiped the apple juice off his face.

Ravio might not fear monsters, but he had a healthy fear of his closest friend.

-------

"I tell you, your Grace, something has been ferreting around, stealing food and making a ruckus. The missus reckons it’s some sort of beast from what she saw. Maybe a wolf? But then again…"

"There are no wolves in Lorule."

"Exactly!"

"Well, wolves or no wolves, if it is disturbing the peace our appointed knight of the realm should be looking into it," Princess Hilda of Lorule said.

Her crimson eyes flicked over to said knight of the realm, even if he wasn't acting like it. Ravio might have looked the part, wearing armor stamped with the royal sigil of Lorule. It was an impressive enough sight that most never minded the lack of a sword at his back. However, instead of standing at duty, he was slouching, idly tugging at his scarf and wishing the audience would be over.

Hilda cleared her throat and tapped her staff on the ground, making Ravio jump nervously. As carefree as he was, he did not like testing Hilda's temper.

"Yess, your Grace?" Ravio asked.

"The Blacksmith brought his problem personally to the castle, Ravio. And I say, you must look into it this time," Hilda said, emphasizing her last two words.

Ravio groaned. Hilda was annoyed that the Blacksmith had to bring this problem up personally. Okay, so he was the knight of the realm, but that did not mean he had to solve every problem his neighbors had, right?

Then again, it seemed like a monster was involved.

~~~~~~~

The bushes underneath the trees rustled, and as Ravio followed close, he saw a pair of eyes looking out at him from the shadows. They glowed as they caught the light, and Ravio hesitated - human eyes did not glow like that, which could only mean this was a monster.

He quickly grabbed his Hookshot, and fired - the claw shot through the air. The beast leapt clear, but was too slow by just a second and caught a glancing blow. Ravio heard a yelp, and some footsteps going away. Ravio gave chase - even a glancing blow from a Hookshot was enough to give the most hardened monster some pause. And a pause was all he needed for another shot, and whatever his faults, Ravio had a good eye. Again the Hookshot pierced the air, and this time he scored a direct hit. Ravio knew it from the way the Hookshot had struck.

He hurried after the beast and came into the circle of trees, where he found something lying limp on the ground.

"Got you," Ravio murmured to himself, grabbing his bow. He readied an arrow at the beast, and was about to loose the projectile when the beast twitched and groaned - but the groan did not sound at all beastly.

Ravio dropped the bow and came close - yes, now that he was near he could see a hand peeking out from underneath some clothing. Perhaps a humanoid monster? But in the next moment he heard a soft whisper, and the creature went still. Ravio dropped to his knees beside the figure and turned him over, gasping at what he found. The "monster" was a lad his age, covered in a dirty old cloak. He couldn't see much of the boy's face as it was covered in grime and dirty blonde hair that spilled over one side of his face, but it was definitely a human.

"Hey! Can you hear me?"

All he got as a response was a sigh. Ravio's blood went cold, remembering how the boy had gone still. Ravio dropped his head onto the boy's chest, and listened hard - it was faint, but there was breath and a heartbeat within him.

Moving quickly, Ravio pulled up a bottle of Red Potion and carefully tipped it to the boy's lips - he was unresponsive at first, but when Ravio put a drop of potion to his lips, the lad's tongue licked it away. Very, very carefully, Ravio put a small amount to the boy's mouth, and he swallowed it. In this way, the boy finished the bottle of red potion, which brought back some color to his face.

"Hey, hold on, okay? Stay with me, here," Ravio said. He slung the boy's arm over his shoulders, and putting his own arm around the boy's hip, he stood up. The boy's head leaned limply into Ravio's shoulder, and Ravio fought the urge to sneeze - the guy smelled bad - like he'd been sleeping in the wilds and rolled through mud, kind of bad.

The lad was dead weight, and Ravio had a hard time pulling him along. It was with relief that Ravio heard the Blacksmith calling.

"Ahoy! What have you got there? The beast?"

"Nah, I clobbered the beast good, it should stay away. But I found a stranger, he clearly needs help," Ravio reported. The knight's normally jolly tone was urgent and the Blacksmith knew he wasn't goofing around.

"Alright, here I go! Phew, this one needs a bath," the Blacksmith grunted as he scooped the boy up easily.

"And a good meal - he feels almost dead," Ravio panted, relieved at having the weight off his shoulders.

"Bother, the house is full of weapons to be shipped - we should put him in your house, yeah?" the Blacksmith said.

"Mine!?" Ravio said in dismay.

"Of course. You helped him, you have to see it through," the Blacksmith said.

"Oh, I guess. He better pay rent," Ravio muttered.

For all of Ravio's words he was anxious for the boy and was relieved when the Blacksmith put him into his own bed.

~~~~~~

The boy wandered back inside, shrugging off his cloak. Ravio looked up with a smile and then gasped in surprise - with the grime wiped away, he could have sworn the face he was looking at was his own.

Well, not quite - the stranger's hair was blond and his eyes were blue. Also, he had seriously dark bags under his eyes and hollow cheeks, like he had missed many good meals and nights of sleep.

"Whoa - wow, this is a shocker - talk about seeing your twin," Ravio said.

The boy looked blankly at him.

"…look .are you really just speechless with shock all the time?" Ravio asked.

The boy shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"Well, nothing for it. Here, maybe some food will loosen you up. You look faint with hunger," Ravio said.

The boy nodded gratefully, and dropped himself into one of the chairs at the table.

Ravio brought out a plate, filled with goods from the castle - bread, butter, fried eggs and apple slices. He had a feeling that the boy was hungry, and he was right - though the lad tried to restrain himself for politeness, he gulped down the meal as if famished. Ravio busied himself with cleaning his kitchen, which was a little dusty.

“Well, you look much better now that you had a bite or ten in you,” Ravio said as the boy set down his spoon and fork with a sigh.

~~~~~~~~~

"Well Ravio, have you considered one thing?"

"What?" Ravio asked, shifting uncomfortably at seeing Hilda's raised eyebrow.

"That maybe…you're talking way too much to give space," Hilda said tartly.

"Hey!" Ravio said in indignation. Hilda didn't show any outward signs of amusement, but Ravio knew her long enough to know that her eyes were smiling at the joke. It almost made the little jab worth it.

"Anyway, I shall go see this stranger, see if I can loosen his tongue," Hilda said.

The response however, was far more dramatic than the two expected. On seeing Hilda enter the room, the boy's eyes widened, and he hurriedly dropped to one knee and put his hand on his chest in a knight's bow. Hilda and Ravio traded glances.

"Please stand, good sir. I heard from Ravio about your appearance…but please, tell us more about yourself," Hilda said.

The boy raised his head, but looked down again and sadly shook his head. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out. He raised his hands and folded them in front of his throat.

"Ah, so you cannot speak…I'm sorry to have asked it without consideration," Hilda said.

The boy shook his head as if trying to reassure her there was no offense.

~~~~~~~~

A stone statue stood inside the blasted courtyard. Even petrified, the beauty of the strange lass was not marred at all - her form perfectly captured in rock. She would have looked lovely if it weren't for the expression of horror on her face. The wolf circled the statue, and Ravio read a great sadness in Link's blue eyes.

Ravio drew close and saw, among the petrified waves of the lass's hair, a crown, and her dress bore a banner displaying a royal crest similar to Lorule's.

The wolf sat down, facing the statue, before raising his head and giving off a lonely howl.

--------

Aaaand that's it. I have a few more ideas to toss into this (Link and Ravio searching for the lost Master Sword of Lorule? Hilda facing off against Ganon?) but I highly doubt I can add anything more weighty to this. I don't even have a proper explanation for why Link turns into a wolf (though in my mind, what's happened to Hyrule is a similar situation to the Twilight, where time has stopped and the souls of Hylians are left as wandering, dazed wraiths.) I might post other writing scraps if I feel like it?