#these also take me EONS to do as..... i get VERY into the research and having everything reflect the character asjnaxj

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 An Innocent Apple

An Innocent Apple: The dark version of ‘An Offered Apple’.  

Warnings: Clueless, Oblivious & Innocent!Reader, Dark!Morpheus, Nudity, Peril, Morpheus Purposefully Puts Reader in Dangerous Situations, Manipulation, Mind Fuckery, Blood, Terrified Reader. 

To Note: DARK!Morpheus/Dream x Librarian!FemaleReader.

Word Count: ~12.4k

An Offered Apple | Masterlist | An Accepted Apple

You had been a mortal who had argued with Death over your end of life. But unlike the billions of others before you, you hadn’t wanted Death to take you simply because you refused to leave your beloved library and books. So Death made a deal with you, and packaged you and your immortal life, up, and sent you to her brother. Surely you would be endlessly satisfied with the great library of The Dreaming and its constantly expanding shelves. But in the end, whether or not you were satisfied with your new life didn’t matter, because Lord Dream, the Lord, and King of your new home, had become quite infatuated with you the moment he laid eyes on you. Of course, you didn’t know that, you were actually quite oblivious to his lurking shadows… but that meant he could spin you up in his web until you could only turn to him. 

You were currently tabbing through several books Lucienne needed shelving, looking at the spines and separating them by the first letter of the last names. Lucienne was incredibly strict about shelving the books in their proper spots, but that was one of your strong suits as you thrived with strict library order. This grand library was paradise for you. Picking up the stack of last names that started with R, you ventured into the aisles and started tucking the books away in their respective places. Two went near each other, but you had to have the library twist and bend to get to the other end of the R section. You were returning to the stacks of organized stories when Lucienne came rushing into the little office area. 

“Lucienne?” You queried, frowning at the look of stress on her face. She came to a stop in front of your sorted stacks and let out a deep sigh. 

“Lord Morpheus has asked me to look into a complication regarding the Ocean of Dreams but he is also in the middle of scouring certain books of dreams…” She stated tersely. “I am sure he has forgotten that I cannot do two things at once and since you are not equipped to deal with the waters of dreams, you shall have to deliver the books he needs yourself.” Lucienne wanted you to deliver some books to the King? Surely you weren’t ready for the prestige of that measure…

“Ah, Lucienne, I don’t think I’m qualified to do so…” You meekly responded, eyeing the exit of the library. “I mean, I don’t even know him. Surely you’d rather have someone who is familiar with the king and who he trusts deliver his research materials?” Lucienne gave you a short look before grabbing a piece of parchment and scribbling on it. Then she handed it to you. 

“Lord Morpheus has ensured that I am much too busy to deliver the books myself and you are the only one who can replace me.” She stated firmly, clearly not mad at you… but entirely short with Lord Dream. “You will be fine, Y/N, you only need to pull the books and deliver them, and then ask if he requires any more books.” You nod in understanding but are still confused that you, a lowly and very much new, librarian, would be trusted with this task. That wasn’t to say you weren’t good at being a librarian… you were actually a damn good one!… But things had been run a certain way in The Dreaming for eons, had they not? Lucienne striding off to do whatever Lord Morpheus had asked of her, left you with little choice. 

You looked down at the written list, Lucienne’s handwriting was very easy to read and looking closely at the titles, you quickly figured out where the books you needed were. So diving into the aisles, you went down the list of titles, one by one, picking the books out and tucking them underneath your arm. Once you had five books in your arms, you set out for the throne room. As you walked, you couldn’t help but gawk at the palace you spent so much time in, yet had never actually explored. It was resplendent, like nothing you had ever seen before. You didn’t quite understand how the halls and rooms stayed so bright during the night when the only lighting-like fixtures were glowing orbs set in light fixtures. Did Lord Dream actively control them throughout the day and night? Or were they made to be on a timed schedule? It hurt your brain to think hard about it so you shook your head and paid attention to where you were going. 

Walking down a hall, you were taken by a long line of stained glass windows that seemed to shift between different scenes. It was a living wall of glass. You really needed to get out of the library more often because there was so much you didn’t know about the palace and the realm. Who knew what you were missing? Readjusting the books in your grasp, you looked forwards at the end of the hall and saw Mervyn tinkering with one of the orbs in a sconce. You walked over to him. 

“Hello Mr. Mervyn,” You softly greeted the pumpkin-headed janitor. He turned in place, his usually grumpy-looking face carved on his pumpkin features. Mervyn grunted at me. 

“Ya know I told ya to call me, Merv… right? I ain’t nobility and ‘m pretty sure that you’re in a higher position than me.” Mervyn grumbled, swinging the wrench in his hand around. You didn’t understand his words, surely Mervyn was higher in the palace hierarchy given his seniority and long-term residence… but you weren’t going to argue with him. You looked at the broken-apart sconce. 

“What are you fixing?” You asked, your head tilting to the side in curiosity. “I can’t seem to wrap my head around how those lights work.” Mervyn looked up at the deconstructed sconce. 

“The piece of it that controls the illumination fell out of sync with the master orb,” Mervyn grunted, gesturing to a more mechanical-looking part of the sconce. He then waved the wrench in a circle. “All of the lights in the main halls are controlled by a master orb that is set up to be in time with the natural light of The Dreaming. I’m sure you’ve seen the ones in the library change?” You nod, slowly getting a better understanding. 

“Yes, but they have a switch, Lucienne showed me on my first day.” You pointed out. Mervyn’s pumpkin head bobbed. 

“The lights in the library are manually controlled by the switch since it’s always changing, and depending on the section yer in, will brighten or dim. You and Lucienne are the only ones in there daily and the whole place don’t need to be lit up all the time.” You blinked and furrowed your eyebrows. 

“That’s surprisingly efficient and energy conscious.” You murmured. “Oh, pardon me, I didn’t mean to distract you from your job, Mr. Mervyn.” You then say. You heft up the books you held. “I need to deliver these to Lord Dream. Have a good day!” As you walked off, Mervyn called after you. 

“It’s Merv!” You giggled to yourself as you continued on your way. Marching the rest of the way to the throne room, you paused for a moment at the grand archway, before steeling yourself and moving forwards. The throne room was intimidatingly large with cathedral ceilings that shimmered and changed periodically. As you walked along, you couldn’t help the wonder that bloomed on your face and sparkled in your eyes. The library was extraordinary but the throne room was bewitching and bewitched you were. At least you were until little clicks on the smooth marble floor drew your attention. You looked down and saw Lord Dream’s raven, Matthew. 

“Hello, you must be the Matthew I’ve heard all about.” You said cheerfully, looking down into black eyes with a warm smile. 

“And you must be Y/N!” The raven replied with a flutter of his wings. “I’ve heard all about you, what brings you by?” You held up the books in your arms. 

“Book delivery, Lucienne was supposed to do it but another task concerning the Ocean of Dreams came up and she was unable.” You spoke with a small shrug. “Granted I have no idea what I am doing… I’m just a librarian. Surely Lucienne would be better equipped at attending to Lord Dream’s needs, I’m a nobody to him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Matthew returned, cocking his head to the side. “… he’s kind of obsessed with you…” You didn’t quite catch what Matthew said. 

“Pardon?” Matthew scrambled in place to correct himself. 

“Morpheus has been wanting to meet you!” He stated loudly. “You know, since you’ve never officially met… doesn’t want to seem like a bad lord and all…” Your face scrunched and you shook your head. 

“Of course, he isn’t, he’s busy is he not?” You said, patting the books in hand. “It was lovely meeting you, Matthew, but I better deliver these books to Lord Dream and get out of his way.” It was then that you felt intense eyesight on you, and raising your own, you were met with the silver blue eyes of Lord Dream himself, stars sparkled in the depths of his irises. You felt a shiver of unease run down your spine, but that was a silly feeling. There was absolutely nothing for you to fear from Lord Dream. He, after all, was responsible for your new life and home. So you plastered a smile on your face and marched yourself up to him… well perhaps not marched, but you made your way to him with conviction. “Apologies, Lord Dream, but Lucienne was unable to make the delivery herself due to a sudden situation so she sent me instead.”

“There is no need to apologize, Y/N,” Morpheus spoke to you, his eyes finally taking in your entire being in the light, in front of him. He had only ever seen your ethereal being from the shadows, he had caught lingering glimpses and lurking views, but never when you were gazing at him with your striking eyes. Immortality suited you, it suited you well. “I’m afraid that a complication within the Dreaming waters requires immediate assessment and I have forced Lucienne’s hand. I am at fault.”

“No, you’re not!” You blurted out before you even thought about it, his eyebrow rose and he smile. Then you realized what you did and flushed, clutching the books closer to your body in embarrassment. “I— I mean to say, Lord Dream, you are surely busy and certain things take precedence, do they not? If I can be of help to you then I will gladly bring you books. It’s my job as a librarian, well, your librarian, Lord Dream. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

“I hardly believe opening my library to you is deserving of your loyalty, Y/N.” Morpheus teased you gently, enjoying the way you flushed and glowed beneath his gaze. You looked heavenly. Morpheus rose from his seat on the stairs to his throne and slowly descended them, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched in your throat at realizing just how beautiful Dream of the Endless was. When Morpheus came to a gentle stop in front of you, he stared down into your eyes like he was trying to stare into your soul. “I am very appreciative that you took the time to bring me these books, Y/N, thank you.” 

As you offered the stack of five leather-bound books to him, he retained his gaze in yours as his fingers ever so gently brushed against yours in Morpheus’s retrieval of the books. His touch was warm against your fingers, comforting, very human-like. You let him take the books from your hands. 

“I do not know what I would do without my librarians,” Morpheus added, his gaze now lingering on you far longer than socially necessary or acceptable… but you were clueless and clearly more worried about committing a faux pas in front of your king. A smirk flashed across Morpheus’s face when your eyes dropped to the marble floor. 

“Do you need anything else, Lord Dream?” Your angelic voice softly asked, your eyes now drifting to the inner lining of the long coat he wore to stare at the stars glimmering and glowing within the soft material.

“I should like for my librarian to address me by my name,” At Morpheus's soft call which you almost felt against your hair, you lifted your eyes to his in question. He was looming over you, but not threatening, no, his star-blue eyes stared down into yours with gentle insistence. But you couldn’t possibly be so informal with a king. 

“But Lord Dream, I am—“ He lifted a finger and pressed it against your lips while shushing your protests. 

“I should like you to address me by my name,” He repeated, a little more forceful this time, but still just as gentle and soft. You nodded at him obediently. 

“Okay, Lord— Morpheus,” You answered, entirely missing the brief shudder that went through the Endless in question. His name on your lips was ecstasy. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise that I’ll get it right away. I— you are my boss and you deserve all the respect in the realm. I also don’t think Lucienne would approve…” Morpheus’s lips twitched in mirth. 

“You fear Lucienne?” You scowled at him as he tenderly shifted his finger along your cheek to tuck a section of your hair that had fallen from its updo, behind your ear.

“I know how she is when she’s not happy,” You replied, your nose scrunching in distastes. “She puts all of the strict librarians I knew to shame!” Morpheus chuckled at your facial expression. 

“Yes, I do believe she does, and for your earlier question, no, I require nothing further from you, Y/N,” Morpheus told you, wishing that he could take you right there and now, and show you all the love and devotion that had been festering beneath his skin since you had arrived in his realm doe-eyed and lost. But he didn’t want you to spook, so he was going to carefully cultivate his relationship with you until all you could rely on, was him. You would come to him, rather than him go to you. Morpheus was willing to be as patient as he needed to make sure that you ended as his. 

Matthew was in a pickle. He liked you, really liked you actually. You were incredibly nice, extremely helpful, and knowledgeable when navigating the library, and your conversations about the Waking World always put a fire underneath Matthew’s wings. You were someone he could relate to… which is why he was in a pickle in the first place. Morpheus wanted him to learn everything there was to know about you, specifically, your likes, dislikes, and favorites. Spying on you on the orders of his master seemed entirely wrong… but Matthew knew that to go against Morpheus would lead him to dire consequences. Surely the Dream Lord’s obsession with you meant that he would never intentionally cause you bodily harm, but Matthew was unsure of what Morpheus’s long-term plans for you were. 

Letting out a sigh, Matthew swooped into the library and went in search of you. Either you were shelving books, cataloging new ones, or reading, all places were centered around the heart of the library. You were bent over one of the library tables, pen in hand while scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. Matthew coasted over to the table and landed, hopping several times so he was closer to you. 

“Hi Y/N!” Matthew chirped happily, looking at you with kind black eyes you would expect no deception from. The raven was already feeling bad and he hadn’t even asked you anything yet! Morpheus, ever-present in the back of his mind, gave Matthew a mental push, reminding the raven of his purpose of being there. 

“Hello Matthew,” You greeted with a wide smile, your eyes not matching your exuberant smile. “How have you been?” Matthew cocked his head from side to side. 

“You look like you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep in the last week, Y/N!” Matthew exclaimed as he felt a ripple of displeasure from Morpheus. You better have a good reason for why you were in this state or Morpheus was not going to be happy. You let out a tired chuckle. 

“We got in a batch of books by an author I’ve been following for years…” You explained. “I’ve been spending all of my off time reading.” Extreme disapproval rushed through Matthew so fast that the raven’s feathers ruffled and he hopped several paces.

“Y/N! Just because you’re immortal now doesn’t mean you can skip out on sleeping!” Matthew scolded you. You stuck your tongue out at the bird. 

“You’re not my dad, Matthew,” You returned in a teasing quip, your tired eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m not apologizing, I’ve been waiting months for those books. Now I’m just catching up on work, still gotta catalog and shelve the other books.” 

“Would it be too much to ask you to take a break with me, even if it is just for five or ten minutes?” Matthew broached, hoping that he could at least feel better about badgering you to get answers for Morpheus, by getting you to take a break. “Do it for this old man?”

You snorted at him, but set down the pen in your hand and eyed the pleading raven. 

“You’re not old, Matthew, but I will humor you.” You told the raven, much to his relief. Matthew hopped closer to you. 

“Great! So, I was wondering, since you are the only one here in The Dreaming that really understands what our old world was like… do you want to talk? Because we both no one around here knows what a Twinkie is or has ever tried a hot dog…” You snorted loudly, your face screwing up in disgust. 

“Twinkies are gross Matthew. They are oil-soaked sponges that are like 100% sugar!” Matthew let out a small cackle.

“And hot dogs!?” You shrugged in indifferences. 

“They're good when they’re good, but bad when they’re bad.” You made another face. “Trust me, the school lunch hot dogs I had were terrible. I take it you like hot dogs?”

“Do I like hot dogs? Fuck yes, I like hot dogs, no, I love hot dogs!” Matthew jabbered away. Matthew. He hopped to attention at Morpheus’s sharp call. Right, he was supposed to be asking you about what you liked, not blabbering about hot dogs. “So I don’t want to talk your ear off about hot dogs, what are your favorites? Because with the way you love books, I highly doubt that you eat.” 

“I do too eat, Matthew,” You stated, rolling your eyes and propping your chin up on the table. “Like my favorite drink right now is this tea blend my neighbor introduced me to. It’s made from tea leaves found here in The Dreaming and tastes like nothing I’ve had before… and there’s this little bakery in the main square that has the best pastries.” You sighed at the thought of the cinnamon rolls at the bakery. “The problem is that I usually end up working when my favorite pastry is ready and miss out, my neighbor occasionally grabs some for me but I always feel bad for making them go out of their way.”

“Oh really? What is it? Is it a Danish or a croissant?” Matthew questioned, fully at attention now. You shook your head as you flushed lightly. 

“No, it’s their cinnamon rolls,” You sighed again, mouth nearly watering at the thought of them. “Best damn rolls I’ve ever tasted…” You hoped you hadn't started drooling right there. 

“Okay, so you're gonna probably start drooling by the look on your face so let’s talk about something else. You got a favorite flower? My daughter was obsessed with sunflowers when she was little.” Matthew said, his head moving to the side. “She convinced her mom and me to paint her room this bright yellow, even gave us the puppy dog eyes about getting a sunflower bedspread.” You giggled at Matthew’s words. 

“My favorite is probably daisies and coneflowers, but I love all of them,” You told him. “They’re so special and when you receive them as a gift, they always manage to brighten up a space.” The conversation continued, you and Matthew exchanging your likes and dislikes, with you doing a lot of talking because Matthew was a bird that never shut up and asked a hundred questions. It was nice to talk to him about your old world. 

It was weeks later since the talk you had with Matthew. You had nearly forgotten it had ever happened you were so busy between reading your favorite books and performing your duties as a librarian. At the moment you were doing some light reading since you had nothing to do and Lucienne had disappeared nearly an hour ago. You think she had been muttering something about an auxiliary library on the other side of the palace… but didn’t know what that meant. The only library in the palace was this one, was it not? Either way, Lucienne had disappeared and you had no idea where she was at this point, leaving you to man the library by yourself until she got back. You had no idea when that would be. You were in the middle of a passage when you heard Lord Morpheus’s voice breaking the silence of the library. 

“Lucienne?” You perked up at his voice and lifted your eyes from the book as the Endless himself appeared. His eyes met yours and you gracefully rose from your spot at the table. 

“My lord,” You greeted softly. “I’m afraid Lucienne left to attend to an urgent matter and I am unsure of when she will return, is there anything I can help you with?” Everything had gone exactly as Morpheus had wanted, Lucienne was out on his behest which left you all alone to man the library. It meant that he could time alone with you, precious little you that seemed to be oblivious to him. That didn’t matter to Morpheus, he loved that you were so absorbed in your books, oblivious to any and all approaches save for his. It was how he wanted it. 

“I was hoping to ascertain Lucienne’s help in researching the past incidents of vortexes, but if she is not here…” Morpheus started. “I do not wish to interrupt your reading, I know how much you love it.”

You were immediately waving him off with a small smile.

“Nonsense, my lord, I am a librarian and couldn’t call myself one if I was unable to assist you in your research needs. While I am no Lucienne, I do think I can provide you with some assistance.” You responded brightly, your eyes sparkling with eagerness. Morpheus all but ate up your enthusiasm to help. 

“I would be much appreciative if you would, Y/N,” Morpheus smoothly said, his head tilting to the side. “I believe the books should be under the V section, but I do not believe that are by the same cataloging system as the regular books.” You blinked and tilted your head to the side, your eyes going fuzzy for a moment… then your smile was back. 

“Found them, follow me!” You stated before diving into the nearest aisle. Morpheus quickly moved to follow, his eyes watching as you moved through the aisles of his library as if you had been doing so just as long as Lucienne had. You weaved in and out of the aisles, your head swiveling as your eyes tracked the gold-inscribed labels on the dark shelves. “Vortex… vortex… vortex..” You found the shelf and reached for the wooden rolling ladder. The shelf that held the books was higher than either of you could reach. “Here we are!” You looked back at Morpheus. “All the books the library has are on this shelf, are you looking for any in particular?” 

“Volumes three, seven, and eight,” Morpheus told you, his eyes watching every minuscule moment you made as you climbed up the steep ladder and reached for the tomes in question. You pulled eight first, since it was nearest to you, and then seven. The tomes were considerably heavy so you twisted on the ladder and offered them to Morpheus, who was watching you like a hawk. Morpheus took the tomes and you turned back, reaching for the last one, Volume One. Just as you were stretching to tug the old book from its place, the entire library seemed to tremble and shake, the bookshelf included. You let out a gasp as your balance was thrown off, or more specifically, backward. The tome in your hand fell to the floor as you tumbled backward with a startled yelp. You could have sworn your new life flashed before your eyes as you fell through the air, but rather than landing hard on the marble floor and having the air knocked out of you, your body landed in a pair of arms. 

“Sweet Jesus,” You grunted out, clutching Morpheus’s jacket. “What the hell was that?” You then aired out, looking at Morpheus who gazed at you with intense concern. 

“A problem I am currently looking into,” Morpheus murmured, his arms tightening around your body as the rumbling in the palace slowly faded. You nodded in understanding before looking down at your fingers digging into his jacket. 

“Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize…” You trailed off as you retracted your nails from him. Then you recognized that you were still very much in his arms. “Oh dear me, I am so sorry Lord Morpheus. I didn’t mean to fall on you I just—“ 

“I was hardly going to let you fall from the ladder, Y/N,” Morpheus responded, cutting off your rambled apologies. Of course, your falling from the ladder wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t like you were controlling the jarring earthquake— Morpheus was. You had just looked far too irresistible not to hold you for however long you would let him, and what better way than to have you fall into his arms? He was going to prove to you that he was your savior, that he was your only savior. 

You had decided to take a walk through the palace gardens before heading home for the day. All day you had seen flower blossoms lazily swirl through the air and you had been dying to see the gardens in which they had come from. So there you were, walking a winding path through meticulously cared-for gardens and marveling at the incredible plants that bloomed with diversity and life. You couldn’t help but stop and lean down to smell some of the fragrant flowers. Was everything in The Dreaming perfect? Most likely… You continued on your way until you passed beneath an archway of clematis. You stopped short. 

In front of you was an explosion of daisies of all types, colors, and varieties. It took your breath away and stood there for a good minute or two, gawking at the flora splendor that was a paradise of your favorite plants. You didn’t know where to look, the bed of spiraling daisies arranged in a rainbow, or the koi pond dotted with heartier bushes that framed the crystal water, or the tall lupin that had been added on one of the beds to give a little variation… It was all so much. You took to following the little cobbled path that wound around this section of the garden in an S curve. 

As you walked, a soft breeze fluttered through the garden, carrying more of those blossom leaves from the cherry blossom garden you knew was on the east side of the palace. A section of your hair was blown into your face and reaching up, you pushed it back behind your ear while looking at the fading sun in the distance. This would make a lovely spot to sit and watch the sunset. You went in search of a bench, finding one not that far from the path in the form of a swinging bench underneath a canopy of wisteria and ivy. Taking a seat on the bench, you slipped your shoes off and brushed your feet over the soft grass with a smile on your lips. This felt so nice, sitting there in the garden while watching the sunset. Then you heard quiet footfalls on the cobble path and turning your head, you saw Morpheus striding your way with his hands behind his back.

“I thought I might find you out here,” He spoke while stepping his way over to you. “You seem to be partial to sunsets.” You smiled and nodded. 

“Love them,” You said in agreement before brushing your hand over the nearby daisies. “But I love daisies more and this garden is an absolute treasure.” As you spoke, you had no idea how much you were stoking Morpheus’s desire for you, nor were you even aware that this entire garden existed solely for you. Your reaction to his gift for you was everything and more to Morpheus and he knew that he was getting closer and closer to spinning you closer and closer to his arms. Once there he would make sure you never left. 

“I’m glad you enjoy the gardens, Mervyn takes great pride in tending to them,” Morpheus responded to you with a slight bow of his chin. Then he glanced at the space next to you and gestured to it with his hand. “May I?” Your eyes sparkled in return. 

“It is your bench, sir,” You teased him, your voice light and refreshing. Morpheus lapped at the bright and effervescent emotions you were giving off like a thirst-starved man. 

“And yet I believe you are the one that it currently cradles, Y/N,” Morpheus replied, his eyes glowing a light silver in happiness. “But if you are feeling so clement.” He took a seat next to you, sitting just close enough that your legs brushed. The bench had been designed as a lovers' bench and offered very little room between two persons sitting side by side. You hardly noticed, or at the very least, didn’t seem bothered by the contact. “May I ask you a question?” Your sun-kissed face turned his way. 

“Of course,” You replied softly. Morpheus’s head tilted to the side in genuine curiosity. 

“Does your job as a librarian ever get monotonous? You are always shelving books, shifting them around, and retrieving and returning them. Do you ever tire of such activities?” That was understanding assessment and questions. You did repeat the same activities day in and day out, to those outside your field it probably did seem monotonous.

“Perhaps it might seem like that,” You said, leaning your head to the side to look at Morpheus with that gentle smile he loved so much. Another breeze blew through the garden, ruffling your hair. “But at the same time, I get to read books whose pages have yet to be turned, whose spines have yet to be broken in, I get to read words that have not graced eyes before mine… there is nothing like it. It’s— very special, something only I get to experience.”

Morpheus, rather than responding, reached up with his hand and brushed his fingers through your hair. You looked up at his fingers to see him pulling one of the delicate cherry blossoms that had been flying around all day, from your hair. Your hand went up, brushing against his as you searched for more blossoms. 

“Do I have any more? This breeze, while feeling wonderful, has been blowing the blossoms around so much I half thought I’d be covered in them by the time I headed home.” You tutted in fake irritation. Clearly, you loved watching the little petals blowing around, he had seen you smiling fondly out the windows plenty of times when he was been watching you. 

“No,” Morpheus affirmed, reluctantly withdrawing his hand from your hair. “I believe it was just this one.” While you went on to talk about recent events, Morpheus weaved the delicate cherry blossom between his fingers, jealous that it had remained in your hair far longer than his fingers. 

You had a late night at the library, catching up on a large number of books that needed to be shelved. It was probably around eleven, maybe even twelve. The moon overhead gave just enough light for you to comfortably walk home. Not that The Dreaming was a dark place to tread through at night. The village had plentiful softly glowing lanterns that illuminated the streets well enough so you weren’t tripping over your feet walking home. Your cottage was on the outskirts of the village, where there was less lighting and more alleys and bends to obscure light, but you had never felt uncomfortable walking home… until tonight. For some reason, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being followed. 

It was absurd. None of the residents in The Dreaming had ever threatened you or even posed a threat, even the Nightmares you had come across were fairly nice. Granted you hadn’t met all of them… but it was silly to be nervous walking home this night. Yet your fight-or-flight instinct was telling you to run. No, not run, it was telling you to bolt to your cottage and lock yourself in it for safety. You felt like you were being hunted. 

Clutching your little messenger bag closer to your side, you picked up your pace, walking fast and eager to get home to put all these silly feelings to rest. Turning down the road that led to the far side of the village where your cottage was, you glanced at the soft street lights… were they getting dimmer? You looked behind you. One of them went black, then the next, and the next, one after another, like a swath of darkness creeping up to you from behind. Your heart jumped in your throat and you could have sworn you saw something move in the looming shadows. Then there was a glimmer of eyes bearing at you from the dark depths. You let out a squeak of fear and bolted forwards, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste. Something gave chase behind you. 

You knew this part of the village well, but it seemed that wherever you went, darkness followed and it became harder and harder to see. Ducking down alleyways and small slips between buildings, you tried to lose whatever was chasing you, but every time you emerged onto a new street, it was there haunting you from behind with a menacing aura that made your entire body go cold. You were panting out, breathing heavily in your efforts to outrun whatever was currently chasing you. If you could only manage to make a few more blocks of cottages you would be home. Swerving around a corner, you collided with a stack of crates and went tumbling to the ground, your knees and palms taking the brunt of your weight when you landed on the cold stones underfoot. 

You bit down on your lip when your felt your knees and palms open up, dirt and rock digging into your flesh as you started to bleed. The crimson liquid was left behind on the cobbles as you hauled yourself back to your feet. From behind you came a menacing snarl and glittering red eyes glowing from the depths of a cloud of darkness. Clutching your stinging hands to your chest, you lurched back into a run, fleeing from your menacing follower. You turned the corner of the shoemaker, dashing around the corner quick as a sparrow and diving to the left into a slip alley that ran adjacent to the road that your cottage was one. A sense of hopelessness started to seep into your veins when you heard the sounds of claws scraping stones shortly behind you. In your panic, you blindly charged out of the slip alley into a slightly brighter street and all but ran straight into what felt like a solid wall. Had it gotten in front of you!? You jerked backward sharply with a high-pitched scream, your arms flailing in front of you in a pitiful attempt to ward off whatever attack was going to be thrown your way. 

None came. Instead, arms were ceasing your panicked, flailing limbs, trapping them against a body as someone steadied you on your feet. As you heaved for air, your wild eyes connected with midnight blue ones that were tinged with silver. 

“Y/N?” Morpheus spoke, and you flinched and twisted sharply around to look behind you. 

“Something was—“ You cut yourself off, no longer seeing your stalker. In fact, all of the lights were back to normal, illuminating the road nicely and brightly. It was as if you had imagined the entire thing. Morpheus’s arms tightened around you and his hand reached up to turn your chin so you had to look at him once more. 

“Y/N what’s wrong, I could feel your distress.” You blinked at him, working on getting your breathing back under control. 

“I could have— I could have sworn something was following me.” You softly panted out, still trembling from the high of adrenaline. “And the lights, the lights went out and it was dark and I couldn’t see and I—“ Your palm flared in sharp pain from where it was pressed against his chest. You drew it back to look at your torn-up palm with a wince. You had deep gouges in your flesh from where rock and dirt had roughly dug into your skin, your knees weren’t feeling any better… Morpheus dropped your chin and took your wrist in hand, turning your shaking hand in place before releasing your body and doing the same with your other hand. 

“You’ve injured yourself?” He questioned, his blue eyes tinting with silver as he held your hand's palm up beneath the lights of the street. 

“I— I tripped, my knees and my palms took most of my weight.” You stammered out, glancing over your shoulder once more. “But I swear, something was following me!” Morpheus gently stroked your wrist with his thumb, sending soothing emotions into your body until you were less of a rattled state. 

“Never fear, Y/N, I will not let anything happen to you while you are in my presence,” Morpheus promised you faithfully. “If you would let me, I should like to walk you home and attend to your wounds.” You looked down at your oozing wounds and bit your lip from the lingering pain, you were lost in thought once more. “Y/N?” You jerked slightly, your head swiveling around as if you expected something to jump out at you. Then you realized that Morpheus had simply called your name. Looking back up at him, you nodded silently. 

“I— yes, thank you.” Morpheus maintained a grip on your elbow as he gently led you the rest of the way to your cottage. Unlocking it, you welcomed him inside as you pulled off your cloak and removed your messenger bag. 

“It seems that you took quite a tumble,” Morpheus commented as you lifted the skirt of your dress to reveal your torn-up knees. You hadn’t realized just how bad your landing was in that alley until this moment. Before you could start thinking of how to go about cleaning your wounds, Morpheus was picking you up and setting you on your kitchen counter. You only had moments to gawk before he had your right hand in his and was ever so gently brushing his fingers over your wounds. Your fingers twitched as silver light glowed from his touch, and then you gaped as your skin magically wove itself back together. Once healed, you twisted and rotated your hand against his touch, amazed at how easily he had healed your injury. 

“How did you do that?” You asked as Morpheus did the same with your other hand, using the same gentle touch and care as before. 

“It is one of my many abilities within my realm, Y/N,” Morpheus softly replied, looking into your eyes as you watched in amazement as your other hand was completely healed as well. You seemed absolutely taken with the menial ability to heal your wounds as if they had never happened. It was far too easy to please you, but that only made Morpheus’s desire that much more obtainable. Your eyes eventually lifted to his. 

“Can you do my knees as well, Morpheus?” Just hearing you call out his name was enough for Morpheus to be willing to do anything you wished, he would create an entire realm for you if you so asked. You had so much power over him and yet, you were ever so oblivious to his desires and intentions. Morpheus’s lips twitched into a smile. 

“I would never leave my favorite librarian in such a state,” He spoke to you as he sunk on one knee and brushed your skirt upwards to reveal your blood and dirt-ridden knee. You reached down and gathered your skirt, pulling it further up your legs so it wasn’t in his way. Morpheus’s fingers caressed your knee, brushing away the blood, dirt, and rock particles that had lodged in your flesh with a silver touch, leaving behind unblemished skin. You moaned in relief as the sting disappeared from your body. Morpheus let his touch linger on your skin as the last bit of your flesh meshed together to become whole again. Leaning back on your perch, you heaved out a sigh of relief. 

“I could kiss you for that,” You murmured, your eyes closed at the relief of sharp pain. “It feels so much better.” Morpheus rose to his feet with a teasing smirk on his lips. 

“An action such as that I would welcome, Y/N,” You smiled and rolled your eyes, thinking, of course, that he was only teasing you back. He was not. Morpheus took your healed hand in his one more and brushed his fingers over your palm, little sparks of electricity bursting from his touch. “Should you find yourself walking home alone at such as hour, please call upon me for I shall gladly walk you home to ease your fears.” You nodded with a thankful smile. 

You were wandering through the market, buying fresh food in anticipation of Matthew’s birthday. You being you, had learned what Matthew loved and decided to make him dinner and dessert for his birthday, his favorite foods of course. Morpheus was enjoying watching you flitter around the market, so absorbed in your task. You looked so happy and carefree, entirely in your element so to speak. You got along with the residents of The Dreaming ever so well. You really were the perfect one for him. Morpheus had been trailing behind you by several paces when you had caught sight of the berry stall. Your eyes had lit up like the sun and you had nearly tripped over yourself, clumsy you, as usual, to get to the stall to buy several cases of blackberries for Matthew. Morpheus chose this moment to make his presence known. 

“It seems to you have discovered Matthew’s secret love affair,” You didn’t jump in place like you had other times, you were becoming more and more accustomed to him, and turned in place to beam up at Morpheus. 

“Oh, hello Morpheus! Yes, since it’s Matthew’s birthday I thought I’d make him his grandmother's blackberry tart… granted I have no idea how to make a tart and haven’t really baked before, but it’s his birthday so I thought I would try.” Morpheus bowed his head to the side with a smile. 

“I am sure he will greatly appreciate the sentiment, regardless of how it turns out, Y/N,” Morpheus told you, loving the way your smile brightened. You looked down at your basket full of produce and patted it. 

“Well, I am done shopping so that means it is time to try my hand at baking.” You stated, moving in the direction of the road that led to your cottage. Morpheus fell into step beside you. He walked you the rest of the way to your home and as you set your basket down on the kitchen counter, a thought popped into your head. Morpheus had been more than generous to walk you home, so why not give him a little treat? The apples you had bought looked incredibly delicious and surely he would enjoy the fruits of his peoples' labor. So you plucked one from the basket and turned to him. “Before you head off, take this,” You said offering the apple. 

Morpheus has to use all of his control to stop his eyes from blazing nuclear mercury at the innocently offered apple. Happiness burst within his chest at your proposition. This was exactly what he wanted from you, innocent you, and here you were, offering it yourself! Morpheus took the apple from you with reverence and splendor. There was no way you could reject his advances now that you had been the one to propose. 

“Make you sure take care of yourself, I know you’re working hard these days,” You told him in concern, oblivious to the noxious churning of obsessive desire and want that burned within Morpheus. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you.” 

“You have my word, Y/N,” Morpheus told you, holding your apple close to his heart. You were that much closer to him now, your proposal opened so many doors to him, and Morpheus planned on stepping through each one. 

You were sitting in the gardens again, enjoying the last bits of the fading flowers and trying your best not to shiver in place. The weather in The Dreaming had slowly turned seasonal, a fact that you loved, but you had entirely forgotten that when it got cold, you needed your cloak to stay warm. Out of all days you had decided to enjoy the gardens, it was when it was a blustery cold day and your coat was hanging neatly on the door hook at home. So you were basically freezing yourself to an ice cube while trying to enjoy the last bits of the garden you loved so much. At least the leaves turning a myriad of colors was beautiful to look at and reminded you of The Waking World. You shivered in place once more, feeling your teeth rattle. 

“You should have dressed warmer, λατρεία μου, you are trembling.” Morpheus’s voice came from your right and soon enough the man was walking up to you, his long coat flapping in the wind. 

“I didn’t plan on watching the sunset today so I didn’t bring my cloak,” You weakly protested. “And it’s not like I leave the library much, I didn’t see the need.” Morpheus raised an eyebrow at you momentarily before taking a seat next to you. 

“Then perhaps should keep one in the library?” He offered. “You surely spend more time there than in your cottage.” You gave him a half-hearted scowl before shivering again. Morpheus eyed your trembling body, entirely pleased with how cold you were. Another strong gust of wind blew through the garden and you hunched over. 

“Come closer, Y/N, surely you do not need to needlessly shiver and shake in the gales of The Dreaming,” Morpheus spoke up quietly, his voice thick with persuasion and hope as he opened his jacket. You eyed the space next to him and with zero hesitation, scooted over to huddle into his side. He couldn’t help the triumphant smile that spread across his lips as you pressed your body into his side. Morpheus draped the side of his coat around your shoulder so you were covered. Surely he could have taken his coat off and given it to you, it would have been more than enough to keep you warm… but why do that when he could have you pressed against him as you currently were, eagerly seeking out the heat he provided you?

It was late at night, close to the time when you would pack up and head home, but you had a few things that you wished to finish before doing so. So you were bent over a book, pen in hand, scribbling notes down for Lucienne. The tea you had been sipping was long since cold and forgotten next to you and the lights in the library had faded to a low dim. You were halfway through scribbling a note on a passage you had just read when a wall of tiredness hit you like nothing before. You tried to blink rapidly through the overwhelming urge to close your eyes, but you ultimately failed. With your eyelids fluttering close, your head dropped to your arms on the table and you fell asleep. 

From the shadows of the library, Morpheus watched as you, his beloved betrothed, fell fast asleep from where you had been sitting for hours on end. It was clear that, while you were a hard worker and dedicated to your job as a library, you worked a touch too much and needed to properly rest. Clearly, you were unable to regulate your own sleeping schedule, so Morpheus had decided to do it for you. You might not be able to fully take care of yourself… but as your betrothed, it was Morpheus’s job to see to your well-being. So walking over to where you slept peacefully, Morpheus ever so gently gathered your body in his arms and lifted you from your seat. You didn’t wake from the movement, you were trapped within the deep sleep Morpheus had coaxed you into, lost in a world of comforting dreams. With you tucked away in his arms, Morpheus carried you out of the library and to the nice little study, he had had the palace create just for you. He placed you on the couch that sat in front of the crackling fireplace and covered your body with a blanket. You snuggled yourself into the couch, burrowing beneath the blanket before sighing out and falling into a much deeper sleep. 

Pleased that you were fast asleep in a restful slumber within his palace, Morpheus took his seat and settled in, entirely content to watch you sleep. He spent the entire night sitting there, just watching you sleep peacefully, in his palace, where you belonged. The hours ticked by and Morpheus enjoyed watching the dreams that your mind pulled you through, one he found most amusing was that you had dreamed up a library. Did you not already spend enough time in the palace's library? You truly did love books. Morpheus was going to make sure that you loved him more. 

Your lovely idea to collect ice roses from Fiddler’s Green was a nice thought, you wanted to do something nice for those in the palace and the ice roses only bloomed in winter… but at twilight. Hence why you had said it was a nice thought. It wasn’t so nice when you were tromping through half a foot of snow at twilight, freezing your ass off, and wearing clothing not suitable to protect you from the cold that was rapidly setting in. 

“Better find those roses, Lucienne is going to scold me when she finds out that I came out here by myself, at twilight.” The more you thought about it, the more you realized that Lucienne and Morpheus would be angry. Surely if you collected plenty of ice roses and got back home unharmed, they wouldn’t kick up a fuss… right? Besides, this was Fiddler’s Green, there wasn’t anything dangerous here. Right?

You decided to put that thought in the back of your mind as you pushed forward against the snow. Climbing up a small hill, you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of glittering crystal-like roses. This was it. Hefting the basket you had brought with you against your side, you hurried down the hiss towards the roses and withdrew the clippers you had borrowed from your neighbor. You carefully picked your way to a section of the ice roses and knelt in the snow, ignoring the wet cold that soaked into your jeans. You started clipping ice roses and gently placing them in your basket, which came prepared with a damp towel to extend their life. 

Humming underneath your breath, you clipped flower after flower, counting to two dozen before you were satisfied with your clippings. Sitting back on your haunches, you took a few moments to appreciate the beauty of the field of ice roses, before ultimately being chased off by the cold. You clutched your cloak further around your shoulders and got to your feet. With the basket of flowers perched on your hips, you began following your footsteps back toward the village. As you walked, you noticed that it only seemed to get colder and colder, and your breath was combing out in white puffs. You were shivering now and your fingers, which you had covered with some gloves also borrowed from your neighbor, started to go numb. 

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” You moaned under your breath, heading into a section of the forest you had all too cheerfully walked through only hours earlier. Coming upon a downed log that you had stepped over previously, you carefully stepped over it once more, balancing the basket on it as you did so so you didn’t drop any flowers from your basket. You continued on your way, looking forwards at your old footprints, and mindlessly followed them through the rapidly darkening forest. Little clumps of snow had started to fall from the sky and the last thing you needed was to get turned around in the dark and have your foot tracks disappear. At least that’s what you were doing until you spotted a second and third set of footprints, and those footprints weren’t human. You stopped in place and squinted at the animal prints in the snow. It only took you a second or two to realize that they looked an awful lot like that of a dog, or worse… a— Your thoughts were cut off by a howl breaking through the quiet winter night. The basket dropped from your hand and you felt your heart stop in your chest. “Wolf…”

You couldn’t scramble fast enough. Surging forwards, your feet slipped in the snow slightly as you hurled yourself into an awkward, snow-bogged run while your heart tried to beat its way out of your chest. You weren’t paying attention to where you were running, you just had one thought on your mind and that was to flee. In your frightened panic, you lost sight of your old footprints and just randomly charged your way through the darkened forest. You bat away branches and sticks that dug into your skin and tore at your cloak and then were almost strangled when a particularly large branch caught the fluttering fabric of your cloak and refused to let go. You fought against the branch, trying to get your cloak from its clutches when the howls grew closer. 

“F this,” You breathed out, your hand diving your the string of the cloak at your throat. You quickly unraveled the knot and left your cloak behind as you pushed forwards, now colder than ever. Awkwardly running through the snow, dodging more branches, you failed to consider that there might be roots you needed to hop over and proceeded to spectacularly trip on one, sending you flying forwards. You face-planted into the snow and felt frigid snow soak into your clothes. Grunting, you struggled to get to your feet, ending up on your knees first, before using a nearby tree to get yourself to a standing position. You felt soaked and were quickly losing the feeling in your hands and feet. Taking a risky glance behind you, you caught sight of several wolves slinking through the trees behind you. That was more than enough motivation to get your half-numb body moving again. 

It was hard to keep moving, you were feeling drowsy now and your limbs, your numb limbs were struggling to obey your mental commands. You were less running and more lurching. Stumbling, you nearly face-planted a second time slipping on some ice. Your arms cartwheeled and you flailed, your hand smashing against rough bark as you grappled your way to stay on your feet. You could faintly see red staining your hands, but they were so far gone that you couldn’t feel the wounds opening up from your clawed grasp on the bark. At this point you felt like slumping against the tree, closing your eyes, and surrendering to the beckoning abyss of sleep. But yet another terrifying howl pierced the frosted night sky and you remember that you were running for a reason. You staggered forwards once more, too cold to even cry tears of fear at this point. 

Breathing out strained pants, you slipped and slid your way down a nearby bank and clutched your arms to your ice-soaked sweater. You were lost. Clearly. Lost and had a pack of Dream Wolves chasing you for some god-known reason. Which nightmare had decided to tease and taunt you this time? You didn’t have the energy to care. You took one more glance over your shoulder and once again saw wolves moving behind you, they were getting close, so close, and you didn’t have the energy to go any faster. Just as you turned back around, you crashed right into something hard and started falling backward, your numb limbs giving out. 

For a few seconds you thought that perhaps one of the wolves had circled to head you off, but as you shivered and chattered, you realized that your body was now being supported by another. Whoever now held you felt like a furnace, but you were too far gone to move to claw yourself closer. You simply lay limp, struggling to keep your eyes open while you rasped for breath. Eyes fluttered up at softly glowing ones, your blue lips attempted to speak, but all you could get out was a rasping whimper. Morpheus’s face, gentle and soothing to your frayed mind, started fading in and out as he gathered you in his arms. You tried to speak his name, but couldn’t even do that. Soon your eyes grew too heavy to keep open, and you let them stay shut, the cold finally trapping you in its frosty embrace. 

Coming back to consciousness, your mind was slow to register your surroundings. It was still struggling to come back from the depths of hypothermia. Or at least that is what your subconscious knew, you were confused and in pain. You didn’t know where you were, you were having a really hard time opening your eyes, and the blood within your veins felt as it if were on fire. You would have been writhing in place, squirming around to get away from the fiery pain that bit at the corners of your body viciously, if you weren’t trapped against a hot body wrapped around yours. Arms were wrapped around your back, cradling your head against a naked chest. Your own would have been doing the same if they weren’t twitching and shaking with violent jerks against a smooth back. You wanted to claw at your skin because it felt like acid was being dripped onto it. Your entire body writhed as another wave of intense burning charred your nerves. You choked on a whimper. 

“Shh,” The gentle shush caressed your ear as a face nuzzled the crown of your hair. “Forgive me, my beloved, I know it hurts but you need to be warmed up. Your body is much too cold.” You recognized that voice, it was a man’s, but from where? Another acid-filled pain burned through your body, this time eating away at your right thigh. You cried out and sank your left hand into his back with a soft sob. You were hushed more, fingers gently stroking your hair as arms refused to let you writhe and jerk around as you so desperately wanted. In your squirms, you could feel just how much of your skin was pressed against another. You had to be naked, you were naked, for you could feel that life-saving heat of another pressing into your frozen body. Your legs were intertwined with one another, your torso pressed tightly against a strong chest, and your arms draped around sculpted shoulders. Yes, you had not one scrap of clothing on, but you felt so awfully cold that you didn’t even care that you were wrapped up naked in someone else’s arms.

Struggling to open your eyes, you sluggishly managed to crack them open as your head lolled back slightly. Pale skin graced your vision, skin that was pale as the moon itself. Who had skin this alabaster white? Morpheus. The hand in your hair slipped down until hot fingers were gently caressing your face, you leaned your head back further to see Morpheus’s eyes gazing down into yours. You harshly bit down on another whimper of pain as your eyes watered with tears. Your cold lips struggled to form words. 

“…w-wolves…” You rasped out, your teeth chattering. “Roses, w-wanted to b-bring…” Morpheus brushed his thumb over your trembling lips and tightened his hold on your shaking body. 

“You are safe now,” Morpheus whispered at you, his fingers tilting your chin backward and his face leaning down to press close to yours. You were cocooned in an envelope of heat and yet your shivers and trembles were relentless. A few tears broke free of your lashes and ran blazing trails down your cold cheek. Morpheus wiped them away. “Do not fraught yourself, Y/N, everything will be well now. I promise.” You grimaced and bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood as another acidic burn ripped at your muscles. Back arching, you went taught in his arms and stifled more whimpers. Morpheus was prepared for your continued wracks of pain, holding you ever so tightly and keeping your naked body pressed against his, no matter how much you tried to squirm. He was going to breathe life back into your frozen body with his touch, but first, he had to make sure your mind was cleared of fear and pain. 

Morpheus held your chin so your pained eyes gazed into his and let his magic flow, wrapping around you, winding its way into your mind and memories. Your eyes glowed silver as Morpheus tugged and pulled at your mind and thoughts until he was satisfied that you would no longer have anything to fear. You went rigid in his arms as his magic slowly slipped from you, then your eyelids fluttered shut once more and you went limp. Morpheus cradled you closer, nuzzling his face into your hair with an appeased hum. You were finally his.

You woke up with the echoes of a headache and felt a touch on the cold side. Opening your eyes, you stared at your silken bedsheets and tried to recall the last memory you had before going to bed. You couldn’t. Rolling onto your back, you stared at the ribbons of fabric that were draped across the top of your four-poster bed and hugged your bedsheets closer to your naked body. Naked? Looking down, you stared in puzzlement at yourself. You didn’t sleep naked, never had, so why were you naked now? That thought lingered in your mind as two women fluttered into the room and busied themselves. One drew back the draped from the line of windows at the opposite end of your bed and the other dove into a dresser. Neither of the two seemed to realize you were awake until the one that was tying back the drapes, turned around. 

“Oh! My lady, you are awake?” She twittered. The name Emeline repeated in your head, that was her name. “After Lord Morpheus brought you back early this morning we expected you to spend the day sleeping in recovery.” Recovery? From what? Your apparent confusion must have been clear on your face because the woman’s eyebrows drew together. “You… do remember what happened, do you not?” 

“Er, not exactly?” You spoke out hesitantly, looking around. Everything seemed familiar. You knew it was yours, this room was yours, the handmaidens were yours, even the bed… but at the same time, it was also foreign and new. “I— I am afraid I’m a little confused and think I might have forgotten. How did I get here?” 

“Lord Morpheus brought you back after you failed to return from Fiddler’s Green.” The other handmaiden, you think her name is Megara, a Grecian woman who had lived for thousands of years, said. More confusion filled you, what were you doing in Fiddler’s Green?

“You went to pick ice roses,” Emeline piped up, gesturing to a vase on a table in front of the large windows. The roses were beautiful, the petals almost crystal clear as they glimmered beneath the morning sun. 

You did remember going to pick ice roses, but it got foggy after that. 

“I think— I think I got lost?” You echoed in further confusion. “I’m… not really sure what happened, I remember picking them and it being cold, but I don’t remember coming back.” Emeline bobbed her head, her ebony curls bouncing as she did so. 

“That’s because you were out cold, my lady, passed out from hypothermia… if the king hadn’t gone out to fetch you, I don’t know what would have happened to you!” So that’s why you were so cold, in your attempt to get those pretty flowers, you had gotten hypothermia and passed out. How silly of you. 

“Well that was entirely silly of me,” You softly chuckled, still very much confused but understanding how you had gotten so cold. Faint memories of your body feeling like acid as your muscles warmed back up flickered through your mind. Then the infinitely warm embrace of Morpheus wrapped around you, your limbs entangled with him as he held you while you cried from the pain. Your head started hurting and reaching up, you pressed your hand to your temple with a wince. 

“Oh to have a betrothed as dedicated to me as Lord Morpheus is to you,” Megara sighed. “His devotion and love is eternal.” You blinked in even more confusion, you and Morpheus were betrothed? You didn’t remember him asking you to marry him, you didn’t even remember dating him. But for some reason, you didn’t remember a lot of things. Looking down at your left hand, you saw a ring on your ring finger. It was a silver band in the shape of a vine wrapping around your finger. There was a medium-sized stone mounted in the middle, sparkling with the color of a galaxy, and little white gemstones were intermittently throughout the ring band itself. It even had little silver daisies carved into it. Clearly, Morpheus knew you quite well and had meticulously thought of every little detail. You might not remember much about your intimate relationship with him, but it was clear that he loved you very much. 

“Would you like to get dressed, my lady?” Emeline asked. “Surely your body could do with some movement.” You agreed, the movement would surely warm you up further and your joints felt in need of exercise. The pair helped to dress your still slightly shivering body and made sure to have you don a thick robe to keep you plenty warm. You didn’t know quite what to do, so you took to wandering around the palace, trying to jog your spotty memory. Surely you could remember something about dating Morpheus. One didn’t just get engaged to an Endless on a whim and Morpheus certainly didn’t do anything without direct thought and reason. You were wandering the palace, looking at the stained glass and statues when you absentmindedly walked into the throne room. 

“Y/N?” You blinked at the call of your name and dropped your eyes from the swirling glass overhead to see Lucienne staring at you in concern. 

“Oh, hello Lucienne,” You greeted with a small smile, you wrapped your robe further around your body. Lucienne eyed you up and down, concern clear on her face. 

“Are you feeling well?” She prompted, shrewdly looking at you as if checking you for further injury. 

“I feel fine,” You happily told her. “Well I still feel a little cold, but Emeline and Megara said that I had hypothermia so that’s kind of expected.” Lucienne still looked irked, for some reason, and it seemed that she was working to hold her tongue. 

In fact, she was. Lucienne wasn’t oblivious, not like you, and she knew full well how obsessed Morpheus was with you. Obsessed enough to play tricks on your mind, stalk you from the shadows, and cause bodily harm it seemed, and yet, you were still oblivious little you, happily smiling away in blissful ignorance. At the very least Lucienne could take comfort in knowing that Morpheus would never allow further harm to come to you now that you were officially his. She wondered what you would think if you ever learned the truth behind your recent mishaps… but knowing Morpheus best, Lucienne knew that you would never find out the truth. The only comfort Lucienne could take was that Morpheus was so devoted to you that he would rather die than see anything happen to you, so you would be well taken care of, even if that meant you were trapped in a gilded prison…. and had no idea that it was a prison in the first place. 

“I see,” Lucienne commented quietly, working to hide the sadness she felt deep within her heart. Any further words she wished to speak quickly died on her tongue when Morpheus himself came striding over. 

“Y/N,” Morpheus spoke, his eyes soaking in the sight of you all wrapped up in the clothes specially made for you, and your little hands clutching the hand-stitched robe you wore around your shoulders. The ring on your hand glimmered from the lights in the room. “Should you be up, my dream?” Your nose wrinkled at him in response and you let out a small huff. 

“I wasn’t going to stay in bed all day, Morpheus,” You told him, your lip curling in a pout in a way he found most adorable. “Besides, I need to get my body moving to warm up. The best way to do that is to move, walking around isn’t that hard and won’t do me any harm.” Morpheus’s eyebrow rose as he looked at you up and down. His eyes shifted momentarily to Lucienne was watching you carefully, her eyes met his, and a silent message passed between Morpheus and her. It was a clear dismissal. Lucienne cleared her throat and spoke up once more. 

“I believe I have work to do in the library, my lady, I will see you later,” At the mention of the library, you perked up once more. Lucienne’s eyes narrowed at yours. “And I should not expect to see you there until you are fully recovered.” You drooped and pouted further at Lucienne’s words, but didn’t argue back. Satisfied that you were going to listen, Lucienne bid her final goodbye, giving Morpheus one last look. Morpheus stared down at you with adoration as you looked at Lucienne’s receding in confusion. 

“Is it just me, or was Lucienne acting strange?” You asked, looking back up at Morpheus. He couldn’t help but find your confused face adorable and reached a hand up to brush his fingers over your hair. 

“I am sure Lucienne is just concerned for your condition, my love,” He told you gently, allowing his fingers to linger on your face and skin. “How do you feel? In the early hours after finding you, when I was warming you up, you were in great pain.” You remember your skin feeling like acid, and trying to writhe in his arms as he held you against him. Your eyes dropped to the marble floor as you struggled to remember more. 

“I feel good, maybe a little cold… but fine otherwise,” You told him, lifting your eyes once more to peer into his starlit eyes. “My memory is very spotty and I can’t recall everything though.” Your words pleased Morpheus, everything was going as it should. Morpheus cupped your cheek and bent his head down, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“Memory or not, I am elated to know that you are well once more,” Morpheus whispered, his nose brushing yours. You smiled at him and giggled. 

“I’m not going to be taken down just because I got cold, Morpheus,” You told him in between giggles. “That would just be absurd.” Morpheus raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Of course not, my future queen is much too stubborn to succumb to hypothermia.” Morpheus drew out, maneuvering your head back more so his lips brushed against yours. They were much too irresistible when this close and he couldn’t help but steal a kiss from your lips as you giggled. His lips pressed against yours, careful to hold just how much he wanted you, back. Morpheus could feel the heat that blossomed beneath the skin of your face and chuckled against your lips. Your innocence was truly endearing. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” You whispered against his lips, trying to sound mad at him, but entirely failing to do so. 

“Apologies, my love,” Morpheus apologized, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “Please forgive me, I couldn’t help it, you are just far too irresistibly adorable.” The heat beneath your skin burned hotter and you hit him in the chest with your fist. 

“Morpheus!” 

“I’m sorry, my love, I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” He told you, hugging your body, your only huffed at him and wrapped your arms around his torso to rest your head against his chest. Yes, your memory was spotty, but Morpheus was devoted to you, so did you really need to remember what you had forgotten?

Date Published: X

Last Edit: X

An Offered Apple | Masterlist | An Accepted Apple

[krys-loves-otome]

OC Ship Chart!

It's taken me a few days and I'm probably only gonna do these three, but I've finally finished the ship meme Mo (@xxsycamore / @kissmetwicekissmedeadly) created!

Forewarning that I forgot to add in some emoji options and I can never remember MBTI types so I just put idk for all of them as I was too lazy to look them up (nor am I interested in learning them, sorry!).

Picrew for the girlies from here!

-Suitor ages are not confirmed in ikesen (or really in many otome games) so I just gave Mitsunari a ballpark, while also making him the same age as Houki. I think it's cuter that way.

-Sexualities are also not explicitly stated, but you can pry my ace spectrum headcanons for Mitsunari from my cold, dead hands.

-I don't think IkeSen has representative animals, so I just put cat because both of them have had cats as pets at one point or another.

-I am pretty sure that IkeSen does have flowers that represent the suitors, but the only ones I can remember offhand are Hideyoshi (sunflowers), Mitsuhide (bellflowers), and Nobunaga (spider lilies, but not 100% on that one). Daisies was picked at random (and they are in that above cg, so that's why Mitsun gets daisies)

------

-20cm would be about 7-8 inches (Vincent's 5'9 compared to Abby's 5'1)

-Who knows how old the ikevamp suitors are when Comte pulls them into 19th Century Paris, but I have done some light research on the Van Gogh brothers and know that there's roughly four years between Theo and Vincent, so I just did an estimate for Theo's age and added on 4 years. That's my logic and I'm sticking to it.

-For the life of me, I couldn't think of any nicknames Abby would call Vincent. Not that there's anything wrong with that, sometimes the most romantic thing is being called by name in a certain tone that's enough to get someone riled up!

-I see Vincent as not caring much about gender presentation, so long as he can paint the person he likes and they're nice, he's happy with whoever his partner is. I can also see him being at least a lil curious with Shakespeare because of this.

-Same as Mitsunari, I put his representative animal as his pet bc I didn't have any better ideas, lol

-Also can't remember specifically when the first kiss happens in his route, but Vincent's route is fairly smooth sailing in the first three quarters, so I'm putting in towards middle bc I can't remember specifically when they kiss first, so I'm putting it towards the middle as a conservative guess.

-MC didn't really get kidnapped as much in Vincent's route that I can specifically remember (save for the ending where she's time-napped (?), but this reading is fairly accurate.

-Vincent is still learning about his emotions, so allowing himself to experience romantic love is gonna take a while, like all his other emotions. For Abby, she's just got low self-esteem so sometimes doesn't feel like she's worthy of love at first.

-Abby can decently cook, that makes her the more responsible adult in the relationship, lol

-Vincent brushing Leonardo's hand off of Abby's head lives rent-free in my mind and I'll forever feel a certain way about that scene.

-Vincent defies time laws to get back to his true love, so he's rebelling against the system in that way.

----

This is cheating since this was meant for Cybird's IkeSeries games, but it's Miri's birthday in a few days and I just wanted to add her and Lucifer too, and that's reason enough for me!

-Obey Me boys don't have canon heights (yet, as of this posting), but my heart is set on Lucifer being over 6 feet tall (180cm ish), so that's where I'm putting him.

-10M here stands for 10 million years. Luci is a demon (formally an angel) so he's got some eons on him. Very much an old man if there was one, lol

-All Obey Me Suitors are pansexual by default because the MC has no set gender and the suitors will love them no matter their gender presentation because of this. Still waiting on Thirteen to be dateable so that she can flirt with my girlie properly tho.

-The Peacock animal representation is canon. As is a sheep for the MC, as they are often shown with a sheep in their icons in chats.

-Debated back and forth with their representative flowers, esp with Lucifer between roses and spider lilies, and ultimately went with the spider lilies cause I liked the metaphor tied to them better for Luci.

-Lucifer is more than ready to put his loved ones before himself to make sure they are safe and happy, as he's proven time and time again.

-He's also emotionally constipated sometimes, thus why Miri realizes it's love faster than he does, lol.

-Luci is very much the responsible adult as Miri is constantly pulled into shenanigans with his younger brothers.

-Listen, the jealousy thing? He has to fight for Miri's attention between his six brothers, his boss, his boss's butler, his former angel comrades, and her a shady sorcerer. Can't he hold her for just a few moments? Sheesh..

-The whole reason Lucifer is a demon in the first place is because he rebelled against the system in the name of love and Miri would actively fight God because of what Lucifer and the others went through if she could.

-Miri literally wouldn't exist without Lucifer's rebellion. He rebelled to try and save his sister, who was an angel too, but she gets reincarnated as a human who became Miri's ancestor, so… yeah, Miri wouldn't exist if Lucifer hadn't rebelled in the name of love.

[ziskeyt]

yes this is all very true of how totk reimagined researchers and put a huge emphasis on the idyllic past where no other species other than the ancient hylians and zonai are granted the humanity of their own faces. it canonizes calling this new species "zonai" a name that some 1920s British archaeologist would've called a group of people who's ruins they came across that seemed esoteric and mythical given how the name apparently is some play on the word "mystery" which, idk, i think says a lot about how they treated this new species, their relics, and even their language(s?) totk feels like the fascist meme of "reject modernity, embrace tradition" in its story. which is bad. that is a bad thing. and a bad meme and we should absolutely be critical of the ways things we read, play, and experience contain these kinds of messages. the thing is, with botw while you could go to calamity ganon and beat him without reclaiming the relics of the past (the four beasts, the sword), the story wants you to do it in an order. (i can't say if it's possible to beat totk without at least getting the sword, i have no idea and haven't been watching many playthroughs) so while in botw, they have the past that doomed them, and the hylians in general and every other group of people in the kingdom have all moved on and created their lives and societies in a constantly burning world, it is through relying on the past, idyllic or not, that they are able to conquer the big pig and win. and yet, it is only with Zelda's divine power that you win in the end, there is no other endgame. she seals him -- sword that seals the darkness or not. with botw we end with a message that the past is necessary for those who aren't divine blessed to fight against an enemy who is also using the past as weapons and tools of subjugating the land (which is INTERESTING as a story beat. you cannot overcome someone weaponizing the past without understanding it yourself). but the only way to really, truly, be free of the big giant evil is through divine right.

neither of these messages are particularly compelling to me, but at least with botw we do have real textual canonical conversation that shows us that the past wasn't some beautific perfect thing. not 100 years ago, nor 10,000. the royal family has flaws. the kingdom has flaws. and yet they are still, in the end, worthy of their goddess's favour. and there is nuance, as op stated, with the entire story, that we are completely bereft of in totk. in totk there is a lot of questionable stuff within the game story we get of the past, but it's stuff that we as the player can infer and tease out if we wish, and that may have not even been fully intended as the message to take away. the primary message that seems to be intended is as what is stated above: the past is idyllic, everything was perfect, and then this man for no reason was just evil. just because. as a treat, just for him, he gets to be evil. and we don't defeat it then, but we do enlist the eons in the future descendants into some royal tiff. everyone else is a tool and a pawn to the royal family. even royalty within their own people are there to serve the hylians. the ones who are truly the divine blessed.

a lot of people have already pointed out how totk has a lot of themes of imperialism and generally leans conservative ideologically, but what i think is interesting is how totk subtly redefines what a “researcher” is.

zelda wants to be a researcher in botw, and what this means in the context of botw is largely someone who works with sheikah technology. she wants to figure out ancient sheikah tech, she has an interest in botany and otherwise nature and biology (the whole silent princess and the frog thing), robbie and purah, the two characters who are the closest to us seeing what a researcher in the context of botw is are basically inventors. in totk, however, the main researchers who are presented to us are all historians.

this is an interesting pivot, because in botw zelda is not really interested in history. if anything, the one who’s deeply concerned with history is rhoam, wanting to preserve historical tradition and his uncritical reliance on said tradition and historical precedent is what leads them to their doom. in botw, zelda is narratively opposed to history, if anything, all the ancient tech backfires on them and traditions fail to awaken zelda’s power. zelda’s urge to be a researcher is in wanting to understand the world around her, not just blindly follow ancient plans but rather have agency within them.

totk, however, is obsessed with ancient plans. the only real moment where zelda gets to geek out in totk is her getting all giddy about finding out more about the divine origins of hyrule. all the researchers in the game are concerned with finding out more about the zonai. since all the mentions of ancient sheikah technology are scrubbed from the game purah and robbie read more as strange outliers, the sheikah slate is no longer, now it’s the purah pad, a product of purah rather than something larger. the whole game is literally about following an ancient plan, a plan most characters don’t fully understand as they sign up for it. totk’s main story is built on confusion, on the characters not knowing what’s fully going on but having faith in ancient sages telling them what to do. in botw, following ancient plans you don’t fully understand was the thing that doomed you. in totk, following ancient plans you don’t fully understand is the gimmick.

that juxtaposition between the two games has an ideological through line: botw posits that progress is necessary. mindlessly relying on tradition doesn’t work. prophecies are omens, not instructions. history must be learnt from, not repeated. the ancient sheikah aren’t a group to be emulated, but rather to be learnt from, considering their machinery backfired and the royal family betrayed them. totk, however, is obsessed with the mythical history of hyrule, a time where everything was idyllic until one bad man showed up, a time we must emulate in order to win. i already talked about how the past in totk is zelda’s life pre calamity but better here, but that also plays into the idolisation of that era and its royalty. in botw, even the myth of the first calamity preserves the fact that the yiga clan has origins in the royal’s family persecution of the sheikah, even the time when they successfully held back the calamity is tinged with mistakes that still affect the world ten thousand years later. in totk, ganondorf’s origins are nebulous. nobody provoked him, nobody did anything wrong, he’s just evil because he is.

a lot of right wing ideologies are hinged on preservation, but more than that: the belief in the nebulous mythical past in which everything was better. “make america great again”, the fascist’s idolisation of ancient rome which is represented largely inaccurately, look at any conservative rhetoric and you’ll see people complaining about how things nowadays are ruined or are being ruined, how in the past things were this way and they’re not anymore, which is bad. the belief in the fact that in some past period we were great and are not anymore, and the strive to emulate that past is a trait highly typical of right wing ideologies. and in totk the past as a great era is an idea presented completely uncritically, the narrative is entirely controlled by the game and doesn’t dwell on any of the inconsistencies in this idea.

now, obviously, not every story in which a great ancient era exists is fascist, right wing or conservative. but to me what’s interesting specifically in totk is this shift between the two games: botw is critical of the past. it’s critical of arrogantly repeating history, it’s critical of having blind faith in great relics of the past. totk isn’t. totk idolizes the past, totk tells legends and tells you to believe them without any doubts. botw believes researchers are those who seek to understand the world, innovate it and solve problems without relying on ancient ways. totk believes researchers are those who discover ancient instructions, ancient ways and relay them to great men in the present to be followed. the four mainline regional quests in botw are about discovering four ancient relics that are terrorising the land and fixing the mistakes of the past. the four mainline regional quests in totk are about discovering four ancient legends are true, and receiving instructions from an ancient sage on what to do.

totk is not simply neutral, it is ideologically conservative in stark contrast to botw, because of the things it chooses to leave uncriticised, notably the things botw was very poignant about examining critically. the way totk redefines what is a researcher is indicative of this, indicative of the way it chooses to idolize or present as an unexamined good that which was nuanced in botw. totk isn’t just conservative in the sense that it presents uncritically a “good king” and “evil conquerer”, it goes deeper, it’s notable because botw was starkly opposed to the thematic axioms totk presents.

i just think it’s very interesting that they made a sequel to botw, and completely redefined or otherwise ignored botw’s thematic core.

[thedeadthree]

Ayrenn + basics and Verlaine + personality 💓

ALYSSA DEARIEE TY TY SO MUCH FOR THE ASK ABOUT MY BELOVED PHOENIX and! my lovely verlaine! ever since I made them and began reading the exile + golden rose.... they’ve been on the brain living there rent free with luxury room service aakjnsd so! ty again bb!

oc questions

x

1. what’s their full name?

ayrenn marcelette emelina urthemiel of plaithus!

2. what does their name mean? why were they named that?

ayrenn actually shares her name and surname with two characters from elder scrolls and dragon age! ayrenn means mountain of strength (oo she’ll need it if shes gonna survive dealing with her mom and former bestie sjnxak) I couldn’t find a meaning behind her surname but! urthemiel was the archdemon of beauty! her middle names are based on variations of the names of her moms! marcelette being a diminutive of marcelle and is derived from the name of the roman god mars! it’s fitting as she was the commander of that plaithian military and the symbolism of being a phoenix and “fires of war” hehe. and emelina is a diminutive of emmeline meaning “work!” dragon age and elder scrolls are two of my favorite fantasy worlds every (along with the witcher!) and when i was thinking of names for her they ayrenn and urthemiel popped into my head! epiphany! stars aligned etc! I knew they were perfect for her and to pay homage to the worlds I adore so much!

3. do they have any nicknames?

she doesn’t have any nicknames unfortunately but she does have a few aliases! the one she tends to use the most is either lilith or before her exile she just went by her title!

4. how old are they?

she is 24!

5. when’s their birthday?

she was born on the 19th of february!

6. what’s their zodiac sign/element/birthstone/etc.? do they believe that holds any significance?

her zodiac is a pisces with a cusp in aquarius leaning into pisces! ironically enough with her being the painted phoenix her element matches her zodiac in that her’s would be water!

(oo the internal conflict sjdans SORRY AYRENN DEAR) as those bearing the element of water tend to take everything to heart (especially things done to them.... FITTING), have a strong intuition and pick up on the emotions of other easily which is GREAT when she had a politics specialty and being the commander it was useful to read the emotions of her opponents and knew their movements before they acted on them, and..... not the most willing to open up about themselves and remain rather mysterious! and finally that her own desire for security leaves her to resort to risk taking behaviors at any cost to feel whole again! that’s her! her

and her birthstone would be the amethyst as she was born in february! and if she believe that they hold significance, I think if the circumstances of her childhood were different, if she was allowed to have a life of her own that wasn’t tethered by any red strings of fate or destinies, etc that I think there is a high chance she would have! but alas the tides of time proved that if she had hopes of such things, they’re long gone now. so she really doesn’t? what good would it do when shes been told her whole life what her fate is? what use is destiny when she has no choice on how she fulfills it?

7. what’s their species/subspecies? do they have any special/magical abilities?

she’s a mythosi with her blood infused from the procedure with that of a phoenix! and you can BET she does! not necessarily a magical ability per say, but she does have immortality (don’t remind her that saber doesn’t BAD idea), she had wings (also refrain from reminding her of THAT sajndka), resistance to flame and the ability to manipulate and release flames from her hands/body, when transformed her heart and bones would begin to glow, eyes would turn from their red into lava resembling orbs, and! her hair would become flame!

8. what “class” do they belong to (for fantasy characters)? if none, what weapon do they favor?

she doesn’t have a “set” class per say but the closest i would put her down having a class with is a sort of blood hunter/paladin hybrid? or the way solaire was in terms of class in dark souls? WAIT okay the prisoner class in elden ring is definitely a closer fit! the prisoner and ayrenn would be besties for sure kjwednw

the weapon that she prefers is a scythe! (or halberd!) ayrenn on a battlefield with a flame covered scythe.. we love to see it!

1. what’s their alignment?

shes a chaotic good! a good person with good intentions but of course her methods are unconventional (alessa and hadrian would best describe her as a hot mess with good intentions hehe)

2. which one of the 16 personality types do they fit into?

her’s would be the isfp-a “the adventurer!” it’s so interesting to me with that as I played the if and got to know her more as a character throughout reading golden rose I realized how much more fitting she is as an introvert than an extrovert! and the adventurer is a perfect bridge between those two! being charismatic and reserved all the while its so fitting!

3. what are their hobbies and interests? do they have any particular “favorites” (food, books, and so on)?

she loves to collect ornate and ceremonial daggers! and a beloved hobby of hers is to collect, usually roses or peonies, and press them into books! when she has down time picking flowers from local markets or fields she’ll make perfumes with them! best of all verlaine LOVES to give raf a hard time as much as he enjoys to give her a hard time asjnsda she is an avid collector of relics of her patron goddess aphrodite from before things went awry and the gods ceased to be worshipped! yes shes aware that’s heretical what about it? jsanja. ANYWAYS, she does! rosewater lemonade and a sweet bread with lemon icing is a true beloved of hers! romantic compilations of love notes or poetry is a dear peace of literature (GET TO WRITING RAF), and old leather bound books, pressed flowers, perfumes, relics of aphrodite and ornate daggers are her favs!

4. what are they bad at?

will she ever admit to these? that’s silly! what she isnt so great at is why she’s so grateful that hadrian is in her life, as she isn’t the most proficient in melee and swords (save for the rapier shes proficient with those!). she much prefers her daggers! (also not being the queen of pity parties at any small inconvenience is perhaps what some would say is what she isnt great at as well but she couldn’t find a reason why.. must be jealousy!)

5. what kind of things do they dislike/hate?

her ego being bruised is something she LOATHES (leo things sajnsak), that sort of hot weather that ruins a carefully prepared look with the humidity or temperature, THAT A CERTAIN BELOVED OF HERS KEEPS BEING A STEP AHEAD AND TAKES HER THINGS.. take her out for dinner not take her maps babes!

6. do they have any vices/addictions/mental illnesses?

not any that I can think of currently! but maybe vices could be her less than frugalness with money when it comes to markets? she was told to hand over her money to hadrian for the VERY REASON that as there is a market it is known by the group she will spend... all of it sjkna.

7. what are their goals and motivations?

i think what would be verlaines main aspirations would be of course to uncover the identity of this nero sort, to learn all she can about her patron goddess aphrodite and the other forgotten gods..... and to wed raf kasnks.

8. what are their manners like? Any habits?

she came from an noble-ish upper class background! her family fell out of favor with the other families back in syracusae and whatever wasn’t auctioned off was more than likely gambled off in an effort to stay relevant.. so that is why she is traveling with the white company! and because of said background she remains to have the same sort of countenance as she did back then! it makes her a DEAR to the wealthy people they meet (and she cons money from hehe).

9. what are they most afraid of?

that her own desires and ambitions, her hubris, being the downfall of those she cares about is something I would say is a fear that haunts her nightmares! sure, she wants to know all there is, and to uncover the identity of this nero and the forgotten gods is a dream of hers. but that it could come at the cost of people she holds dear is something that haunts her at times.

[void-inked-pen]

Yeah!! They can be thrown!! The way I was told you do it (if I remember right, I never got to try rip) was that you take hold of the center prong and it’s kind of an overhand throw, you have to get your timing just right. The sensei that told me about it said he used to hold a sai throwing contest where you’d throw the sais at pumpkins! Yes the pumpkins died- now imagine a master ninja with sais that have sharpened points

And another thing with sai countering bōs and katana is that in the first episode of 2012 where Donnie and raph spar—raph doesn’t even use a correct counter for Donnie’s strike (actually now that I think about it did raph even use his sai for that spar? Lol it’s been a while). The way I learned to block an initial bō strike to the face/above was to flip the sai around, catch, redirect, and then strike. With catch and redirecting being a big part of any counter you have GOT to be incredibly aware of how other weapons work along with your own. Also a nitpick but it bugs me—raph breaking the bō over his knee is not possible those things are HARD he’d break his knee trying that

There’s a ton of flipping for the sais!! But it’s mostly to take them out of resting position (guarding that forearm) for a quick stab or counter/block, the majority of the time that third prong will be protecting that forearm—from what I did learn it mostly just added to my hand to hand, stronger strikes and stronger defense. Also I don’t think I ever saw any turtle do a low block but a low block with a sai entails the initial block (like you would without a weapon), lifting the leg you just blocked over, and in a quick motion flipping the sai and striking whatever you just blocked (not stab just like smack with the middle prong), and then reset with it in normal position. They can be incredibly fluid and we just don’t get to see that 😭😭😭

Anyway I’m glad you liked my first ask 🐢🐢🐢🐢

AYYYYYY YOUR BACK!

totally not taking notes of this lol

ALSO YE I HAD TO BREAK BOARDS IN MY DOJO TO ADVANCE TO THE NEXT STAGE AND THOSE BOARDS WERE HARD AS SHIT TO BREAK!!! IMAGINE DOING THAT WITH A BO STAFF WHICH IS USUALLY BALANCED, DENSE WOOD!

i literally think the writer kept downplaying the bo staff because it didn't "look cool" to kids which.... why would you perpetuate a staple weapon that has been used for eons isn't cool? like.... come on. don't call it a "flimsy stick" its not. (also you gotta realize that the animators literally had to make a new model JUST for the broken pieces... so annoying)

that is another thing that they def should have done in 2012, which was point out how all four of them need to understand each others weapons in order to get a better understanding of how to use their main one more effectively. ninja's are not one trick pony, they had to know EVERYTHING. including the smart ways to fight which was not at all nice and usually involved poison or traps.

but anyway, thank you for more talk about sais! you and the previous ask were very insightful~ glad to know I was pretty on point with my analysis with a few nitpicks of what I said. I try my best to do as much research as I can before I make those posts~

[maxwell-grant]

Excuse Me what is pulp and why is it importan?

Good question! And probably one I should have answered sooner. Time to put on the historian hat for this one.

"Pulp" is a term used mainly to describe forms of storytelling that sprang out or were dominant in 20th century cheap all-fiction American magazines from the 1900s to the 1950s. The pulp magazine began in 1896, when Frank Munsey's Argosy magazine, in order to cut costs, dropped the non-fiction articles and photographs and switched from glossy paper to the much less expensive wood pulp paper, hence the name. The pulp magazines would mainly take off as a distinct market and format in 1904, when Street & Smith learned that Popular Magazine, despite being marketed towards boys, was being consumed by men of all ages, so they increased page count and started putting popular authors on the issues.

It was specifically the 1905 reprint of H.Rider Haggard's Ayesha that not only put Street & Smith on the map as rivals to Argosy, but also inspired other companies to start publishing in the pulp format. Pulps encompassed literally everything that the authors felt like publishing. Westerns, romance, horror, sci-fi, railroad stories, war stories, war aviation stories. Zeppelins had a short-lived subgenre. Celebrities got their own magazines, it was really any genre or format they could pull off, anything they could get away with.

Nowadays, although they came quite late in it's history, the American pulps are most famous for it's "hero pulps", characters like The Shadow and Doc Savage that are viewed as a formative influence on comic book superheroes. The pulp magazines in America lasted until the 1950s, when cumulative factors such as paper shortages, diminishing audience returns and the closing of it's biggest publishers led to it dying off, although in the decades since there's always been publishers calling their magazines pulp. That's the American pulp history.

But pulps are a phenomenon that spans the entire world and has a much bigger history to it, because pulps have become synonymous with cheap fiction magazines and those have a much bigger history. In America, before the pulps, you had the dime novels, the direct predecessors of the pulps, as well as the novelettes. England had it's penny dreadfuls and story papers, and continued publishing pulp-format magazines past the American 1950s, and that's how we got Elric of Melniboné. France and Russia arguably got to it first with it's 1800s coulporters, chapbooks and particularly the feuilletons which lasted all the way to the 20th century and created characters such as Arsene Lupin, Fantomas and The Phantom of the Opera. The Germans published pulp under the name hefteromane. Japan also published pulp magazines both original as well as imported, and the current "light-novel" phenomenon started off as an equivalent of pulp magazines (it's even on the Wikipedia page). China has wuxia, Brazil has cordel, Italy has gialli. There were Indian, Persian, Ethiopian, Canadian, Australian pulps and much more. Look anywhere in the world and you'll find examples of "pulp" happening again and again, under different circumstances and time periods.

Even if we stick to American fiction, it's impossible to state that all pulp heroes must come from the 1900s-1950s pulp magazines, because that forces us to exclude some of the most popular pulp heroes like Indiana Jones, Green Hornet, Rocketeer and The Phantom. Pulp may have once been a term meant to refer to pulp magazines exclusively, but it's morphed and lost structure and it's become the closest thing we have to a general umbrella term that allows us to try and consolidate these under a shared history. It's a lot, as you can see, and it's why several pulp historians that broaden their scope outside of 1930s American fiction have adopted Roland Barthes's definition of pulp as "A Metaphor With No Brakes In It", which is still the closest thing to a true working definition we have.

Why is it important? You tell me. I don't like to stake claims about stuff being "important", everyone's got their own priorities in life. Surely a lot of people would scoff at the idea of old populist fiction published in what was functionally equivalent to toilet paper having any sort of "importance". On the other hand, some people definitely want to talk big about the pulps as a cultural bedrock of fiction, something that's baked into the lifeblood of all fiction as we currently know it. Which it is, mind you, but I don't like to talk about pulp fiction's value being derived mainly from merely the things it inspired.

There is definitely a historical importance to be had in cataloguing them. According to the US's foremost pulp researcher Jess Nevins, 38% of all American pulps no longer exist, and 14% of all American pulps survive in less than five copies. Many libraries have very scant, if any, records on them, many collectors are hard to locate and are uncooperative when it comes to sharing information and letting outsiders view their collections. A lot of them are bound up in legal complications that prevents them from taking off in the public domain, and a lot of them ARE public domain but are completely inacessible as research material. And that's the American pulps, foreign pulps have fared far worse in posterity, with records inaccessible to people unfamiliar with the language or locations, many existing merely in mentions on decades-old records, and hundreds if not thousands of them being completely gone beyond recovery or recall.

Gone, dead, wasted, destroyed. They can't be found in barbershops or warehouse or bookstores, not even in antique stores. Hundreds, thousands of characters, stories and creators, gone. Time and posterity have crushed them to dust, forgotten and ignored by their successors. Unfettered by pretenses of respectability that repressed their glossier counterparts, in packages meant to be destroyed after reading, proudly announcing itself as trash. Things that should have never even lasted as long as they did have died many times now. It's heroes peripherical shapeshifters, nearly all of whom seem dead, quite dead, as dead as fictional characters can possibly be.

But they do not die forever. Many of them have, maybe most of them have, but many of them linger on.

"The strange red flickering of 1930’s fiction seems distant now.  You hold in your hand the product of a time too remote to recall, and feel a slow stir of wonder.  The smell of pulp pages, an illustration, an advertisement, these fragile things mark the slow hammering of time and display what it has done.  About you are today’s machines, today’s shadows.

Outside the window, leaves hang against the sky, as did leaves during the 1930’s.  The sound of voices are no different then than now.  You hold the magazine and feel something quite delicate slipping past. These solid forms surrounding you are all insubstantial. Time’s hammer will also pass across them, leaving little enough behind." - Spider, by Robert Sampson

Many of the things people call dead are just things that have been sleeping for a while or haven't had the chance to be born. Pulp fiction is dead on the page, inert, unless your imagination breathes live to it, and every now and then, one way or another, these characters dig themselves out of dustbins. Maybe it's a brief revival, maybe it's a successful reboot. Maybe they find publishers, or maybe the public domain allows them to find new life. Maybe new creators do interesting things with them, and maybe, just maybe, they live again because some won't shut up about them online. Some curious impulse led you to me, did it not? 

We all have our Frankensteins to obsess over, and these are some of mine. As someone who's lived a life perpetually restless over pursuit of knowledge, pulp has lured me like a moth to flame, because I literally never run out of things to discover within it, I never run out of possibilities. As the years pass and the public domain starts being more and more open to the public, more and more narrative real state is brought forth for writers and artists and creators to play around.

Pulp is the dark matter of fiction, the uncatalogued depths of the ocean, the darkest recesses of space. It's the box of your grandfather's belongings, the treasure you find in an attic, a body part sticking out from an old playground. It's the things that don't work, don't succeed, the things that don't fit, that are out of place. That shouldn't live and succeed, and did so anyway. The things that slither in the cracks, the shadows behind the curtain.

Aren't you interested in peering on what's behind the curtain?

The exquisite workmanship of the head, of a pre-pyramidal age, and the hieroglyphics, symbols of a language that was forgotten when Rome was young–these, Kane sensed, were additions as modern to the antiquity of the staff itself as would be English words carved on the stone monoliths of Stonehenge.

As for the cat-head–looking at it sometimes Kane had a peculiar feeling of alteration; a faint sensing that once the pommel of the staff was carved with a different design. The dust-ancient Egyptian who had carved the head of Bast had merely altered the original figure, and what that figure had been, Kane had never tried to guess.

A close scrutiny of the staff always aroused a disquieting and almost dizzy suggestion of abysses of eons, unprovocative to further speculation. - The Footfalls Within, by Robert E Howard, quoted by Stuart Hopen’s The Mythic American Culture

[diavolosthots]

This was said in official obey me newspaper post

But how would the brothers (hc)act if mc sat on lucifer cursed seat [the onse where it said to kill a human after a week] by mistake

I dont keep up with those but i take your word for it

Warning: like? Mild? Angst? 

THE BROTHERS reacting to MC sitting in Lucifer’s cursed seat by mistake 

Lucifer:

He should’ve known better than to trust a human to take his words at face value and not sit in the seat. He warned you, for goodness sakes, and now he may be responsible for your future death. Of course, he’s honestly not too worried for one reason and one reason only: he’s the master of curses and will easily lift off that curse from your shoulders. However, in the first few moments he actually doesn’t think about it and gets super worried about what is going to happen. You’re his MC after all and he’d hurt without you. 

Mammon:

That thing is still in the house?! He hates that seat because not only is it cursed to humans, he’s pretty sure Lucifer put a curse for him on there as well. Anyway. He’s genuinely freaking out and thinking the worst. Doesn’t try to hide it, either. You’re his babe, his MC, he can’t just let you go! His heart is aching, his eyes are filled with nothing but sadness and suddenly his whole life revolves around making sure you’re as comfortable as possible. He can’t even be mad at Lucifer for letting this happen because he’s too focused on just you. 

Leviathan:

The minute he found out, he swore his whole world shattered. He’s just now getting confident enough to show his feelings and this moron absolutely messed it up! He’s yelling at Lucifer, although most of what he says is incoherent and spoken out of angry sadness. Tears are spilling from his eyes and he hates that even more. He hates that he didn’t have you, not really, and now you’re being taken away from him. Even if it was ‘your’ mistake, it’s still Lucifer’s fault and he will hold it against the eldest. 

Satan:

Oh you know he’s all over Lucifer for that shit. He knows the eldest can fix it; Lucifer is very gifted in the arts of curses, but he also hates asking Lucifer for help so while he’s sad and worried about your general well being, he’s also the one doing extensive research on how to save you. Only when he meets rock bottom will he admit defeat and ask Lucifer for help and he wouldn’t be surprised if Lucifer had already done something by then, which pisses him off. Will definitely destroy that damn chair, even if he himself now possesses all the curses. 

Asmodeus: 

He doesn’t know how he feels, honestly. He hates to think that this would really be it; the end of MC. It seems so sad and tragic, you know, and for once he doesn’t want to be dramatic about something. He wants to be optimistic. Even so, he still feels a ping of sadness everytime he looks at MC because no matter how good you look, the fear of you being gone next week is always in his mind. However, he does do the rational thing and goes to talk to Lucifer, unlike some of his other brothers. 

Beelzebub:

Sadness, guilt, and mild anger toward you. How could you be so clumsy? But then again, he can’t blame you. You didn’t know the seat was cursed and no one was there to tell you, but then again, you should know by now that hell is anything but a nice, friendly place. He’s sad because he can’t just lose you like that and he feels guilt because once again he couldn’t save the person he loves the most. This seems to be a never ending cycle for him and that’s not okay. Practically begs Lucifer to do something, anything, because he can’t stand to see you go. 

Belphegor:

He’s angry and full of guilt. Angry because Lucifer should’ve destroyed that thing eons ago and also because the guy didn’t have it stored safely in his room or something, away from you. On the other hand, he also blames himself a bit. Why was he not there with you? Why did you leave his sight? It’s ridiculous to think that way and yet he does because you’re so special to him. He, much like Mammon, is more focused on you now rather than thinking rationally and you’ll definitely find him by your side a lot. 

[spacedikut]

exam help ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a self-indulgent blurb about spencer helping with exams :) 1.7k

a/n: first fic of the year :D happy 2021!

masterlist

Another anguish-filled screech reverberates from your and Spencer’s shared office, bringing even your pet fish in the tank to attention.

It’s the third one this hour. Spencer tries to ignore it, just like you told him to, but God you sound like you’re in pain and Spencer can’t exactly ignore that, can he? He loves you and cares for you and- oh. A thump reaches his ears. A textbook, maybe? Did you punch your textbook?

He considers for a moment that the neighbours will be alarmed, perhaps call the police or tentatively knock with a, “Is everything okay in there?”

It wouldn’t be the first time.

What would he tell them? Oh, my apologies, my partner has exams coming up and just told me they get why unsubs do that now. I am also terrified.

There are many instances where Spencer feels useless. During his job, when his mother would have an episode, when his friends have problems he just wouldn’t understand. But, somehow, and maybe controversially, this is the worst type of uselessness. The type that leaves him staring at the wall, questioning everything, the type that makes his stomach drop because all he can do is watch.

He’s been watching you for the last two weeks. He’s sick of watching, of being no help, and he needs to do something before he breaks and does something illegal.

(The illegal thing is doing your exams for you - not illegal as in, perhaps, murder)

Your frazzled head pops out from the office, one hand rubbing your eyes and a permanent frown etched on your face, and with a fragile voice you ask, “Can you make me a coffee, please?”

Now, Spencer feels hypocritical, but he has to say it. “Another? Are you sure?”

He sees the internal battle within you, how you try your hardest not to snap. It’s not his fault you’re stressed. He’s just trying to help. “Yes, I’m sure. Please, Spence,”

“Of course. I’ll bring it in.”

“Thank you.” With a pained smile, you’re gone again into the dark abyss of where you’re studying.

With quick, ingrained movements, Spencer makes your coffee with too much creamer and marshmallows. Unusual, yes, but your current diet consists of coffee and whatever he can force you to consume – like marshmallows.

But then, hello, he spots a chocolate bar haphazardly close to the bin, grabs it, and hopes you let him watch you eat it.

Stepping into the room as quietly as possible, he’s smacked in the face by the smell of lavender. It makes him nauseous, the intensity of it, quickly followed by a lurch of his heart because you poor thing, you’re being crushed by the weight of your degree – literally. The other day you purchased an insanely heavy weighted blanket and you’re drowning in it.

Now, if you were to ask Spencer who the most beautiful person on the planet is, he’d say you in a heartbeat. He’s thought that since you first met and, years later, still stands by that. But now, right now, glowering at him in the dimly lit, lavender drenched study that you used to love oh-so-much? You have the face of a French bulldog, all grumpy and furrowed and too many creases on your face to make Spencer feel like he’s actually helping when he places the coffee and snack on your desk.

Despite the crabby expression, your words are filled with love and appreciation – which happens to be Spencer’s favourite mix. “Thank you, my love.” You take a sip of the coffee, hum in delight, and for the first time in days there’s a spark of something other than torment. “You’re the best.”

Spencer’s hand holds the back of your neck and he places a series of soft kisses to your temple, mumbling, “I love you. Very much. Is there anything else you need?”

“Death.”

“Okay. I’ll work on it.”

At that, you grace Spencer with a weak half-smile. It’s enough to overwhelm Spencer, overflowing and only able to be shown through a chaste, encouraging peck on your lips and a half-hug, Spencer bent at the waist to hold you in your desk chair. He noses your hair, hoping his closeness will alleviate some stress, before stepping back and praying his eyes tell you everything he wants to say but know will elicit annoyance from you.

I love you. Take care of yourself. Rest, please. You can do this, but not if you over exert yourself. I love you.

Your eyes tell him, I’ll try. I love you. And that’s all he can ask for.

But when he leaves, shuffles past his bookshelf, his eyes catch sight of an old file that reminds him of when he was preparing for his own exams.

He gets an idea.

+++

It takes another two days, full of late nights involving work that isn’t staying up and distracting himself with books to avoid worrying over you and how late you go to sleep, and reading that leaves Spencer in awe of you and everyone in your field.

A part of him is amazed by how he wheelbarrowed the resources behind you without you noticing, another is worried about that fact, and the rest of him is excited that he can finally do something that will actually help. At least, he hopes.

(When everything is said and done, despite being endlessly grateful, you also inform Spencer that simply being there and being him and getting you coffee every time you ask is more than enough, really)

With pride, he leans back on the couch, observing his creations on the coffee table. There’s plenty of different colours, all representing a different topic, and he presses the thumbs up to like the Youtube video he was using to ensure his handwriting is easy to read.

Flashcards. Hundreds, if Spencer counted correctly. The textbooks he stole – borrowed – from under your nose lie next to his feet, the weight of them combined more of a workout than he’s (voluntarily) done in eons.

He only hopes you don’t think it’s too late, think he’s overstepping or-or that he’s doing those things that he’s been accused of before – thinking he knows best (he does, but whatever), overbearing arrogance, an unwillingness to hear and accept other people’s way of doing things.

He just wants to help. He wants you to know he’s here for you, no matter what you need. This is the thing that lets him believe he’s doing something, something good and useful. Spencer just wants to be useful.

He’s convinced you to eat a proper breakfast – fruit, oats, bread, meat, a whole buffet – and you sense something is amiss when you hear slow, tentative footsteps creeping from your bedroom.

Spencer, still in his pyjamas, glasses perched on his nose, approaches with a shallow box in his grasp. You swallow your bite, turn to face him. “What’ve you got there?”

The box is slid onto the counter next to your plate hesitantly, as if he regrets his actions as he’s doing them. Peering in, you see a blur of colour, stacks on stacks of rectangular paper filled with writing and questions and even a tips! section.

You pick up the first batch, all light blue, and flick through them, heart getting bigger and bigger with every word you read. And when you realise what they are, what Spencer’s done ­– for you – your heartrate has skyrocketed and the watch on your wrist is asking you if you’re okay.

“You made me flashcards?” You ask, in awe, again looking at the love of your life to find he’s already staring at you.

“I did,” He tells you, apprehensive and scared, already backtracking, “But, if you don’t think they’re useful, or-or you think I’m overstepping – I’m not trying to, I promise, I just thought…” He starts nervously shuffling and reshuffling some of his creation. “Flashcards are known to engage active recall and metacognition. Research consistently finds that applying metacognitive strategies tends to ingrain memories deeper into your knowledge, and that this kind of active recall retrieval practice leads to one-hundred and fifty percent better retention than passive studying, so…”

Your hands have a mind of their own, pulling what feels like an endless amount of cards out and turning them in your hands, from the questions on the front to the answers on the back, the ones with hints and advice and there’s several with doodles that are so Spencer you hold them to your chest. You’re so enamoured by this man that is still rambling and bumbling because he takes your silence as distaste.

“I just- I hate seeing you so stressed, so I made these. You don’t have to use them, of course. They’re not even that great. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, you’re beyond capable, or that your methods don’t work- Just, personally, I love flashcards. I used them all the time when studying, even though I didn’t really need them, so perhaps a change of medium would do you good-“

A warm hand on his own that keep fidgeting stops him mid-stream of consciousness.

“Thank you,” You say, earnestly, “Really. These are lovely.” You leap from your seat, wrapping Spencer in warmth and love and care, and he shivers when he feels your hot breath on his ear when you repeat your thanks again and again.

When he pulls you even closer, so your torso curves into his own, you feel the lightest you have in weeks. You’re in the arms of the man you love, who knows you love him too and you know loves you so much – enough to spend several nights reading your cursed textbooks so he could create something that might help – and now you’re confident that you can do it. With the help of Spencer and his lovingly hand-made flashcards, you can do it.

And if, somehow, it goes awry, that’s okay too. Because you’ll still have Spencer, your number one fan, who will be there to comfort you and advise you in any way he can. He’ll never let you doubt yourself, never allow a self-deprecating joke if he can help it, because if he has to, he’ll love and support you enough for the both of you until you can do it yourself.

The world feels a little brighter, your breaths feel a little lighter, all because of Spencer. So you kiss him, murmur love against his lips, and get ready to take on whatever dares to come your way.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @ogmilkis @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @wheeledup @shadyladyperfection @joodeduarte @calm-and-doctor @

[spiltscribbles]

Ahh I've always wanted to send a prompt. How about “Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” with some sleep intimacy. Can I just say I love you and your writing.

~Notes: 😭😭 OH KY GOD SUGAR!!! You are so beyond adorable! I love you to pieces! And I do not deserve such kindness💜😘😘 So I at first read this as sleek Becs i am an idiot... so honestly this is 4700 words of pure smut😳😌😌 but uts early morning so it’s stilly sleepy intimacy kvdjhj Thank you for the prompt! But if smut isn’t your jam plz lmk and I’ll write you something else😣😣😘💜

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Send Me A Prompt  |   A Reblog Is Like A Huge  

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If asked to choose his favorite feature of Remus’s, Sirius reckons he’d have a difficult time with it, like to a ridiculous degree. It could easily be the dimple that shows up right on the apple of his cheek when he sports that glowing, reluctantly amused smile that only appears after Sirius or James have hexed a Slytherin prat right in front of him, and not even his Prefect sensibilities prove strong enough to scold them for it. Or maybe it’s the splatter of freckles that dance on the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose right after summer hols, and he looks gloriously golden and it’s all Sirius can do not to kiss each one right in front of all the wizards congregated in nine and three quarters. Or maybe it’s simply the way he gnaws on his bottom lip whenever he’s thinking particularly hard on a subject— a habit usually reserved for potions lessons and when it’s a late night in the library and they’re both tucked away in a dark nook and Sirius has pushed Remus up against a bookshelf while stroking him in his trousers with intense precision. One corner of his mouth curled in challenge, dipping down to lick at that hollow on Remus’s long neck, tacitly reminding him that he best keep quiet lest Madam Pince has their heads on a couple of stakes she surely keeps beneath her desk for opportunities just like this.

Alright, if Sirius is being at all honest, it’s a frequently alternating list of all of Remus’s most splendid attributes, but at the moment, Sirius thinks there’s no question that in fact it’s Remus’s eyes that can ruin him with just a glance. His eyes that are a deep, vibrant green with flecks of amber that dance in their depths. Eyes that look like September, like the very start of their school term. Eyes that make Sirius think of the forest where Padfoot and Moony roam. Eyes that make Sirius think of fire lit common rooms and the taste of butterscotch on Remus’s lips, and such an overwhelming sensation of adoration that it could very well suffocate him if Sirius isn’t careful. It’s such a contrary color from the crisp and cool shades of emerald that accent the regality of 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus’s eyes are something warm and wonderful and where Sirius would gladly choose to get lost inside of for the next eon to come— Most especially if it’s a moment like this, with one of his hands knotted in Remus’s hair while the other one is busy thumbing small circles into his bare stomach. Where Remus is enthusiastically kissing Sirius back— fervent and famished and so fucking gorgeous— His arms loosely tangled around Sirius’s neck from where he’s lying beneath him, long legs bracketed on either side of Sirius’s narrow waist, and yeah, Sirius has always had three inches and two stone on Remus, but he often forgets that Remus’s lithe stature isn’t just for show— he’s got discrete strength beyond a normal wizard, and he chooses to fall under Sirius. Chooses Sirius who’s all hard edges and marble planes. He chooses Sirius simply on the merit that he’s him, and they’ve always been at least somewhat drawn to one another, even before either one of them really knew what it meant.

Sirius inwardly preens, presses more forcefully down against Remus and revels in the slight whimper Remus lets out just then, hands grappling Sirius’s broad shoulders just that bit tighter, keeping him close just that bit more desperately.

It’s remarkable.

The dormitory’s blessedly quiet this Saturday morning— James is off being a ponce on the quidditch field in preparations for their match against Slytherin in a couple weeks— the final one before they graduate and leave Hogwarts’ hallowed halls for the final time— And Peter had kindly buggered off after some not particularly well veiled threats waged by Sirius so he could get some alone time with his sodding boyfriend for Merlin’s sake. They have all morning to stay like this. Sirius can spend hours on end watching as the early light unspools in Remus’s hair— lacing into his curls and turning them a lovely tawny color— and he gets to revel in how Remus’s breath quickens every time Sirius bucks down and rubs their barely clad, already hard cocks against one another. And Sirius can whisper sweet nothings into Remus’s still sleep supple skin— sometimes filthy, and occasionally wicked, and always exultant— letting himself drown into the sounds that Remus moans out in turn, poetry if anyone were to ask him. And they don’t have to worry about nosey roommates or trying to keep quiet or staying inconspicuous from prying eyes that threaten to snatch this snapshot of bliss away from him.

If Sirius could stay in the slice of eternity for the rest of their days and beyond, he’d choose it every single time. And maybe that could be their future, their life after Hogwarts— far away from this looming war beginning to ravage their world as they know it, and divorced from the whispers of the Order that Dumbledore has created to fight against those barmy, blood crazed lunatics.

A future that’s normal and safe and glittering like the silvery film around their patronuses.

Remus would probably get a Muggle job, maybe in a University of some sort. Sirius always thought he’d make such a brilliant professor, make all the school kids mad with how he’s so brilliant and beautiful and compassionate. Sirius and James already know that they’ll both end up in the Ministry as Aurors, because of course that’s the job for a couple of dashing young lads such as themselves. He supposes by then Evans will have been convinced to stop the on again, off again nature of her relationship with dear Prongsie, but he knows that even if not she and Remus are as thick s thieves, she’ll never just let him get away from her friendship after graduation. So maybe she’ll come visit in their flat after her internship at St Mungo’s, and of course Pete is always terrified that if he doesn’t spend every waking minute with at least one of them that he’ll be forgotten, so he’d be there too. The five of them, bombastic and bright and babbling on a lazy weeknight with glasses of fire-whiskey and plates of take out and Remus perched securely into Sirius’s embrace, and everything being just as it should be. Something golden, something wonderful, something splendid.

But as he begins to nip at that point against Remus’s sharp collarbone that’s become his favorite through the duration of their nearly year and a half of dating, he wonders not for the first time if Remus has the same prospects— if he wants to spend countless mornings just like this and endless nights in a similar way, if he wants to pick up Sirius’s discarded socks and eat the dinners Sirius makes for them, if he wants to tumble so thoroughly with Sirius that they don’t even know where one begins and the other ends anymore. Sirius wonders if he wants any of that, or if Remus is planning to go back to Wales with his parents instead of taking up Sirius’s casually thrown around offers for him to stay in the London flat that Alphard had left Sirius along with the gold and the watch and all the expectations of doing better than the Black name has always meant.

And the possibility of that— the possibility of Remus not dreaming of the same forever as him— cuts Sirius to the quick, and he doesn’t let himself think about it, instead sits up on his forearms, so that he’s peering down at Remus now, and he cups the length of him over the cotton, squeezing to hear the melody of Remus’s gasp and grounds himself into the moment once more.

“You’re in a mood this morning,” Remus intones, more than a bit breathily while Sirius moves his hand to push beneath Remus’s pants from behind, cupping one of his cheeks for a good and proper squeeze.

“Mmm, careful, or else I’d think you don’t like this method of being woken up,” Sirius counters, feels himself preen at how Remus’s face dusts scarlet, though it doesn’t last long when Remus retaliates by tugging at his hair, beyond mulish looking at Sirius’s glee.

“You know, I do have to do some more research on that final paper for charms that Flitwick gave us,” he muses— the unrepentant tease.

“Are you sure of that,” Sirius asks, dipping back down to worry the skin of Remus’s earlobe between his teeth, while the pads of his fingers make a pedal soft trail to the cress of his arse, lighter than breath while he circles the small, tight entrance of him— just grazing around the hole with languid intent, occasionally dragging over the opening with a dry finger, never delving any deeper than that. And it gets it’s intended effect— namely, the balls of Remus’s heels pressing up against Sirius’s back, and him gasping out these guttural, maddening mewls as he tries to buck down, tries to finally get some penetration.

“Merlin, are you going to just tease me till those wankers get back, or will you finally fucking do something, Black.”

“I think I like keeping you on the edge, sweetheart.” Sirius retorts, punctuating the point with a small wiggle of the top of his pointer finger, the one now comfortably nestled inside of him.

“Absolute prat,” Remus fumes, though when he begins to try moving once more, Sirius stunts the action by lying his forearm against hiss lightly muscled stomach, pressing most of his weight there while he gives one final, goading push with his finger and drags his hand to instead rub against the expanse of Remus’s pale, thin thigh, wants to lap at the skin there but also doesn’t want Remus to win this little battle he’s waged— not yet at least.

“Well Maybe if you ask nicely?”

The twist of Remus’s features tells Sirius that he’s absolutely fuming, but also he won’t leave because he’s gagging for it just as much as him. “You’re the dog, if you don’t recall. Maybe I should make you beg to hump even my leg.”

“No need for such a wicked tongue, Moons,” Sirius sneers, hitches Remus’s legs higher on his waistline so that the head of his cock can graze at the concealed hole. “Just a please would suffice.”

Remus scoffs. “You’re mad.”

“I’m also very patient,” Sirius leers, begins thrusting only slightly, nudging at him and delighting in the flicker of emotions that flashes over Remus’s face— going from indignant to wanting to abashed and landing on a cool sort of resolve.

“Oi, if you’re all talk, I’m sure I can poke around in the library, see if Leon is still—“ The rest of Remus’s sentence is swallowed up by the frenzy of movement that clashes inharmoniously from one moment to the next. And suddenly Remus is lying flat on his front, with one of Sirius’s legs pressed unswervingly between his legs, an accioed bottle of lube in one of his hands while the other nearly tears Remus’s pants trying to drag them off.

“You’re such a little arse, Lupin.” He hisses, tossing the garnet to the side along with his own before he begins palming his prick with the Muggle lotion type substance Remus had brought along from after easter hols, when they had visited that brilliant little shop in Soho— and Sirius isn’t sure if he should be proud or simply smug at how it’s already emptied by half.

“You like how little my arse is, Black,” Remus retorts from where his head is now squeezed partially onto his pillow, punctuating the point with a small shake of his bum.

“Right, so that means I’d rather not think of the other plonkers who’ve seen it before I got my hands all over you,” Sirius snaps, not actually irritated— even if he hates the sight of Leon sodding Bennett more than anything else.

“It was just a joke,” Remus tells him, soft and sincere and away from that playful tone he was using from before.

“Yeah, you better have been,” Sirius says, but then dips down to kiss between Remus’s shoulder blades— to the left of where he’s got a hand spread across his back— just to assure him that he’s not actually upset.

“You’re brilliant you know. The best in every way, I hope you understand that,” Remus tells him, a bit quieter and a bit more reserved, in a voice that wavers only slightly with the nerves of the admission. “I’ve only ever been in love with you— And I know that it’s probably not the same, I know that you’ve had others and we’re only eighteen and—“

Sirius cuts him off with one single, quick smack against the width of his arse— an arse he can probably write a thousand sonnets and a million more odes about— and he returns to kneading at the muscle there. “Don’t be an idiot, Remus. You know I love you like mad, more than anything— you’re everything.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good— Erm, I mean—“ Sirius can only see half of Remus’s face from this angle, and most of it is obscured by his curly fringe, but he can detect the pinkish flush feathering over his sharp cheekbone and the way he’s begun to gnaw on the end of his mouth, eyes half lit and hooded. And God, sometimes Sirius thinks that it’s the blind leading the blind with them as they dance along this precipice of the most precious thing either of them has ever held in their quivering grasps.

“Right convenient if you ask me,” Sirius says instead of something from the stream of soppy poetry he’s thinking about— the love sick lyrics dedicated to Remus and Remus alone. He doesn’t want to potentially fracture this single understanding that they’ve finally revealed to one another. Rather, Sirius scrapes another chunk of the slick, Muggle substance into his hand and cloaks himself completely before taking a bit of it against Remus’s arsehole, his insides melting like molasses once he feels the warmth of Remus cloaking him, the way Remus’s entrance is practically fluttering, practically trying to swallow Sirius whole.

“Oh, yeah— Just a bit more.”

“Shh, let me take care of you, Moony,” Sirius reproves with absolutely no heat, instead sounding more than a little horse as he adds another digit and watches as Remus expands beneath his touch, watches his long fingers being devoured by him— the bronze tan Sirius always sports during the warmer months melding into the pale patches of Remus that rarely sees sunlight— watches their jagged edges piecing together like a sacred tomb, and Sirius knows right then and there that he’d want to be lost in every facet of Remus for every eon to come, even when they’re nothing but cinders and ashes and wisps of starlight. He’d want this, he’d crave this. He’d always need this, need Remus in any way he’d take him.

“Oh— Sirius, please, right there.” Remus suddenly squawks, jolting forwards and grappling for either end of his fourposter’s wooden bars. “Pl— Please.”

Always beyond eager to watch his lover come undone, Sirius adds one final finger before crooking them inside of Remus, skimming the little nest of nerves found there, and repeating the action twice more before he hears Remus’s choked off demand, “Bloody hell, Sirius! Will you just give me what I want!”

“I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” Sirius absolutely beams, gingerly pulling out from his gaping and empty entrance so to lather himself one final time, kisses the freckle behind Remus’s left ear as he snakes a hand beneath his stomach to raise him up slightly. “Can you stay like this, baby.”

His arms still slightly shaking from when Sirius had been teasing his prostate, Remus nods resolutely, shuffling around so that he’s resting his chin on his forearms, and his back is arched so beautifully with his pert arse stretched back in an inviting fashion. “You just worry about making this last hour worth my time.”

Sirius sniffs, pats Remus’s behind with a tad bit more intensity than strictly needed. “You and that lip is gonna get the best of you one of these days, Moony.”

“Mmm, I’ll believe it when you actually begin proving as much,” Remus barbs, and God Sirius loves him so fucking much— feels his chest absolutely contract with the ferocity of it.

“Right, well, you just sit there, looking pretty. All right?” Sirius intones, cards a hand through Remus’s hair and tugs just slightly before letting go completely to adjust his position from behind him— both hands on either end of Remus’s waistline and his dick poking at his hole— and God the throbbing is becoming painful with how badly Sirius just wants to plunge inside, to fuck and pound and thrust into Remus until he hears his boyfriend— his partner— absolutely sing with pleasure. “You are beautiful, Remus, you know that, right? Know that I think you’re the most bloody gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, that the scars just show how otherworldly you are?” Sirius emphasizes that final point by thumbing across the one skirting across the the side of his neck, stretching from the bottom of his ear and ending at the point of his collarbone. It’s the most prominent one, the only scar besides a scratch on his pinky that can’t be covered up by a trusty jumper or pair of corduroys. The one Remus is most sensitive about, and the one he probably hates nearly as much as the bite marring his inner thigh.

“Sirius, please. Just not now,” Remus implores, sounding like a blown out candle all of a sudden, and Sirius can’t have that. Doesn’t want him to feel anything close to shitty while they’re doing this, while he has him this way. So with an obedience he only has if Remus asks him for as much in his more cautious of cadences, Sirius clenches his jaw, and keeps the adoring words stuck to his teeth, and he distracts himself by finally moving forwards, and it’s like a blink of the eye wen suddenly everything around him goes hazy, feeling like a disillusionment charm has been cast with how everything feels intangible, floaty, feels unsubstantial in comparison to the hot, tight pressure of Remus wrapped around him, made all the more etherial by the sounds of Remus’s melodic moans and gorgeous gasps and the way he moves in tandem with Sirius, how he cants back to meet the electrical current of Sirius fucking into him.

And he isn’t sure who says what in the gargle of words being spilt between them, is pretty sure he’s saying something about how beautiful Remus always is for him and then Remus replying with something about Sirius giving more to him, giving him something harder, deeper, quicker, and then, somehow, Sirius has got both of remus’s wrists in his hand and he’s pressing them against the small of Remus’s back, and he’s slowing down, suddenly wants this to last so much longer, wants to keep Remus this pliant and open and uninhibited for him for just that bit more.

“Merlin, I love you,” he says, focussing on the sweat collecting into the divot of Remus’s pinched shoulder blades and leans down to lick over the spot. “So fucking much.”

“Me too, Sirius! Sirius, I love you too! Please don’t stop, please.” Remus begs, canting back and twitching his fingers, obviously needing some sort of friction, though Sirius doesn’t think he’ll give it to him quite yet.

“What if I do though?” He asks, affecting an innocent tone while he slowly pulls out of Remus, pushing inside with shallow thrusts now, giving him hardly more than his tip. “What if I keep you like this, wait to see how long it takes you to come off of this alone, untouched. Just by my cock teasing you like this?” Remus makes another, strangled sort of noise deep in his throat, and he shutters in a way that convinces Sirius he’s not completely opposed to the offer. “You’d like that, yeah? You’d like me holding you down like this and watching you absolutely go feral? Go unraveled beneath me? Hell, I bet you wouldn’t even mind if I kept you like this for the rest of the morning. If I fucked you stupid and didn’t let you come even then. Just plug you up with that naughty toy we got from that Muggle shop when you visited me over Easter in London. Trap my spunk inside and just keep you nice and open until I decide to give it to you once again— drag you to a bathroom stall or an empty cupboard and fuck you senseless. Bloody hell, Remus, you probably wouldn’t even last a minute, hmm?”

Remus stays quiet, doesn’t unclench that taught muscle in his jaw, but his pupils are blown and he’s completely flushed, and Sirius is so thankful he can read the smallest nuances of him, loves knowing how absolutely wrecked just the idea of that has gotten his beautiful Moony, the side of him that no one else could ever see. The side of him hidden by his aloof exterior and measured words when around others. No one else gets to see this hauntingly beautiful, desperate little thing he becomes under Sirius’s hand, how he’s strung to vivid colors by Sirius mumbling such wicked contemplations into the expanse of his warm, golden skin.

“Are you going to answer, love,” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin, pounding into him with a lack of delicateness from before, only twice, only enough to get Remus writhing again. “Do you not want that?”

Remus squeaks as the top of his head grazes against the headboard from the impact, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut while his thin lips fall open. “I reckon— Erm, I reckon that would be all right. Just to try.”

“My lovely academic, has to give everything a go,” Sirius crows, returns to thrusting measuredly in and out of him, kisses the nape of his neck with soft reverence. “But you know, we wouldn’t have to sneak around like that in only a couple weeks. We’ll be graduated,” he twists his hips slightly and presses down a bit more viciously than the slow paces probably would’ve entailed, and Remus quite literally groans at the feeling of it. “I’ll have that bloody huge flat, and you could be there too. We could spend every morning like this, Moony my love. We could christen every sodding room on the first day alone, and then I’d make you some of that veggie curry you like and you can sit there with an ice pack on your bum after I’m done with you.”

“Oh— Hah, you think you’ve got that sort of stamina,” is all Remus manages out in response, his features going tight with hunger when Sirius retorts with a staccato of uneven thrusts inside of him, stopping only when he feels the release willing up his own body, doesn’t think he’s ready to end this conversation quite yet.

“With you in one of my T-shirts and nothing else?” Sirius asks, watches the way Remus’s toes quite literally curl when he slides inside his used hole once more, shaking Remus slightly with how he moves and thrusts and squeezes his wrists hard enough to bruise. “I bet I could get it up an infinite amount of times! THere will be studies invoked for the phenomena of my cock, Moony. Potions inspired that’d never work, because they could never get it right when I tell them it’s the sight of you waiting for me looking wide eyed and teasing— waiting to be debauched— that’s got me so erect. I’ll be a household name, you watch.”

“You— Oh, oh. Yes like that please Sirius just a little more— Hah, you’re a madman.”

Sirius leers, does as told and grabs forcefully against Remus’s biceps and pounds him flat on the mattress, fucking into him and thrills with all the different noises he’s dragging out of Remus, the way he can’t even form words amidst his groan. “Then you best stay with me, who knows what a madman could do all on his lonesome.”

Just because he’s always been a bit sadistic, Sirius stops his graceless rutting, lies nearly entirely against Remus instead, tugging on the back of his curls so that he’s got a better view of Remus’s gaze. “Wha— Oh, yes, fuck yes you plonker. Of course I want to move in with you, just wanted you to ask properly instead of beating round the bloody bush!”

Sirius feels his brows hike up, absolutely gleeful. “You wanton little slag, you just wanted me to use my manners, eh?”

Remus huffs, looking beyond grouchy. “Yes, yes, and obviously, like the contrary bastard you are, you decide to actually do as much when I’d rather you be beating inside of me., but thus is my fate being stuck in love with such a wanker.”

Sirius can’t help but cackle at the incredibly cross expression Remus has got painted over his features, and he pecks a path down his temple and down to the dip of his shoulder muscles in apology. “You know I’m not one for subtleties, Moony.”

“Humph, well how’s this for subtle. Will you just ruddy fuck me and keep this discussion on the back burner for afterwards?”

Always eager to please his boyfriend, Sirius gently presses him back down on the sheets and rises only enough so to continue the easy rhythm between them, only increased by one of his hands circling Remus’s blazingly scarlet cock, pushing him through the loop of his fingers every time Sirius rocks harshly into him, going speedier and speedier with every choked out plea coming from Remus.

“What about this for a wanker?” He asks snidely, snapping forwards especially roughly, and twisting remus’s prick only slightly in turn, knows how much he enjoys the contrast of that.

“Yes— Yes, yes, yes Sirius! Just keep going, please, love, please. God, I love you. Holy fuck.” 

And it’s not another thrust inside before Remus is spilling into Sirius’s palm and the contracted muscle pumps the orgasm out of Sirius himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Sirius groans in a voice that’s nearly completely faded, and totally pious, careful to move outside Remus’s overly sensitive hole, and still panting while he absentmindedly grabs for a spare vest. He mutters a labored aguamenti before he brings it to Remus’s behind and begins to dab gently at the skin there, smattered with lube and Sirius’s come and a good amount of wetness from his sweat.

“Oh,” Remus shakes, sucking in a breath and tensing at the sensation of the intrusion.

“Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” Sirius assures him gingerly, tossing it to the corner when he’s finished, and can’t help but kiss the small dimples found right against the skin that cups over his arse.

“The, mmm. The house elves, Sirius. They don’t deserve that to deal with.”

Sirius only barely manages to hold back the roll of his eyes at Remus’s tendency not to understand how much those buggers enjoy any and all cleaning. Merlin, leave it too Moony to feel bad about something that someone wants to do for him. “I’ll grab it later, promise. Bin it o whatever.”

Remus only replies with a soft sound of consent, letting himself be gathered into Sirius’s arms properly, his head cradled against Sirius’s chest and Sirius’s arms wrapped around him while he kisses the crown of his tawny curls.

“You want a kip then?” Sirius asks amusedly, feeling his own eyelids beginning to droop.

“Hmm, yeah. That’d be nice. Then we can talk about that hideously orange breakfast table you’ve got in the flat. I bloody well won’t be living in any proximity of that monstrosity, Padfoot.”

Sirius can’t help the laughter that spills out, and he agrees to the conversation but demands that Remus call Winifred by name, lest she gets her feelings hurt.

“Madman,” Remus reiterates, completely fond as he dozes off, and when Sirius feels the breaths falling out of Remus’s lips even out, he thinks that them nestled into one another like this might be the only salvation he ever wants to know, the only sensation he could ever crave— The only sunlit snapshot he ever needs for the rest of his days.

[loveless-scribes]

Uchiha Itachi: NSFW Alphabet

So, it has come to my attention that Itachi of the Uchiha has been done a disservice in the eyes of the internet and been called terrible names. *COUGH* vanilla *COUGH* basic *HACK* I assure you, my friends, nothing could be further from the truth! And so, I present to you, my interpretation of the one and only. Enjoy.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Aftercare is not optional. It is just as much a part of the experience as foreplay and the actual sex. 

Will he clean you up? Not religiously, like it’s something he’ll do every time, but yes, he would. If you’re still feeling tired or lingering in bed by the time he’s gotten cleaned up, he wouldn’t think twice and just take care of you as well. If you mention that you think it’s sweet or you enjoy it, then… YES, he would absolutely start doing this religiously. 

Expect hairstroking and holding you to his chest, letting you listen to his heartbeat. If you want to share your 4 AM thoughts here, he’ll be down for it and let you know what he thinks about your ideas. After you’ve fallen asleep he will stay awake sorting through his thoughts, over what it means to have you by his side and the risks involved for you. This is pretty much the only time in the day that it’s safe to be vulnerable with his thoughts and so, this is where he will think about what you mean to him, and press a kiss to your forehead before finally going to sleep himself. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Eyes, definitely. The eyes are known to be the windows to the heart and his own eyes define so much of his life and his destiny, so yes, he could stare into his partner’s eyes for an almost uncomfortably long time, drinking them in. I can’t really say he’s a butt or boobs guy cuz that’s not how his mind is wired. He’s wired to be mission-oriented and there’s no room in his mind for distractions but on his S/O he would appreciate and worship every inch of her. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Um… breeding kink, anyone? Defo see him as having one. Is this an underlying psychological thing because he was deprived of having a normal family? At the same time, though, he’s in no rush to have children of his own, because he knows what a terrible place this world can be. But the desire to spill his seed deep into his S/O’s womb is deeply ingrained. Modern birth-control would really solve this problem. 

Also, swallowing. *COUGH* If someone does this for him it will go straight to his head. Prepare to be rewarded. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Hmm… I almost feel guilty about characterizing him like this, but I could see him somewhere deep down having a desire to have his partner submit to him? Not in the sense that he would ask for that, but if he had a wet dream about his S/O she would probably be on her knees, and he would feel guilty about it the next day and be a little sweeter than usual to her. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Okay! So, this is an unpopular opinion, but I don’t think Itachi is inexperienced! Even if we take Canon!Ita (but maybe age him up a little) I feel like there could be situations, mission-related, or pursued by women he objectively finds appealing, where saying no is just more inconvenient than going along with it. Especially if it’s for the sake of a mission, he wouldn’t think twice. Or if he does it in order to not blow his cover. While he does largely turn admirers away, more for their own good and because he’s generally not interested, I do believe he could have realistically encountered situations in his travels that led to sexual encounters. He hasn’t taken a vow of chastity, so I don’t see why he should go to unreasonable lengths to say no?

So yeah, in my mind he definitely has some experience, but not a whole lot. Obviously, he takes necessary precautions to ensure those brief dalliances stay just that. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Hahahaha, so I had to do some research to find out what this position is called. The Mastery? Basically, it’s woman on top but the couple is in a seated position. Meaning, he gets to look into your eyes and just basically, the heightened intimacy and closeness of this position are what does it for him. Also, he has more control than in the normal girl-on-top position, so he can control the pace somewhat and help you out. 

But if you’re tired, he’ll pick you up and flip positions, he won’t wait for you to admit you’re tired and he won’t listen to your protests. He wants to see you out of your mind in ecstasy, not wondering whether or not you’re too tired to continue. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Alright, so it’s Itachi, right? He isn’t very jokey. That just is what it is. He might do something unintentionally that might make you giggle, or you could laugh out of nervousness and while he very much enjoys that sound he doesn’t really know how to provoke it from you. It’s just not his area of expertise. (Sorry, Ita. Couldn’t give you this one.)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Hmm… well, Itachi definitely is clean by nature, and is definitely well-groomed and particular in all aspects of his life, so… I’m going to go with trimmed. Neat and orderly. Just like everything else about him. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I lowkey just want to link my oneshots to this, cuz they say it all, but alright! He will want to be connected to his S/O. That means either being able to see her face, or if the position doesn’t allow for it to hear her voice the entire time. He’s good at that. He’s so sweet and considerate and perceptive. He knows what’s working for you and what isn’t even without you saying a word, He may not have a whole lot of experience, but he has an innate talent (because doesn’t he just… with everything?) and he’s an exceptionally quick learner. He will legit ruin you for anyone else because if you ever ARE with anyone else and they snap at you, “What do you think I am, a mind reader?” You’ll realize what Itachi was doing.

So, yeah. He wants to make sure you’re into it and you’re taken care of and you’re near delirious with pleasure before he decides to let go himself. Being self-sacrificial and caring for others is in his nature. So, yeah, you really need to man up and figure out what he needs because he isn’t going to tell you. But you’re smart. You’ll work it out. (OR JUST READ THE REST OF THIS ALPHABET.)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Sorry, no. Don’t see him doing this. You have to consider how disciplined the guy is, and how insanely busy. It really is kind of a waste of time at the end of the day and if he wants it that badly, he can just make the trip to see you. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Teasing, edging, getting you to beg. He feels bad for you, he really does. But how much more can you take? You won’t know until you know. He’ll reward you for your patience though. And let’s be honest, you’ll love it, teasing and all. Not to mention mindfucking you to oblivion.  

So, I went through an alleged “complete” list of 239 kinks to try and answer this question and most of it was just… weird. So, let’s do this differently. What follows is an incomplete list of things I could potentially see him being into or good at or have an interest in. In no particular order: mirrors, sub/dom play (with a little coaxing and admitting to himself that this is even a thing that he’s into. It would absolutely be limited to the bedroom, though), sensory deprivation, and.... bear with me here, but… I could see him having a hand for Shibari. THINK ABOUT IT. Those knots and things they learned to tie in the ninja academy? And we know Itachi is the best of the best in everything he does. So, I don’t think this is beyond the realm of possibility. 

Generally speaking, though, he just doesn’t have the time for this stuff. BUT IF HE DID…

And now, this is exclusive to AM!Ita but he most likely has a praise kink. Being hated and cursed for eons, and being disillusioned with his own role, if his S/O comes in and tells him how great he is, how handsome, how wonderful. How good he is at what he does. How wonderful he makes her feel. Mmmm. I can see that doing things to him. XD

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Ideally, in a lake or a river. Outdoor bathing spaces are generally approached with caution, so even if someone were to come by they would call out and make sure no one is there first, which means, less risk of getting caught. And I mean, this is Itachi… He’s an S-rank exiled nin. HE KNOWS HOW TO NOT GET CAUGHT. LOL. But yeah, he spends a lot of time out-of-doors. He’s more accustomed to the starry sky overhead than the roof of a house or woodland cabin. In my interpretation, he feels very much at peace when surrounded by nature and he would enjoy being intimate with you in that setting. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Confidence. Enthusiasm. Not necessarily seduction, if it’s a stranger he’s dealing with, this is more of a turn-off than anything. But if it’s his S/O and she turns up the charm and crooks a finger at him… You might even get a smile on that stoic face. I don’t see him being into the shy and stuttering type. If you blush and say, “No! St- stop!” He’ll literally stop. And probably apologize. AND NOT DO IT AGAIN.

If you try and explain to him that your no doesn’t mean no… Ah, yeah. He’s not into that. Be straightforward. Say what you mean. Don’t play games with him. He’ll see right through you. 

That being said, being a lonely fighter all his life means he’s very sensitive to your touch. Just run a hand along his shoulder in passing and he’ll grab it and press a kiss to your palm, and haul you in. I could see him being into your hands. It really isn’t hard to turn him on, it’s hard to earn his trust and a position in his life that gives you the right to touch him and be touched by him. But when you’re there, it’s the easiest thing in the world. A smile, a kiss, a brush of your fingers over his collarbones. He’s a goner. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Pegging. This goes without saying. I can’t really think of much else he wouldn’t be into. I mean, stuff that’s a little more out there. Watersports. Daddy/Mommy kinks. Actual exhibitionism, (not genjutsu version) no way is he going to let anyone look in on your most intimate moments. Impact play. He knows very well what his hands are capable of, and there’s a lot of blood on them, so he really wouldn’t be into stuff that involves actually hurting you. 

If his S/O likes it VERY rough, he might resort to genjutsu so that she gets what she wants, but he doesn’t have to actually hurt her. Other than that, bruising, choking, the usual level of roughness? Bring it on. Being adept with his hands also means he knows very well where that fine line between pain and pleasure is. 

Not to mention, he’s very perceptive, so he’ll figure out what you’re into even without you saying it. He’s also very giving so he’ll focus more on your preferences than his own. But if the day ever comes where you realize what submission does to him… The man would be putty in your hands. Kukukukuku...

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Both. 

Giving, because he has absolute control over your pleasure, and because he enjoys how easily he can drive you out of your mind. We’ve established that he’s a terrible tease, so driving you to the brink and leaving you hanging, feeling every single one of your reactions… It’s good stuff. 

Receiving takes the cake though. Being that vulnerable with someone, even having someone he can trust that much. It’s definitely something he’s very partial to, something that makes him soft towards you, and something that plays into his forbidden desire of seeing you submit, whether or not he’s aware of it. He’ll make sure to return the favor tenfold.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is an odd question I think, because… doesn’t it depend? On how much time he has, on how the two of you are feeling, on what the mood is? 

Anyways, I’m going to go ahead and say slow and sensual because he really is a man who likes to take his time with you. He likes to feel every one of your responses, hear every little mewl and whimper and moan that crosses your lips. He definitely makes it an experience. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not his preference, but he isn’t above having a quickie if that’s all that time allows. But he would definitely follow up with a proper session at a later time, then. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Itachi is so nice. He really is. There’s nothing you could want that he wouldn’t be willing to try at least once for your sake. I mean, apart from the stuff listed under “N”. 

And would he take risks? YES, HE WOULD. Because his assessment of the risks varies greatly from yours. So, something that you would think is very risky, might seem not risky at all to him, because he knows exactly how to go unseen, unnoticed. You might think he’s being risky, but he’s well aware there was a 0% chance you were going to get caught. Because Itachi skillz.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Stamina! *insert sparkles* AM!Ita has been established in the works, so I think that needs no comment. Canon!Itachi is a freaking fighter. An S-class exiled nin. Someone who claims Itachi has no stamina wants to start something with me. DID YOU SEE HIM HAND SASUKE’S ASS TO HIM? Despite his illness? He lost because he CHOSE to lose. I don’t see the Akatsuki hauling out a wheelchair for Itachi to go on his missions, so don’t go telling me nothing about Itachi having no stamina. SHAKE MY HEAD WHILE JUDGING YOU.

Dude is strong as hell. And you can’t tell me some bedroom fun is more physically taxing than literal superhuman battles against huge ass tailed beasts! It’s just ridiculous. I’m not here to rant. Better calm down.

I’m here to tell you our man can go for at least three rounds and you will *GUARANTEED* always tire out before he does. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yes. The sharingan. THE ONLY TOY YOU WILL EVER NEED. As mentioned above, he’s not above using his skills to heighten your pleasure, and mess with your mind. But actual, physical toys? Nah, the thought processes that would lead to considering, comparing, and actually purchasing those are just so foreign to his thinking. It would never even cross his mind. What can a toy even do that he can’t do better? (To his thinking anyway. Well, he’s not wrong.)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He will make you beg. Absolutely. He’s totally unfair. He will have casual conversations with you while driving you out of your wits. And then he’ll ask you why you’re not answering him. Ask you what’s wrong. Ask you what you want. LIKE HE DOESN’T KNOW. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Itachi is very restrained and disciplined so, unfortunately, this means he isn’t very vocal. I know, cry with me, it’s such a waste. *hires an orchestra of the world’s smallest violins* BUT that means when you do manage to make him groan or moan in pleasure, it’s such a huge ego boost. Apart from the sounds he makes when hitting a climax, he’s generally in control and whispering praise and teasings into your ear or over your skin.

If you want him to talk, get on your knees and give him some head. Not kidding. Mentioned it above already. He gets to let go, a lot of his secret kinks are getting fulfilled, he feels vulnerable and is cool with it. He’ll dig his hands into your hair, cup your cheek, his eyes will roll into the back of his head and he’ll tell you on a low moan what a good girl you are. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

So, let’s say you’re waiting to talk to him and he’s busy meeting with some people or whatever and you’re standing off to the side patiently. He just briefly glances at you before turning back to his comrades and BOOM. Next thing you know, he’s got you by the neck, has you pinned against his desk/table/whatever (this was originally a Hokage!Ita headcanon so do with that what you will), and is doing unspeakable things to you in front of everyone. No sooner does the encounter come to an end, than you suddenly wake up and find yourself still standing right where you were, until it happens again, and this time he takes you against the wall. It’s an illusion wrapped in an illusion wrapped in an illusion more times than you can count and when you finally do come to your senses, you can barely stand. The meeting is over. Itachi turns toward you, “You wanted to speak with me?”

Ah, yes. Good old Itachi mindfuckery.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I mean, muscles, yes? Lots of them. Man’s fit as a fiddle. He’s a ninja. So, yes, the entire delicious length of him is covered in lean, firm muscle. He’s clearly well-endowed because… he just is. Maybe not the longest cucumber in the farmer’s market (which isn’t to say he isn’t long, because he is… don’t claim I called him short) but thick and veiny and above all else, attached to a man with a brain who knows how to use it efficiently. Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This is a tough one, because the constraints are not on his drive, but on his time. He’ll take whatever chances he can to be with you. AM!Ita is established to have a very high sex drive, but he also has restraint, so when you’re not into it, he’s cool with it. As if that would ever happen. So, I would have to say, the actual encounters will unfortunately be far between because of his lifestyle, but he will always make up for lost time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Kind of already mentioned this above, that those moments afterwards with you are his most vulnerable moments where he feels relatively safe and at ease, so he stays awake for a long time after, sorting through his thoughts. Also, he won’t say this to you, but it’s his job to protect you, so there is no way he’ll fall asleep before you do. Not gonna happen.

[mrarchewannabe]

First Contact and it's Complications: Part 2         Biology Lesson 

This is head researcher Bea'zikal following up from my previous reports as I stated before, I do apologize for the lack explanation and detail in those entries and I will now give you the full documentation of what I have observed with my time spent with Humanity and more specifically Human Head researcher who is referred to as Jamal Alteriq, a very fine scientific mind and excellent guide as he was the one to be our ambassador through Human space and of course to keep eyes on us. We saw many incredible things on our journey and I will explain in due time, but I thought it wise to give a basic run down on human biology to better help visualize the scenes I will explain in later logs. (Note: I advise you to open the attached encrypted files for observation while reading)

Humans are lightly Haired mammals that evolved on a rich but highly diverse Planet that was covered in approximately 71% water with humans living on the 29% of Land, resources were plentiful but competition was fierce as many species competed for control of those same resources, the resources in question being food and 'fresh' water which is a specific term as humans cannot drink water that is above or below a certain Ph. Level or a has a heavy imbalance of minerals;They also cannot drink any water that is contaminated with parasites, or Planetary elements such as dirt. This of course isn't to say humans have entirely weak stomachs as they are capable of consuming certain acids such as Malic and Citric Acid which is used in food flavoring, and of which would result in violent death should either substance be consumed by a Zeatikian, in addition to consumption of such compounds they can digest Certain forms of Alcohol and many forms of Capsaicin which many of course know isn't poisonous but considered non-edible to all Zeatikians and instead sees a use as a defense weapon. Moving on from the topic of consumable and non-consumable liquids brings us to eating habits; Humans specified as Omnivore 'Persistence' Predators, and can consume a wide variety of Meat and Plants, which a balance of both is needed to maintain peak physical form and a healthy digestive and immune system. From what Human Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq has told me ancient human hunting wasn't chasing down prey at high speeds but rather simply outlasting it in a slower walk chase(Note: Humans have a extreme amount of stamina and can walk for hours at a time as they evolved to efficiently maintain a pace of speed) and when the prey was tired and unable to continue on humans would slay the creature and bring it back to be cooked then consumed. (Note: Cooking is one of the few things that are shared in Both Zeatikians and Human evolution) Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq also informed me that eventually ancient Humanity began Agriculture and that is what primarily began to start up human culture and civilization.(Note: again one of the few things that are shared amongst our history)

Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq told me of the Human Life stages which are of a very different cycle of our own from our People the Zeatikians, conception of offspring is relatively the same between our two species, but with various degrees of success in humans as their method of reproduction is relatively different between Human to Human. Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq Suggested that's all we do to speak on the matter and I obliged his request how ever odd I thought it was.(Note: After doing research on this topic myself I also now recommend that all Zeatikian researchers stay away from this topic as well as it's very traumatizing to look at) Humans generally can only have one child every half a cycle but it can be more numerous if chance allows it, and human offspring is extremely vulnerable and must be cared for by it's parents constantly otherwise it will most likely guaranteed to perish; of course in this time human 'infants' (Note: Infants are the name for children that under a cycle and half old) are cared for by not only the parents but also other humans hired to be care takers as well that can give the infants whatever they need at anytime while the parents set off to complete tasks. 

Humans possess what is called an Endoskeleton(Note: Observe attached files) which gives their bodies structure and allows an anchor for their extremely complex muscular system as well as keep internal organs safe and secure. This Endoskeleton is made up of bones of very high calcium content and is extremely durable and strong, shown being able to with stand many hits that could cripple, paralyze or downright kill a healthy Zeatikian. Infant humans start out with more numerous but weaker bones and cartilage numbering around 300 individual structures but eventually after many cycles they all fuse into their respective positions and become stronger and thicker; this is most prominent around what they call their 'Skull' which is a bone structure that contains their brain and connects to the spinal column (Note: Observe Highlighted Area) and starts out segmented and eventually becomes fully fused and one solid structure in about 22 cycles. Part of the function of the skull is a basic one hinged jaw that contains anywhere from 32 to 36 bone structures they call teeth which allows them to tear through tougher foods and aids in digestion, the human jaw is relatively weak surprisingly only able to produce 300UPSQ which would absolutely be enough to hurt a Zeatikian so I would advise you be careful.

Adolescent Human offspring undergoes a change around 9 Cycles in males and 7.5 in females, as they approach sexual maturity they begin to swell on muscle mass and increase in growth exponentially over a time period of 4 cycles, during this time hormones are pumped through and over about 1.5 to 2 cycles the voice deepens and body hair is increased, this incredible change is known to cause certain behavior changes as well as changes in diet and appetite. Many human females have certain large orifices located on their chests that are used primarily to feed their young, which should have been obvious seeing how I have already stated they are indeed mammals,(Note: I have been told to report on this much only as logging anymore would make many among the human population uncomfortable, I do not know why but I shall oblige) and as mammals they are indeed warm blooded, which means they do not take too well to fluctuating temperatures as Being in below freezing temperatures for too long can lead to a humans death in about 20 minutes should they be naked in said weather; and so if in the future you have humans boarding your vessel be sure to keep it atleast a median temperature of 400TM and provide them with necessary heating elements if they do not have any.

Humans possess a 'Circulatory system' much like our own that pumps blood all across it's body at a very steady rate of 60 to 100 beats per tick, which is quite slow compared to our 120 to 150 beats per tick. Humans also possess a blood color that shines a bright red compared to that of a Zeatikian that has a bright purple hue, both of our species have iron in our respective Hemoglobins but our kind carries what they call 'Hemerythrin' while they carry whats called 'Heme' and thus that's what gives the difference in blood pigmentation. They also possess various different organs that process everything from sugars and proteins to alcohol and carbs, the 'Liver' which is described as a 'Blood Filter' cleanses the blood as it passes through it, while organs like the 'Kidneys' process liquid waste, sugars, salts, and all minerals to help keep it stable within the body.

The Human 'Immune system' is a very strong and very important system in the human body as humans do not have segmented Carapaces like all Zeatikian's have, rather they possess a skin of 7 layers and this layered skin protects the body from the outside world, when penetrated or slashed open blood will began to flow out much like a broken carapace or cut joint segment would, the cells in the human would try to seal the cut with platelets which will form a scab, which is a temporary seal while the skin is being repaired anew; as this process does share similarities with the way our Carapace heals itself our process is much slower while the humans can heal their skin in a matter of a few rotations depending on the severity of the injury. Of course during the cut possible bacteria and other such microorganisms could have infiltrated the bloodstream and usually once successful they become targeted by the protector cells or as humans call them 'white blood cells' for destruction.

The 'Digestive track' is relatively self-explanatory so I will be brief on the subject, when food is consumed it is first chewed and made wet by the 'Saliva' a human produces in their mouth which helps break it down further and eases the transfer of food from the mouth down the 'Trachea' as they call it and into the 'Stomach' which becomes broken down by 'Stomach' acid,various compounds,and gut bacteria that absorb the nutrients and forward the waste through what humans call the 'Large Intestine' which then transfers through the 'Small intestine' which is the excreted by the Human, relatively the same processes any Zeatikian goes through.

Humans of this modern era however are nearly perfect as about 1000 cycles ago an event on their home world that was put into motion made humans as nearly perfect as they could be biologically, but this change however was not a instant process as the changes would only take place slowly after every generation, each one living longer then the last, getting sick less, and less in the population being born with genetic conditions that had debilitated humanity for eons. Nowadays it is rarer for humans to catch a sickness, but impossible for any human being to be born with a genetic condition aside from the few they found desirable. Many live long fulfilling lives from what I'm told by Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq, some living their full total lifespans of 200 cycles which I can only dream of living a mere 40 cycles let alone a long 200 cycles. 

This concludes my report on the basic biology of humanity I hope you found it informative and helpful, I shall work on my next log about human economic and social status, which Human Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq Helped immensely on. 

Head Researcher Bea'zikal Signing off

(I hope you enjoy the sequel to what I wrote first I'm really proud of this one but please tell me if there is anything I could do to better my writing? Constructive criticism is appreciated, more parts on the way)

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (more to come)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: October 2021

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: dead body/crime scene, blood and bite wounds talked about in detail, hypnosis/compelling someone to do something against their will, overall discussion of murder (basically what we see in every episode of the show))

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: Absolutely nothing you don’t already know, this is legit from the first chapter. Hotch is a Vampire (although the LEOs don’t really know that), Rossi is a priest, Morgan is so empathetically telepathic he can touch the auras in the air, and Reid is Reid. I know I’ve been giving you the juicy HotchReid stuff but here have some case stuff too, to see what you’re in for with the plot and everything. This is FIRST DRAFT so it’s terribly unpolished, first part is generalized POV (hence the more professional titles) and the second is within the team dynamics so they get more familiar. idk my first drafts are messy and indecisive, enjoy anyway. 💕)

–

They approach the body and Rainer shoos away his pestering, hovering officers and --- winces once again at the sight of the bloodied woman. “This is the third body in two days; a jogger found her about 6 am. Coroner says she thinks she’s been dead for about 6 hours; killed in the middle of the night, just like the others.” 

“Closer to five hours, I think,” Dr. Reid says, crouching down to look closer. All long legs and his gun looking too big on his belt next to his FBI badge. “Could still be within the Witching Hour, though.”

“Do you have accurate time of death estimates for the other two bodies?” Agent Morgan adds on, already picking up the train of thought Dr. Reid has started on. The detective pulls out an old-school flip notebook book and looks through it before answering.

“3:15am the first night, 9:30pm last night and now this.”

“Well that rules out hex, sacrifice, and spell gone wrong,” he concludes, as the other agents surround the body to inspect it from all angles. “So what are we thinking?”

“It’s a frenzied bite,” Agent Hotchner points out, looking from where he stands and not having to get as close as Dr. Reid to inspect it accurately. His eyesight is better than any microscope. “Shows multiple entries, it couldn’t get a good enough hold to rip her throat. Or she struggled, so it wasn’t strong enough to keep her pinned down.”

“The boys think it’s a Vamp,” Detective Rainer points out. “Maybe a baby one, still learning the ropes?”

“Vampire changes are regulated and no sire would allow whoever they turned to do this,” Agent Hotchner says, a colder flint to his voice that matches the way his dark stare cuts up to the detective. “No one has been turned in the United States in the past twelve years.”

“It’s not a Vampire bite,” Dr. Reid agrees, putting on latex gloves to further inspect the body and test the bite radius. “And it’s not a werewolf bite, either.”

“...Werewolf?” the detective says with a winded sound, eyes wide and looking to the three agents who didn’t even blink at the word. “There’s -- there’s such thing as werewolves?” 

“Detective, I think you should let my team and I work, we will come to you with our findings and then help you track down your killer.” Agent Hotchner doesn’t leave room for argument, his dark brown eyes looking pitch black in the early morning light, and Detective Rainer… suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to walk away. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t comply; he fights it, tries to fight it, and feels his will crumble beneath him like a sand bank giving way under his feet. He turns, even that small gesture lessening the pressure crushing his chest, and takes a step away from the group, air swept into his lungs like a riptide. He makes a hasty retreat after that, winded as if he just ran up a flight of stairs and the sweet taste of oxygen being his only reprieve. He doesn’t know what happened, and wouldn’t upon further inspection until much, much later.

-

“That wasn’t very nice, Hotch,” Rossi points out with a look of glib reprimand towards their team leader. “I thought compelling feeble minded beat cops was for those who have no skills to avoid it.”

“My patience was running thin, and we need to move faster on this case before our unsub kills again. He’s escalating.” That much is obvious, by the timeline alone, but Father Rossi still gives him a side-ways glance that says he finds far too much amusement in the undead’s antics. “Reid, are you sure it’s not a werewolf bite? It would explain the lack of control and precision.”

“I’m sure,” Reid says with finality, and no one makes a mention on why. He had done more research than any human possibly could in the past few months on werewolf transformation and the after effects of attacks. With what happened to one of their former agents mere months ago, no one doubted his newly learned expertise. “It’s also not a shifter, or a ghoul. We can rule out ghost and poltergeist as well, no residue or temperature shifts.” 

“Demon possession?” Morgan asks, looking to Rossi just as he does his customary Sign of the Cross at the mere mention. Can’t help the gesture, after his own past experiences. Giving anything the power of a name, even arbitrary, can be a dangerous thing. 

“We can’t rule it out,” he admits. “The teeth marks are human, someone possessed would still have a hard time biting that deep and doing that much damage. Cannibalism is only reserved for the amusements of level three demons, however they aren’t usually powerful enough to reach the mortal plane or take possession of someone’s body. They would need help.” 

“You really think someone would weaponize a demon like that?” 

“We’ve seen people do worse things, as has history, but I’d like to hope it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime.” 

“We need more information,” Hotch concludes, arms crossed and watching as Reid stands up and removes the blood stained gloves. “Morgan,” his gaze cuts to the tall man in his deep blue suit. “Can you walk the scene, tell us what you see?”

“Not with this many people around,” Morgan shakes his head, eyes glancing to every person within a twenty foot radius. “Too many readings, the aura field here looks like an oil spill. The only thing I can latch onto is…” his gaze is back on the ground, hovering over the dead woman, who would have no aura to speak of at all and therefore a blank canvas. He replaces Reid’s space, crouching down to touch the air over the bite wound. Fingers spread wide, less than a foot from her but not touching, palm suddenly curving as if over an invisible shoulder, the place where someone had once been not so long ago. It could have been the coroner, or the crime scene photographer, but with it being so close to the body -- chances were it was the unsub.

“They were crouched down, half on the ground, no… human thoughts that I can hear,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand glide through the air a little more, following the curve of someone’s spine and up their neck, resting where the head would be. “They have a fever burning them up, hot as a furnace--” he keeps his hand there too long, suddenly jerks it back as if it had physically burned him, then stands up again. Shaking off the aura reading still sticking to his fingers and the forefront of his mind. “Sound like anything you’ve heard of, pretty boy?” 

Reid shakes his head, sharing a glance with Father Rossi. “We might have to go through some of your demonology books.” The older man grins wide.

“You just want to get your hands on them, at this rate you’ll have them memorized by next week.” 

“Dave --” Hotch says slow, a reprimand of his own.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have Garcia send us some scans. If the Vatican knew I was putting a book like that in his hands they’d strip me of all my titles.”

“Didn’t they already do that?” Morgan teases with a grin.

“Ex-communicated. I got to keep the dog collar, the honorifics, bless the holy water, you know -- the party tricks.” 

–

((if you want to be apart of the taglist just hit me up via comment, reblog tag, DMs or asks 💕))

[theolympusfiles]

rereading the PJO and HoO - part one: the lightning thief

before i start, all italicized parts are from the lightning thief by rick riordan. they're not my words and these are not my characters. my thoughts are the only thing that are mine :)

• "mom, you're coming too." her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean. "no!" i shouted, you are coming with me. help me carry grover". - the first(ish) appearance of percy's fatal flaw! i love the early establisment, especially because it helps foreshadow to the sea of monsters when fatal flaws are formally introduced.

• "that's -" "pasiphae's son," my mother said. "i wish i'd known how badly they wanted to kill you." - sally is underappreciated. she's smart as hell and clearly took the time to research demigods. yes, she was a little bit selfish with keeping percy out of the loop and not sending him to camp. but can you blame her? she lost all of her family and if she sent percy to CHB at an early age, that most nearly means she won't see him often (he'll attract monsters because he's aware of his status as a demigod and will most likely be at camp full-time). but sally ensured that she knew enough about the demigod world to protect percy because she knew that her selfishness would come with consequences. best mom.

• i was crying, calling for my mother, but i held on to grover - i wasn't going to let him go. - percy's first loss as a demigod and i am broken. honestly, so sad to think of, especially knowing all the losses he'll face in the future books. this line is also his fatal flaw showing once again (refer to first bulletpoint)

• "it (america) is the great power of the west. and so olympus is here. and we are here." - if olympus follows the west, where would the next location be? obviously, america is still a big powerhouse in terms of western civilization but that's not going to last. my bet is south korea but who knows? would love a fanfic on this tbh

• "the truth is, i can't be dead. you see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. i could continue the work i loved. i could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. i gained so much from that wish... and i gave up so much. but i'm still here, so i can only assume i'm still needed." - how will it be decided that he's not needed? honestly, can't imagine CHB without him but chiron also deserves retirement

• i started to understand luke's bitterness and how he seemed to resent his father, hermes so okay, maybe gods had important things to do. but couldn't they call once in a while, or thunder or something? - percy has always showed some hesitance when accepting the demigod world, so i wasn't really surprised to see doubts like this pop up, especially with luke's influence. i'd think most demigods feel this way, luke and percy are just the ones who exhibit it the most in the series. i'm really interested in the parallels between the two and i'm looking forward to reading more and examining them

• "during the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, zeus and poseidon had an argument. the usual nonsense: 'mother rhea always liked you best', 'air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters', etc. - despite the fact that the gods are all-powerful beings, i appreciate the petty sibling spats that are mentioned briefly

• "so let me get this straight," i said. "i'm supposed to go to the underworld and confront the world of the dead." "check," chiron said. "find the most powerful weapon in the universe." "check." "and get it back to olympus before the summer solstice in ten days." "that's about right." i looked at grover, who gulped down the ace of heaers. "did i mention that maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly. - this would be perfect for those 30 second trailers

• "gee," i said feigning surprise. "who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a q uest like this?" the air shimmered behind chiron. annabeth became visible, stuffing her yankees cap into her back pocket. - the way he knows her pretty well already, i-

• the truth was, i didn't care about retrieving zeus' lightning bolt, or saving the world, or even helping my father out of trouble. - early on, we see from the get go that percy has a dislike for the gods. it's small mentions like this that really gets me thinking. he never really showed any dislike of the gods when he first arrived at camp (understandable) but he was hopeful for his father. it wasn't until luke planted the seed into his head that these thoughts came to light. i love this little detail, especially as we know that towards the end, luke does seem to think he can turn percy against the gods. his plan backfired a little bit on him in the end but like i said before, the parallels between luke and percy are so glaring. riordan definitely thought it out extensively

• do not be a pawn of the olympians, my dear. you would be better off as a statue - this is said to percy by medusa and again, feeds into his dislike of the gods. i wonder if monsters have some opinion on this. most would probably hate the gods but i wonder what their stance is on demigods. we know that they work with them (see kronos' army). the real enemy for monsters are the gods, the demigods killing them are just pawns to the gods so maybe that's how some monsters see them

• "so, what's your status?" luke asked me. "chiron will be sorry he missed you." i told him pretty much everything, including my dreams. it felt so good to see him, to feel like i was back at camp even for a few minutes, that i didn't even realize how long i had talked to him until the beeper went off on the spray machine. - there's no doubt that percy really considered luke a friend. he wasn't hesitant to tell luke about his dreams, something that he didn't share with annabeth or grover until later on the book. luke was a sort of mentor to percy and it was conveyed pretty well through their interactions, which makes his betrayal even more heartbreaking

• "you think you'll ever try living with your dad again?" she wouldn't meet my eyes. "please. i'm not into self-inflicted pain." - my heart breaks for annabeth and her relationship with her father. i've read most of the riordanverse books and the growth in annabeth's relationship with her family is definitely something i'm looking forward to watch grow as i make my way through the books again

• i looked over at the desk and saw a girl sitting there, also wearing a straitjacket - so i never paid the dreams any mind but now that i think about it, they're really good for analysis. for example, the straitjacket could mean something like the gods are keeping them restrained. maybe i'm overthinking it or have been analyzing text too much in AP english but i think that the dreams are worth some deeper thinking

• i pretended not to see annabeth wipe a tear from her cheek as she listened to the mournful keening of cerberus in the distance, longing for his new friend - i need to see annabeth play with cerberus again D:

• i turned and faced my mother. i desperately wanted to sacrifice myself and the last pearl on her, but i knew what she would say. she would never allow it. i had to get the bolt back to olympus and tell zeus the truth. i had to stop the war. - percy's growth as a character really shines through here. the lightning thief is a pretty short book and the journey they took was less than 2 weeks but despite that percy's grown immensely as a character. his goal was always to save his mother but in the end, he sacrificed her because he knew it was his duty to save olympus and i respect that

• "you have made an enemy, godling," he told me. "you have sealed your fate. every time you raise your blade in battle, everytime you hope for success, you will feel my curse. beware, perseus jackson. beware." - ares cursed percy to be unsuccesful in battle but does his curse ever take effect? i don't recall any mention of this curse later on the series. obviously, percy is the main character and a really good swordfighter but the curse might have affected some battles right? but then again riordan has a lot of plotholes so i wouldn't put too much thought in it

• i knew dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong. - i've always accepted the fact that dionysus called the demigods by their wrong name for humor. but what if it's deeper? what if it's a way to put some space between him and the demigods, just as an extra precaution so he won't get attached. or it could be a ploy to showcase that he's more powerful than them and that they are beneath him, which is why he doesn't need to know their name. i like the former headcanon more though :P

• i opened my eyes. i was propped up in bed in the sickroom of the big house, my right hand bandaged like a club. argus stood guard in the corner. annabeth sat next to me, holding my nectar glass and dabbing a washcloth on my forehead. "here we are again," i said. - the parallel

well, that's everything i had notes on. overall, i liked rereading it. i really do miss this series and i'm finding my love for it be rekindled by rereading. i miss the humor of the early books (i could literally make a whole post of underrated lines). the last time i read the series in its whole was when i was 7 and now that i'm 16, i have more thoughts and can analyze the story better. also loved seeing baby percabeth as they're my OTP. i'm excited to continue with the series. to the sea of monsters!

[spaceasianmillennial]

Part 5: Home

Summary: Alucard and Sypha give Trevor Belmont a bath... with soap.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

The sun shimmered and he awoke to the sound of her breathing, a warm wind upon his cheek and jaw. When he yawned and fluttered his eyelids, there she was, eyes crinkled with exhaustion but her lips curled into a smile, a deep relief that she was not dreaming and Trevor Belmont was there. Minutes passed between their gazing. He wanted to say something, something to light up a bigger smile and assure himself that he was real as well. If he could lift his right arm, he'd twirl his finger in her hair.

"Sypha, I've been thinking."

"What, Treffy?"

"What if I'm not Trevor Belmont?"

"Hmmm?" She paused. "Well, I did wonder if you were a beastie in disguise."

"What if I'm an incubus?"

Now her face wrinkled into playful disapproval, as if processing this as yet another one of his crude joke that hadn't sunk into her Speaker brain. She would know of incubi, they went through a rundown of beasts in the Belmont library before they hit the road together. 

"What if I'm an incubus who shapeshifted into the form of Trevor Belmont and was sent to seduce you and infiltrate this human village?"

She seemed to be in on the joke, but the way her brows lifted indicated that she was trying to dissect some hidden meaning.

"If you're an incubus come to seduce me, well, you're doing a good job dressing up like Trevor Belmont and being all crude and getting on my nerves. I have to hand it to you. If you keep up this ruse, I might not mind spending the rest of my life with you. Keep up the ruse and I won't kill you, incubus." She patted his jaw.

But there was something he did not tell her. That incubus thing was a joke between his mother and father. "Your father never touched me. He had to have been an incubus. He must have killed Gabriel Belmont, took his shape and skin, and came to the Belmont Hold to seduce me. And I didn't care. Your father never touched me so I rather an incubus love me than not. It took having human children to convince me that it was Gabriel."

++

"Belmont, can you chew, or shall I spoonfeed you?" Alucard opened the cover, releasing the steamy scent made Trevor's mouth water. Trout with some lettuce leaves. Finally, something that wasn't broth.

"I'm not letting you spoonfeed me. Let Sypha spoonfeed me."

"Suit yourself, Belmont. By the way, Greta, the headwoman, wants to speak with you later this evening. So there's something we need to do with you. Just, don't panic." 

"What?" He was expecting more experimental painkillers leaves to chew on. 

"Belmont, as he said, don't panic," Sypha added, her expression mildly sour as if preparing for the worse.

"You're going to react," warned Alucard.

"Ok."

"We have to give you a bath, Belmont."

"Ok."

Alucard's expression remained unmoved. "With soap, Belmont."

"Ok."

Alucard lifted his brow. "You're not... repulsed? I figured you were so comfortable in your own filth and stink for eons that soap repels you the way silver and close-up crosses do to a vampire." Even Sypha seemed to raise her brows with skepticism. Trevor Belmont, not repelled by soap.

"Oh haha. Soap is not my weakness, hahaha."

"Belmont, will you be okay with me carrying you into the tub?"

Trevor finally pegged down what Alucard was implying, what the vampire did not want to say out loud. That the task of bathing Trevor Belmont would involve Alucard carrying said Belmont--naked--into the tub.

It was not the most ideal situation, to be carried naked by a man both your vampire adversary and your battle compatriot, but the benefits of not lying in his stink and unwashed wounds outweigh the cost of subjecting Sypha--and himself--to his scent. It would be as practical as your war comrade needing to tear your clothing to tend to a wound. Sypha had to endure weeks without him, so she deserved a less scruffy Belmont to make love to her.

"Whatever you need to do, Alucard. You're the doctor." 

++

There was even one attribute of Lord Dracula that the Belmont family respected as they deemed Dracula Tepes as a serious threat. Lord Tepes was a man who understood that technology was magic in itself.

There sat a large porcelain basin standing on four golden lion-claw legs. A tube and knobs protruded from a wall. Sypha turned on these knobs and water-- "captured rainwater," Alucard explained--poured out. Sypha snapped up sparks of fire onto the coals beneath the basin to heat it up.

Sypha helped loosen the drawstrings of Trevor's trousers. 

And so Alucard lifted him. The gesture was a clinical affair for a man raised by a doctor and far from the manners of a man who lifts his lover to the bridal chamber, yet Trevor swore he saw some tints on the vampire's cheeks as he lowered him into the warm water but the thought washed away as the warm water wrapped and sloshed him in its warmth.

"How do you feel?" Sypha asked.

"Better." The hot water embraced his numbing arm and he flexed his stiff fingers. When was the last time he bathed? He fondly remembered those times climbing into the cool lakewater with Sypha. He could detect that memory in Sypha's sly eyes and the curve of her lips whenever she wanted him badly. She took a soapy washcloth and began scrubbing his arm, his pits, his neck. She squeezed the water onto his hair and scrubbed it with sweet-smelling soap in circular motions. She winked at him before she reached deeper to draw the cloth at his pelvis and electricity shot up against his body. 

"I sure miss looking at that body of yours, Trevor. I was wondering how I was going to live without that body for the next decades of my life."

He was aware that Alucard was sitting right there, just idly reading a book.

"You could join me," Trevor offered, loudly, to pester Alucard.

She smirked. "Another day, Belmont." 

When she judged him pristine enough, she yanked the plug and the water drained into a pipe connected to the floor. He dried himself and she slid on him a long nightshirt that went down to his knees. Alucard carried him out and they helped him back to the bedroom.

This nightshirt, satin and smooth, felt so comfortable that it didn't feel right.

++

Greta sat in an armchair, uptight and professional.

"We've met, Trevor Belmont, but now's a great time for a proper reintroduction. I had a great deal of time to get to know Sypha. She's wise. She's very eager to help out. She's been great help sorting out the preserved herbs in the castle. So if there's anything you need or any suggestions you have or anything you want to contribute, you can go to me--or send for me. After all, you are a man of knowledge. We might have to consult you for many things."

"Well you got the books for that. Centuries worth of research down my family line, down from Leon Belmont."

"Yes. And you yourself must have knowledge that wouldn't be documented in the books."

Knowledge. It felt gratifying and he reminded himself to boast about it to Sypha, who was sitting by and observing the conversation. That someone came to him for knowledge, that word, as if he were a scholar. 

Alucard, the bastard, must have clocked his thoughts and had to chime in, "Careful Greta, I don't think Belmont gets these kinds of compliments, let alone earn them."

Trevor continued on, "I understand your people of Danesti have grown fond of the libraries."

"A lot of them were excited to explore through to their hearts' content. They even asked Alucard if they could take some of the books home to Danesti. Some volunteered to stay back and be transcribers as well to bring it back to Danesti. Then it became clear that our lives would improve if we stayed around. For one, they didn't want to leave the graves of their loved ones and there were bodies to move, but two, they didn't want to leave behind knowledge that could very well save their children's lives."  

"Which one do they seem to like better? The boring books about medicine and cosmos in Dracula's castle? Or the books about monster-slaying in the Belmont hold?"

The headwoman smirked at him. She seemed to have figured that he wanted something to rub in Alucard's face.

"I say the adults like them both equally but the kids look through the Belmont books more." Alucard gave her a furtive glare. "I think I'm more preferential to your books, Belmont. But anyway, I also wanted to meet with you because, while this is my village, this is also your land, and your library, as well and you should have input in how you want your home to be respected."

Home. Trevor felt tempted to slump down. He never quite wanted to go back and felt disconnected from the idea that this was his land. While he would technically be its heir, he never harbored real ownership when he bequeathed the lands to Alucard. It had been taken from him and that was that. It made a nice visiting place, or a place to restock weapons or retrieve research, but living among the ghosts and ruins was another weighty matter. Once something had been stolen by the zealous and bloodcurling priests, it could never be given back. 

"We look forward to having you in our new town of Belmont, Trevor Belmont."

Having you. No one really asked him to stay. He was just expected to stay. He simply nodded.

"Great, as long as you don't name it Treffy."

Greta's eyes darted at Alucard and Trevor was sure that bastard vampire suggested that dreaded name to her.

She gave a head bow. When she and Alucard left, Trevor clocked the way Greta touched Alucard's shoulder, reminding him of the way his mother danced her fingers on Father's shoulders or when married relatives would rub their significant other's shoulder. 

Sypha stroked his hand. "Greta likes you. That's good."

"She's trustworthy?" He liked Greta at first sight, had her pegged as a dutiful leader and someone who worked for her people. But God, anyone these days could be playing nice.  God, they didn't want to get ensnared in a Judge situation again. 

"She brought her people there to the castle to protect them. She listens to them. She... doesn't talk cheerfully about flogging her people. She and Alucard founded this village so they can have better things, including books and schools." She smiled, as if sensing his caution. "She... checks out."

Glad to know she's likely no child murderer. "If I doubt Alucard's judgment, then I trust Sypha Belnades's judgment," he announced. He wanted a moment to talk to her, about the idea of staying, but he decided that would wait, perhaps when his body no longer ached.

++

His eyes followed the seams. His finger traced over the patched area. He had finished mending his tunic. He figured that steadying a needle and thread could bring back some precision to his still numbing right arm. Alucard and Sypha brought him clothing from the Belmont hold, where he once acquired the meteorite-dark utility tunics with his knife-wielding cuffs. Now he had nothing else to do but to swat at any passing gnat.

His eyes fell on the open books at the nightstand, books that Sypha had been reading.

And then he reached for a book. He flipped idly around the text and illustrations of the sun, moon, and stars. He liked illustrations. Usually, he'll look at them and his mother would read to them. He already knew which creature tends to appear in a full moon or a dark moon or a crescent moon, which creature is powered by daylight (ironically), and which came out during certain constellations. But for the first time in eons, Trevor Belmont read about the stars.

–

Next up: Trevor *gasp* reading.

–> PART 6

COMMENTS OR REBLOGS APPRECIATED

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[melonsmessymusings]

More S7 ideas...

You may remember eons ago I had a marvellous exchange with @rachaeljurassic discussing potential ways of writing Giles out or putting him to better use in S7. I have another one and like 20 minutes before I have to road trip home after spending all day being yelled at by my parents (storytime when I get home), so buckle up because I’m feeling feral:  

What if the First could use his image even though Giles isn’t dead? Say Giles technically died for a hot second but is now very much alive and kicking. The First would utilise the hell out of that and could you imagine the angsty drama that would emerge?

Giles rocks up with his apocalypse and potentials. He’s all doom and gloom and stress, as he was, but then Buffy has a late night conversation with him when neither can sleep. They just talk. She pours her heart out to him and tells him how much she misses him, how she's doing the best she can but she’s scared it won’t be enough. He’s then a total dickhead to her in return because she has no idea what he sacrificed for her and all she ever did was hurt him and he always managed to deal with it and get the job done without complaint.

The next day, Buffy is weird and feeling really bad but she doesn’t want to talk about it with Giles when he asks. We tick on and it’s like a slow build Jekyll and Hyde deal. One minute Giles is completely ‘normal’ the next he’s a total arsehole. And Giles doesn’t understand why everyone is so weird around him and puts it down to him ruining their lives with the apocalypse. And you think he’s just having a breakdown or something. Maybe his year away turned him into a husk (not that he wasn’t already by this point), who knows?

Xander eventually confronts him like “I heard you talking to Willow last night and you were bang out of order. You don’t get to say things like that.” To which Giles is the Error 404 message like “wtf I didn’t talk to Willow last night, I was in here researching.” Confusion but Xander doesn’t back down and threatens to throw hands.

Anyways, time passes, then one night, Giles is patrolling with Buffy and says something really out of pocket and Buffy’s like “wtf” and goes to reach for him only to have her hand go straight through him. Oh my god, he’s the First! The First capitalises on this and tells Buffy how Giles died in agony all alone thinking he deserved it and she’d be happier without him. She rushed home absolutely distraught. OOOHHH imagine if it made her believe that he killed himself because of her? AAHH

Bursting in the door, everyone is scared and confused and Giles is standing there like “why are you looking at me like that?” And Buffy tells him to get the hell out and stop messing with them. And that he never gets to use that face and it’s all bullshit etc. Meanwhile poor Giles is so confused but everyone else seems to be on Buffy’s side because he’s been so weird with them all for ages. Failing to convince them, Buffy throws something at him, only for it to hit him.

Then it’s the whole “I don’t understand!” moment. Giles explains that he’s very much alive, lots of awkward poking and hugging. Buffy explains everything, as do the others and Giles is really fucking hurt that they all were so ready to believe he was evil. But the cat’s out of the bag now so it’s fine, right?

Wrong! Because the first keeps messing with them as Giles. They develop rules like, before you talk to Giles, you have to poke him or watch him pick something up (which he hates). Doesn’t always work because if Giles is like in the kitchen and you can hear him puttering about for a bit then ten seconds later he’s standing in front of you, the assumption is it’s him. It just works. So the first is messing with them all still and it’s taking a toll on the actual Giles. Because nobody wants him around because whenever they see him, they freak out and panic until he proves he’s real.

Take a second to admire the utter evil genius behind having everyone doubting Giles is real... 

But when did he die? They’re going to bring that up and try and figure it out. And there’s endless possibilities as to when that happened and whether Giles had a clue about it. Also there’s so many ways of having a “when did Giles die?” moment. Like is it from years ago when he was a kid, or maybe he and Ethan partied a little too hard, or the night with Angelus resulted in him coding at the hospital, or what if Willow killed him when she ripped his magic out? There’s endless ways of doing it. Did he even know? If he did, why didn’t he warn them? Was it because he knew that nobody would listen to him?

We never see what happened, whichever way it went. He explains that he doesn’t know but then they talk and he thinks about it, comes to the conclusion that it must’ve been one of the reasons above. Then Buffy gets really sad and guilt ridden because she had no idea.

But it wouldn’t matter because the damage is done. The group is splintered and the First’s plan has succeeded. Like they could make adjustments if Giles appeared, someone has to make sure he’s corporeal but eventually everyone would get so sick of it and just ignore him. And he’d just be so defeated by that and frustrated because everyone’s treading on eggshells around him and not discussing anything important because what if the First can tap into his consciousness? Obviously it can’t but they don’t necessarily know that. How can they differentiate the broken Giles from S7 from the First?

I just think it’s such an interesting concept. It would add loads of drama to the group and we could’ve spent more time focusing on that and it’d be really cathartic for the group to work out tensions. Like imagine Buffy discovering that Willow killed Giles, even if only temporarily. And how Willow would feel about that. Then Xander having to choose sides because Buffy is so angry at Willow but he can’t bring himself to be. Giles getting completely frustrated because nobody will just listen to him and he feels completely useless. Ugh the angst would be glorious. 

And you’d never know what was Giles and what was the First because S7 Giles did just lose it at times, he would say something very ‘ooc’ so you couldn’t tell even if he was standing in front of you. And with all the bad things he said/did before they knew, you’d never know!!!!!

It’s just an idea tbh. Like I said, crackhead energy at this point but I had to get this out there.

[the-dead-sea-trilogy]

WIP Wednesday: Icarus and the Blistering Sun

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29179755/chapters/77267693

I have another WIP Wednesday for you all!  Here is another snippet from the second book in the trilogy, Icarus and the Blistering Sun, which chronicles Maxie and Archie’s time in college and high school, before they were enemies.  Colress also happens to be there because he’s an asshole and also I love him.

In today’s section, Archie, Maxie, and Petrel (currently working undercover as a student with the name "Parker,") have started a team to compete in this research competition to win Eon Tickets to go to the Southern Island and see Latios and Latias.

Maxie wants to do this really big complicated research thing to make it very impressive, and they need a machine that measures Pokemon energy called a Devon Meter that only certain students get access to.

Colress, unfortunately, is one of those students.

Find it here on AO3 or continue reading down below!

My links: AO3 | Ko-Fi Tip Jar

 Maxie picked up the phone and it started to ring.  After what felt like an awkward eternity, considering both Archie and Petrel were staring at him while he made the call, Colress’ voice finally came through on the other side.

 “Hello, you’ve reached the phone of Colress Achroma.  I’m either unable to take your call right now or simply chose not to, so please leave a message and I might get back.  Kisses.”

 On the other end of campus, Maxie sighed.  It went to voicemail.  Of course.

 In reality, Colress had already answered the phone and was waiting on the other side.  His hands were just a little busy at the moment with a mountain of hair dye, and he hadn’t seen the name on the screen, so he was trying to gauge whether or not the conversation was worth pursuing.  In the meantime, he continued combing in front of the mirror.  It was probably something stupid, or it was spam.

 While Maxie didn’t hear the voicemail dial like he was expecting to, after a quick but prolonged enough silence, he figured it had to be recording and he continued on to leave his message regardless.

 “Hi Colress, this is Maxie, I was wondering if I could—”

 There was a beep.  Maxie sighed again.  How humiliating.  It hadn’t been recording yet.  But just as he breathed in to start over—

 “Oh hello Maxie,” Colress said.  “What can I do for you?

 Maxie jumped back, but just as quickly wondered why he should have been surprised.  

 “Colress,” Maxie said.  “I have a favor to ask...”

 “And what is that?” Colress asked, combing through his hair.  He was tempted to apply more gel, but also knew it was of no use in getting it to stay.

 “Remember that research project I was telling you about?”

 “The one I declined your offer for?”

 “Well, yes—” Maxie hesitated.  The reminder of his blatant rejection almost left a sting.  Why did Colress have to bring it up      like that?      He shook his head and continued.

 “Well, I ended up getting a team.  And we wanted to do some of our research on Mt. Pyre—”

 As Maxie’s voice was beginning to trial off, more and more uncertain, Colress was beginning to turn, more and more interested.  

 “--but we’d need a ride there, and it would require one of the Evolution department’s machines.  I know you said as an Pokemon Evolution major you can rent one out—”

 “That’s correct.”

 “So I was wondering if you’d be willing to come back with us to Mt. Pyre.”

 “When?”

 Maxie frowned.  He shifted uneasily.  This was the part he was on pins and needles for, while Archie and Parker couldn’t care less.  

 “Well... since we’re going to kind of be snooping around… it was Archie and Parker’s idea for us to go… at night.  This night, actually.  As sort of a--paranormal lock-in, they called it.  It’s somewhat risky, but we really need the machine, and it’s the only way we’re going to be able to view the Red and Blue Orb.  I understand it’s a lot to ask--Devon Meters are elusive and expensive--and we’d be snooping around a religious burial ground all night.  Which I don’t really condone of--but.  I’d be willing pay you however much you’d like—”

 Colress stopped messing with his hair through his friend’s nervous stammering.  Maxie hung on a thread as he felt the cold, thoughtful silence coming through on the other side.  This was probably too much to ask, especially on such short notice.  But on the other end of the line, Colress set his comb down on the table and spoke into his cellphone slowly, deliberately,

 “Maxie, there is no amount of money in the world you could pay me that would convince me to do that for you.”

 Maxie’s heart sank.  He turned away, hoping Archie and Parker hadn’t heard.  It was asking a lot, wasn’t it?  Maybe he could twist Dr. Shideler’s arm... convince him that research in this competition would help him with his Honor’s thesis...

 “I’ll do it for free!!” Colress said suddenly.

     "What?”  

 “I’ll do it for free,” he said again.  “You don’t need to pay me anything.  Where should I meet you?”

 “Oh,” Maxie blinked.  The whiplash he was feeling from this exchange hadn’t even set in yet.  “Well, I suppose Persimmon Hall would be nice…”.

 “What time?” Colress asked.  “Are we breaking in or are we just staying after close—?”

 “Oh, well I hadn’t considered—”

 Colress twisted his head around from his mirror and checked his clock.  It was about 5pm.  With an hour drive to the mountain, that already put them at 6.  And with visiting hours ending at sunset…

 “We’re breaking in,” he said.  “I’ll meet you around 8.  Make sure you all have water Pokemon.  I’ll need to borrow one.”

 “I don’t have—”

 “I’ll see you then!  Goodbye,” Colress said.  He hung up the phone.  Maxie looked to Petrel and Archie as it went quiet on the other end.  While a bit winded at Colress’ eagerness to help them--as well as at Colress’ overall flippant demeanor, or perhaps just his overwhelming ability to confuse and lead him on--he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

 “Colress said he’s in,” Maxie said, turning to them.  “He’ll pick us up at 8.”