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houserautha · 1 day

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These Destined Ends

Part Sixteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Warnings: there’s a Fremen orgy, Chani joins in with Feyd and reader, oral sex f receiving, oral sex m receiving, Feyd gives you a facial

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: Yes, I’m still alive and updating, I promise😭(Also Chani really just pulls a Peeta in this part)

When Feyd wakes in the night, wrenched from his slumber by nightmares, you’re there to bring him back to reality. The wild look in his eyes stays with you, though, even after they close and he returns to a restless sleep.

“What are you doing?” You hiss at the healer one night after a particularly bad nightmare.

Feyd whimpers as you pass your hand over his smooth brow. The healer is at his side, collecting the slightly blue-tinged sweat that glistens his skin and bottling it in a glass container.

“The Water of Life,” the healer says in way of explanation, then slips away.

Ignoring your mother’s advice to assimilate with the sietch, you’ve stayed by Feyd’s side most days. But you seek her out now, presiding over a small group of Fremen who kneel at her feet. Her mouth purses unhappily as she realizes who has stolen the attention from her.

“What do you want?” She demands when you pull her aside. Her voice reverberates through the halls, a side effect to the hollowed out caverns.

You curb your annoyance. Jessica won’t tell you anything if you snip at her. “Tell me about what they’re giving Feyd-Rautha.”

“More poison,” she says after a pause, “there had to be a way to counteract the poison in his veins. What kind of paranoid —”

“I dosed on the poison too,” you snap. “Why don’t I take the same thing?”

Jessica’s eyes flash. “The poison has been in his system longer. He almost died because we couldn’t figure out why he was going through withdrawal. Without know what he dosed on, we used the only thing strong enough to save him.”

“Why do they collect it? His sweat.”

“They use the recycled poison for…recreational reasons,” she says.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I suspect you’ll see soon.”

You keep careful watch over Feyd’s injuries and his care, semi-grateful that he phases in and out of consciousness. Your stomach revolts against any food you eat and morning sickness plagues you constantly — he hasn’t noted it, yet, but you’re afraid for when he recovers and reverts to his usual observant self.

From Jessica’s prying gaze you can tell she’s judgmental of your decision not to let Feyd know of the pregnancy. You don’t owe her an explanation, though, so you keep it a secret, which is all fine and well until the supposed Water of Life quickens his already heightened healing.

Feyd perches on the edge of the makeshift bed, the hint of a smile on his mouth as you approach. You swallow your surprise. A healer is adjusting the bandaging around his middle, and you catch a glimpse of the wound before they finish. It’s still pink and raw but mostly healed, just another mark to join the hundreds of others crisscrossing his muscled form.

“Are you ill?” Feyd asks.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “How are you?”

“Better now.”

You send away the healer and cross the room to his side. “Did they mention anything…weird?”

Feyd frowns, brow creasing. “No. I know what you’re referring to, however, there’s a strange tension in the air.” He clears his throat. “I was hoping to take a walk with you.”

We need to talk alone.

“Of course.”

You move to help him to his feet but he waves you away. Without giving a certain destination, you just lead Feyd through the winding tunnels of the sietch until you reach a small outing. The duel suns beam down on you. “I didn’t miss this,” you remark as he beckons you up an incline.

“I need to ensure that we’re alone,” Feyd says.

“I doubt we ever really are.” You sweep the sandy horizon. “They don’t trust us.”

“Understandably.”

“Listen, Feyd —”

He cuts you off. “Tell me everything that’s happened. I feel inadequately prepared. I-I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me about that first?” You press, risking his irritation.

“No.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. What did you expect exactly? You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Nothing…much. I spoke to them on our behalf. Upon Jessica’s request.”

“Jessica?” His head swivels. “Your Mother?”

You nod, somewhat somberly. “She survived Rabban’s attack and has become the Sayyadina. A sort of…spiritual mother.”

Feyd grunts a reply. Not for the first time, you wish that you could pry open his skull and peer into his thoughts. He’s lost weight since the crash, his cheekbones standing out starkly in his face. Although he still cuts an imposing figure, aided certainly by his sharp tongue, his body is not as powerful as it once was. You realize he’s been covertly trying to catch his breath since your short climb up the sandy incline.

“You almost died, Feyd,” you say quietly. “Recovery is going to be —”

His jaw feathers. “You should’ve let me die.”

“What?” When he doesn’t explain himself, you continue, “What are you talking about?”

“I told you not to sacrifice yourself for me. By trying to keep me alive you were opposing my wish and risking your life.”

“I have no life without you,” you whisper furiously.

Feyd’s dark eyes flicker. A look of conflicted torment crosses his face and he finally pulls his gaze from you, back to the desert. “One of us must stay alive to get revenge on our enemies.”

“Oh, that’s why?” You bitterly ask.

“I can’t be worried about you jeopardizing yourself for my sake,” he says, softer. “Obviously that is my top priority. But we are the only ones who can dismantle the Emperor.”

“This is what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“We need to figure out our next steps.”

You exhale a stream of air. “Fine. What are you thinking?”

“The Fremen haven’t heard anything from The Baron?”

“Not that they’ve deigned to share with me.”

“They must believe us dead,” Feyd mutters.

“Like my mother.”

“She will certainly be an asset in this war.”

The word war sends a chill down your spine. Of course you knew that it was happening, but to hear it explicitly said is something different. “They underestimate us again and again,” you say to him, offering him a grim smile.

Feyd picks up your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Their greatest mistake.”

The both of you sit there for quite some time, discussing strategy, before commotion within the sietch draws you back. You don’t miss the way that Feyd walks behind you possessively, hovering, your dark shadow.

“What’s going on?” You ask one of the passing Fremen.

They shake off your hand but appear too excited to give you a reprimand. “The Water of Life ceremony. We must make preparations.”

“They keep saying that — Water of Life,” Feyd comments lowly.

“I’m afraid to ask,” you reply. Does he know that it’s made of his own perspiration?

You’re still not quite accustomed to the winding tunnels of the sietch and this is Feyd’s first time navigating, so you’re both helpless. You end up just following a large group of Fremen into the center of the sietch, curiosity leading you. The music pumping through the space reminds you of a heartbeat, making the hollowed out walls the ribcage that it rattles.

You can feel Feyd’s skepticism from behind you just by the stiffness of his limbs. “Would it kill you to smile?”

“Yes,” he rasps. His breath on your neck makes your toes curl in your boots.

You find a place on the outskirts of the celebration to stand and observe, watching as more and more Fremen cram into the room. The music lifts and circles around you, impossibly loud, joined now by the sound of drums. Duel suns begin their descent and it’s not until darkness has shut like a curtain on the outside world that the chorus of feminine voices begin. It’s quite beautiful, really, chilling. Moonlight pools into the sietch from a hole in the ceiling and illuminates the women singing, lilting and ethereal, passing the container of blue liquid.

You bristle slightly at the sight of it.

“What?” Feyd asks. His gaze is still fixated on the crowd, enraptured with the strange ceremony.

“Nothing,” you say.

You can tell he wants to press the matter but the words die on his tongue — like a breeze rippling over water, starting in the center and moving outward, Fremen begin to dance. It’s like nothing you’ve seen before, strangely elegant and moving, tanned limbs flashing in the light. And as soon as the dancing begins so does the sounds of flesh on flesh, of mouths meeting, bodies tangling together. Surprise flares through you.

Orgies are, of course, nothing new to you. There were plenty on Giedi Prime. But you didn’t expect the Fremen to engage in such indulgences, yet it made sense the more you watched. Sharing your waters with someone was deeply personal, which inevitably happened during sex in some variety. The Water of Life appeared to be the catalyst to this behavior, entrancing the Fremen and loosening their inhibitions.

Feyd pushes his front to yours, cock hardened already. One hand encircles around your waist while the other goes to your throat, thumb pressed to your fluttering pulse.

“You look ravishing tonight, jewel,” he whispers, his lips on the shell of your ear.

You suppress a shiver at his words, your cunt contracting in anticipation. His mouth travels just below your ear now, brushing over the sensitive skin there.

“We’re not welcomed here yet,” you remind him, “I don’t know if we’re exactly invited to…join.”

“Of course you are.”

You turn your head, still entrapped in Feyd’s embrace, who doesn’t seem the least bit guilty to be caught in such a promising position. In the dark it’s hard to tell who spoke but you notice the delicate features off the glint of torchlight, contrasted by the hardness in her eyes. Chani hovers nearby, wavering slightly and clearly under the influence of the Water of Life.

“It would be rude not to,” she adds.

“You’re very generous but we really should be going —”

At the same time, Feyd asks, “Do you want a taste?”

Silence throbs between the three of you. She steps closer. Feyd, hard and muscled behind you and Chani, lean and beautiful, in front of you. Desire nips at your more reasonable senses, with teeth sharp and wanting. Feyd keeps his hands on you as Chani closes the distance.

“This can be a lot for an outsider,” she says.

There’s no mistaking the challenge in her words. Feyd bristles slightly, clearly ready to intervene no matter your answer. You appreciate this, and paste a smile to your face. “Hopefully after tonight I will no longer be one.”

“We’ll see, na-Baroness.”

Chani grabs you with both hands and slots her mouth over yours.

The kiss is so different compared to Feyd’s — even the way she spit out your title instead of saying it in awe — that shock seizes you, rendering you motionless until Chani parts your lips and her tongue slips inside.

She tastes of cinnamon, fresh dew, the heat of the desert slipping into the coolness of night. You want to ask how her opinion of you had changed so drastically but it’s clear that she’s testing your tolerance of Fremen traditions, more probing than lustful. Feyd’s fingers dip below your waistband and your breath hitches.

“I don’t usually share,” Feyd says to Chani, voice low and rasping, “do you realize how lucky you are?”

Chani snags your lower lip with her teeth, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, certainly.”

“I urge you to respect what’s mine,” he retorts. Although your eyes are closed, your body limp and fluid-like between the both of them, you can imagine the wicked glint in his gaze.

“Fremen don’t believe in possessing others,” Chani challenges. She bows against you as Feyd finds your clit, provoking a moan from you.

Feyd inserts a digit into your cunt as he says, “Then you’ve never known anyone you’re afraid of losing.”

Chani works to remove your shirt while Feyd pleases you with his fingers, nimble and skilled. He grinds his hips against your ass and holds you to him as Chani captures one of your nipples with her mouth, your head lolling back in response. The familiarity of Feyd’s warmth mixed with Chani’s touch is almost too much for you to handle, her wet mouth hardening your nipples as she releases them to be exposed to the air.

“Now get your taste,” Feyd says to Chani.

She sucks your juices from his fingers but there’s no pleasure in the act, only the burning sensation of her eyes on you as she licks him clean.

Exhilarated by the two, you wiggle free of Feyd and give Chani a light push. “Allow me.”

Obediently, she falls back onto a flat surface of rock. It’s tricky, at first, to remove the stillsuit but you’re emboldened by Feyd’s presence in your peripheral. He murmurs encouraging words to you as he strokes himself, large hand sliding up and down his length. Finally you free Chani of the lower part of her stillsuit and, in a single, swift movement, part her legs.

A patch of dark, curled hair greets you at the apex of her thighs. Her skin is soft, body slender, hipbones earning two open-mouthed kisses. She writhes eagerly. Admittedly, you’ve never been with a woman before but you know your own cunt well enough to hopefully be of service to her. She releases a breath of surprise when you lick a stripe up her center.

Determined to show her just how adaptive you can really be, you guide her legs over your shoulders as you settle. You explore, at first, testing what would invoke the most reaction from her, running your tongue through her folds. Once you understand exactly where it is she wants you to suck and lick and pamper, you use your mouth to give her exactly that.

And you realize that you enjoy it — enjoy her — despite the implications of the act. Sure, you’re trying to prove yourself but now you can think of nothing but bringing Chani to orgasm. You want to draw from her the shuddering delight, to feel her squirm as you pin her with your hands and your mouth, to show her that you are a force to be reckoned with.

Curiously, sensing that she’s close, you release one hand from her to tease her entrance with your fingers, gathering the wetness there. You revoke, slightly, to admire your work. Her juices coat your lips and chin. She bucks her hips in protest at the absence of you and you extend your apology in the shape of your fingers sliding into her cunt, curling, beckoning for her.

Chani’s thighs clench around you. It’s enough to invite you back to her, press your mouth to her, joining together with your fingers as you start to coax her to orgasm.

“You’re so wet for me,” you murmur to her, hoping the vibrations of your voice transfer.

Chani lifts her head to glare at you, though her eyes are lidded blissfully. “I hate you,” she says through gritted teeth. She shudders at the change in pace of your ministrations, responding to her words with renewed passion.

“Say it again,” you order her.

Her head falls back and her body bows. “I hate you.” Chani swallows, throat working as she fights the inevitable. “I hate you. I hate you.”

Chani’s cry of release mingles with those of others around you, seeking their own pleasures. A spike of triumphant stabs through you. You’re hopelessly horny now, your own thighs slick, and you’ve just conceived the notion to give yourself attention when there’s movement in the corner of your eye. Feyd undresses quickly, looking like some sort of malicious phantom in the moonlight, paler and taller than most of the Fremen.

“I will take care of you,” he says, words drenched with lust, “so that you can continue to take care of her.”

“Don’t you dare touch me,” Chani warns to him.

Feyd positions himself behind you, sinking to his knees. His touch is gentle as it descends down your spine, affectionately grazing over each knob until finally he presses a kiss at the nape of your neck. “Will you tell her that I would never dream of touching anyone but my beloved?”

You open your mouth to say as much, breaking from your sentry at Chani’s cunt, but Feyd effectively stops you from getting out the words. There’s a moment of temporary discomfort as he thrusts his cock inside you but the friction that you’ve so badly needed feels excruciatingly wonderful, and you back out in surprise.

“By all means, don’t stop on my account,” Feyd rasps as he snaps his hips up into you.

He keeps you secured with one hand around your waist while the other grabs hold of Chani’s ankles. She struggles against his grip but ultimately relents as you draw her clit into your mouth and suck, the force of Feyd’s thrust rocking you forward ever so slightly. It doesn’t take very long until you’re slick enough that he can push into you without resistance, and the feeling of being cleaved in half melts into complete bliss.

It’s a moment of transcendency, floating to a higher plane as your pleasure crests. Feyd’s cock fills you so thoroughly — you missed it over the few weeks of his recovery, missed the feel of his powerful body against yours. And he’s clearly enraptured at the sight of you between Chani’s legs, each buck of his hips accompanied by whispered praises.

Your mind reels as you struggle to grasp your situation, so beyond anything you could’ve ever imagined. Chani grinding against you and Feyd fucking you from behind, both of them working in tandem to fill you with inexplicable ecstasy.

“Fuck, jewel,” Feyd pants out. His fingers dig into your side, keeping you steady.

You wiggle back against him appreciatively.

There’s an unspoken rhythm in this dance, this strange, wonderful dance, reminding you of the tides. If you break from Chani to kiss Feyd over your shoulder, she replaces her hand where your mouth was, and if you break from Feyd to properly lavish Chani, he pumps into you rapturously. And then there’s you, torn between them both, lost in your own place of existence.

Time stretches and broadens, one moment melting into the next. The wailing sound of drums and voices joins with the crowd of bodies, the air smelling distinctly of spice and sex. You swear that you feel strange hands graze across your skin, reach out to grab you, touch your hair. There’s no telling where your body begins and someone else ends and the only anchor to reality is Feyd’s presence behind you, the rasp of his breath as he fucks you.

Feyd doesn’t have to alert you to his climax, you recognize the familiar tautness of him, and then he’s spilling inside you, effortlessly lifting you up so that he can expel his seed. Chani watches this, chest heaving, mouth parted. If she notices the excess of black cum on your thighs, she says nothing, just tilts her head back and smirks.

“That was a good start,” she says.

The next morning, you’re surprised to find that most of the sietch has roused from their stupors. Not having indulged in the Water of Life, you and Feyd have no difficulty rising from your makeshift beds, besides your distinct soreness.

“Could it be that easy to get accepted?” You ask him as you both dress.

He makes a small noise. “Mm. A few orgasms and you think they’ll forget my family’s bloodshed?”

“It certainly helped in my case.”

Feyd casts a glare in your direction, lips twitching with reluctant humor. He says, infuriatingly casual, “I didn’t know you were interested in taking more than one partner.”

“Well, she didn’t give me much of a choice,” you reply, face burning slightly. The memory of Chani’s long legs over your shoulders flashes through your mind, how Feyd had held them in place. “If I refused her she would’ve taken it as reluctance to join their customs.”

His brows quirk.

“Okay, I didn’t hate it. But I’m not interested in other partners. You’re all I need.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Did you doubt it?” You ask.

“I only wanted to hear it out loud.”

There is something in his voice that hooks behind your navel and pulls, the invisible tether between you both. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Ask you what?” He muses, stepping closer. “To prove that I’m the only one who can fuck you? That you belong, first and foremost, to me?” His proximity reminds you of the crackle of electricity before a lightning strike, a dangerous charge of energy. “Do you suggest I ask you to get on your knees and demonstrate your devotion?”

Your eyes dart traitorously to his plush lips. “You know I would do anything you ask of me.”

“Then kneel.”

Your knees hit the ground. You ignore the sharp bite of pain in favor for admiring the deft motion of his fingers at his buckle, eager to see what’s underneath. There’s yet to be a time that the sight of his cock hasn’t made your mouth water and your thighs slicken — your gaze runs up his shaft, threaded with veins, to the pale underside of his head. A gleam of pre-cum is visible near his slit that he smooths over with his fingers, transitioning it into a loose grip and drawing your attention back downwards.

“I don’t have to ask you to take my cock, do I?” He all but sneers at you.

It’s enough of an invitation for you to reach out and replace your hand with his. The blood in his veins, dark as ink, stands out against his skin. Giving into your impulses, you trace your tongue over each vein, flicking his head. You swear you can practically taste him, know the way that his blood would flood your mouth, imagine the rush of his seed down your throat.

And suddenly you can’t wait any longer to wrap your lips around his cock, subsequently forfeiting your control as Feyd gasps and, in response, thrusts deeper into your mouth. You gag. There’s a sick pleasure in the way he slides in and out, pushing himself past your lips and grabbing hold of the hair at the base of your skull, snapping his hips in short bursts.

You thought that he wanted you to prove your loyalty by lavishing him with your mouth but clearly he intends to challenge you — judge how well you will open and take his ruthless appraisal. Tears burn behind your eyes and saliva, having nowhere else to go as he fucks your throat, dribbles from the corners of your mouth, effectively coating his cock. Never one to be outdone, however, you manage to reach up between you and cup his balls, holding them tightly in your palm. Feyd inhales sharply.

It’s a brutal game of back and forth now, him bucking into you and you matching each thrust with your own touch, firmly squeezing and massaging him between your fingers. Oh, how you would love to pull his balls into your mouth. But the force with which he buries himself allows no room for any other action, just the quick, steady intrusion of his cock. You know already that tomorrow — hell, this afternoon — your throat will ache wonderfully. And while he always satisfies you, there’s something extra pleasing about the physical marks of his work, the proud artist signing his masterpiece.

And you, his canvas.

It’s not long before you feel the familiar warning shudder of him before he comes, the tightening in his balls that you’ve kept forcefully in your grasp. Feyd paints you with his cum then, warm ropes shooting across your face and tongue. He jolts once, twice, then stills, stroking himself until the end. Feyd surveys you, searching your face, then swipes at the seed from your cheek and pushes it into your mouth, thumb pressing down on your tongue.

You eagerly lick and suck from it, a satisfying suction sound resulting from him as he pulls out. “Just for me,” Feyd says approvingly. He glances over you again and adds, “You might want to clean up before we join the others.”

Glaring, but unable to hide your grin, you dart your tongue out to capture the residual cum near your mouth. “You think?”

The rest of that afternoon is helped pitching in wherever you can in a continuation of your test of worthiness. Feyd, still healing, is relinquished to minimal labor errands like ferrying messages but when the Fremen discover that he’s not exactly sociable, decide that he can tend to their subterranean garden. It makes you laugh to see him rooting through the weeds and hardy plants able to grow without much water, muttering.

You, on the other hand, have convinced the others that you are more than capable of handling yourself despite your “delicate condition”. This probably has to do with your mother’s influence but you frankly don’t care — at least you can leave the suffocating odor and closeness of the sietch, venturing out for shorts stints to hunt small desert animals and perimeter checks.

Of course, neither of you are left alone. Chani has delegated herself to be your perpetual guardian, which you don’t know whether to take as a compliment or an insult. Either way, she refuses to acknowledge it, and you’re under the impression that she wants to make your life as difficult as possible.

This goes on for two months, Chani driving you to your limit in order to prove yourself. The man named Stilgar urges her to give you a break, in which you’re grateful that Feyd is never around, but she staunchly refuses. Every time Stilgar mentions the Messiah, you’re struck with panic; in an effort of self-conservation you’ve successfully ignored your pregnancy despite the occasional boughts of nausea. But as time goes by it gets harder and harder as the life inside you grows and forces your attention to it.

There’s still no physical indication of your pregnancy, but you’re starting to fear that someone will tell Feyd or he’ll notice the bloat of your belly and say something. Stillsuits aren’t exactly fantastic maternity wear. How will you do your part in the Sietch if you can’t work?

These thoughts plague day in and day out, especially when Jessica preaches your contribution to their society, the sacrifice you’re making to bear them their savior. It makes you uncomfortable and furious but you let her as long as their false hope keeps you and Feyd safe.

It’s morning when everyone gathers to break their fast together, and you catch snippets of gossip about The Baron. He’s taken over Arrakis, which you suspected, but apparently has been sending out hits into the desert in hopes of eradicating the Fremen. This is met with collective hatred, of course, and you express your interest in joining a team of fighters in response to this.

“I want to fight,” you tell them sternly.

Chani lingers nearby, never too far. “Absolutely not. How do we know that you won’t just sabotage our mission?”

“And why would I do that? I hate them just as much as you do,” you snap back.

“Clearly,” she says, glancing at your abdomen.

Frustration takes root inside you. “Feyd hates them just as much. We have tried to prove ourselves to you for months now. Let us actually make a difference besides gardening and petty perimeter patrols.”

“No.”

“What? We’re only needed when it involves your own self-interest?” You bite back. “Just when I can make you come?”

Her upper lip peels back in a snarl. “Bitch.”

“What’s going on?”

The small crowd that’s gathered all turns to watch Feyd saunter into the room. He’s looking much healthier now and returning to his former strength, which might make or break your case in this instance.

You purse your lips. “Nothing.”

“The na-Baroness wants to join us in a responsive ambush against the Harkonnen strikes,” Chani says over you. She crosses her arms over her chest and you catch a triumphant look on her face that irks you to no idea.

Feyd looks to you, then back to Chani. “Do you deny her this?”

“Of course I deny her this,” Chani says, “I don’t care what everyone else thinks. I don’t trust you.”

“Then you are stupid,” Feyd remarks.

There’s a gasp of surprise from several of those around you and you grit your teeth. Feyd, I hope you know what you’re doing, you think.

Chani’s face twists in anger. “Why would I trust you to join us in an ambush when you so spectacularly failed your last one?”

Feyd opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it, cutting your gaze to Chani. “Fine. Forget it.”

“Y/N —” Feyd starts to say.

“Besides,” Chani sniffs, “how would I forgive myself if anything happened to the baby?”

Your blood runs cold.

Feyd’s entire body stiffens at this and you force yourself to turn away from him. It feels as if your heart might burst from your chest, your stomach twisting with guilt and regret. When he finally does speak, Feyd’s voice is soft, imploring:

“What baby?”

Taglist:

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#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #fanfic writing #feyd smut #writers on tumblr #fanfic #writing #these destined ends

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curiositysavesthecat · 2 days

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Additional comment from the submitter: ❝Because I hear people say you ‘shouldn’t’ keep writing fanfics if you’re older than 30 and instead should focus on your family and your actual career, etc. but most of my favorite fanfic authors are, as far as I know, older than 30 and maybe it’s just me and I know AGE IS NOT THE FACTOR (but experience probably is), but most of the fics I’ve read that were written by people older than 30 were so much better than fics that were written by younger people.❞

This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

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isiaiowin · 3 days

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Midday musings of a demon without a desk.

Please don't give up writing if you feel discouraged. Stop staring at those stats on AO3. If you made one single person happy with your fic (and I hope it's you) it's worth it.

And remember this:

@goodomensafterdark

#rarepair hell #good omens fandom #i needed to hear this myself #fanfiction writer #writing #fanfic writing #write what you want #write what you love #good omens fanart #motivating quotes #get motivated #good omens aziraphale #good omens crowley #good omens #good omens fanfiction

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freesia-writes · 1 day

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A regularly-scheduled reminder, shared with the utmost warmth and love, that the best way to support writers and artists on Tumblr is the reblog function. 🥰

Add comments in the reblog or not. Add tags or not. Any reblog, empty or full, is appreciated and the most appreciated way to encourage us as we work to create lovely stuff for you to enjoy! ❤️

#tumblr how to #tumblr tips #fanfic #fanfic writers #fanfic authors #fanfiction #fanfic writing #tumblr #tumblr culture #welcome to Tumblr #writing #writers on Tumblr #writeblr #creative writing

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d4rkh0ney · 13 hours

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Bc I have exams and projects, I've decided to write a Rose Wilson x Jason Todd fanfiction??? I'm not even a DC fan OR a comic book reader?? It just spoke to me?? But I've already started doing research??? Would anybody read it????

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dontask-idkeither · 2 days

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Who wants to be my test audience for this Marauders fic??? My bestie has failed me😭😭

#fanfic #fanfiction #marauders #marauders fandom #fanfic writer #fanfic writing #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #dead gay wizards #gay dead wizards #hp marauders #hp #hp fandom #hp fanfic #jegulus #wolfstar #rosekiller

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bobaheadshark · 3 days

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in case it needs to be said again

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getmehighonmagic · 1 day

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take me back to San Francisco, chapter 3 ♥

This fic was supposed to only be around 15k. I have just passed 40k. I thought y'all should know that. Anyway, happy Friday, darlings! ♥

@blueeyedgrlwrites @eusuntgratie @sparklepocalypse @kiwiana-writes @happiness-of-the-pursuit

@affectionatelyrs @indomitable-love @heysweetheart-writes @wordsofhoneydew @firenati0n

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @anchoredarchangel @clottedcreamfudge @anincompletelist @cricketnationrise

@violetbaudelaire-quagmire @lostcol @matherines @thinkof-england @inexplicablymine

@three-drink-amy @priincebutt @nocoastposts @littlemisskittentoes @cha-melodius

@i-am-freyja @itsmaybitheway @saturntheday @bitbybitwrites @ninzied

@porcelainmortal @firstsprinces @suseagull04

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 20 hours

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what people think pro ship means: dangerous people who want to harm children in real life and/or think taboo subjects in real life are justified

what pro ship actually is about: the belief that people are allowed to enjoy fictional thing however they want, as long as it's fictional and no one in real life gets harmed or harassed in any way, and as long as they tag their trigger warnings properly.

most pro ship folks I've come across are just "hey, you like this fucked up thing that is fictional? okay, cool. you do you, man. I myself don't even like this thing that you like, but hey, it's not real. and I trust that you know the difference between fiction and reality, so you do you. if it ever gets too much for me, I will just block or mute you and move on with my life, but that doesn't mean I think you're a horrible person in real life because of the fictional thing you like, it just means I'd rather not see or engage with this thing that can make me uncomfortable. I still want you to have fun doing what you love, and I still think you're cool as fuck. love and respect, dude"

meanwhile most anti ship I've seen are like "omg you like this fictional thing where fictional children are harmed??! Red Flag Red Flag. put this gross piece of shit behind bars immediately!!!"

and I'm just ????? I don't normally engage in fandom wars, but I think, as long as you don't harass anyone in real life and as long as no one in real life is in danger or is harmed, how you enjoy fictional things is none of my business. and I'm not gonna make any "call out post" where I encourage my followers to harass you because you like fucked up fictional things that I personally don't like or believe is wrong either.

I mean, from personal experience, I was exposed against my will to thing I didn't want to see from anti's screenshot of fanart or fanfic where they encourage their followers to harass this person whose fanart or fanfic, that was screenshot and spread by them, was originally tagged properly with all the trigger warnings so that people who didn't want to see it wouldn't get exposed to it. until anti screenshot it and flaunted it around in the name of being morally superior while also, at the same time, advocated for the witch hunt against someone who just wanted to mind their own business. so... the irony. lol

fandoms used to be more peaceful before Fandom Police starts their witch hunting, but it's a good thing we can just block these people and keep on enjoying our blorbos however we want to enjoy them.

and I'll always encourage every artist to write whatever they want, draw whatever they want. don't let people who think they're "morally superior" tell you you can't make art this way or that way. my best advice would be to block and ignore and keep on creating what you want. they may be loud, but at the end of the day they're just noises and they're not worth your attention x

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simplydannie · 6 hours

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Previous “The Meeting”

Based on @zephyrmars ask here!

Upon looking for his family, Floyd finds himself in the most unlikely places…and at the hands of two teens he didn’t know were set to change his life forever.

“Gone…. They’re gone…” Floyd stood at the center of the Troll tree… It now lay empty, not a single soul in sight… the Trolls were gone, all gone. Floyd fell to his knees. Did they all get eaten? Did they escape? His heart sank.

Branch… little Branch.

“I just left him… I thought… I didnt….” His colors began to fade. He looked around, he peeked inside the tiny homes…Everything was still here, nothing was taken, nothing was broken… they saw the opportunity and ran for it, they had too. Hopping down to the base of the tree he saw holes, giant ones. It seems in their attempt to retrieve them, the Bergens dug, and dug. Yes, they did escape.

“They have to be alive… I have to find where they went.” He said to himself. Getting up he ran out of the Troll tree before any Bergens saw.

For nearly 20 years he had roamed in isolation looking for his family, for any sight of Pop Trolls.. Floyds colors were completely gone, wasted, not a single dose of happiness left in him. He sat on top of a tree branch curled into a ball…the way he spent most nights…If 20 years of searching led him nowhere, then he was completely hopeless. Tears began filling his eyes like they did every night. That’s when heard the voice. Peeping down below he saw hooded figures, giant hooded figures…he’d never really seen anything like them before. They weren’t Bergens, their features were almost doll-like…

“You find any?”

“Nope. Seems like we’re all dry on this end.”

“Dammit. We’ll search another location tomorrow. These Trolls only have so much to where they can hide now.”

Floyd’s ears had perked up at the mention of Trolls. He had grown desperate by now, any mention of them was a hopeful one since all the villages he had run into didn’t have his family….Maybe, just maybe…

In the blink of an eye, Floyd flung himself from the top of the tree into their vehicle below. He hid from view of these giant creatures.

“Please, please, take me to my family.” He whispered to himself as the vehicle began to move…

That’s how he found his way in Under Rageous, that’s how he found himself trapped by two greened haired teens. Floyd had no idea where he was being carried too. All he could hear were the voices of the two figures…

“He doesn’t look so good Vels.”

“Doesn’t matter. A Troll is a Troll and a Troll means bitz.” He heard the female voice say.

Floyd stretched out his tiny arms to reach for the cloth that covered the trap he was in, but not luck… he pulled the tiny bars surrounding him, banging them hoping they’d budge, nothing, he was trapped…

“Are you sure about this?” He heard the male voice speak again.

“Stop it Ven. We’re doing this. Stay here.” Floyd heard her footsteps fade away. The Troll was curled into a corner when the cover was lifted. His eyes adjusted to the dim lights. Floyd was able to get a good look at the kid this time: stringy green hair under a purple beanie, pale, pale porcelain like skin. A doll like face, but covered in scars, a tired look in his giant eyes…He looked at Floyd with a sad expression…There were no words between them for a moment, just silence as they looked at each other.

“I’ve never met a REAL Troll.” The boy said. Floyd remained silent. “Why are you gray? They said Trolls have the prettiest colors, but you don’t have any.” A look of concern crossed his face. “Are you sick? Do Trolls get sick?……Do Trolls even talk? Do you even understand me?” He blabbed. Floyd couldn’t help but let a small smile cross his face….in some form or another, his curiosity reminded him of Branch.

“I understand you.” Floyd responded.

“Oh thank God! I thought I was talking to my own for a minute there.” The boy had moved himself into a corner far from view. “What’s your name?”

“…..Floyd. What’s yours?”

“Veneer! And the girl you saw with me is my sister, Velvet. She’s moody, but she’s nice enough.”

Silence passed between them again when Veneer finally asked, “Why are you all gray?”

“I….” It took a moment for the Troll to respond, to find the right words… “I just lost my colors…”

“You can do that?”

“When a Troll looses all sense of hope and happiness…Yes, it happens.” Floyd curled himself into tighter ball.

“Why are you not happy?”

“My family…I can’t find them.” The Troll buried his face into his knees. Veneer’s heart sank…He had a family. Trolls. They all had families. And here were Under Rageons taking them and selling them for their own personal gain. He glanced around, he was far from eyes, far from view. Opening his trap, Veneer reached inside and gently scooped the Troll up in his hands and placed him in the pockets of his red vest.

“What are you-“

“Shhh.” Veneer hushed him. He tore apart a section of the trap, making it seem as if the Troll had escaped. Veneer draped the cloth back over it. “Stay quiet.”

Within moments his sister appeared with a male Rageon beside her, a few years older than they were. “There it is.” She pointed to the trap Veneer still held in his hands.

“Nice one, Ven. Seems you have slowly proven yourself to our group.” The male Rageon responded. Veneer swallowed the lump that was in his throat, trying his best to hide the fear behind a smile. “Give it here.”

Hesitantly, Veneer reached over and gave the trap to the Rageon, “Those bitz are all ours! You know how much money this little Troll is going to- What the hell!” Upon uncovering the trap, he saw that it was empty, the little metal bars broken and bent, “Where is it! What the heck happened!”

“VEN?” Velvet glanced at him wide-eyed.

“He was there. He was there I swear! We…we both saw it.” Veneer replied.

“WELL IT’S NOT HERE NOW IS IT!” The male Rageon tossed the trap straight into Veneer’s face causing him to stagger back, his body began trembling in fear.

“It escaped. We’ll go find another one.” Velvet tried to intervene.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO CATCH ONE ROAMING AROUND IN UNDER RAGEOUS! THEY’RE DAMN GONE AROUND OUTSIDE TOO! THIS WAS OUR CHANCE! YOUR STUPID BROTHER RUINED IT WITH HIS STUPID TRAP!” He shoved Velvet out of the way and made his way to Veneer, grasping him by the collar of his shirt. “YOU SAID TO TRUST YOU! THAT YOUR TRAP WOULD WORK! AND WE DID! YOU FREAKING IDIOT!”

SMACK.

He hit Veneer clear across the face.

SMACK.

He hit him again.

SMACK.

And again.

“Stop it!” Velvet jumped in just as he was about to hit another blow, hitting her instead. She held her face and winced at the pain it left her.

“Your brother has caused us enough trouble, he has lost us enough bitz. We’re done. You’re no longer part of this group. You work and fend for yourselves now! One thousand bitz! That’s how much you need to pay us back. If you don’t, we will find you.” With his boot he kicked dirt in both their faces. Veneer spat out blood as he felt a loose tooth somewhere inside.

“Vels! Vels are you okay?” He went over to his sister, checking her face.

“Me? You’re the one he let hell on!” She grabbed his face looking at him up and down. “God, it’s going to swell. We better get home and ice it now.” She grabbed his hand and began to walk away.

“Um, Vels…” Veneer attempted to speak as she dragged him down the streets of Under Rageous. They passed by various Rageons and Bergens alike. They scoffed and laughed as they saw his condition.

“Mind your business! Giant apes.” Velvet yelled.

“Vels…I have something I need to tell you…”

“Not now Ven. I just want to get home.”

“Vels you have to listen, and you can’t get mad….”

She stopped, she turned and looked at him, “Mad at what?”

Veneer pulled her into a dark, empty alleyway. He pulled her behind dumpsters away from any eyes, “Please, don’t get mad.”

“What the hell Ven, spit it out!”

He reached into his pocket in hopes he was still there…He was. Veneer wrapped his hand gently around Floyd, bringing him out he showed him to Velvet. Her mouth dropped. Her eyes moved rapidly between the Troll and her brother.

“You….YOU LIED!” She yelled.

“I had too. It didn’t feel right. He doesn’t look good. Just look at him Vels. And he has a family!”

“BITZ VENEER! WE LOST ON BITZ!”

“You know we would only see not even half of what we would’ve gotten for him. You know that!”

“WE OWE THEM BITZ NOW BECAUSE OF THIS VENEER!”

“Don’t worry about that…I have some saved up. Vel’s we need to make sure he get’s out of here. What if his family is here? We could help him find them?”

Floyd looked back and forth at the arguing siblings. They reminded him a lot of his own…He looked at Veneer. His face was bruised, his mouth bleeding, all because he wanted to save him. Protect him..

“Can I say something?” Floyd called up to them. Both Rageons glanced down at him, “Thank you. You, you didn’t have to do that.”

Veneer smiled, while Velvet scowled.

“Why do you always have to be like this Veneer?” She said.

“I can’t help it…He needs his family.”

Floyd smiled, but a sudden wave of nausea hit him. He fainted at the palm of Veneer’s hand. All he remembered hearing was the sound of the Rageon boy screaming his name.

The smell of warm food is what awoke Floyd. He opened his tiny eyes and found himself wrapped in a small cloth, a sock was made into a pillow for him. He find himself in a small home that reminded him a little bit of the single roomed Troll homes. Floyd heard bickering. He turned towards the small kitchen and saw both twins hovering over the stove.

“Garlic powder. Mom said garlic is good for the immune system.” Velvet said.

“Wasn’t it onion?”

“No garlic.”

“I swear it was onion.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s garlic Veneer!”

“…..it’s onion….”

Velvet threw a wooden spoon hitting the top of his head. Floyd found himself smiling a lot this day…something about these two just clicked with him. Perhaps it was just the feeling of being surrounded by a family like this for the first time in a long while, a family that reminded him of his own. He looked around and saw there was not sign of their parents or anyone else. Were they on their own? This young? He’d guess they were only about sixteen, maybe even fifteen.

The twins turned around to see he had woken up, “Oh you’re awake!” Veneer beamed.

“…Joy…” Velvet rolled her eyes and went to sit on a small couch they had. Veneer had found the smallest bowl and spoon they had.

“..Yeah that’s still kind of big.” He said placing the bowl in front of Floyd.

“It’s fine. Trolls can have a big appetite. It smells good.”

“Our mom would make this when we were sick, and you looked kind of sick. OH! Vels agreed you could stay as long as you needed too.”

“Don’t make me change my mind.” The girl had laid herself on the couch and closed her eyes.

Floyd smiled, “Thank you. I think this is the most rest I’ve had in the longest time.” He began taking sips of the soup when he saw Veneer eyeing him curiously. “What?”

“I don’t know if it’s just me, maybe it’s the lighting? But…You’re not looking as gray as you did when I first saw you. Is your color coming back?”

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au-roulette · 7 hours

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Happy June!

To celebrate the fact that we are now officially one month away from the start of AU Roulette, have a post detailing the 36 AUs included in this year's challenge -- or don't, if you'd rather be surprised.

This year's AUs have been curated to be intentionally broad, in the hopes that they will encourage unique takes on each prompt and the creativity of the authors participating. You are welcome to write anything that falls under the umbrella of your assigned AUs, whether it's an original universe, a fusion inspired by another fandom, or something else entirely.

(What's AU Roulette, some of you might be asking? An explanation can be found here, along with the link to sign-up!)

Without further ado -- the AU list, under a cut:

Roleswap - Maybe you want to switch two characters' places, do a class-swap for a D&D fandom, try your hand at an age-swap fic, or you have another idea.

Superhero -- Invent an original universe or do a fusion with one of the many popular big-screen superhero stories. Play it straight and give your favorite characters cool powers, or try a deconstruction of the genre. With great AUs comes great responsibility

Gothic Horror -- Castles. Ghosts. Vampires. Drama. Love that conquers Death. Take your inspiration from classic literature or a newer entry in the genre, like The Locked Tomb books. But be sure to make things spooky.

Post-Apocalypse -- Will the world end in fire or in ice? Or maybe economic collapse, war, zombies, or one of many other options? You write what happens next!

Fairy-Tale -- Pick a classic tale from the Grimms, Hans Christian Andersen, Asbjørnsen & Moe, Charles Perrault, or another favorite author to inspire your AU, try out a more modern re-telling, or use fairy-tale elements to craft your own story.

High Seas -- Including but not limited to Pirate AUs and other Age of Sail adventures. Try out something more historical, or throw in as many fantasy elements as you'd like -- or a bit of both.

Time Travel -- For fixing mistakes, making things worse, or time loops. Or maybe you want to write a fusion inspired by a piece of popular time travel media, like Doctor Who.

Western -- Another AU where writers are free to do their history research or to lean into more outlandish genre conventions. Cowboys, cowgirls, and cowpokes all welcome, of course.

Mythology -- Write a story inspired by your favorite myths and legends, from a whole host of different cultures. Or maybe you'd like to try your hand at writing some epic poetry?

Coffee Shop -- A classic everyone knows and has strong feelings about. Play it straight or add a twist, whichever suits your fancy! After all, no one said where the coffee shop has to be...

College/Academia -- Are the characters in your AU students? Professors? Weary adjuncts? Throwing hands at a conference? Some mix of the above?

Theater -- Put those characters on Broadway or cast them in a disaster of a community theater production. Or a school play! All that really matters is the show must go on.

Ghost/Cryptid Hunters -- Maybe you want to write a story starring the next Scooby-Doo crew, or maybe there really is something strange in the neighborhood. Or maybe it'll never be clear what really happened -- it's your choice!

Secret Agent -- Code words, code names, you name it. Write a story about spies, cryptographers, or any other clandestine operators. Take inspiration from history or from James Bond. Just don't spill your secrets too soon.

Detective -- Whether you're writing the world's greatest detective or someone who just can't get a clue, play up the mystery! Use a classic locale like 221B Baker Street or invent your own.

Cyberpunk -- Time to write cyborg identity crises and fight the machine (literally)! Take inspiration from classic media like Neuromancer or Blade Runner or make a totally new cyberpunk universe of your own creation.

High Fantasy -- Elves and dwarves and gnomes, oh my! This AU could encompass everything from Middle Earth to D&D AUs to your favorite high fantasy books you read over and over as a kid. Or maybe you have your own spell to weave.

Band/Musicians -- Whether you decide to make the characters in your AU famous pop stars, part of an orchestra, students at a conservatory, jamming together in their garage, or otherwise musically-inclined, have fun with it!

Reporter/Journalist -- For everything from local anchors and newspaper staff to big-league investigative reporters. Write characters who'll do anything to get a scoop or with a strong sense of justice -- it's your call!

Cosmic Horror -- You don't have to love Lovecraft to get creative with this AU. Make characters comprehend the incomprehensible, send them messages from beyond the stars, and get a little creepy.

Heist -- Will you write a story about master thieves? Vigilantes righting some wrong? What's being stolen and why? Try a Leverage AU or a caper of your own making.

Space Opera -- The genre encompassing works like The Expanse, Imperial Radch, Mass Effect, and Star Wars, brimming with galactic empires, alien species, and chivalric adventures. Write a fusion set in the universe of your favorite work in the genre, or invent a new one!

Sports/Athletics -- Pick a sport, any sport -- whether a team game like hockey, an individual one like archery, a paired one like figure skating, or something a little unconventional, like roller derby or HEMA. Then it's ready, set, write!

Historical Era -- An AU type absolutely bursting with potential, from medieval romances to 1920s Prohibition AUs, to ones inspired by historical fiction like Les Miserables. Whatever era of history strikes your fancy, you can write it.

Road Trip -- Pack your favorite characters in a car and don't forget the snacks. Or maybe the spaceship, or something else if you're feeling adventurous. Where are they headed and why? Only you know the answer!

Space Exploration -- Whether you want to write modern-day astronauts, a futuristic Star Trek AU, or something inspired by the space race, the sky isn't even the limit with this AU.

Urban Fantasy -- For all your modern-with-magic settings. Write an AU inspired by something like Teen Wolf, Artemis Fowl, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or much of Neil Gaiman's oeuvre, or invent your own world where witches and websites coexist.

Museum/Archives -- Have the characters in your AU working in the exhibits or behind the scenes, down in the collections or even as archaeologists or paleontologists. What secrets are waiting to be unearthed there?

Hospital -- A surprisingly flexible AU option -- are the characters working there, or the victims of some unfortunate accident? Or maybe it's a bit of both. Take it wherever you feel like.

Camping/Wilderness Survival -- Could be anything from a fun summer camp or camping trip to a nightmare survival scenario. Write everyone having s'mores around the campfire or something inspired by media like Yellowjackets, where they might be having... something else.

Steampunk -- A fantastic opportunity to get creative with your worldbuilding. Try your hand at some alternate history, or invent a world of airships and other flying machines of your very own.

Shapeshifter -- Can the characters in this AU turn into anything they want? Or maybe they're more limited, like selkies -- even unable to control their shapeshifting at all (can I get an "awoo" from the werewolf fans?)

Classic Literature -- An AU somewhat more dependent on fusion ideas, but still very flexible! Pick a favorite classic book or play and let it inspire your writing!

Dystopian -- Create your own awful society or let a favorite piece of media guide you, like writing a Hunger Games AU. Will the characters break the cycle, or end up trapped in it?

Renaissance Faire -- A recipe for chaos. Write a bunch or faire-goers or have the characters in your AU working at the faire! Adventures await.

Scientist/Mad Science -- Write characters as normal biologists, physicists, and chemists, the next Frankenstein, or as hapless experiments themselves!

#au roulette 2024 #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writing #fic challenge

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unpredictable-probabilities · 11 hours

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Of Spells and Sons

Summary:

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

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

He only hopes to resist getting ensnared himself.

Notes (more at the end):

For Dreamling Week Day 1: Indulgence and First Time

Have fun reading!

(Read on AO3)

---

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

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

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

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

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

Hob steeled himself and walked in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brilliant blue eyes glanced up and aimed right at Hob.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hob frowned. “You know his name?”

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

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

“Who are you?” Hob asked cautiously.

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

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

Hob sighed. “What do I have to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He is my brother.”

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

“And who might you be… soldier?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sorcerer was attempting to enchant him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh well. It was worth a try.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merciful gods.

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

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

His home… Ithaca… Robyn…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“I’m here because I’m interested.”

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

“In your experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She was killed. While protecting our son.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For the time being,” Morpheus said evenly.

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

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

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

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

“Is that so?”

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

“What?” Morpheus frowned in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

“I see you’ve met my friend Hob.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even you?” Hob teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hob decided to remedy that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so much to live for.

---

Notes:

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

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

Puppeteer

Wouldn't You Like

Done For

There Are Other Ways

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

---

(Dreamling Week 2024 Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

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glossyblue · 15 hours

Text

Unstoppable Connection

𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗒𝖻𝗅𝗎𝖾: 𝗁𝗂𝗂𝗂𝗂𝗂 , trent🫠💭 Comments are respectful and helpfu𝗅🤝🏻❤️‍🩹

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖳𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎...

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗑𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗈𝗅𝖽 × 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

⋆

The metallic tang of burnt rubber lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the screeching halt that had upended your life. You stared out the window of Trent's Range Rover, the familiar sight of Melwood, Liverpool's training ground, now a painful reminder of what you couldn't do. "Penny for your thoughts?" Trent's voice, usually laced with playful Scouse, was soft, cautious. He'd been your rock since the accident, his usual cheeky grin replaced with a quiet strength that both comforted and frustrated you. You forced a smile, hating the concern etched on his handsome features. "Just thinking how weird it is to see Melwood from this side of the fence." He chuckled, the sound a little forced, but you appreciated the effort. "Missing your daily dose of bossing me around on the pitch?"You scoffed, but a genuine smile tugged at your lips. Meeting Trent on the pitch had been a happy accident. He'd been drawn to your fiery spirit, your refusal to back down, even against a Premier League star. And you? You'd fallen for his talent, his dedication, and the surprisingly goofy humor he hid beneath his superstar persona. "Don't worry, Alexander-Arnold," you shot back, your voice regaining some of its usual bite. "I'll be back to my winning streak soon enough. You just focus on not getting complacent without me there to keep you on your toes."

He reached over, his hand finding yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. "Listen," he began, his voice serious, "I know this is beyond frustrating. Believe me, seeing you stuck at home while I'm out there… it's killing me."You squeezed his hand, his touch a lifeline in the sea of frustration threatening to drown you. "I know, Trent. It's just… everything feels so damn impossible right now. Walking, showering, even just reaching for the remote feels like climbing Mount Everest." He pulled into his usual parking spot, but didn't let go of your hand. "Hey, we'll tackle this together, yeah? One physio session, one step, one ridiculously bad joke at a time." He flashed you a goofy grin, and you couldn't help but laugh.

The next few months were a blur of hospital visits, physiotherapy sessions that left you feeling more like a rusty robot than a human, and endless days spent confined within the four walls of your shared flat. Your usual boundless energy was replaced by a gnawing frustration that often morphed into anger, leaving you feeling like a pressure cooker about to explode. One evening, after a particularly brutal physio session, the dam broke. You collapsed onto the sofa, tears streaming down your face. "I'm never going to be the same, Trent," you sobbed, the words ripped from the depths of your despair. "I'll never play again, never run, never…" He was instantly by your side, pulling you into his arms, his embrace a haven of warmth and strength. "Don't you dare finish that sentence," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You're strong, you're stubborn, and you're twice the fighter I am on my best day. This is a setback, love, a bloody annoying one, but we'll get through it. We'll smash those physio sessions, we'll laugh at my terrible jokes, and when you're back on your feet, stronger than ever, we'll celebrate. We'll go to Santorini, just like we talked about. Sun, sea, and maybe a cheeky kickabout on the beach, yeah?" His words, filled with such unwavering belief, such love, sparked a flicker of hope in the darkness. You clung to him, drawing strength from his embrace. He was right. This wasn't the end. It was just the beginning of a long, arduous journey back to yourself. And with Trent by your side, his hand in yours, you knew you could face anything.

-------------------------------------------- ᵍˡᵒˢˢʸᵇˡᵘᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵗᵘᵐᵇˡʳ💌

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atlas-likes-writing · 22 hours

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June of Doom Day One - "Help Me."

Characters: Bruce Wayne/Batman, Clark Kent/Superman, Alfred Pennyworth, Ra's Al-Ghul (mentioned), Tim Drake/Red Robin, Damian Wayne/Robin, Stephanie Brown/Spoiler, Dick Grayson/Nightwing

Summary: Bruce has always been stubborn, much to the dismay of those around him. It's only when he has no other option that he actually decides to ask for assistance.

Word count: 1603

Tags: Light angst, light gore, injuries, depictions/recountance of injuries and violence, medicine/medical terminology.

Author's Note: In comparison to other angst fics I've written, this one is incredibly tame. Call it the calm before the storm for this challenge lol. Enjoy! As always, feel free to like, comment, and reblog. It helps me out a bunch.

@juneofdoom

Masterlist

The Dark Knight is revered across the world as being untouchable. Unbeatable. The stuff of legend that you tell your kids about so they will behave. “You better be good, or the Batman will come and get you in the night!” It works a treat. There are some people in the world who don’t even think He exists. They believe it’s clever CGI or paid trauma actors or a talented cosplayer (as to what they’re cosplaying is up for debate, for obvious reasons). Like on of those fake movies where people on social media work together in their thousands to gaslight people into thinking they exist when they don’t. It’s not true, of course. Batman is as human as any other person on Earth (except for the large variety of aliens that also call Earth home, but that’s another thing to ignore). He is human. He has skin and lungs and teeth and a tongue; and with such things comes vulnerability. The Dark Knight is not untouchable, and he certainly isn’t unbeatable.

Especially considering the state he is currently in.

It is well-known throughout the hero community that Ra’s Al-Ghul is not a man to be messed with. Whenever his name pops up on mission briefs it is always given to the more capable heroes in the Watchtower. Usually the Big Three: Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman, and today was no different. When the small-time hero of somewhere unimportant came shuffling over to his office to timidly poke his head through the door, Batman was surprisingly quite understanding.

“That must have been a formatting error. I’ll handle it, don’t worry. Ra’s Al-Ghul isn’t a villain for the regular hero. Thank you for bringing this to me, Jerry.”

How on earth he knew the man’s name was between him and the gods. He scampered off and out of Batman’s office before he got the chance to ask, his own fear getting the best of him. How heroic.

Now, while Bruce is clutching his side and using his cape as an impromptu bandage across his torso, he wishes that Clark and Diana were not on their respective breaks.

“The kids are on school break. I’m going to take them to visit Ma and Pa for the weekend. Shout if you need me, Bruce.”

“My sisters in Themyscira have requested my presence for a ceremony of some kind. It is apparently important, so I will be back in about a week.”

He can’t blame them, of course. Superhero work is tough, and everyone is in need of a break now and again. Jon and Kon are important to Clark, as are his own children to Bruce, so he understands. And the surprise birthday party for Diana has been in the works for months. Being the only naturally born Themysciran, it is a ceremony worth celebrating for the Amazons, so Bruce can’t fault them either. He just wishes their departures could have been spaced out a little more so he wouldn’t have to deal with Ra’s alone.

Now, in the middle of god-knows-where in some North African country, he is alone. Crippled by some sort of Lazarus Pit magic that was blasted across his thigh and various sword-related wounds dotted around his torso and legs. He’s been in worse situations, but he’s also certainly been in better as well. With Alfred piloting the Batwing from the safety of the Batcave, he’s got about four hours until it arrives, and he can be brought back to his own domain. Back to safety. He hesitates at the idea of calling for help from Clark. The man has his own priorities, and it’s been an incessantly long time since he’s had time alone with his family without the stress of hero work.

However, some priorities overrule others.

“Clark, help me,” he whispers, voice cracking and hoarse after hours of fighting and sustaining injuries. As he treks away from the arena where Ra’s and Bruce fought (some secluded spot in the middle of a dessert - Bruce would personally guess Ethiopia due to the landmarks surrounding him, but he has been wrong before and wouldn’t be surprised if he was at this moment as well) and with the fact that Ra’s has been defeated in mind and handed into the local authority, he pushes forward. Every step through sand dunes feels as if he’s walking through treacle, and he can’t help but struggle with his own body as he reaches the crest of a particularly large mountain of sand. In the distance, the sparkling lights of a large city twinkle at him with the promise of assistance, but he highly doubts he’ll get there before he collapses to dehydration or his injuries. He’s already exhausted the little water he had in his utility belt and the bandages in it have already been used to patch up wounds of the highest severity. The strange green magic that Ra’s used on him made the material of his trousers stick to his left leg painfully, so he had to cut the cotton-Kevlar material off.

So, there he is: trudging in the middle of some desert in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night - dehydrated, injured, and miserable with his incoming support not available for another several hours and half of his costume in disrepair. He can’t help feeling a little irritable towards his comrades for this, even if he is completely aware that it isn’t their fault. He was the one who deemed it too dangerous for his children to come with him to combat the Demon’s Head and made the incredibly intelligent decision to go alone. Even Alfred had urged him to go with one of his more mature children, but his fear of losing them after what happened to Jason put the rational part of his brain on autopilot in favour of the worried parent in him to disagree with every alternative. He can just hope that either his family or Clark finds him before it’s too late.

That’s the last thought he has before he collapses, face first, into the sand.

—

He’s in and out of consciousness for a long time. When he’s got half a mind to take in his surroundings, Bruce notices that he is travelling. Rapidly. When he blinks, he’s in a vehicle, then lying down on something, then surrounded by darkness. He hears voices too, but they’re often mixed and warped together until he can’t discern whose is whose. Eventually, the soft timbre of Alfred reaches him, followed by the worried voice of his eldest son. It’s then when he realises he’s back in the Batcave and safe, so he closes his eyes again and stays like that for a while; not particularly in the mood for waking up.

When he properly regains consciousness, he’s met with a pounding headache and a sharp ache overwhelming his legs and chest. Bruce opens his eyes and is immediately blinded by the bright LED of a medical light glaring down on him. He squints into it and brings his arm up to cover his eyes with a groan, and the room, which he didn’t realise was occupied by others, suddenly went silent.

“Bruce? You’re awake!” That was the voice of his third son.

“It was about time, Father. How was Grandfather?” That was his youngest.

“Stop pestering him! Let him get his bearings before you overwhelm him with questions.” His eldest daughter.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t overwhelm me with questions at all. At least, not yet,” Bruce grumbles, attempting to sit up without triggering a massive headache and failing miserably. He slumps back on the hospital cot, closing his eyes. He feels a cool and damp fabric being placed on his forehead, realising that Alfred is busy doing his medical ministrations as he always does.

“You gave us quite the scare, Master Bruce. I hope this acts as a lesson to not fight the League of Assassins without correct backup,” the butler states. Bruce sighs, the act causing pain to shoot through his ribcage. Ah, so he broke them.

“I won, didn’t I?” he states, attempting humour. The joke falls flat in the now silent room and the man represses the urge to sigh a second time.

“We all know that’s not the point here, Bruce.” His eldest son, Dick, steps forward and stands next to the cot where his father lies. “You gave Clark quite the scare.”

That’s what gets Bruce to open his eyes.

“He’s here?”

“He’s upstairs in the Manor. He wanted to give you space.”

He can’t suppress the sigh this time and it turns into a wince.

“Damn it. Can you bring him down here? I want to apologise for keeping him from his family.”

“Visiting hours are closed for a few hours,” Alfred states bluntly and shoots a poignant glare behind him at the several others in the room. They all look away, shuffling around awkwardly. “Unfortunately, your stubbornness is apparently hereditary.” He turns to face them all. “Children, Master Bruce is awake. You can come back later when he’s in a better state of mind and body.” As if on cue, Bruce groans in pain after a failed attempt to move his legs into a more comfortable position.

“Right- yeah. Sorry, Alf. We’ll go.” Dick begins to turn away but stops himself halfway to the door. Once the others have left, he gives a meaningful look to his father.

“Stop thinking you have to do everything alone, Bruce. You have friends. Act like it.”

With that, he leaves, leaving the Dark Knight in the care of his butler and his own thoughts.

Will be posted on Ao3 later on :)

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