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the-darklings · 2 years

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──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗.]

summary: "I heard you."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 9.2k+

warnings: angsty, they're truly pining in this one ngl, Dream is still Dream (trying, but lowkey failing) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: whose ready for that reunion, huh? Ngl, I struggled with writing this chapter if only because I'm so used to writing original content. It was weird trying to adapt the show timeline without bogging down the pace or doing a beat-for-beat recount (which would have been tedious), so I hope you liked the uneasy medium I chose instead.

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART TEN: YEAR 1021 II

His realm. Ruins.

Everywhere Morpheus turns his attention, decay and ash greet him on his traipse to the castle. Time is cruel. What he has built over the years—with devotion, care, and contentment—has broken down to nothing in a hundred years he was gone.

These walls, physical and otherwise, keeping so many unassailable, have stood for thousands of years. Since the dawn of all creation, the Dreaming had been a haven.

Now, it is barely standing.

Crumbled stone and dust. Grey, drab surroundings devoid of colour, gutted of resplendence that once coursed so freely here. His Dreaming, his home, his beautiful treasure. The weight inside his chest is unbearable. Scratchy and thorned, each image bites into his mind, snagging and burrowing there. He will carry this weight until his end. This is a failure; fundamental, wretched, inescapable.

His subjects have fled. Abandoned the Dreaming—and him—in droves. Not even his siblings have sought him out.

You love them, but you don’t see them.

“You may be correct about your siblings not arriving to your aid, Lord. But someone else did. Someone searched for you. Rather ardently, I might add.”

Morpheus raises his head, pain knotting his throat, his hands clasped while he perches on a fragmented staircase.

“Who?”

Lucienne’s expression pinches, eyeing him over her glasses as if it should be obvious. But if not his family, then—

“My Lord, surely you can think of someone who cares for you enough to do so?” Hearing no response, his librarian persists, “Someone who has stood by your side no matter what. I confess it was most perplexing to hear your tale, for I had assumed your return was thanks to—”

“Lucienne. This lead is different. I can feel—”

That voice.

A figure clad in black rounds the corner, and instinct, pulsing and devastating, jerks his body upwards. Morpheus stands, but his knees hold a mortal’s frailty. Had he not surmised you lost to him? Gone forever?

Wanderer.

Hello, stardust.

So long—it had been so long. Not two centuries have passed since he’d last seen you—a mere drop to an Endless such as him, yet it feels like lifetimes have flown by. All those years, wasted. Some foolishly given away, others stolen. Just once, the passage of time is devastating. Because this time, Morpheus bears the full brunt of his loss.

I call upon Dream of the Endless. Answer my call, Dream Lord, for you are sworn.

There had been a call, a plea, a dream echoing inside his barren, shadowed prison. And he failed—he failed to answer. What is he if not Lord of unanswered dreams and hopes? What is his purpose if the one whose call he’s waited for centuries does not receive an answer?

You teeter to a sudden stop, gawking; it’s as if your body has transformed into an obelisk. Midnight flows and encloses your figure and—

It is but a coat now, his power long since faded, but it is his. Sown into being from nothing, shaped by his will, by his hand alone, tailored to fit a different form now. Repurposed for holding, touching, lingering on your skin—

A star erupts inside his chest, boiling through him, and the sheer, scalding power steals his breath.

Thousand words tangle on his tongue; a thousand stories, reasons, curses and pleas. Yet, only one word leaves Morpheus, his hand seeking, even if his tongue would not verbalise the want, the need:

“Wanderer.”

Hot, treacherous power sparks through the air, igniting from within you where that pesky curse dwells, and then you’re gone with a thunderous crack. Fragments once more. Continuously slipping through his grasp.

His breath escapes short and tight. His hand lowers back to his side. His skin itches and an invisible tremor shakes his fingers—one Lucienne would miss, but Morpheus senses with shameful intimacy.

Undone by sight alone. Broken apart into no more than sand and sea foam.

Raw instinct exhorts him to go after you, but he cannot. Unlike other mortals, you do not dream. There are no photographs for him to use for locating you, and his pebble—

Is it still in your possession? Or have you cast it aside? Forgotten your bond? He could place no blame if you had. But the need to know is blistering. He permits no shadow of irresolution to show. This is to be an exercise in patience, duty over impulse.

“Lucienne, why was Wanderer here?” he questions softly instead.

His librarian gapes for a second before composing herself, her mouth pressing into a tight line.

“Shortly after you vanished, Wanderer returned.” Lucienne’s account washes over him while his stare remains glued to the vacant spot where the residue of dark power lingers. “For decades, she searched for you. For decades she helped to hold the realm together in your absence. Scoured the waking world and all the realms in between and at a great personal cost.”

Oh.

Morpheus’ head sinks to the side, half-turning.

Lucienne strides several steps closer, resolute and wonderfully brave despite her subdued nature. “I implore you to reconsider further punishment, Lord.”

A soft sound bubbles in his throat. “Punishment?” The word is dark silk blanketing damage. His damage. “Do you believe I seek to punish? No, Lucienne.”

With a breath, his shoulders straighten, and his fingers uncurl. The steadiness with which Morpheus has stood for centuries makes a much-welcomed return. “I must recover my tools. Then, I shall seek out Wanderer once more. There is much that remains unsaid between us.”

Everything. Too much.

But first, he must convalesce. Retrieve what was once stolen from him. Just moments prior, Morpheus had been too weak to sense your entry into the Dreaming. He could once do it without conscious thought.

Lucienne bows her head. “Yes, Lord.”

Restless, he calls, “Lucienne?” A beat. Perhaps it would be kinder not to ask. “Wanderer looked…”

The librarian might not be in direct sight, but Morpheus senses how deeply his uncharacteristic falter startles her.

Lucienne’s hands clasp behind her back. “Sick, yes.” There is grim verity about her tone, her bearing. “I’m afraid such is the price for devotion, sir. Wanderer was not afraid to pay it on your behalf. Not even after the banishment.”

The shores of the Dreaming have transformed in his absence. It would seem nothing in his kingdom remains untouched. Lifeless, desolate, no longer comforting. Once encompassing dark has become devouring, lonely darkness.

“I do not require a minder,” he reminds stiffly. “I’m Dream of the Endless.”

Lucienne is ever loyal and present at his back, and Morpheus hears her concern. He understands the reluctance to permit solo travel after what transpired, but he is the Endless. What happened with Burgess will never be allowed to happen again.

“Yes, and Dream of the Endless always has a raven,” Lucienne insists.

Morpheus halts, hesitance locking him in place before he finds his voice, “Jessamy was the last.”

It is then, on distant shores, that a realisation strikes Morpheus. Or, rather, an absence. Something he should be able to view even from his location, unfailingly visible from the docks.

“The Wanderer Island.” The name drags from his throat with hoarse reluctance because, deep down, the answer is already evident. “What happened?”

Where once he could see the island piercing the horizon, there’s now nothing but hollow blackness. A place where so many had journeyed in their dreams—with increasing frequency over the centuries—is gone.

Lucienne’s words come out tired and heavy, and in them, Morpheus hears further proof of how terribly he’s failed them. “Much like the rest of the realm, in your absence, the island broke apart and sunk, sir. It was the last to go.”

“Did Wanderer witness it?”

His inquiry is barely audible. So much so that Morpheus figures Lucienne did not hear him at all, but when her answer does reach him, it’s worse than he expected: “Yes. Mervyn and I discovered her here one evening, crying. The island was gone. I know not why, but Wanderer would come to the pier every evening and watch the sunset alone.”

Because we used to sit side by side, she and I, and speak no words, for we had no need for them. Only her breath and mine. Because the island sunk while Wanderer waited for me to return to her.

And it is my fault.

“I need your help.”

Hob’s reaction is instantaneous, “Anything.”

He adjusts the strap of his leather satchel as he heads towards you, carefully noting your shaken, fidgety demeanour. The university hallways are quiet this evening, and Hob gently grasps your elbow in his, leading you with him.

“Can I stay with you?” you blurt out, hot and cold all over. Sweat soaks your clothes, but you manage to form words, wobbly as they are. “Just for a day or—”

“However long you need,” Hob interjects placidly. He guides you outside, adding a thoughtful, “Or however long the curse allows you, but yes, you can always stay. Are you alright?”

The chilly wind bites your cheeks, storm clouds brewing in the distance. No stars or moon tonight, only charged heaviness. Your mouth is so dry your tongue is little more than paper.

“He’s back.” Your words come out as a croak. Words jumble inside your head, but Hob patiently nudges you towards a lamplit street. “Dream. I… I don’t know how, but… he might come after me. I broke his law and…”

Hob tenses.

“You’re joking, right? Because ha ha ha.” His timbre bleeds with urgency and solemn disbelief all at once. When you don’t laugh, only stare at him, unblinking and trembling, Hob exhales. “Oh God, you’re serious. Well, he certainly has swell timing, doesn’t he?”

Your chuckle sounds strangled in your ears. “Consider me a Faerie right now. I can’t lie.”

“And fae are real.” A muffled huff leaves Hob. The immortal shrugs, accepting this new knowledge as quickly as he did your curse. “Because, of course, they are. Next, you’ll tell me leprechauns are real, too.”

You could hug him for what he’s doing. Gratitude twines through your heart as you lean into him, solid and warm, settling your quaking knees. “Well—”

“No,” Hob cuts off, dismayed. “Don’t. I don’t want to know.”

He asks you on the way back to his flat anyway.

By late evening the weather takes a turn for the worst. Rain falls in deafening, heavy sheets, drenching every available surface. Gutters overflow as you cut through bleak London streets. Despite horrid weather, people bustle around, and it’s an effort to avoid them. You lower the umbrella Hob had allowed you to borrow, stepping under a carved stone arch. The apartment complex is mainly blackened windows and no visible movement at an hour this late, but it doesn't deter you.

You’re certain Johanna is not going to mind a late-night visit. You tried calling multiple times. But at her failure to answer, you had set out to her office despite Hob’s instance that you should wait till morning. Your friend had been inaudible mutters and a deep-set frown since you trudged back to his flat above the pub. Something about annoying Endless, and no one is hurting you in my flat. He can bugger off.

Your finger digs into the door buzzer until there’s a crack on the other side, “What?”

“It’s me, Constantine.”

A pause. “Now’s not a great time. Come back tomorrow.”

Is she with someone? You buzz her again, leaning closer to the speaker.

“Let me in.” Something flutters in your peripheral, and instinctively, you turn towards it, “We need to… never mind.”

A shape steps from the shadows, mouth parted, devouring you where you stand. Dream of the Endless dons a shorter version of your coat, his raven hair as dishevelled and wild as you remember it, his skin pale and translucent, his features ethereal and powerful despite their gentleness. Nearly two centuries have done nothing to dampen his distinctive handsomeness.

“Wanderer.”

The curse consolidates inside your chest, and you jerk—

Dream’s hand snaps around your wrist, shackling you to him. At once, the curse buckles, frizzling under the presence and will of an Endless. Dream’s body brushes against yours, and you suck in a pained breath, your wide-eyed stare snapping to him. Dream pours over your features with such burning intent even his searing touch on your chilled skin is slow to register.

“How—”

His response is instant, knowing. “You always move your body left when you are about to jump.” He tilts closer, his voice so achingly familiar, the deep rumble holds you close, embraces you. Each hushed word kisses you all over. “A thousand years, do you truly believe I do not know you?”

Indignation wells in your chest. “That goes both ways, Lord Morpheus. How did you find me?”

You tug your hand back, but it takes two attempts before he relinquishes his hold. Needle stab your heart. There’s horror at what he might do for your waywardness, but cutting through the terror is…

You’ve missed him. So dearly, so fiercely—that having him this close, unchanged in his imposing presence and dour countenance, melts something inside you. You’ve spent decades searching for his face in everybody. Seeking him in crowds and alleys, in each corner of this world. You bled and suffered to get him back. It’s surreal to have him this close again.

A dream; a cruel, horrible, seductive dream.

“It would seem Fates keep drawing us together, you and I.” There is no wrath on Dream’s face, not unlike the last time you spoke, not unlike you expected. He’s drinking you in, and against your better judgement, you do the same. “I needed not to search for you. We found each other.”

What are the chances? In this fathomless cosmos, between hundreds of dimensions, to find each other here. In a rainy, sleepy city. Destiny is no doubt sitting somewhere in his realm, mutely delighting at seeing this written in his book. All things pass as they are meant to pass.

“I prefer my mind intact, so I’ll make this short,” you speak before he can say anything else, rushing over your thudding heart. “It was a mistake coming to the Dreaming in your absence. I recognise it as much. You banished me; I shouldn’t have used your absence for my gain. I won’t bother you again. You have my word.”

“I heard you.”

Your heart stutters, all thoughts and rehearsed sentences evaporating.

A breath slips past your lips with a quiet, “What?”

Your back brushes against the concrete wall, yet he seems closer and closer with each blink.

“I heard you call for me. Yet I could not answer your plea. I was imprisoned. You sounded in pain and then nothing.” Each word comes out fainter and fainter. Each sentence chosen with the same circumspect care you’ve come to associate with him. “For decades, I knew no peace, wondering what might have befallen you to call for me finally. Only to learn, upon my return, that you alone searched for me. Aided my realm when no one else would. Yet, your conclusion upon our reunion is to fear punishment? Do you honestly believe me so cruel?”

Does he need to ask?

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Dream shrinks backwards, his expression stuttering at your pained, breathy reply. “Was it not you who banished me? All because I disagreed with you? You threw away eight hundred and fifty years of us without hearing my side. Where was your trust in me?”

Dream moves back a step, turning away from you. For a moment, there’s nothing but his proud profile, inky shadows, and roaring downpour. Pain bleeds fresh, and your features crumple. You tuck your face in the collar of your black coat—his black coat, you correct yourself immediately. Even this isn’t yours. Neither is he.

“I was… wrong to do what I did.”

Your head jerks towards him. Dream Lord hesitates, visibly holding himself back, searching for words you know all too well after a thousand years, are all but unknown to him.

“I accept that now,” he continues tightly, uncomfortable and stiff. “I should have paid closer attention. Centuries ago, I assumed Desire chose Prodigal and you for their little game to spite me, but I never considered Desire picked my younger brother for a reason. Perhaps I was too blind to see how true your feelings for him were. To defend his whereabouts so fiercely, you must care for him a great deal.”

I could make you desire anything… even a kiss.

A dumbfounded grimace contorts your mouth. Your clenched fists tremble at your sides from the urge to hit him.

“Oh, Maker. I don’t believe it.” You stagger several strides to the right, breathing hard. “You think I didn't tell you because I’m in love with Destruction?”

“It would be logical—”

You pivot on your heels, nostrils flaring.

“Yes, I love Destruction. I love him a great deal.” Something flashes through Dream’s eyes at your controlled exclamation; crushed glass and ice, distant and… hurt. “But not romantically. Don’t you get it? No, you don't, do you? You look, but you still don’t see.”

Your feet carry you towards him. Dream straightens at your proximity. Bracing for more lashing words, perhaps, but you’re simply too jaded. From this existence, from him. “Over a thousand years cursed. Humiliated, maimed, haunted, stuck in Hell, Delirium’s realm, Despair’s realm. Before you, there was no hope for me. I told you what I… but what you did… what you did hurt the most.”

Briefly, you see something close to despair paint his striking features; too fleeting, then hidden.

“What you took from me…” Your words splinter, cracking around each syllable, an agony laid bare at the altar of your relationship. Your hand settles gently on his chest. Captured. For a hundred years. What did he go through? Right now, he’s real. Tangible beneath your hand. There’s an inordinate urge to grab his coat in your hands, pull him close, and breathe him in. Your hand drops away. “I just wanted to be with you. I would have stayed by your side forever if only you asked.”

Dream’s features are unreadable; all emotion wiped clean. His glassy gaze scorches into you, but you encounter no answers or comfort there. You rotate your head away from him, licking your wobbling lips once.

He edges closer, cautious. “Let me make this right.”

Ignoring the deep, low request, you bite out, “Why are you here?”

“Because my tools were stolen from me when I was captured. My helm, my ruby, and my sand. Without them, I cannot rebuild the Dreaming.”

You watch the rain while he watches you.

Shoving your hands in your pockets, you hunch your shoulders. “Fine. I’ll help you find them if I can.”

“I did not ask for aid.”

Is he trying to insult you by implying he would need to beg for help? Does he assume the Dreaming means so little to you?

“You never needed to,” you say, shifting back to face him, your jaw set. “I’m not doing this for you, Lord Morpheus, but for them. All those dreams and nightmares without a home because they feared you abandoned them.”

Dream’s gaze drops to the ground. Is it guilt? Shame? You’re not sure. It’s an unfamiliar shade on him.

Not waiting for a response, you head for the door, buzzing the button twice more.

“But not you.”

You stop dead at his assertion. Your back remains to him. Yet Dream Lord’s words hold their power; a chain around your foot, an anchor in the bed of your heart.

“You stayed,” Dream continues. “You searched even after I banished you. Why?”

Why indeed. Is he hopeful or too blind to see? You no longer care to find out which.

“If you need to ask, you don’t deserve the answer.”

You pull on the door, and this time it opens.

Johanna’s glower is fierce enough to make you bite back a grin. You’ve glimpsed plenty of such expressions mirrored on Edward’s face in the past. The similarities are difficult to overlook. Though they’re undoubtedly distinct, they are eerily alike in certain aspects.

“I can’t believe you were right,” she mutters peevishly.

She’s said it twice in the past ten minutes.

“Just keep searching,” you say instead.

You've got 99 problems, and all of them dreams—

This time, you’re the one left scowling, pointedly ignoring the silent Endless lingering in the corner of the room and the droning radio. Johanna turned it on accidentally while searching for a light switch, and it hasn’t stopped playing songs that prickle your neck since.

“I’ll check the other room,” Johanna declares, straightening. Her dark stare slides to you briefly. Whether it’s because she senses the suffocating tension between you and the other occupant in the room or simply because she’s more caring than she lets on, she asks, “Are you gonna be alright?”

We all are living in a dream, but life ain’t what it seems—

Grinding your teeth until your temples throb, you offer her a jerky nod. Johanna chews on her inner cheek for a moment, casting a warning glare Dream’s way before she heads for the adjoined room.

How Dream’s sand pouch came into her possession, you don’t know or care to know. All you care about is locating it.

Johanna’s departure leaves behind a silence that borders on unbearable. Rifling through papers, you consider your options. Bite the bullet and talk, or wait and see how long until Dream notices the radio acting up.

Forcing an exhale between clenched teeth, you venture, “Over a hundred years in captivity is a lot. How are you?”

“Fine.”

Lovely. You’re not sure what you envisioned. A heartfelt conversation where you share your woes? Right.

“I’m sorry about Jessamy.” This attempt is more subdued, more sorrowful. “I was trying to locate her when I heard the news.”

Johanna’s office remains quiet and dimly lit. If you couldn’t sense him in the room, you would assume you were once more alone. You haven’t realised you ceased your search until you’re left staring at your hands flat on the table.

“You don’t have to lie,” you whisper, pushing yourself away and turning to face him. “No one can be captured for so long without being affected, not even you. That’s a lot of time to think.”

Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over—

Grimacing, you march towards the other table across the cramped room.

“I did,” comes Dream Lord’s low declaration. “Think.”

Documents and notes smear together. “Yeah? And what did great Lord Morpheus think about during his captivity?”

“You.” A beat. “Every day.”

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream—

An invisible hand wraps around your throat, strangling you. Oxygen escapes your lungs but it’s no better than knives dragging down your windpipe. Your knuckles bulge beneath your skin, your grip on the table’s edge unsteady.

“The radio is broken,” you choke out, veering towards it.

You press the off button, glaring when stations instead flip repeatedly.

Sweet dreams are made of this—

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream—

I spend these waking hours looking for the Sandman—we're waiting for the Sandman, but he never hears the call—

Anger blinds you. You reach for the capable, yanking on it. Once, twice.

We'll begin… with a spin, travelling in the world of my creation. What we'll see will defy explanation—

You tear the cable out, panting, hiding your shaking hands. The cord falls to the ground, and you gasp loudly in the now too silent office.

“Wanderer.”

You hold back a cringe at the deliberate way Dream Lord articulates your title.

“Don’t bother,” you snip back.

This time, Dream moves physically in your direction. Not through the fabric of the Worlds but physically announcing his arrival. “Those songs.”

You could lie. It’s the first and most overpowering instinct. Spin him a tale, convince him it’s chance, coincidence.

Shutting your eyes, you heave the heaviest sigh you’ve mustered up in decades.

“When you disappeared, I tried everything. I know you’re not a God.” Dream pauses before you, his black coat skimming against yours, listening intently. “Your existence doesn't depend on worship or prayer. But you’re the King of Dreams. I thought—I figured if I inspired stories and songs about you, the word would spread. Maybe you’d be able to sense that you’re not forgotten. Maybe all that inspiration would reach you somehow. Help you. I couldn’t do it myself because the curse would destroy them, but I could inspire others to do it for me.”

Dream speaks no words or shows any outwards reactions—he simply reaches forward until the back of his fingers brush over your cheek. One knuckle, two, the featherlight touch skims over your skin, burning and mangling your insides. Those cold, ancient eyes shine with some potent emotion you’ve only caught traces of in the past. Never there long enough for you to examine closer. This time, he doesn’t hide. This time it’s his fingers on your cheek.

The door rips open behind you, and Dream’s touch vanishes.

“I know where the pouch is. You two ready to go?” Johanna asks.

Neither of you replies.

Leaning into the cold, coarse stone wall, you survey the raging storm. Better than acknowledging the man standing opposite to you. Johanna had served as an excellent buffer between you on your journey here, snarky and unafraid to throw barbed words or sass back at the Endless.

She’s bold in a way most Constantines you’ve met tend to be. Commendable trait, but a dangerous one. You’ve learned it’s about choosing when and how to present yourself. There are beings out there who make torture into a game. Delight in it, too. It’s always wiser to err on the side of caution until limits arise.

Yet you would welcome Johanna’s presence now. While she went upstairs to visit her ex-girlfriend to make amends and hopefully retrieve Dream’s pouch, you can’t imagine a worse situation she could have left you in.

“I must recover my tools first but return to the Dreaming, Wanderer. You belong there.”

You contemplate not answering. But what would it achieve? You’re not children. How far would this silent act take you?

Instead, you choose to remind him of your stark reality: “You banished me, Lord.”

“I void the banishment.”

You blink at his rapid edict. As if those words had been sitting behind his teeth this entire time.

You cast a dubious glance Dream’s way, your arms crossing over your chest. “Just like that?”

He exhales but one word over the rushing rain, “Yes.”

That somehow makes it worse. No relief or happiness accompanies this pardon. How many times had you desperately wished for him to lift his merciless decree? Only a tiny, pained whisper remains deep in the recess of your mind, calling out a weak why did you do it in the first place?

“Whims of the Endless,” you conclude. “Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.”

It’s not fair to say such a thing. The Endless have been the closest you’ve come to an actual family in the last millennium. Even when you’re intimately aware it’s not sentiment returned. There is a divide between you and the Endless that can never be traversed. They exist outside the bounds of mortal comprehension, and you’re still a cursed mortal.

Perhaps Dream reads this defeat in you, pulls it from the weary slant of your mouth or the despondent creases around your eyes. In the way shadows prop you up rather than you standing inside them.

It’s been a long night, a long century. It will take time to learn how to relax around him again and stop yourself from instinctively flinching whenever he reaches for you.

“I do not wish to be parted from you. Not due to my past actions.”

Utter, uncrackable steel rings through every carefully punctuated vowel. Dream peers at you, unblinking, his hands in his pockets. “Things are different now. I am different. If you allow me, I would like to prove it to you.”

Goosebumps skitter across your flesh. You’re uncertain how to react, what to say, if anything. He is different just in this single night, but…

It doesn’t erase his past actions.

Rustling wings interrupt your charged eye contact. A raven slants its head in your direction, hopping on its feet.

“Sorry to interrupt, Boss. Uh, Lady Dream.”

That jolt you. “I’m not—”

“Wanderer is—”

You both look at each other, both falling silent. Uneasy seconds slither past, and you peer down at the raven, who slides his attention from Dream to you and then back again.

“I’m not Lady of anything. I’m the Wanderer.”

The raven ruffles his feathers, bobbing his head.

“Oh.” Caw. “Well, this is awkward. I’m Matthew.”

Lowering yourself to ground level, you smile at him, inclining your head. “I greet you, Matthew. It’s an honour to meet Dream of the Endless’ raven.”

Caw. Matthew hops towards Dream. “I like her. Can we keep her?”

Dream appears as if he’s fighting back a sigh. “What is it, Matthew?”

“Listen, boss. As once human-now-turned-raven, I just figured I’d warn you. Whatever your friend is doing up there. It’s sure as hell not worrying about your pouch. You’re better off going up there and getting back your stuff personally.”

“He might have a point,” you agree. “You said the helm is in Hell. It’s probably better if I go my way for now. I’ll try to search for leads on the ruby in the meanwhile. Save time.”

“Will you return? Back to the Dreaming?” Dream prompts. Mutely, you rise back to your feet, your smile long since dwindled. “If not for me, then for them.”

Clever, brilliant man. Quite ingenious addition. You’ve refused him plenty in the past, but never them.

“Fine.”

Adjusting the collar, you step towards the awaiting night. Inside, you ball the curse, ripping it by force to obey your will. Pain rakes through your limbs, inflaming your nerves. The more you demand, the steeper the physical toll is each time. At least your pain tolerance after a thousand years of suffering is top-notch.

You’re one foot between dimensions when Dream’s voice snags you. “Wanderer?” Your head slants marginally towards him. “Whatever it is you are doing to control your curse. Cease it. It is hurting you.”

Since when do you care?

You let yourself ripple away without a response.

The Dreaming is rebuilding. But it’s a slow, meticulous process. Dream had returned triumphant from his mission to retrieve his tools, as you had anticipated he would. He’s Dream of the Endless. Even without his instruments, his power is far beyond your ken. Or those foolish enough to assume they can procure it for themselves.

You’ve hardly left the Dreaming since, occupied with nonstop repairs and helping returning dreams and nightmares to readjust. Great numbers began returning unannounced once the news spread about Dream’s return. The caste was the first to be repaired and one with the most noticeable reconstructions. The remainder will require a great deal more work. But Morpheus has been relentless about mending the damage his absence had evoked.

Including you two.

He’s been giving you much-needed space. Indeed more breathing room than you had anticipated, but you’ve made it clear you’re only here to help the Dreaming. With no long-term plans to stay or return the next time you depart.

I do not wish to be parted from you.

No matter how sweetly those words make you ache, you can’t be lulled into forgetting the undeniable reality. And the truth is that while you can forgive Dream, there is no denying it will take time to forget how he once stripped you of choice due to his bruised pride.

“So, you’re a bird who was once mortal.”

“So, you’re a mortal cursed to wander for eternity between realms.”

Your mouth curves into a reluctant grin. “Fair point. How did you become a raven?”

You’ve grown rather fond of Dream’s new raven in the short weeks you’ve known one another. After Jessamy, you hadn’t expected Dream to permit another raven close so soon.

Matthew rustles his feathers, expertly clinching his talons into your shoulder. Your coat is dense enough to void pain, leaving nothing more than passable pressure behind. While Dream has made no comments about your new apparel, you’ve felt his prickling stares on you multiple times in the passing weeks. You’ve debated removing it now that he’s back, but… you couldn’t quite bear to be parted from it.

“Eh, not sure, to be fair. Just kinda did. Flying is handy. The rest is… weird. But I wasn’t a very good person in my previous life, so this isn’t so bad. Protecting dreamers out there. Caw.”

Your eyebrows come together. “How can you be so certain you weren’t a good person?”

The castle corridors smear past you while your feet carry you towards the throne room.

Matthew mulls it over. “Oh, y’know, call it a hunch. How about you? Why were you cursed?”

His curiosity is innocent, but you, too, think over your answer for several paces. You’ve been a complete unknown even to yourself. There are no glimpses into your past, no before. As if it had been so thoroughly wiped, not even a shadow remains. Whatever or whoever you were before assuming your title is lost. You’ve constructed yourself from nothing. Cracked, riddled with human impulses and weakness, driven by emotion, but not all bad.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” It’s the truth. Except for that stray moment in Johanna’s office, there’s been no inkling for centuries. “But I don’t think I was a very good person, either.”

Matthew readjusts himself on your shoulder, and you hold your hand over him so he can brace himself. “Well, you’ve changed,” he says conversationally. “We all do. Second chance and all that.”

A certain Dream Lord springs to mind at the raven’s words. Are we cemented into who we’re destined to be, or is there room for permanent and meaningful change? Dream is trying. Those years locked away have altered something. You want to believe him again, but it’s not so straightforward.

Eventually, you settle on a halfhearted, “You’re right.”

You’re nearly at the throne room when Dream’s throaty words slice through you, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“—The Corinthian.”

Your heart catapults to your throat. Dream’s head slants in your direction. Lucienne follows suit. They both eye you closely, but you don’t let anything show coming to a gradual stop between them.

“Are you aware he is out there?” Dream wonders. Ice lingers in his mild tone. “Feeding on the dreamers he was meant to serve.”

You’ve never stopped being aware of the Corinthian.

“Yes. I tried to seek him out in the waking world,” you say, swallowing thickly. Searching for more words, you further admit, “To bring him back. But I didn’t have much luck tracking him down.”

Over a century. All those people. You don’t dare to admit the true extent of Corinthian’s cruelty. Dream would spare no mercy to his nightmare if he knew. And all these years—all those lonely, painful years—you’ve been stuck one step behind, unable to save those Corinthian has unjustly slaughtered. He wasn’t trying to hide. He was sending a message. One you couldn’t bare to examine closer.

You’ve failed to stop him. Somehow Corinthian keeps finding ways to stay ahead, and blood coats your hands as much as his.

Your nightmare. The initial realisation had torn you asunder. Corinthian had never been kind or gracious, had never expressed anything more than finely laced contempt for humanity but ripping eyes out? Exhibiting bodies as if he were decorating his surroundings? This wasn’t accidental or self-defence; it was deliberate cruelty. Blood savoured and shed with clear intent.

Once Corinthian had been a part of you as much as Dream, if not more so. The one who has been steadfast by your side. You and I, together. He’s the one you trusted the most and relied on the most. Who knew you, arguably, the best.

You were there to see him come into existence. Smiled at him and guiding his first steps, heard his name being spoken aloud for the first time. He was the first creation Dream ever shared with you. Corinthian would always be the first and most precious. He built a house inside you. A space no one could ever touch or destroy where you house your memories together.

And now he’s painting that house with the blood of innocents.

If you don’t uncover some way to locate the nightmare first, and soon, Dream will find him instead. There will be no mercy then, no second chances. Dream Lord has already taken everything from you once. You’re no longer scared to lose it again. Not if it’s for Corinthian.

“This is my fault. Had I been here, fulfilling my function—”

Dream’s voice rips you from your thoughts, leaving you squinting at his profile.

Lucienne frowns at once. “It was not your fault, my Lord.”

Dream closes the census, his words unusually subdued, “No? Then whose?”

“You didn’t ask to be captured.” Dream stills at your words, nudging his chin slightly in your direction. Guarded hope gazes back at you, so you continue, “Or be held captive for over a century. It wasn’t your fault.”

His shoulders droop slightly, then hoist upwards, less unburdened than moments prior.

Lucienne clears her throat.

“There is yet more news, Lord. There are rumours among the dream folk… of a vortex.”

You’ve heard rumours about vortexes in the past. Unprecedented phenomenon no one had an explanation for—not even Dream himself.

A mortal capable of lucid dreaming so powerful they could cross dreams of others, thin and bring down walls between Worlds and eventually destroy the Dreaming. The final part wasn’t particularly comforting to consider, especially when a vortex—the first of this age—has manifested in a young woman called Rose Walker.

While Dream is happy to allow Rose to be, for now, hoping it would attract his missing Major Arcana—Gault, Fiddler’s Green and the Corinthian—to her, you more than share in Lucienne’s concern about the current state of matters.

“Why would Gault sever Jed Walker from the Dreaming?”

Lucienne meets your question with a blunt answer, “He is no ordinary child, is he? He’s Rose Walker’s brother.”

Dream rests seated on the staircase, listening to your confab. You’ve been trying to discover Jed Walker’s whereabouts. Gault was the last nightmare to haunt Jed, after which he had all but vanished both from the waking world but, more unusually, the Dreaming as well.

Muffled footsteps sound behind you, then, “Excuse me. I’m Rose Walker. What do you know about my brother Jed?”

Your attention snaps towards a young, unfamiliar woman standing in the throne room. She leans on the shorter side with smooth, dark skin and round, pleasant features. Rainbow kisses her hair, colours loud and bold across each individual dreadlock. Delirium would love it is your first thought. Your second is that you love it just as much.

Lucienne, who stands beside you, appears utterly baffled by the newcomer's presence. Understandably so, aside from you, she’s likely never witnessed anyone simply stroll into the heart of Dreaming this way. Even you, more often than not, enter the Dreaming on the bridge or close by and enter the castle via the entrance.

Dream stretches to his feet, focusing on the young mortal woman.

“You are welcome here, Rose Walker,” he greets, his voice reverberating.

Rose, in return, looks just as confused as you all do. “Who are you?”

Lucienne straightens. “You have somehow dreamed your way into an audience with Lord Morpheus. The King of Dreams. And now you must go.”

“Lucienne,” Dream cautions.

A small, disgruntled sound leaves Lucienne. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Dream all but glides down the staircase, his curiosity about Rose’s presence piqued. “But I should like her to stay.”

Noting how mutely freaked out Rose appears, you venture closer, bridging the gap with placating slowness.

“I’m Wanderer,” you introduce yourself with a reassuring smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Rose.”

Rose relaxes slightly, but her confusion persists. “Nice to meet you, too. I think. What is this place?”

“It’s called the Dreaming,” you explain smoothly, taking another step closer. You gesture around yourself. “This is where you come when you fall asleep.”

Immediate hope ignites in her dark eyes. “Is my brother here?”

Your smile dims. “No, but we can help. I can help find Jed. In the waking world.”

Rose examines you for a tense beat, searching for something that goes beyond skin deep. They do it often, humans you offer your help to. In some vain hope they can see into your motives, perhaps. Ages have made the populace more chary and unwilling to trust strangers. After witnessing the horrors humanity is prone to unleashing on one another, you don’t blame her. Or anyone else.

“How does that work?” Rose poses. “I thought I was dreaming?”

A faint smile ghosts over your face. “I can travel between dimensions.”

Rose waits for the laugh, for the expected I’m joking, silly, but it doesn’t come. She ducks her head, processing. “Okay. Yeah. That makes sense, I guess. It totally doesn't, but…”

Dream’s deep voice is a hook from behind you, “Much still needs to be done here, Wanderer.”

You don’t look his way.

“You’re the ruler of the realm, Lord Morpheus. Nothing here can’t be done without me.”

His following silence speaks volumes, him choosing to plan with Rose on how to locate her brother, even more so.

Dreaming walking is a rare and powerful ability. While realms and dimensions are your domain, dreams remain closed off to you. Therefore, the situation evolves swiftly into a waiting game, anticipating how quickly Rose will be able to navigate to her brother’s dreams under Dream’s guidance.

It also becomes a race on your end. Desperation drives you. Your task is singular and relatively simple: locate Corinthian first. There are spells, Johanna had informed you, leaning over a book written entirely in Latin, Hob by your side. Spells, she insists, that can cloak you, guide you, and locate things or people.

If only you offer something in return.

For the first time in a century, you have a sorcerer on your side you can trust. Once Gault is found, Dream’s attention will inevitably shift towards Corinthian and Fiddler’s Green.

So when you catch sight of the rippling, purple-blue form of Gault in the throne room one afternoon, it stops you dead in your tracks. You’ve spent the day working with Abel and Cain, ignoring their ceaseless arguments, only coming back to the castle to check in with Lucienne on your progress.

Dream brushes past the nightmare silently, heading towards his throne.

“Gault,” you choke out, quelling your unease. “It’s good to see you.”

It’s not contempt Gault regards you with, but something closer to disappointment.

“Is it, Wanderer?” she questions in a half-hiss. “You are more blind than I feared. You have returned to a man who cares not for others. Not even you.”

“Silence.”

The castle trembles at the foundation from the utter, horrible power that rings through Dream’s low baritone. Lucienne winces mutely.

But Gault is as audacious as you recall, stubbornly fierce in her drive. “Do you have any idea what his life is like in the waking world?”

Jed Walker. Your stomach sinks.

“Humans cannot live in dreams,” Dream bites out, nothing but a cutting velvet behind you. “As long as he stayed there, the child had no life nor hope for one.”

“The boy is being abused. He’s suffering.”

Pained understanding sinks its roots into you, already morphing your objectives. Once more, you’ve been selfish, focused only on Corinthian, when Jed Walker, a boy you promised to find, is being hurt somewhere.

“You abused that suffering to build a Dreaming you could rule,” Dream accuses quietly, his words brittle.

Is this what the nightmare did? Controlled Jed’s dreams, separated him from the Dreaming to what?

“I had no wish to rule,” Gault rebukes. “I merely wish to be a Dream and not a Nightmare. To inspire, rather than to frighten.”

Gault was helping. In Jed’s dreams, he could taste happiness, brief as it may be. She could make sure no nightmares haunted the boy. Spare him more misery and dread. Lucienne draws a deep, understanding breath, mutely arriving at the same conclusion.

“That choice is not yours to make,” Dream states icily. “We do not choose to be created. Nor do we choose how we are made.”

Your stomach cramps.

The nightmare nods; muted, swirling lights dancing beneath the shapechanger’s skin. “That is true. But we can change.”

“No.” The Endless speaks, and in that lone word, time is near undone. It is you in Gault’s place, hearing Dream banish you again. “We are, each of us, born with responsibilities. Even I am not free to choose to be other than I am. Nor is anyone.”

An invisible knife slips between your ribs, twisting.

“If that were true,” Gault challenges softly, unbowed. “Why did the other dreams and nightmares choose to leave this place when you had gone away?”

Lucienne cuts in before Dream can react, “Not all of us left, and nearly all have returned. Some believed even when no one else would.”

With the wilful reminder, the nightmare’s attention goes to you. Despite being far older, you feel small under Gault’s percipient gaze. She’s strong and proud and will not plead for clemency, but you almost wished she did. If only to ease the wrath brewing at your back.

“You say you love humanity, Wanderer,” Gault begins purposefully. “You are one of them, yet you choose to be here. Serve blindly to one who has treated you like nothing. You will not be any different than his other lovers. Discarded when he is finished with you. You may have returned out of love, but not others. They came back from fear. They saw what he did to you. What would he do to them? But I am no longer afraid.”

The silence is suffocating. Even Lucienne has frozen in shock at Gault’s bold declaration.

Love. Yes, maybe you did return for love. But it goes so much further than just Dream. It always has.

Your nape tingles. Something dark and insidious brushes past your ankles, a feline weaving between your limbs. Your eyes widen at Dream’s shadow slithering across the pale marble and towards the nightmare. The atmosphere crumples, pulsing, cooling. Each crevice of darkness seems to accentuate, growing in magnitude.

“You should be afraid.” Dream’s words are blacker than deepest night, colder than bleakest winter. “A nightmare’s purpose is to reveal the dreamer’s fears so they might face them.”

Your body half turns towards him. “Morpheus.”

“Perhaps a few thousand years in the darkness will reveal your fears,” he continues, stony.

Gault’s legs disintegrate before your eyes, devoured by Dream’s shadow. The Darkness; an endless prison crafted by an Endless being. “Dream.”

He pays you no heed. There’s no mercy, no softness to be found on his face, only something ancient and cold that cannot be reasoned with. You’ve seen this look once, tasted the poisonous cruelty he can inflict so effortlessly.

“Better that than to make others afraid,” Gault affirms shakily. Her torso goes next, ripping, flaking— “Even a nightmare can dream, my Lord.”

Your vocal cords hurt. “Dream, stop.”

And then Gault is gone. The shadow vanishes immediately, and the throne room instantly lightens. Lucienne hangs her head, hiding her unhappy expression. You gape, fixating on the spot Gault once stood.

“I have disappointed you.”

Those words are directed at you, but you say nothing.

This. This is what will happen to Corinthian if Dream uncovers him first. If you can’t convince Corinthian to come back, cease doing what he’s doing.

“Wait.”

It takes several moments for awareness to sink back in, to realise you’re stalking away, your muscles rigid beneath your skin.

Dream’s gait is unwavering behind you.

“For what?” you call back, strangled.

“I did what I must,” he says.

Who is he trying to convince? You or himself?

Your footsteps beat on the marble. Even your pace betrays your emotions, the bubbling agitation streaming through your veins.

Not considering consequences, you halt abruptly, posing a biting, “You mean being obtuse?”

You spin to face him just as your words sink in, watching those distant stars spark to life at once. Dream’s features harden.

“You dare—”

“Yes, I dare.” Each word escapes from behind clenched teeth. You close the distance between you in two strides. “I respect you, Dream. I’ve always respected what you are and what you do. I respect your purpose and your duty. How hard this responsibility is. I’m saying this not because of disrespect but because of that respect. Because you need to hear it.”

Your hand flies back towards the throne room, your index finger stabbing at empty air, “That was cruel. Gault only wanted to be something more, something better—to change.”

“Gault severed a child from the Dreaming,” Dream reminds coolly. “She broke my laws.”

“She did it to give that boy hope. An escape. No matter how brief.” You suck in a shaky breath, your fingernails biting into your palms. Your following words flow quieter, fragile, “Do you know how many times I wished for sleep? For dreams? To escape my misery, if only for a moment? You don’t understand that hurt. You never understood what it’s like. Not because you can’t but because you don’t dare to try.”

For the first time since his return, Dream’s features soften, his self-righteousness draining. His arms jerk at his sides, and then he settles again. You’re not sure why you foolishly hoped he would reach for you, pull you to him, and promise you would never again experience such pain.

“You said you changed, but what I just witnessed was the exact same man who banished me without hesitation.” As you verbalise your thoughts, another certitude becomes abundantly clear. “The same man who would do it again,” you add tightly, upset.

Dream catches your elbow, each finger folding delicately around your arm, drawing you nearer. “No. Never.”

“Oh, Dream. My Dream.” Your palm settles gently on his cheek, skin warming when connected with his. Something visibly crumples in him at the touch, the fondness in your hushed call, his eyelids fluttering. “I wish I believed that.”

You let him go, pulling away from his hold. He doesn’t impede you. You wish he did. You wish he held on so tightly you could forget everything else.

“Where are you going?”

His controlled question nips at your heels as you walk away.

“To the waking world,” you reply, pivoting on your heels. “I’m going to do the thing this damn curse has ever been good for: help people. And it begins with finding and saving Jed Walker.”

“Wanderer, stop—”

Your smile is grim. “I am not your subject. I wander where I please, Dream Lord.”

And then you’re gone.

The Library of Dreams is silent apart from rustling parchment. He can will things into being, but Morpheus discovers there’s little desire in him for an easy solution. Instead, he searches manually, walking through each bookshelf separately. It gives him time to mull matters over and search for reasons why things keep cracking. Just when things were starting to return to normal, this.

It was going so well. Now you’re gone once more. The weight sitting on his chest is intolerable. He has to move, occupy himself with something lest he goes mad.

You may have returned out of love, but not others.

Could it be? You came back, you searched, even after all he’s done. Hope—foolish and undoubtedly mislaid—kindles in his heart.

I just wanted to be with you. I would have stayed by your side forever if only you asked.

He could hope for nothing more, but it is not so simple. Or is it? Could it be? If you both fought for this, would any outside circumstances even matter? Morpheus could search for a way to undo the curse. There must be a way to do it without resulting in your death. Without shattering your destiny. Could he not write you a new future? One by his side?

Phantom heat lingers on his cheek.

“Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne’s nonplussed acknowledgement ushers him back to the present. She stands at the sight of him. “I was not expecting you here.”

“Continue with your duties, Lucienne. I do not require you at this time.”

The cool command, their own… disagreement, suffuses the air between them.

“As you wish.”

Did he lash out? After you disappeared, he can scarcely recall what words left his mouth. All he knows is how, at that moment, everything felt terribly out of touch. Unreachable to him. Never had he felt a century pass more acutely. Things once familiar and dear to him have altered shape in the time away. And Morpheus no longer knows how to hold them or care for them. He knows not how to exist in a world that seemingly no longer needs him.

What is his purpose if they have found ways to live without him?

His kingdom is bare bones. His subjects are distrusting.

And in the torrent of questions, he spies the subject of his search. Always coming to him in a time of need.

Morpheus heads towards a shelf to his right, picking up the thickest volume on the rack. Not many can challenge this book in size and density. He foresaw no less.

“My Lord, is that—”

“Yes.”

Lucienne loosens a shallow breath. “Are you quite certain?”

He holds the tome closer to him. “More than.”

You don’t understand that hurt. You never understood what it’s like. Not because you can’t but because you don’t dare to try.

You were right to say it. He’s been avoiding your book for a thousand years. At first, Morpheus did not care to dwell deeper. Later because he started fearing what he might learn from those pages.

Lucienne steeples her fingers, eyeing him over her round glasses. “Sir, I must warn you, what you will discover between those pages will not be kind.”

“That’s precisely why I must do it,” he admits softly, avoiding her shrewd appraisal. “So I may, at long last, understand.”

Morpheus doesn’t linger, stepping from one shadow into the next, appearing directly in his throne room. He journeys up the stairs one at a time, the thick tome tucked under his arm. There is a voice deep down that mocks his hesitancy. What has he to fear from bound pages? Yet another story when he is the king of them?

But it is no ordinary tale, belonging to no ordinary individual.

Oh, Dream. My Dream. I wish I believed that.

Even seated on his throne, Morpheus lets the velvety, black leather book rest in his lap for long, hesitant minutes. On the supple cover, engraved in bold, golden letters, sits not a name but instead a title.

The Wanderer

His thumb kisses delicately over the title, then again. Again. Again. Again.

Morpheus draws a muted breath, the sound all but lost in the raging cosmos, and cracks open the only book he’s stayed away from for over a thousand years.

an: Just the home stretch to go, eh?

Thank you, everyone. For being here and reading and just being absolutely wonderful, talented, and unfailingly kind. Look forward to hearing your thoughts : )

#the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #sandman x reader #sandman fic #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #sandman netflix #sandman dream #sandman imagine #dream imagine #fanfiction #fic: today i bury you in me

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because-of-a-friend · 7 months

Text

A Day At The Library

MASTERLIST

Thanks for the request friend! This is a very cute idea!

Warnings: None

Word count: 1.9k

The call of the guards announcing that Prince Wonwoo is approaching has nearly become a daily occurence in your life. He will stop in your library at any moment, he always does. It used to puzzle you, how often he came. But then you remembered he lived in a castle. The library he had there was sure to never be overwhelmed by any number of books he purchased from your shop.

It also explained why he came so often. That wing of the castle had only just been built. He had plenty of shelves to fill with books. You had found yourself admiring the fact that he came to handpick his own books himself. You knew there were many scholars and tutors within the castle who the prince could have sent out to fill the library instead.

Although, the first time he had come to your little shop, he had come on his own after sneaking out of the castle. You had heard the little bell above your door ding, signaling someone had entered. "Welcome!" you called, "I'll be right with you!" You had quickened your pace in stocking the shelves with a new shipment of the books, wanting to be available for your customer.

You had bent over to grab another stack and stood up only to meet eyes with someone through the shelves. His eyes had widened for a second before his they crinkled in the tell-tale sign of a smile. You let the stack of books collect in your arms as you smiled back, "Hello, there. I'll be right here if you need me!" You assured.

"I'm just looking, but thank you," the man said. You nodded and continued your work. Once the shipment of books had been completely sorted into the correct places, you took your place behind the counter. The man looked carefully at each of the books that made their home in your little shop. Although he gave attention to all of them, you could see his gaze consistently drawn back to a red, leather bound book with gold lettering. It was an astronomy book, one of the most beautiful in the shop. Also one of the most expensive, which was what kept most people from buying it.

But eventually the man picked it up and ran his fingers over it carefully. He gazed so lovingly over the pages that you couldn't help but stare at him with a smile on your face.

"This one, please," he asked, setting the book gently on your counter.

"I'll be sad to part with this one, but I'm happy it has finally found a home," you state, taking the man's coin from his hand.

"You talk about the book as though it's your friend," he chuckled.

"All these books are my friends," you gestured around your shop. "If I didn't think they could be, I'd get rather lonely around here."

The man smiled while taking the small coins he received in change from your hand, "Well feel free to come visit your friend anytime." He held the astronomy book up. "But for now, we must both take our leave." He looked out the shop window at two palace guards passing by then quickly walked in the opposite direction of them.

"Librarian! Librarian!" three children ran into your shop.

"What is it?" you had asked, alarmed by their volume and suddenness.

"What business did Prince Wonwoo have in your shop?"

You had been shocked to learn that it had been the Crowned Prince himself in your shop, mortified that you hadn't realized it was him, and worried after finding out he had snuck out of the castle that day. But then he had started visiting town more often on adventures that had actually been permitted by his parents.

His purchases from the bookshop had given you a journey through the interests of the prince. First it was all astronomy. Then he had gone through a phase of clearing out your poetry section nearly every week. He had dabbled a bit in cartography books. In his current phase, he had been buying up your botany catalogues.

You wouldn't admit it, but you had been stocking up based on what had been sparking his interests.

And Prince Wonwoo would never admit it, but the reason he came to a small bookshop in the town instead of getting someone in the castle to fill his library, was because of you.

Prince Wonwoo felt light and airy as he stepped into your shop to be greeted by your smile, "Welcome, Your Majesty."

"Good afternoon [Y/N]," he gave a smile back, only hoping his could be as radiant as yours. "How is my favorite librarian?"

You laughed softly at the comment, a sound that always made Wonwoo's smile grow even larger. "I'm doing better than ever. The future of my bookshop is promised since it has become the main vendor for a certain prince."

Wonwoo hoped he wasn't blushing. "Well that's a relief. I would be quite disappointed if this place were to shut down." He was already amongst the shelves of books. He noticed that you had already restocked the botony shelf, the fact made the tips of his fingers tingle. He reached immediately for one with light green binding.

"I figured you would like that one," your sweet voice sang through the shelves of the shop. "It includes plants out of our region. I thought you might have enough books documenting our native selection."

Wonwoo flipped through the pages, his eyes taking in the sights of flowers he couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams. "I do like it," he confirmed. He paused before deciding to take a bit of a risk. "I also like having a librarian that seems to cater so carefully to her clients." There was silence for a moment, Wonwoo felt his heartbeat all the way down to the tip of his toes.

"I do my best," you responded, a laugh accompanying your words. You always laughed around him, that was good, right?

"You wouldn't happen to have a zoology section?" Wonwoo asks, the light green book now held firmly in his grip. It would certainly be going home with him.

"Zoology now, huh?" you call, stretching your arms to stock books on the highest shelves.

"My professor was telling me of incredible creatures from other lands. It sparked an interest, I suppose," Wonwoo offers shyly. You appear from around a bookcase, ever-present smile on your face.

"Exotic zoology. My, what incredible studies our prince takes part in," you say. Wonwoo notices that your tone is not one of mocking, but of genuine praise and awe. He uses an imaginary scratch on the back of his head as excuse to duck down. Hopefully it will keep you from noticing the way his face flushes. "I figured this was coming, so..."

Wonwoo watches as you walk a few bookshelves over and then place yourself in front of a specific section. He tries not to read too much into how you seem to already have books in mind for him as you pluck them from the shelves. There's three books in your arms making a sizable stack of themselves as you make your way back too them.

There's a thick one with deep black leather bound to it, "This one covers just about everything. Although, it is a more difficult read. I haven't forgotten that you like a challenge."

Next there's a red one. Slightly muted in pigmentation compared to the astrology book he first bought, but still beautiful, "This is exotic animals."

The last is a light yellow one. Wonwoo thinks every time you pick a book for him, the cover becomes his favorite color. He's commissioned several paintings based on the hues you've made him see. "This one is local fauna, since I know you'll want it eventually." He had been careful taking the other two books from you. But after you explained the third, he let his finger slide over yours as he accepted it.

You don't react, just smile at him the way you always do.

Wonwoo doesn't know what this means, but he hopes to find out.

The seasons pass and Wonwoo finds subject after subject to study. In reality, his professors have told him many times that he is a well-rounded student who is knowledgable on many subjects. But he insists that he needs to learn more. There's always more and there are still empty library shelves.

After some time, Wonwoo's parents send his professors off to take a break. Wonwoo is devastated. His parents think he may really just love learning that much. But truthfully, Wonwoo now has no excuse to go to the librabry without subjects to learn. He stares at the number of empty shelves in his own library. He can find one, he's sure.

The shop door dings as someone enters. "What is it today?" you say as you see the prince's ruffled black hair. "Are we off of local history and onto history of foreign lands? Or have we moved off of history entirely?"

"I actually came for fiction today," he grins.

You pause dramatically in your movements, "I'm sorry? Our prince of many interests is looking for simple fiction?"

Wonwoo laughs before he nods, "I'll need much to entertain myself while my professors take an extended break."

"Then let me introduce you to all of my favorites," you say excitedly. Wonwoo has the largest stack of books that he's ever had in your store by the end.

"You have a lot of favorites," Wonwoo admires each and every title, excited to follow behind you on the adventures you've taken before.

"Well I wouldn't keep a shop full of books if I didn't like them," you shrug. You take a moment to study Wonwoo and the pile. "Would you like help taking those back?" His head snaps up. "I don't mean to intrude," you back off immediately, "it's just a lot for one person to carry."

"Oh I didn't feel any intrustion. I was just surprised," his expression softens as he realizes he looks like he took offense. "Technically visitors are only allowed in the palace on invitation from the King and Queen."

"Ah, I understand," you stew with him in silence for too long. "Well you could also store some here for the time being and take them back overtime. I don't mind holding them for you. You could even read them here if you like."

"That's a nice offer."

"Well, we should enjoy it while it lasts, right?"

"What do you mean 'while it lasts?'" Wonwoo looks concerned up at you.

"Once your library is filled, you won't be coming around here anymore," you share a look with him. "I hope I'm not out of line if I say that I will miss your company when that day comes."

Wonwoo feels content. He has his answer. You gave it to him willingly. Without saying words. Without him having to ask.

"Well you don't have to worry about that," he says nonchalantly.

"Oh?" you inquire.

"No, I mean, once my librabry is complete, I'll need someone to help me tend to it," Wonwoo hesitates before he lays his hand over yours where it rests on the books. The ones you handpicked just for him.

"If I didn't know any better," you say, "I'd say you wanted to keep me around for awhile longer."

"Yes [Y/N], I'd like to keep you around for as long as possible."

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strnsvt · 3 months

Text

vernon chwe — a twist in cupid's tale.

as you smoothly matched people, your reputation as a talented cupid increased. you were popular, known as the matchmaker at your campus.

a day took an unexpected turn when a request landed on your desk, and your heart skipped a beat — it was from mingyu, your own secret crush.

mingyu asked you to set him up with a girl. caught between the professional duty of a matchmaker(as you would call yourself) and the ache in your own heart, you reluctantly agreed — even if it meant you being left heartbroken.

in the hushed library, vernon called your name multiple times, the librarian casting disapproving glances. you looked up at him, seeing vernon approach and sit beside you, a concerned expression on his face, "what's wrong?" he asks quietly.

you don't respond. looking at the book in front of you blankly. you really wished to bang your head on the desk in front of you.

"don't do that,"

"...did i say that out loud?"

vernon was your best friend. even if you didn't say that out loud, he could've definitely guessed. "don't hurt that forehead of yours and tell me what happened,"

you sighed, the weight of the evening pressing on you. "it's mingyu," you finally confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, "he asked me to set him up with this girl, and i...i agreed, even though..."

vernon's gaze softened, understanding the unspoken pain in your words. "even though it hurts?" he finished for you, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder. a part of him feeling bad for you. but most of him was glad. well. because.

"he's always been oblivious," you admitted, a mix of frustration and sadness in your voice. "and now, i have to watch him with someone else, all in the name of being a matchmaker, and..."

"and?"

you sigh again "i invited both of them to jackson's party,"

"the one this friday?"

you nod, a sad expression still on your face. "i thought it would be the right thing to do, you know? professional and all. but now, i have to face watching mingyu with somebody other than me,"

him and you don't say anything for a moment — vernon not knowing how to comfort you, and you choosing to be quiet instead of ranting more about mingyu.

vernon clears his throat before speaking again "hey,"

"hm?"

"jackson invite me to his party,"

"me too," you say, dropping your head on the desk, "i don't wanna go,"

"why not?"

"why should i? to see my crush getting with someone that's not me?"

"right..."

"so yes, im going,"

vernon chuckles at you and you turn your head to look at him.

"you're really gonna go?" vernon questions.

"really, yes, i will go. i'll stay with you. so distract me from them,"

it felt like no time when friday night arrived, the thumping music and lively chatter enveloping.

"vernon..."

"yeah?"

vernon tracked your gaze, spotting mingyu with his date by the bar, engaged in laughter and conversation. catching your eye, mingyu offered a thumbs up to you, which you mirror with a sad smile. "hey, y/n," you avert your gaze from them, looking at vernon.

"vernon, i think i need some alchohol in my system,"

"no, you don't. look, there's guys over there playing truth or dare, let's join them," vernon suggested, trying to shift your focus from mingyu and the situation at hand, but failed as you chose truth and they asked you who your crush is.

you left the game, and walked up to the bar, sitting on the stool, asking for some alcohol. "y/n, no," vernon followed.

"truth or dare can be brutal, especially when the truth hits close to home,"

"alcohol won't solve anything,"

"ma'am, here is-"

"vernon, i just need a moment-," you say, taking the glass of drink from the guy in front of you.

"you can't drink, y/n," vernon snatches the glass from your hand.

"vernon, what-" you couldnt say the next words. you couldn't even process for a few seconds. its when you realize — his lips where on yours.

he pulls away, it hits you — your best friend just kissed you.

vernon looks at you, his eyes searching for a reaction. your mind races as you process what just happened. the noise of the party fades into the background, and all you can feel is the lingering warmth of his unexpected kiss.

"vernon, what...?" you manage to stammer, a mix of surprise and confusion in your voice.

he meets your gaze, his expression a blend of uncertainty and sincerity. "i couldn't stand seeing you like this, y/n. i couldn't let you drown your feelings in alcohol, i care about you too much,"

"i...i didn't expect this," you admit, your heart still racing.

"me neither," vernon replies, running a hand through his hair.

the clamor of the party gradually seeps back into your consciousness, yet the world feels subtly altered. mingyu and his date remain at the bar, but your attention has undergone a transformative shift.

#vernon x reader #hansol x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #svt x reader #strnsvt's writing

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roserunodays · 4 months

Text

Kotoko's Connection with the Fairy Tale of Red Riding Hood

So THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A JOKE POST, but I kept looking into it, and now here's a full blown analysis instead lol. I realized that Kotoko has many allusions to the story of Red Riding Hood besides the wolves and her signature red jacket. The themes of familial love, protection, and deception all seem to be reflected in Kotoko's actions and what we know of her past and personal life so far. So this post will detail more of the connections between her and this tale, as well as theorize on certain parts on what her story might reveal in the future!

MAJOR THANKS to my English major himejoshi librarian bunny mutual @lillyviarabbit for proof reading this so that my writing doesn't sound clunky af 🙏

A Quick Aside: The Other Side of this Tale (TW for sexual assault and rape mention)

So...there's another side to the original tale of Red Riding Hood, one that deals with much heavier themes on what the story as a whole is supposed to symbolize. I didn't want to analyze these themes of rape, sexual assault, and analogies of being 'turned' into a woman (such as hoods/veils representing both marriage and bereavement). They are there though, and easy analogies can be made, but that's not the content I want to cover. This is mainly because I just don't think we have enough evidence or hints as of now from Kotoko's past that suggests these parts from the Red Riding Hood story are also in her story. I did not want to speculate on these parts either because I wanted to treat them with respect and sensitivity, rather than simply speculate that they have to do with a fictional character's past when we don't even have any evidence to theorize that they do. So this post will only touch upon the more well known parts of the story instead!

Also I won't be talking about Jacques Roulet and his weird ass story because none of it makes sense to me with how it's related to Kotoko, so I will leave that to someone with a bigger brain to analyze that 💀 and I'll be sticking to analyzing similarities with Perrault's version of the story, though the analysis referenced at the end also includes the Grimm version!

Allusions to Red Riding Hood Herself:

One of the major similarities between Kotoko and Red Riding Hood is — well — the red hooded jacket!

This jacket is the most recognizable part of the fairy tale, and it clearly sticks out in Kotoko's wardrobe as the outfit she wears while she's in her forest world, notably with the wolves she's running with in HARROW.

Appearance wise, Kotoko also seems to fit the bill for how Red has been portrayed throughout various iterations of the story over time.

Red's appearance generally describes a girl with short black hair and a bob that reaches down to be exact.

"Another difference lies in the fact that, in addition to [her hair] being black, Little Red Riding Hood’s hair is generally short, reaching to her chin at most, with a charming bob that frames her face."

The signature hood is also noted, with Kotoko's prisoner uniform being the only one to notably have a hood on it.

"It becomes a powerful indicator of sense. History shows that an object that goes on a woman’s or girl’s head has always been ambivalent, not to say ambiguous. It covers, it conceals, it protects, but it also alludes, adorns and attracts."

Not only does Kotoko's hood uniform reflect her similarity with Red Riding Hood, it also highlights Kotoko's tendency to protect/conceal all the aspects of herself she does not want to reveal to anyone else.

It's clear that Kotoko doesn't trust anyone else in the prison, wanting to conceal as much stuff about her as possible so she can analyze their behavior and how much they change following the time between trial 1 and trial 2. This secretive nature, interpreted by her actions and the hood she wears as a way for Kotoko to protect herself and her fragile self-worth, is also highlighted in Streaming Heart's lyrics.

"Though I seem to say many things, please try and seek out the real me. In the space between truth and lies, hidden away so well."

The Grandmother:

Another major fact that gets overlooked is how Kotoko offhandedly mentions in her family structure that she has a grandmother. As a lot of us already know, the main plot of Little Red Riding Hood is that the girl delivers food to her grandmother, who is sick and lives in a house in the woods. This detail from her interrogation is rather...specific, given that she doesn't even mention having a grandfather, just a grandmother along with her parents and older brother.

One additional piece of evidence that connects to this is the symbolism of her birthday flower, Monstera Deliciosa!

In many Asian cultures, this plant can also symbolize a respect and honoring of the elderly. Interesting, considering that this is the plant Yamanaka picked out for Kotoko.

While we don't exactly know the details between Kotoko and the relationship she has with her grandmother, her birthday flower seems to hint that she has some kind of respect for her, or at least they are most likely on good terms with each other.

"Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a little red riding hood made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Red Riding Hood."

And that is why I wonder: did something happen to Kotoko's grandmother that made her realize how flawed and unfair justice can really be? Well, we know that in the story, the wolf disguises himself as Red's grandmother to try and trick her. But why litter Kotoko with all this wolf symbolism (besides the dog/tool dehumanization she's associated with) if she's supposed to allude to the character of Red Riding Hood?

The Wolf:

There is a major difference when it comes to the Tale of Red Riding Hood and Kotoko’s MV symbolism, which is the wolf’s role in each of their stories.

For Red, the wolf is the enemy. The wolf is one who tricks her from the very beginning, and the one who tries to eat her and her grandmother.

"Grandmother, what big arms you have!" "All the better to hug you with, my dear." "Grandmother, what big legs you have!" "All the better to run with, my child." "Grandmother, what big ears you have!" "All the better to hear with, my child." "Grandmother, what big eyes you have!" "All the better to see with, my child." "Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!" "All the better to eat you up with."

But Kotoko…she’s with the wolf. The wolf is instead her companion it seems, the one who runs and sits beside her when she’s doing her vigilante stuff.

And more importantly, the wolf seems like the one to be enabling her, helping her continue with rescuing the little girl and beating up the child kidnapper. It is the one thing by her side that encourages her to bare her fangs and protect the weak.

People have speculated that this wolf represents a person in Kotoko's life, a vigilante partner she used to have? Her older brother perhaps? Who knows really, but I think we can all agree that this wolf is a person who has influenced Kotoko a lot. It is the one thing that pushes her continue with this, to continue with the cycle of cruelty and violence in her act of handing out her own form of justice. And that brings me to Kotoko's jacket again.

The Red/Pink Jacket:

I want to address the difference between Kotoko's jacket in her forest world, as opposed to it in the real world. In the forest world, we see that the jacket is more of a hot pinkish color.

I'm not sure if this is fully because of the lighting, but the color difference for the jacket is very notable if you compare them side by side. In the real world, the jacket is clearly more red than pink:

So why make this jacket be two different colors in two different places? Well, I'd like to theorize that the answer has to do with this girl that appears for a brief few seconds in HARROW, in the flashback sequence while Kotoko is beating up the child kidnapper dude.

Or as I like to call her: PINK SHIRT GIRL ✨

One final thing I wanted to talk about is how this girl relates to Kotoko, the different colors for her same jacket in the MV, and the sole reason why I think she wears a pink shirt. A lot of people have speculated that this girl is a younger version of Kotoko, possibly back when she was a child. Pink for Kotoko seems to emphasize her ideals at their most pure level.

When Kotoko is wearing her jacket when it's pink, she's in her forest world that emphasizes Kotoko's purpose in protecting the weak. She's emotional there, she falters, worn out by the running and desperate to continue going. There is nothing shown in those scenes that shows her childlike ideals being tainted, yet.

But when Kotoko alludes to her self-hatred and the wolf urges her to go on with the attack, HARROW switches back to the real world where the jacket is red. We Kotoko smile after she presumably kills the child kidnapper guy as she declares that she wants to be "drowning in the knowledge that [she] is right", and thus, this seems like we the audience realize this is the moment when Kotoko's ideals begin to become more distorted than how they were presented in the forest world.

We see that she finally gains a satisfaction that everything that she did wasn't for completely nothing, and that she now has the purpose that makes her existence useful. While she does want to protect the weak and give out justice, it is not entirely motivated by altruism, as HARROW points out. When Kotoko's pink jacket becomes red, it seems to signify how her pure, child-like ideals become tainted and much more flawed compared to them initially.

This, along with Kotoko having the wolf as her companion, all seem to point at just how much Kotoko herself has become the very monsters she wanted to destroy. The child-like pink has now become a red stained with blood, or rather a shade of magenta. A mix of red and pink that highlights Kotoko's immature and child-like view of a black and white world, while also noting that Kotoko is not the innocent Little Red Riding Hood she once was anymore—

She is the wolf. She is a Red Riding Hood who has been led on by the wolf's ideals, the prey that has been ensnared and eaten by the wolf at the end of the original Charles Perrault story.

She is the wolf, the monster now.

She is now the sinner she hates so much.

Sources:

https://journals.openedition.org/strenae/6423 This one is the Red Riding Hood clothing analysis!

https://core.ecu.edu/parillek/littleredcinder.pdf "Little Red Riding Hood" Charles Perrault version

https://medium.com/@monsterahelpful/the-symbolism-and-history-behind-the-monstera-leaf-unveiling-its-meaning-11ba828837c2 Monstera Deliciosa symbolism!

https://twitter.com/pug_maniac/status/1735912110423732687 Yamanaka's tweet for Kotoko's birthday flower!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Red_Riding_Hood The Wikipedia page for Little Red Riding Hood! This also contains the heavier themes I was talking about in the beginning, so if you want to find out more, they have a whole section about it here. Trigger Warnings for sexual assault and rape for this Wikipedia page.

https://youtu.be/VrAW8zyoEiY?si=a3p4nb8B1TTza-x_ Translation video for Kotoko's first voice drama, Task.

https://youtu.be/_gTTtS0Fvxk?si=Y1Zwu3XOI_nRHgex HARROW MV

Also I'd love to read more analyses if anyone writes them, especially on topics I avoided, so tag me if you write any!!!

#I swear I love other milgram characters besides Kotoko djfkfdnk #there shouldn't be any deep cover spoilers here so I don't think I'll have to tag for it #you know who else has fairy tale allusions and symbolism? Mahiru Shiina—*shot*#I hope this is something at least 😭 look I just want Kotoko to realize how much she's become a monster by killing her child self in her mv #IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK FOR—#milgram #kotoko yuzuriha #long post #rose.txt

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dalivanmagritte · 9 months

Text

Fic rec : jeon wonwoo (wonwoo)

(back to the seventeen list)

link to part.2

spin that record, baby (fav, fluff)

hypnotism (fav, smut, wizard!au, witch!au)

roommies part.1 part.2 part.3 (fav, pervert!au, roommate!au)

pervert neighbour (fav, smut, pervert!au)

the peephole (fav, smut, roommate!au, pervert!au)

desperate (fav, smut, husband!au)

a break x mingyu (fav, smut)

pretend it's someone that came from you (fav, ANGST, comfort, smut, fluff, office!au)

the bore next door (fav, smut, fluff)

getting closer (fav, smut, joker!au, inspector!au)

gam3 bo1 (fav, smut, gamer!au)

the pixie (fav, smut, pixie!au, fairy!au)

worship you (smut)

wonwoo: Neighbors to Lovers (fluff)

46: lingering kiss before a long trip apart (fluff)

that's mine (fluff)

wildflower part.1 part.2 (unfinished, smut, angst, royal!au)

bad aim part.1 part.2 (angst, fluff, highschool!au)

instinct part.1 (unfinished?, fluff, angst, werewolf!au)

a moon without stars (smut, angst, romance)

the trouble with dogs (unfinished?, fluff, hybrid!au)

just relax part.1 (unfinishedd?, fluff, suggestive, therapist!au)

tales from the pack - masterlist - (finished, angst, fluff, smut, werewolf!au)

the shattered camera part.1 (serie finished, 11 parts, fluff, angst, paparazzi!au, celebrity!au)

(getting closer) wonwoo: crimson eyes (serie finished, smut, angst, vampire!au)

the forest (fluff, witch!au)

the copy machine is broken again (smut, fluff, office!au)

shadowhunter (fluff, shadowhunter!au)

under the moonlight (angst, smut, prince!au, witch!au)

sorry? (fluff, angst)

boyfriend!wonwoo (fluff)

mine (smut, fluff, fratboy!au)

insomniac (angst, fluff)

vampire!wonwoo (smut, angst, fluff, vampire!au)

stuck in a rut x werewolf!mingyu (smut, werewolf!au, vampire!au)

fearless part.1 (serie finished, smut, fluff, vampire!au)

sharing is caring but i don't care (smut, fluff, hybrid!au)

drawings (fluff, angst, tattooits!au, florist!au)

library assistant (fluff, librarian!au)

private part.1 part.2 (5some with mingyu, wonwoo, jun & the8)

glow (fluff, suggestive, college!au)

nothing (fluff, angstish, roommates!au)

makout session & getting caught (fluff, suggestive)

bite me (smut, vampire!au)

first time (smut, fluff)

home (fluff, fakerelationship!au)

bookworm (fluff, jock!au, highschool!au)

letter to you (fluff, bf!au)

fallen x jeonghan (smut)

like the movies (smut, fluff)

masseur seungcheol vs masseur wonwoo (smut, suggestive, masseur!au)

until it feels like you're in heaven (smut)

until i met you (smut, fratboy!au)

heartstring part.1 part.2 (fluff)

love me tender...or maybe not: happily ever after (fluff, smut)

amour-haine & co (ongoing serie, fluff, smut, angst, CEO!au)

begging (smut)

class project x mingyu (smut, fratboy!au, uni!au)

alter-ego (smut)

red lights (smut, incubus!au)

getting closer part.1 part.2 part.3 x mingyu (unfinished, smut, roommate!au)

besties x mingyu (smut, college!au)

in the pants (smut)

sexy voice (smut)

momentum part.1 part.2 part.3 (serie finished, smut, angstish, fluff, racer!au, engineer!au)

personal trainer (smut, personal trainer!au)

titties lover (smut, fluff)

gym instructor (smut, gyminstructor!au)

please stay (angst, fluff)

one word at a time (fluff, dad!au)

nostalgia dinner (fluff, suggestive)

off limits! (smut, brother bff!au)

i'll just get off all by myself (smut)

cat got your tongue? (smut)

roommates with benefits (smut, fluff, angstish, roommate!au, college!au)

warm encounter part.1 part.2 (smut, gamer!au)

just ask (smut)

by the moon (fluff, angst, suggestive, werewolf!au, witch!au)

feelings (fluff)

favorite (smut, camgirl!au, teacher!au, college!au)

royal advisor (fluff, royal!au, princess!au, royal advisor!au)

to the victor (go the spoils) part.1 (smut, camboy!au)

when you gave me my name (smut, fluff, angst, fae!au)

fallen angel (smut, angel!au, demon!au, fallenangel!au)

until my lips turn blue (smut, angst, mafia!au)

first time crying during sex (smut)

for worse or better (fluff, suggestive)

mailman (fluff, mailman!au)

Licentious (smut, babysitter!au)

takes his anger on you (smut)

262 notes · View notes

blueraineshadows · 6 months

Text

Life Blood Part One

Vampire Garreth Weasley x F!MC

NSFW 🔞 vampire violence, adult themes

This week's Weasley Wednesday theme in the Garreth's Groupies Discord: Halloween 🎃

This is an AU world where Garreth is a vampire. Old, dangerous, and very beautiful. He stalks a lovely librarian who has a secret of her own.

The shadows had become his friend over the years, his shield and his comfort, a cloak to cover his footsteps and hide his truth. Cities had many shadows, dark corners, and sinister alleyways that provided fruitful hunting grounds, opportunities to stalk and watch for the next feed.

For there was always the ravenous hunger, the dark and desperate need to satiate the craving for blood.

His awakening to his dark form had been a terrible and agonising horror that had ripped apart everything he had known about himself. Once a soft and innocent boy, his nature had transformed into something harder, darker, and instinctive. To truly be at one with this transformation, it had taken many years and the guidance of the one who had turned him.

Time had stretched, days were mere nothingness, now a drop in the ocean in his immortal life. It been a long time since he had seen his sire, no longer in need of the guidance, able to glide softly through his days and take what he needed with the blink of an eye and stolen whispers.

The vampire thought he had forgotten the boy he had been.

His eyes glittered in the darkness, the shadows no barrier against his sharpened sight. The mossy green of his eyes darkened and flickered with red, the pupils widening into dark orbs of hunger as his nose delicately picked up a scent. He paused and pressed up against the old brick of a building, ears trained for the sound of approaching steps. The scent carried on the air, filtered through the wafts of trailing mists that drifted from the old river. It teased at his nose, the steady warmth of its pulse making his mouth water, and the familiar ache in his gums made him press his lips together in anticipation.

It was a male. His scent grew stronger as he made the turn into the narrow passageway, the hint of sweat and alcohol combined with that heady, bitter call of his life blood. His footsteps staggered a little, and he cleared his throat. Drunks were not ideal, and neither were the sick, but when opportunities wandered so freely into his path, the vampire was not going to waste it.

As the figure of the man came into view, the vampire licked his lips, eyes narrowing as the blood lust flared with delicious heat. He stepped out from his shadow, steps silent, his hand reaching out to connect with the drunk man's chest. The steady thump of a heart beneath his clothing seemed to clash against the vampire's palm, the life force of a delicate human body. It fascinated the vampire. He could no longer recall how that felt. He had forgotten that warmth and the desire to feel it tingled on his tongue.

The gentle glow of moonlight lit their faces, the drunk was flushed and grizzled, a working man if his ruggedness was anything to go by. The vampire, in comparison, was immaculate in a suit, skin pale and dusted with delicate freckles, his hair a shiny golden red, the waves framing his eerily handsome face. The vampire was the image of a cultured gentleman, soft and alluring, but the eyes told a different tale. His hunger made a mockery of that soft imagery, deep and insatiable, his age adding a depth of wisdom to his powerful allure.

"Wandering alone in the dark?" The vampire spoke softly, a hint of amusement underlying the colder edge to his tone. "Tut, tut, sir. Have you not heard? There is a predator on the loose."

The drunk swayed on the spot, squinting through the darkness with his mortal eyes, his hand coming up to try and push away the vampire's cold touch and failing.

"What? Get off me," he slurred. "Fool."

The vampire tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate as his mouth turned upwards in a knowing smile. Oh, how beautiful was his smile.

"It is not I who is the fool."

In a movement that was more of a blur, the vampire grabbed the front of the drunk's coat and pressed him to the wall, ignoring the mutters of complaint as he dragged back the collar to reveal flesh, the flutter of a pulse a vivid thing, and he bit deep. Sharp teeth broke through the sweat laced skin with ease, and immediately, the warm blood began to pulse onto the vampire's tongue, his eyes rolling at the delicious sweetness that tingled through him. He sucked with a ravenous hunger, drawing deeply despite only feeding a short while ago.

It had only meant to be a taste. A little snack if you will. But all too soon, the drunk became limp in his strong grip, the ruddiness leaving his skin, his pallor becoming a deathly white.

The vampire lifted his head, blood shining on his lips, his teeth bared as he breathed deeply in satisfaction. One look at the drunk told him he was dead. His body drained, his heart left with nothing.

Once, the vampire would have been overcome with guilt, he may have even sobbed at his actions. But the years had conditioned him to bear these burdens easier. The guilt was there, but he stored it away. Needs must and all that.

However, the vampire was not completely without morals. He set the man down gently. He straightened his jacket and put a gentle hand to his cheek. Perhaps someone would miss him, grieve for him. The vampire hoped so. But these were not his problems.

As he stood, the vampire took one last look at the victim's face and stored it away. He always took a last look. Then, he returned to the shadows. There were a few more hours of night time to wait through before the dawn, and he needed to make a regular stop.

He needed to go and see her.

....*....

In the six months of lingering in the shadows of the city, it had been easy to memorise the many twists and turns, the busy streets and local hot spots. Without the need for sleep, he had the time, and he had been to so many cities in the world now that he was beginning to realise that they were similar in lots of ways.

There was the theatre district, a plentiful delight of a place, the nights always busy with a myriad of scents to tempt his hunger. Taking in a show amused him, and he would peruse the gathered audience and pick out the ones that tempted him. The arrogant man with Daddy's money burning a hole in his pocket was a favourite, or maybe the lonely woman with tragic eyes. He was always drawn to those. Once, he had wanted to soothe them, take away the sadness in their eyes, but the hunger always won out in the end, and he would feed with ravenous abandonment.

The docks were often a good spot for a stranger to draw a feed from, travellers far from home that would not be missed so quickly. It was best to avoid the more opulent parts of the city, as satisfying as it was to drain the life out of a stuffy politician, they were easily missed. The vampire only took these risks when he was feeling particularly reckless or angry with his lot. Luckily, these episodes were few and far between as time progressed.

When he had been a young creature of the night, he had frequented hospitals and jails, taking the lives of the sick and the unworthy. His sire had mocked him for his kindness and urged him to embrace the beauty of what he had become. The vampire had resented this sentiment, and while the blood of the sick was not satisfactory, the vampire took it and suffered the bitter taste in order to bear the burden of his sorrow. Again, the appetite he harboured always craved more, and his hunting grounds had expanded. Slowly, he had begun to embrace who he was.

One area of a city that drew creatures of the night was the taverns, or pubs, frequented by whores. These ladies of pleasure were also creatures of the night, used to slake the lust of others. It may not be a feed of the blood letting kind, but it eased a hunger of sorts.

The vampire recalled his first whore as he moved swiftly through the shadows across the city. She had been young and beautiful, eyes dark and tempting as she offered him her body. The tease in her gaze had turned to cold fear when realisation had struck. The horror she had felt in those last moments had weighed heavy on the vampire, even though the thrill of her sinful blood had warmed him wonderfully, his own body still flushed from the sins of their joined flesh.

He had never forgotten her eyes, and had stayed clear of feeding from whores unless the need was desperate. After all, like himself, they had not chosen their nightly lifestyle, it was their only option. The men who went to them were often foul and disgraceful. The vampire was not above waiting outside the doors and pouncing on their lust eased bodies, draining them dry and leaving them to rot. The soft heart in him rationalised it as a way of protecting those beautiful, sinful creatures, just as he wished someone had been able to protect him.

As he approached the corner of the street he wanted, the vampire paused in the shadow of the building, his gaze surveying the darkened street. He came every night now. It was like a ritual, and he needed to stick to it. The risk of being spotted and recognised made his assessment of her street imperative. He did not want to lose the option of returning.

Slowly, anticipation lingering in his limbs as he neared her home, the vampire was glad of his recent feed. He knew that once he saw her, his hunger would flare, and he must reign it in. Her scent was intoxicating. It took everything in him to keep a leash on his restraint. He wanted to devour her, taste her flesh, and feel the warmth of her life blood on his tongue.

She was alluring and captivating, she plagued his daydreams and he ached to know her. But he could not. How could he? She would run from him, and he would not blame her. One so ethereal in her beauty and innocence would baulk if a monster such as he approached her. No. He had taken to watching her from afar, content for the opportunity to lay his eyes upon her. For now. The last few nights had seen him taking risks. Dangerous risks. Just to get a little closer. It was her scent, you see. She was irresistible.

The first time he had seen her, he had been taken back to those long ago days when he had been a mere boy. A boy who had delighted in laughter and pranks, living each moment to its fullest and just being young. There had been a girl at his school who had brought warmth to his cheeks when he looked upon her, her pretty lips and merry eyes had made his heart pound and his hands ache to touch the softness of her skin. The crush had consumed him, filtered through his dreams, and filled his waking thoughts until there was only her.

Years after his turning, he had tracked her down, a woman grown now. He had stood at a distance, not wanting to frighten her. He looked the same as he had the day he was turned after all, he had not aged a day, and he could not risk her recognising him as she read a story to her child before bed. Lingering at the window of her marriage home, seeing the child she had made through her union with her husband, it had made his cold heart remember that ache.

It was soon after this that he realised he needed to let go of the boy he had been. He was gone. That life had moved on, much like the delight of his boyhood heart. The vampire had a new life now, and he needed to embrace it.

....*....

When the vampire slid over the railing of the little window balcony, he paused, the window opening was ajar, the delicate night breeze teasing at the curtain. He planted his feet with predatory softness, moving lithely towards the opening and peering through into the darkened room. Moonlight lit the window behind him, his shadow cast across the floor of the room, the gentle sounds of a sleeping human in his ears as he paused. He had never entered her room before, only watching her sleep through the glass of the window in his promise to himself to not get too close. But, tonight, the window was open, an opportunity that had been sent to tempt him. If only he could make that final step and enter the sanctity of her room, but without an invitation from her own lips, he was stranded.

The minutes passed, and he remained, sat at her window, his eyes never leaving her sleeping form. Her hair was spread across her pillow, her cheeks delicately flushed in her slumber, lips parted with a tempting softness that stirred an old ache in his chest. She was so like the girl from a time long passed, that if he squinted his eyes a bit, maybe she could even be her. But, of course, that was impossible. She was long since dead now, a life lived to old age, and her bones already turned to dust. She was a fragment of his memory now, stored along with countless others, at least until he had laid eyes upon the girl in the bed.

She worked at a nearby library. He had caught her scent when she had left under the cover of darkness and trailed her through the city with the intent of feeding on that delicious warmth. One look at her face, however, had made him pause, his hunger abating a little as he stared. It had stolen his breath, frozen his limbs, and he had been unable to follow through with the hunt. The next night, he had returned to the library, and once again, when she had taken the steps down to the city street, he had followed her. It had been a month now, and he had followed her for many nights, even risking entry to the library itself to witness her beauty under the lights. At night, he would watch her sleep, fascinated, hungry, and oh so very lonely.

The vampire had not moved whilst he sat and observed from her window. He had made no sound, and so, when she opened her eyes and stared right at him, it had been a shock. He did not flinch nor make a sound, but if his heart had been beating, it would have skipped at the sight of her gaze. With eyes locked across the moonlit room, the vampire raced through his options. She had seen him.

He could disappear, jump back from the window, and land on nimble feet to run down the street, never to return. But, the thought of never returning made a chasm yawn empty and dark in his gut. The other option would be to tempt her to the window and drain her, take her life while he held her in his arms, and then try to forget that she had ever existed. But, forever was a long time to try and forget one so beautiful, and he knew from previous experience how difficult and mournful that would be. Every girl with similar eyes would haunt him. Girls with that shade of hair would turn his head and make him yearn. He did not want to take her from this mortal realm.

She sat up, her hair cascading over her shoulder, the bed cover slipping down to reveal the flimsy bed attire she wore. A hunger of a different kind swept over the vampire, his tongue slipping out to coat his lips as he eyed the smoothness of exposed flesh in the moonlight. Her beauty was outstanding, and his eyes were ready to become drunk on the very sight of it.

"I know you watch me," she said quietly. "It is why I left the window open."

His breath whispered softly past his lips. "Why would you leave the window open for me?"

One shoulder lifted, and she tilted her head, fingers toying with the bed cover. "I'm not entirely sure, but I know that you are not what you seem."

Her eyes met his. Curiosity and an eagerness lit their depths. There was no fear, and it made him consider her intently.

"I have been doing some research ever since I saw your face. I think I know what you are," she continued.

"And yet, you are not afraid? You open your window to me willingly?"

She took a deep breath and slid from the bed, her night gown dropping to mid thigh, his eyes following the curve of her leg as she walked to a desk in the corner of the room. The moonlight shifted the material of her nightgown, drawing it in tempting lines against the curve of her hips. His hunger was a tightly leashed beast, and he tensed as she approached the window, her scent so close that he could almost taste it. In her hands, she held a file, slipping out a sheet of paper that was a copy of a newspaper article. She held it up to him.

Bodies found drained of blood, the theories bandied about and the gossip rife. It was a familiar tale across many cities and years, and it was why he had to be careful. It was why he moved on and took turns in the cities of the world in order to stay one step ahead.

He looked from the article to her, his expression one of calm as he raised an eyebrow. She hesitated and then pulled out more and more clippings, older and older, pages of notes that she had taken in her research until she slipped an old photograph from a battered sleeve. This time, her fingers trembled as she held it up, her eyes shining as she stared at him, the flicker of fear there behind the unshed tears.

"It's you. It has to be."

The vampire stared at the photograph, the image so old and faded now but undeniably him, his youthful face so sincere as he posed for his school book entry. The innocence of his youthful gaze was a memory as faded as the photograph, and yet it made him hurt in ways he had forgotten. Pain that he had buried deeply seized him, choked him, and he turned away, unable to stare at that lost boy any longer.

"Perhaps I merely look like him," he said. He tried to put a cold edge to his voice, but he failed. His sire would mock him, call him soft, tease him for not being a better vampire.

"If there is one thing I pride myself on, it is my research," she said. She looked down at the photograph, throat working as she ran a finger tip over his face. "This has to be you, Garreth."

This time, the vampire did startle, his hands gripping the edge of the window, his eyes opening wide. Rarely did he reveal his birth given name to anyone. It wasn't worth it. Either he wouldn't be around long enough to warrant revealing it, or the person was about to die, and it was pointless. A very select few knew the truth, and yet his name had been spoken through her perfect lips, and she held his photograph in her hands.

Their eyes met, something tense and wonderful wrapping around the moment. It was more intimate than he had any right to. His nightly ritual had gone from observing her to hearing his name on her lips, and he found he rather liked it.

"How...?" He swallowed and looked at the photo in her hands. So many questions. "How did you come by that photograph?"

Her gaze was soft, full of wonderous curiosity as she looked at him. "I have wondered many a time what your voice would sound like, and to hear you speak now..." She smiled, a blush staining her cheeks as her words dwindled.

"My grandmother had this photograph inside a file of notes and papers. I found it when my family was clearing out her things after she died. I kept the file a secret and realised she had been following the trail of a suspected vampire. Research continued on from her own mother. I have always believed in things that go bump in the night, and I knew I had to continue on. It is why I took the job at the library."

"Your grandmother?" Garreth frowned in thought, wondering why these women in her family would care to follow his trail. He tensed and stepped back suddenly, a thought so cold and unwelcome entering his mind. "You're hunters?"

Her lips parted, face aghast at his question. "No!" She protested. Her hand flew out, and she reached for his arm, her fingertips grazing the back of his hand as he pulled back further. A shocked gasp left her mouth, and she snatched her hand back, finger tips rubbing together.

"You're... You're so cold... I..."

There it was. There was the fear in her eyes now. Realisation was dawning of what he truly was, and she trembled. His still, undead heart appeared to plummet, hating to see the fear in her gaze now when before she had been so soft and curious. But, it was inevitable, was it not?

"This is why you should not leave your window open, my dear," he said softly. "There are monsters in this world, and you are far too lovely to be pulled into such horrors. You must forgive me for coming here, I should have known better."

He leapt onto the railing, crouching with feline ease, ready to launch himself to the ground, but he couldn't resist one last look back.

"Garreth, please, don't go," she begged. She clutched the photo in her hand, her eyes desperate. "Or, at least come back. I have things I want to show you, I have questions. I mean you no harm... Please?"

The sweet sting of regret tore at him, sad green eyes lingering on the way the moon lit her face. So beautiful. And then he was gone. He leapt from her balcony, landing with effortless ease and then running. He was nothing but a swift, fleeting shadow as his feet ghosted the pavement, running from her, running from himself.

....*....

His dwelling place was nothing fancy, nothing that one would call home. Without the need to sleep, he didn't really require a home as such. There was no need to find a suitable place to lay his head. However, he did require shelter from the daylight hours. Garreth had read many, many books over the years, tales of vampires who lay stiff in their coffins an amusing image he often pondered over. He had yet to witness such a thing, preferring to avoid the trappings surrounding death considering the ease with which he dealt it out.

No, for him, sanctuary from the sun could simply be a cosy barn and a book. Perhaps a day inside a museum, or even exploring caves and mysterious forests under the cover of trees. A thick cloak on particularly gloomy days was often sufficient and offered him the chance to observe the world in its waking hours. Or, he would simply take a room and relax.

Today, Garreth did something that he did only on rare occasions. He opened a small chest that he kept inside his travelling trunk, a selection of old world potions and oddities inside that he procured from alchemists on his travels. He had a keen interest in such things and had an old friend in Italy who had taught him the science. If he were to truly settle in a place, then alchemy was high on his list of pass times to dabble in.

The potion was golden in colour, the liquid a shimmering sparkle under the lamplight. As he drank it down, it felt like sunshine itself spreading through his body. It had been months since he had last walked under the sun, and today, he was going to take that risk. A fool's risk.

Walking the city free from the shadows put a pep in his step, he tipped his head to a few lovely ladies, his smile so charming, the sunlight lighting the dazzling green of his eyes. With such a charming aura, one could almost ignore the pallor of his frigid skin, the slight darkness under his eyes. The red glow of hunger was firmly under control whilst he was in the company of mortals, playing the role of a gentleman on a stroll with practised perfection as he strolled towards the city library.

Despite his swift exit last night, he apparently couldn't stay away from the girl who had spoken his name. The library loomed up before him, his feet taking the stairs in a skip, and then he was strolling through the doors as though he had every right to be here. The scent of old books and parchment welcomed him, along with the aroma of coffee from the little café inside. The unrelenting scents of life blood was always present, the temptation of it curling like smoke through his body, his instincts on high alert as he navigated study tables and settees, huge bookcases stretching up and up towards the arched ceilings.

Where to look for his night time angel?

He could tell himself as much as he liked that he was doing this because he was curious what other information she held in that file of hers. His empty heart could deny the flutter in his chest at the thought of speaking with her again, to seek out the chance to look into her eyes and have her look back. His lonely existence craved such little things, and having gone so long without it, now that he'd had a taste, the craving was almost as thick as his lust for blood.

He found her in the back of the library, seated at a desk with piles of books stacked around her, her head bent over a massive tome, face set in concentration as she perused the page. The soft glow of the table lamp lit her face, highlighting delicate curves and the light of her eyes.

He stood and admired, drinking in the sight of human warmth and softness, the steady throb of her pulse teasing at his ears. His hunger lingered, prowling at the edge of his consciousness, and he regretted not taking a feed before coming here. As much as he desperately craved her taste, he was loathe to harm her. She had entranced him, swept him along on a tide of foolishness, and he found he didn't require saving. He was all in. She had spoken his name, she knew who he was, and he did not fear it.

Perhaps he should. Perhaps he should move closer and lock gazes with her, summon the masterful trick of compulsion and wipe her memory of him, remove all traces, and take the file from her possession. It would be as though he never existed, and he could vanish into the night, move on to the next city, and put it down as just another memory, a mere moment in a century.

He took a step towards her, silent and sure, and she lifted her head. Their gazes locked, the moment stretching with the same warmth from the night before, and he smiled.

"Good morning," he said softly.

There would be no compulsion tricks today.

....*....

For as long as she could remember, she had been obsessed with ghostly tales and monsters that prowled the shadows. She had delved into the minds of authors who wrote of such things, absorbing their characters set in worlds that were far more fascinating than her own. She longed for the darkness and lore that surrounded these fabled creatures, wished there was truth to the myths.

Her mother had sighed and indulged her love by handing her the books she so greedily consumed over and over again. But, her mother had warned her not to read too much into such tales, encouraged her to dwell in the real world more than in fiction. But she didn't listen.

Instead, she had been drawn into the aura of her maternal grandmother, rushing to her home after school to sit and chat about these myths and legends. Her grandmother had a twinkle in her eye, a love for the unusual, and encouraged her to look deeper.

Not everything is as it seems, she would say, her eyes full of excitement. The moment that she loved the most was curling up and listening to the stories that her grandmother would weave about a young boy who had been turned into a vampire, forced to change into a monster and leave behind the girl he had loved. It was her favourite story, and she had heard it so many times, savouring every detail.

Those memories were precious, and when they had laid her grandmother to rest, she had made sure to say a blessing over her grave to keep the monsters at bay. Her grandmother believed, and therefore she believed, and that belief had carried her through to her meeting with Garreth.

When she had found the old file in her grandmother's belongings, she had hidden it from her mother, knowing that it would be burned or thrown out as nonsense. Sorting through the many pages of notes, the newspaper cuttings, and detailed research, she gasped aloud at the sight of the beautiful boy in the photograph.

Her favourite bedtime story whispered to her in the safety of her grandmother's love, was true. The vampire boy was real, Garreth was real, and now she had a face in a photograph to put to the name.

Her job at the library had come about through her passion for the written word and her thirst to know more. Research was her safe place and she delved ever deeper into the lore of the vampire, every night going to her bed with tired eyes, but always taking a look at that old photograph before going to sleep.

She had memorised Garreth's face, she saw it in her dreams, and realised that a desperate longing had begun to grow within her. If he was real, then he was in the world somewhere. A real-life vampire. She wanted to meet him.

Why her grandmother had this research, and why her great-grandmother had passed it on to her, she had no idea. Her grandmother's passing had been sudden, and she wondered if there was a story to tell behind it all. Perhaps she would never know.

So, when she had left the library one evening, tired and ready to get home, she had not been prepared for the glimpse of a familiar face. It had been brief, so quick that she had almost thought she had imagined it, but it had made her heart pound.

The features had been the same, every line and curve she had studied and memorised so engrained on her brain that she was sure it couldn't have been anyone else. And yet, once home, she had begun to doubt it. The serious voice of her mother echoing in her thoughts, telling her that she needed to get more sleep, she needed to take a break from obsessing over a boy who was probably, in reality, long dead.

Her dreams haunted her. His face would appear, but not as a sepia toned image anymore, but a very real person. A young man with piercing green eyes and freckled skin, waves of beautiful red hair that curled with such softness. It had to be Garreth.

She saw him again, stirring from a dream, blinking into the darkness and seeing a silhouette at her window. This one she did put down to being half asleep and conjuring him into life. But, she just couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

In the corner of the library, a shape at the window, a blur on the street corner. Someone. Him. The vampire.

She took to laying awake, curled up beneath the blanket, waiting and watching. Sure enough, the shadow would appear outside the window. She would feign sleep, watching through lowered lids, and he came again and again. She left the library later and later, waiting for the darkness and strained to see and listen as she walked. Not every time, but many times, she caught glimpses.

Her passion and her stubbornness in refusing to give up on this vampire boy had paid off. The fear of the monster he could be didn't phase her. After all this time, she was ready to face whatever Garreth truly was. Her whole life had been leading up to that moment. She was certain of it.

And so, she left the window open. It was an invitation, a welcome. She wanted him to step from the shadows and come face to face with her. After years of longing for that something else, and months of staring at his photo. She wanted to finally see the truth.

He came, he arrived at the window, and this time, she chose bravery and she spoke to him.

....*....

Seeing the vampire in the familiar sanctuary of the library quickened her pulse, the soft lights reflected off his red hair, his pale skin flawless and dusted with freckles. Looking up at him from her seat at the table, her very breath was stolen at his beauty. It was like a magnet pulling her slowly from the real world into dreams as she found herself drowning in depths of green.

"Garreth," she said, softly. "What are you doing here?"

His smile was like a caress. "You expect me to stay away from a young lady who keeps a photograph of me in her bedroom?"

Her cheeks bloomed with sudden warmth, and she swallowed nervously, his charm working a tingling kind of magic that swept over her skin.

"I... I meant no harm," she said. Her hand gripped the edge of the table. Apparently, she was unable to look away from him. Was this some kind of vampire magic? She wasn't sure. There was some suggestion that they had the ability to perform tricks on their prey. The research notes she had being rather vague on the matter meant she couldn't be too sure. What an opportunity she had to find out the truth!

Garreth moved around the table and leant his hand against the top, bending over to look down at the book she was reading. The delicate scent of cologne reached her nose, and a more subtle scent, an alluring tease of clean male that pulled at something rather deep within her belly. Her breath hitched and she leant back a little, intimidated by the overwhelming closeness of him, not just as a vampire capable of draining the very life out of her, but as a man who was very beautiful and alluring.

"Last night, you said you had much more to show me," he said. He turned those green eyes on her again, his face so much closer now, and she could see the delicate strands of red that flecked the iris of his eyes. "I'm curious to find out what else you have hidden away."

Her lips parted as though to speak, but the words failed to leave her mouth. She was enraptured, staring at him as though there was nothing else in the world that mattered. She felt every throb of pulse, every rasp of breath into her starved lungs, and she was leaning forward, drawn in by invisible threads that pulled her ever closer. He held her gaze, his smile borderline wicked, and then he blinked, dropping his gaze from hers and standing up straight.

It was as though someone had clapped their hands in front of her eyes to snap her out of a daze. She blinked a few times and looked around as though she had forgotten where she was, and maybe she had. Her head felt fuzzy, confused, and when she looked back at Garreth, she wondered if she had imagined that strange connection.

His head tilted as he smiled down at her again. "For all your interest, you've never met anyone like me before have you."

She cleared her throat and shook her head. "No. You're the first. How did you know?"

"Your reactions," he smiled and flipped open a book on top of a pile. "A vampire is designed to lure in their victims. Everything, from their scent to their aura, it draws a person in, lures them closer for the inevitable bite. I had thought you might be better prepared for such things. I had expected you to try and stop me."

She gulped, hands flat on the table top. Her gaze flicked to his mouth. When he smiled at her, his teeth had seemed relatively normal, and no huge fangs descended like she had read about. She couldn't help but be curious. His revelation about luring a person in for the kill sent a shiver down her spine. So, it was true.

Is that what he had been doing just now? Tempting her closer... Did he want to bite her?

"Is it true about mind control, then?" She asked, clearing her throat. "Some of my research suggests that a vampire can manipulate the mind and meddle with memories."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes twinkling. "Maybe I have slipped into your mind already," he teased. He leaned over the table top, predatory and borderline irresistible. "Perhaps you already belong to me, and I can do whatever I wish with you."

Her eyes widened. Subtle fear began to make her tremble, and yet she was aroused, skin tingling and her pulse becoming a hot throb. Did that mean he really had invaded her head? She stared at him, curiosity mingling with anxiety.

He was a monster, after all. A very beautiful monster, but one all the same, capable of killing her in the blink of an eye.

"I haven't, by the way," he said softly. His gaze lingered on her mouth before trailing down to her neck. His voice dropped to a whisper. "But it's tempting. You are tempting."

She glanced nervously around them before speaking, her voice dropping to a whisper, her mouth dry. "Are you going to bite me?"

His smile was slow, devastating. "Only if you ask me nicely."

Her lips parted, and she realised with utter shock that the words were right there on the tip of her tongue. She blushed fiercely and clamped her mouth closed lest she speak them. Did she truly want him to bite her? What would it feel like to have his mouth on her throat? Her eyes dropped to his very lovely lips, and she shivered.

A low chuckle sounded in his throat, and he straightened, taking a deep breath and gazing towards the arched window across the room.

"There are many hours of daylight left. However, I am on a time limit. I can not linger for too long," he said. His captivating eyes returned to her, and she met them gladly. "I must take my leave. I could return to you under the cover of night unless you know of somewhere we can talk out of the burning rays of the sun."

Getting to her feet, she smoothed her skirt over her thighs and nodded. "Would you prefer to remain here at the library or go somewhere more private?"

She didn't think she would ever be tired of seeing his smile. He looked so terribly beautiful when he allowed his mouth to do so. Could she trust that smile? How many others had done so and regretted their decision? As mindful she should be of his nature, she could not help the wave of intense curiosity, her drive to delve deeper for answers. It was a balancing act of weighing up the foolishness of daring to dance with a devil, or the foolishness of potentially allowing a real vampire to escape her, taking with him all the knowledge that could fill the gaps in her research.

"I think somewhere more private is in order," he said.

She nodded, a flush of excitement making her tremble a little. A private meeting with a vampire. It was time to see if her choice would pay off. "Of course. Allow me to fetch my things and make my excuses."

....*....

Her home was very different in the daylight. The street bustled with life, the sunlight dappling through the trees, and life of such ordinary and mundane moments carried on around them as they arrived at the building entrance. Garreth observed the street, his heightened senses absorbing everything from scents and sounds to faces and shadows. The predator in him made these instinctive observations, ever mindful that he was not the only hunter.

Turning his focus back on the lovely young lady beside him, his eyes twinkled as she gazed up at him shyly. The delicate pink that bloomed on her cheeks as she dipped her gaze made his hunger claw with savage urgency. Her life blood warmed that soft skin, it called to him as they entered the cooler lobby of the building and took the stairs.

He had not come here to bite her, as tempting as that beautiful neck was. He had come to ease the curiosity she stirred within him. Not just because of her file on him, but because she had stirred up memories and emotions he had thought long since gone. His life as a boy had been brought back to the forefront with one sepia toned photograph and the allure of a beautiful smile.

Following her to her door, her scent drifting under his nose, he realised how vulnerable she really was. Back at the library, he had not intended to use mind control on her, and he hadn't meant to influence her at all, but the hunger had been strong and all consuming. He had called to her through his eyes and his scent, saw the way her pupils had widened in response. If he had so wished, he could have plucked her like a new spring flower and devoured her scent, taken what was so temptingly on offer, and she would have let him.

It was a measure of his self-control and years of honing his skills that he had chosen not to do so. His choice had led him here to where she was safe, and he was not sure if this was the better option. Here, he had her alone. Once she granted him permission to cross the threshold of her door, he could come and go as he pleased. She was inviting the devil into her home, and what if he chose to play?

Her key slid into the lock, and the door swung wide. She stepped through and turned to him, pausing as she looked down at where his feet remained in the hall. She gasped as her pretty eyes lifted to meet his.

"It's true! You can't come in uninvited."

Rather than be fearful, curious delight lit her face, and he marvelled at it. Bravery or foolishness, the girl was full of it. He bowed slightly, hands clasped at his back.

"Yes, it is true. I implore you to consider your next words carefully. Invite me in at your own risk."

Her chin lifted, a stubborn light gleaming in her eyes, but her fingers clutched at her bag with a tight grip. "You won't hurt me. You would have done it already. All those nights, you followed me or waited at my window. Not once have you tried to lay a finger on me."

"Perhaps I like the chase," he said softly.

Her pupils flared, and her throat worked. Such a delicate flutter of pulse, her blood rushing sweet and swift. He could smell the delicate edge of her fear, and yet the stubbornness remained. It stirred him in ways long forgotten, his loneliness reaching out with shadowed fingers towards the fire in her soul.

"Please, come in."

It was said with confidence and yet with softness. His lips twitched, and he bowed once more, his eyes never leaving hers. "You honour me, and I thank you for your invitation."

Slowly, he took a deliberate step forward, his boot crossing the threshold of her door. He was inside. She had welcomed him into her safety, and with a swift flick of his wrist, the door swung closed with a click.

As their eyes locked, the significance of the moment was not lost on him. He had all the power, the notion of it as comfortable and familiar as a good pair of shoes, easily slipped on and reliable. He could reach out and take her, put his mark on her, feed until his skin glowed with her warmth. It made his mouth water, his gums ached with the need to elongate his teeth and pierce sweet skin.

Her beauty called to him, but so did her words. He had questions, and she could give him those answers. He wanted to hear them, but most of all, he wanted to be near her. This was the closest he had ever been and how he longed to feel the pound of his own heart, for he knew that she would make it beat fast and true. His heart had not beat for years upon years, and this girl, this intriguing beauty, made him yearn for something that he had thought out of reach.

He stepped forward, a hand smoothing down the front of his very expensive suit jacket, his smile charming and warm.

"Now then, my dear. What wonderful things can you tell me about your research? I am all ears."

To be continued....

#garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley #vampire garreth weasley #weasley wed #weasley wednesday #garreth's groupies #blueraineshadows

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destieltropecollection · 1 year

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DESTIEL TROPE COLLECTION 2023 | DAY 16 | Two Person Love Triangle

Secret Admirer | NannaT (AO3)

Rating: Mature Word Count: 5,627 Main Tags/Warnings: Valentine's Day, Fluff and angst, Secret admirer Summary: Cas has a secret admirer and it's driving Dean nuts

An Angel's Tale | @seidenapfel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 30,175 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fanfic Writer Castiel, Fanartist Dean Winchester, Two Person Love Triangle, Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, President Castiel (Supernatural), Custodian Dean Winchester, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Humor, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Hunter Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Fix-It, Angel Wings, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Alcohol, Dean Winchester Has Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Mutual Pining, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester Summary: After being Dean’s roommate for over a decade, Castiel can’t go on like this anymore. He leaves their shared home and flees to Europe for a year, no longer able to deal with his feelings for his best friend in such close proximity. Left behind heartbroken and grieving, Dean distracts himself with Charlie’s favorite fantasy book series. Intrigued by the tale of an angel and a hunter, Dean stumbles into the realms of fandom and fanfic. For the first time since high school, he picks up his drawing utensils, and, not before long, signs up for a fandom big bang. Dean is thrilled to be paired with his favorite author. Chatting reveals that Dean isn’t the only one who is head over heels in love with his best friend. In jest, they make a deal: They confess their feelings to their friends, and if that doesn’t work out, they’ll try their luck with each other.

Go Down With This Ship | @porcupine-girl

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 31,354 Main Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warnings, Epistolary, Online Friendship, Online Romance, Tumblr, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Two Person Love Triangle, Identity Reveal, Librarian Dean, Dom/sub, Dom Castiel, Light Bondage, Rimming, top cas/bottom dean (fun fact: This was the first fic on ao3 to use the two person love triangle tag! I found the term on TV Tropes.) Summary: Since he has to stay deep in the closet to protect his job as a children’s librarian in conservative Wichita, Kansas, Dean’s main outlet for sexual frustration is writing and reading slash fiction for his favorite show, Devil Boys. When he starts corresponding with AngelofThursday, another male slash writer in his ship, he really is just looking for friendship… but when it seems like more might be on the table, he’s not going to turn it down. If only he didn’t also have a crush on Cas, the hot volunteer at his library branch…

Salt & Iron | @abi-cosmos

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 36,221 Main Tags/Warnings: Human Castiel, Online relationship, Two person love triangle, Mutual pining, Depression, Drinking to cope, Love Confessions, Dom/sub undertones, Dean Winchester wears panties, Canon divergence, Hurt/Comfort Summary: Dean is lonely since Castiel became human. It’s been six months of throwing himself into cases, pining around the bunker, and radio silence ever since they parted ways. Charlie takes matters into her own hands, signing him up for a hunter’s networking website where he meets new hunter Steven. They start a friendship, Dean enjoys his online companionship and Steven seems to understand what he needs without ever having met him. When things heat up between the screens, Castiel is brought back into his life, and Dean soons finds himself face-to-face with secrets and sin.

Love, Dean | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 48,050 Main Tags/Warnings: Gay Dean Winchester, Closeted Dean Winchester, Gay Castiel, Closeted Castiel, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Kid Fic, Top/Bottom Versatile Castiel/Dean Winchester, Threesome - M/M/M Summary: Dean has a job he’s good at, and people he loves. Really, he’s got most things a man in his thirties could wish for. He also has a huge secret: he’s gay. The only one who knows is his best friend Charlie. Dean is content to keep it that way, until he strikes up an anonymous email friendship with a colleague who’s also closeted and struggling to come out. As Dean’s feelings for his new friend grow, he begins to wonder if it might be time to let himself be seen.

Dear Western Red Cedar #2409 | @mittensmorgul

Rating: Mature Word Count: 63,433 Main Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, forest ranger/author!Dean, librarian!Cas, idiots to lovers Summary: For a decade, Dean had been living his dream life in Montana as a national park ranger. When Sam and Eileen followed him there a few years later, he had no idea how to tell them about his side gig as the author of a wildly popular series of novels loosely based on his own experiences. Well, minus the monster hunting. He never expected them to become bestsellers—or potentially a tv series, if his agent could only convince him to out his real identity. While Dean's also writing his latest bestseller on a deadline, a misunderstanding and his own social ineptitude leave him completely cut off, aside from his new pen pal who Dean only knows as Bluebird. Cas had spent the last two years desperate to hold Dean’s attention. Right when he felt they might be getting somewhere, Dean was called away on an emergency. Of course he had to go and lament about his troubles to a random tree, thanks to a distracting plaque inviting the public to participate in a new town project. To his surprise, he seems to hit it off— completely anonymously of course— with Western Red Cedar #2409.

American Rebels | @valandrawrites

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 78,973 Main Tags/Warnings: Professor Dean Winchester, Graduate Student Castiel, Goth Castiel, Tattooed Castiel, Pierced Castiel, 2 person love triangle, Identity Reveal, Idiots in Love, Anonymous Sex, Bathroom Sex, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are Twins, Dean Winchester Has a Sexuality Crisis, Eventual Happy Ending, Dean/Cas Switch Bang 2022 Summary: Graduate student Castiel Novak shows up excited for his American Lit course titled *American Rebels* taught by the Dean himself! But the man who arrives is none other than Cas’ anonymous bathroom hookup from the summer. Professor Winchester cannot figure out why the hot, weird, tattooed, and pierced guy who fucked him within an inch of his life in the Roadhouse bathroom is in his favorite class. And why does he insist on using his full name every time he addresses him? Maybe Charlie can help… **This is based on a real story involving me and a Professor named Dean Flowers. He was not, as I later learned, actually the Dean. For the record, I did not have sex with Dean Flowers.

kept on climbing til our stars collided | @whaddyameanno

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 84,801 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Two Person Love Triangle, Alcohol usage, Recreational Drug Usage, mentions of medical procedures, Anesthesia mention, Panic Attacks Summary: Dean is a Youtuber. Castiel is a college student who gets introduced to his channel. Both Dean and Castiel also have unknowingly been talking to each other on their secret stan accounts for Dr. Sexy.

#destiel trope collection #destiel trope collection 2023 #destiel #fanfic #two person love triangle #day 16

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rosie-b · 4 months

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Centuries Overdue

Summary:

Long ago, an evil Darkness spread across Europe, claiming the lives of many in the magic community. Trained by Plagg himself, Adrien made it his mission to stop the Darkness before it snuffed out the lives of more Mages and Talents, as it did to his own parents. Though he seemed to succeed in his mission, the pages of his old journals tell a different tale.

In the modern world, Marinette is a fashion student, working at a small library for the summer to earn extra credit. She’s never believed in magic before, but when she finds the old Agreste journals in her library, her beliefs about reality begin to crumble. Determined to find the truth, both about magic and the unsolved death of one Adrien Agreste, Marinette begins on a journey that will eventually lead her deep into the city’s catacombs, where an ancient force sleeps, but is ready to awaken once more…

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or below! I hope you enjoy 💕

Excerpt from the eighth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at Sassolungo Castle in Italy, on the first of November 1809.

There are times when I think myself unfit to be called a Traveler, much less an Adventurer, for my Heart longs for the feeling of Home above all these foreign cliffs and castles. Still, at times like this I am reminded of how necessary my Travels are and why I must continue them.

At first, my only desire was to honor my Parents. That was the Feeling, the unabating Urge, which drove me to the treacherous Forests of the Harz Mountains, to the Supljara Cave, and to even the farthest reaches of Europe, but with Time’s passing a new Desire grows within me.

There is something wild growing in the Darkness; when I close my Eyes I can feel it growing. It is a most disturbing Feeling, and one I am not alone in noticing. The Mages of Tikki and Plagg have felt it also, and have noted its Growth. It cares not for the Moon, nor the Stars, nor the Sun, but its Presence continues to spread unchecked at all times.

I fear if we do not find its cause ere the spring festivals’ start, it will prove too powerful to be Destroyed, and so I have made it my business to uncover its Secrets. This Darkening is surely a sign of a stronger, more sinister Magic, and I fear that there are things darker and still more guileful to come of it. I must make all Haste to prevent its growth, which is why I must journey to the edges of Light, to the place where my parents died…

_-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_

It was Marinette’s first day at work.

The small library was much bigger than Marinette had expected, or at least it felt that way. In half an hour’s worth of shelf reading, she’d only gotten through four shelves, not nearly as many as she’d hoped to check. She had decided to blame it on the call numbers; the way they were printed on the books varied depending on when they had been added to the collection, and she was finding that made older ones difficult to read. Those numbers, written in fading black ink directly on the books’ covers, were the hardest to make out, and she’d wasted several minutes trying to tell 8s and 6s apart.

But it was almost time for her lunch break, so Marinette jotted down her progress on the chart the head librarian had given her and returned to the circulation desk, where an old man was insisting that the new computers did not work, or if they did, they were far too confusing for an eighty-year-old to understand.

“I’m just trying to log into my email account, but I can’t even find the right button to turn the thing on,” the man said, tapping his cane on the floor emphatically.

“I can help with that!” Marinette folded her paper and set it down. “If you’ll just lead me to the computer you were using, I can get you signed in, no problem!”

The other library intern, whose lunch break came just before Marinette’s, smiled gratefully at her. She grinned back. Some people didn’t like this part of the job, but to Marinette it didn’t seem so bad. Then again, it was only her first day as an intern.

“Oh, thank you!” The man seemed very relieved, and he slowly began making his way over to the computers. He lowered himself into the third chair from the left with a heavy sigh. “I’ve already tried jiggling the mouse, but I don’t know if it’s even connected, because nothing’s happening.”

Marinette frowned and glanced at the monitor. The power button was hidden at the back of the screen, so she carefully turned the monitor around to check. As she thought, the button wasn’t glowing. She pressed it once and waited for it to turn green, and within seconds, the monitor was displaying its login screen.

“There you go, sir. Log in as a guest and let me know if you have problems getting to your email. Okay?”

The man smiled and clapped his hands together, knocking over his wooden cane. “Thank yo— oh! Thank you again, miss,” he laughed as Marinette picked up the cane and handed it to him. “Don’t know why they’re hiding the important buttons behind the screen these days. Made me look like a fool, didn’t it?”

Marinette smiled. “It just takes a while to get used to. And don’t worry, I was happy to help!”

The old man waved as Marinette turned to walk back to the desk.

That wasn’t so bad, she thought cheerfully. At least I’m doing some things right at this job.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not a librarian, nor did she have any intention of becoming one. But it was summer break, and she wanted to get a head start on internship credits for university. All the fashion houses in Paris had already chosen interns; luckily, it didn’t matter where the internship was as long as it provided some of the same skills working at a fashion house would, which this position did. It wasn’t even hard to get, since most people looking to work at a library applied to the François-Mitterrand Library, ignoring this smaller location, which was a mere municipal library not part of the BnF. The position paid decently well, and it guaranteed Marinette the extra credit she needed to give her a boost at university.

I already have a robust resume anyway, she had told herself when she’d been debating whether to apply to the little Bourgeois Library or not. Being Jagged Stone’s favorite costume and album designer has to count for something! And my designs have been featured in Style Queen a few times, too. Next year, I can have my pick of Paris’ fashion houses to work at.

It was time for Marinette’s lunch break, so she clocked out and grabbed the lunch her mother had packed. Normally, she would have gone somewhere else to make the most of her break, but she wanted to explore the library a bit more. There were lots of rooms on both levels of the renovated building, and she wanted to be able to guide patrons to the right section of books when they asked without getting lost.

With this in mind, Marinette finished her reheated croque monsieur and ventured off to explore. There were still forty minutes left of her break according to the new watch on her wrist — plenty of time to acquaint herself with the building.

The children’s area was downstairs, a colorful section full of picture books, games, movies, audiobooks, and bright-colored bean bag chairs. It wasn’t as full as it usually was, the children’s librarian said, but on weekends especially there were dozens of children and parents at a time filling the area.

On the far side of the basement was the young adult area. It hadn’t been renovated along with the rest of the building, and the gray shelves of books, old video games, DVDs, and three comic books looked unappealing to Marinette, and apparently to the rest of the young adult population, as there was only one person in the area. They sat in the lone, wooden chair by the poster advertising the youth group’s fall meeting schedule, looking at something on their laptop.

Marinette squinted as she made out the lone tuft of white hair on top of the visitor’s head. At least they’re young at heart, she thought with a shrug.

Back upstairs, there were three big rooms and one smaller one, with a central area where the laptop and computer desks sat, as well as the circulation desk, several sofas, and wood tables with cushioned chairs. Then, the three larger connected rooms — the North room held the nonfiction area, the West held fiction, and the East room had everything from large print to a kindle station to an open dictionary.

The last room Marinette visited was the smallest. It had a red carpet, large south-facing windows, a wooden globe atop a low shelf of foreign-language books, and a small, one-sided shelf of old, leather books facing the sun. On the other side of the shelf, there was a lone, wooden table in front of one red velvet chair.

Marinette walked around the room, gave the globe a couple spins, and stood by the central shelf to examine the books. A golden metal sign on it read that these were part of a special collection, and were not able to be checked out, although anyone could read them while within the library. They’d been donated by the Bourgeois family at the start of the library’s usage, and had remained there ever since.

But there weren’t any more librarians in the Bourgeois family; they had moved on to politics halfway through the last century and hadn’t looked back. Marinette supposed they were happy being richer, but a single library donation in the 1800s wasn’t enough charity work to persuade her to vote for Mayor Bourgeois in the upcoming election.

Marinette looked closer at the collection of books. Was it just her, or did it look like the old books were rusting? Small piles of red dust sat at the edges of the shelves, and the spines of many of the books were cracked, allowing her to see the threads that were binding them together.

She gingerly picked a book off the shelf, noting the cloud of dust it created; the way the spine threatened to crack in two at her touch; the brittle, yellow pages; and, with a look of disgust, the way it seemed to instantly suck all the moisture from her skin.

She immediately put the book back. Her hands were now covered in red dust from the cover.

Marinette rubbed her fingertips together, trying to get the dust off, but it seemed to have sunk deep into the lines of her skin.

Wonderful.

Marinette headed to the bathroom and washed her hands (and then washed them again when the dust didn’t come off the first time). Her break was almost over, anyway, so she might as well head back to the desk. Before she did, she stopped in the South room one more time, looking for the name of the book’s publisher so she could know who was responsible for her mishap.

The Journals of Adrien Agreste, vol. 3, read the half-attached spine of the book, which apparently had no publisher and was more of a diary than anything else.

Well, who would put that in a library? Marinette wondered. No wonder you can’t check it out. The first thing anyone would do with it after they left the building would be toss it in the trash just to spare future patrons.

And she walked back to the desk, taking long, confident strides and silently cursing this Adrien person for writing in books that would fall apart so easily. She wouldn’t be returning to that room anytime soon.

_-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_

Excerpt from the eighth journal of Adrien Agreste, written in Munich, Bavaria, on the fourth of November 1809.

Being an Orphan is less tragic than one might expect. It puts me in good company, and it guarantees a kind of Sympathy from most people I meet. Emphasizing the sorrowful Look of a young Orphan helped me secure many a meal when I was younger and traveling, often Alone, back to Plagg’s cave after my parents’ death. Nevertheless, when I am by myself, I am struck by the Guilt and Sorrow I felt on the day I lost them… Some wounds take too long to heal.

Since to the best of my Memory I have never written about the Disaster before in these journals, I suppose I should put it here. It wouldn’t do to let it be forgotten, after all, and it may aid me in recalling the Dangers of Blå Jungfrun, the destination of this journey.

My mother’s Spirit was more adventurous than my father’s; the voyage to Blå Jungfrun was her Idea. There used to be a circle of Mages on the island, but an inhospitable Darkness drove them out. My mother wanted to see if, since much Time had passed since then, the island was safe once more, and she planned to do this using her Talent. My father was against the idea at first, arguing that neither of them had the ability to use Magic, only to detect and defend it through their Talents.

At that time, it was unknown to me that I had a Mage’s Gift, not the simpler Talent my parents had. They were afraid of the dangers Mages face, and tried to spare me from Harm by holding the knowledge of my magic back from me. Untrained as I was, I could not even sense Magic, and I was completely dependent on my parents to sniff out Curses and other Evils for me. My father mentioned this, too, but my mother was unswayed.

To her sensible mind, the Talents of my parents were more than enough to protect themselves and me from lurking Dangers. And no-one had visited Blå Jungfrun in nearly a century. Whatever Darkness once lived there, it had nothing to sustain it. Surely, it must be dead, she told my father.

Wanting to please his wife, and trusting in her own trust, he agreed to take me to Blå Jungfrun, island of the Blue Maiden.

The journey through Sweden was pleasant from what I remember. There are two groups of Mages in the South of that country, Ravlunda’s group being the largest. I plan to stop there on my own journey, which I pray will not be as ill-fated as my parents’ was.

Departing for Blå Jungfrun from Oskarshamn, my parents took a small boat, protected by Charms given to them by the Mages of Ravlunda. I went with them, and my clothes were similarly protected by Charms for extra safety, while my parents did not wear charms on theirs. There was one Mage from Oskarshamn who came with us, and she had the foresight to wear already-charmed clothing. That is how she and I escaped from the Dark Island.

The Island itself is nothing special. There are trees and rocks covering a large hill, which is otherwise barren. The locals have long feared that place, and call it the Mountain of Witches. They are not far off, except in time, since the Mages have long abandoned it.

The Ocean’s strange waves had floated the Boat a little way from the Shore; since there was no dock to tie our boat to, this had been expected. My parents and the Mage waded out to the boat where I still was, having spent less than five minutes on Shore, and that is when the Darkness struck.

It had sensed our Presence, and gathered into a Storm, fully visible even to me, and too powerful to be banished by the Mage. It was all she could do to keep the boat, and me in it, afloat as it threatened to capsize and was pulled still further out. By now my parents had to swim, their feet unable to touch ground under the water, and the Mage as well. I was frightened and did not know what to do, though I strove with all my might to row the boat back to my parents, and all the while the Darkness was growing until at last a Tendril reached out from the storm and dragged my mother fully under the waves.

My father dove in after her, thinking to save her, as the Mage climbed into the boat and cast a protective Spell just strong enough to create a sphere of safety in the Storm. We searched and searched as the Storm raged on, hoping to find my parents resurfaced, or to see their forms in the water and haul them into the Boat. But they were forever lost to the Darkness. We never found them, and for our own safety, the Mage determined that we must head away from the Island, which was the only place the Darkness seemed to draw power from.

I went back to Plagg’s cave, which is hidden in the Harz mountains, and stayed with the Mages there until I was old enough to take up my parents’ mission and travel again, recording the Darkness, keeping peace between Mages as their countries went to war again and again, and eventually learning of the Magic that was hidden inside me.

I have been lucky enough to take lessons from Plagg himself during his visits to the Cave, however impossible to understand and often of little help to a peaceful traveler like myself said Lessons are.

But now, if the Darkness is spreading, then I will need all the spells he taught me and more.

As I set out to the Blue Maiden, I plan for my journey to be a slow one. This is only in part due to the Ocean not being safe during winter. I will stay in Bavaria for a while and take lessons from the Mages of Mullo. Then I will move on to Leipzig and Berlin, should the fighting (for there is always War now) allow it, and finally to Świnoujście and from there to Sweden. Along the way, I hope to gather a small group of stout-hearted Mages to aid me in my Fight.

I must take the Time to carefully prepare to face whatever twisted Mage is at the heart of this Darkness, for I grow ever surer that there is one. Darkness does not move on its own, but it relies on Servants to work for it.

Let those Servants beware, for if I find them, I will not show them Mercy.

Author’s note: This is the first chapter of my fic for the @mlbigbang!! There are eight chapters total and I’ll be updating weekly, on Thursdays. I’d like to thank all the mods for helping this event go smoothly, my three beta readers (Angel, Helios, and my sister @poorschilpad) for keeping me on track, and my two amazing artists, @acise and @nireu-art for their crazy cool work. You guys are the best! 💕

#ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #miraculous ladybug #ml au #centuries overdue #i do recommend viewing it on ao3 because i used a super cool work skin so it looks superior to this version

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silence-of-autumn42 · 9 months

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The relationships between the Duviri Courtiers and other major characters are really funny to me.

Bombastine despises Luscinia for being Thrax's favourite entertainer, despite being the one who organised the event that resulted in her rising above him. He's also secretly in love with her, and so is acting like a toddler because he doesn't know how to express his desires in a positive way. He also sucks at riding horses and is jealous of the biceps of a bunch of skeletons. My cringe fail son.

Mathila is a judgemental mother despite her overly positive outlook. Brimon implies he's having an affair with her. She took care of Teshin, and implies they're still friends. He never mentions her. A toxically positive girl boss.

Lodun has incredible anger issues stemming from self doubt, and is constantly plotting to overthrow Thrax, but fails every time. He's desperate for approval, seeing a single supporter as a win, and cares deeply about his great-grandmother and her shrine. The Wall of his house is cracked because he keeps punching it. Another cringefail child of mine.

Luscinia hates being the King's favourite, but doesn't know how to get out of it. She's prone to drastic, dramatic bouts of melancholy. She somehow knows secrets about Duviri that Thrax is implied to either be unaware of, or deliberately ignoring. She loves revenge. She once sang at an event where she was standing on a bunch of eels, that got eaten from underneath her. A girlboss who doesn't want to be.

Sythel is paranoid, but also knows far more about Duviri than apparently nearly anyone. She's terrified of Acrithis. She stays hidden in her house to avoid facing issues which, frankly, is a mood. She also somehow left her face behind in another part of Duviri. I love her, but I hope she gets some comfort. A couple of floofs and some Tasoma Extract tea.

Brimon is a snarky, self absorbed champion racer...who we never see ride a Kaithe. He claims to be better with a sword than anyone, despite never using one that we can see. He brags about being such a good lover, that he's the reason Mathila is happy. He can't believe you beat him, even on the easiest of Kaithe races. He somehow has a copy of the Tales of Duviri with him at all times. A bastard, but a fun one.

Oh and Acrithis, my favourite of the bunch. A librarian who has her own carriage. She wants to torture people who damage books. She implies Mathila is a slut. She calls out Lodun for being too ashamed to face his issues. She thinks Sythel is a nasty little rat lady. She's the only one who remembers the old islands. She calls Teshin an "old thingy-bob in a cave". She finds us fascinating and wants to study us. She sees through every single one of the Courtiers. The true Queen of Duviri, imo.

#warframe #duviri spoilers #warframe duviri #duviri #duviri paradox #bombastine #lodun #luscinia #sythel #mathila #acrithis #brimon #Duviri Courtiers

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fadingsnow · 10 months

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THE DREAMING - DREAM x f! reader (it's BARELY at all, i'll make a part two probably)

SUMMARY AND TW: Somehow, you had dreamt into the dreaming after a long night of research, Fiddler Green's page transported you into the Dreaming itself.

divider credits : @firefly-graphics

You rubbed your eyes groggily while trying to balance yourself up instead of falling asleep on your arms that felt like rubber. You huffed loudly, grateful for the fact it was only you and the librarian in there. It was too late for anyone to enter anyway. You looked up and noticed the time was 12 am. Oh. 5 hours learning about the Sandman wasn't as bad compared to the morning when you took 2 hours, not much of a difference. The first day of your research, and you still couldn't find anything. You were led on a tale, determined to find the golden end. It had all started when you had finally returned back home.

You hesistantly walked around the house, the steps creeking when you walked up to the sound of ruckus coming from your childhood bedroom. Your parents had decided to renovate the house, "too old for their taste." You couldn't really disagree, some parts of the floor weren't even there. You slowly opened the door to find your father mumbling to himself incoherent words, as all of your belongings as a child were spread out on the floor.

"Dad.. You good?" You hesistantly called out to the old man who now wore wrinkles, the dark eyebags under his eyes that still held a twinkle of knowledge and wisdom as he always did, not even age could change that. His face held a nostalgic look, his stare glued to the books across the room, clothes you wore in your plays at school.

"Of course, kid. Just wondering how I'll be able to change this room." His voice was sombre, a soft tone coming along with it.

"Are you serious? No actual way - you kept this?" You had tried to focus on something more joyous, then your eyes landed on The Sandman. Your favourite book, you'd force your dad to read it to you every night when he tucked you into bed.

"How could I not? I remember you fussing to your mom how you'd stay awake the whole night unless we read the book to you. I mean, the amount of times she told you the Sandman would come and give you horrible dreams if you didn't behave was astonishing." He let out an amused laugh, his arms clutching his stomach.

"Right.." Your eyes spaced out, how come you had never noticed such intricate designs on it? The gold linings, the big letters in some type of medieval font you'd see in a tv show, and a piercing description of the Sandman as a man with shoulder length hair, pale skin, and a long black cloak.

"Where did you get it?" You murmured, out of your daze.

"I actually don't remember, I think it was your mother's as a child. Her grandma gave it to her.. You know, on a whim, her friend had given it to her. I forgot her name, something Constantine.." He took some time to ponder about the memory of the book.

"I suppose it's quite old than, isn't it?" You ran your hands over the book, the rough edges hurting your hand. Getting caught off guard caused you to drop the book. The last page fell out, before you could look at it, your dad called out to you.

"I think you have to leave now! It's time for the workers to come and start now! Just go pick up the things you want to keep!"

You hurriedly picked up your things that you used to cherish, and slipped the book into your bag that you held close to you the whole time in the car ride to your apartment.

You pulled the page out of your bag, inquistive to know what secrets it might have held.

You squinted your eyes to look at it further, how come you never came across this page as a child? It didn't make sense, you read this book front to back, probably a thousand times. Your eyes widened at the visual description of beings who resided in a realm, The Nightmare Realms or rather the Dreaming.

That was the caption under a brilliant flourish of colors used to paint multiple places that looked like anything in your most impossible dreams. You hummed to yourself, the song Mr. Sandman coming to your mind.

"The realm of the Dreaming is ruled by Dream of the Endless, one of the seven Endless. From him came the realm in which all go to when they fall asleep, he has created nightmares, or dreams to help conduct the humans' lives, making them face their fears or dreams. It is because of this realm, humans are also able to face themselves. Now, what about the king himself? He's a fair ruler, he has to be. None of us can change our place or purpose, his own brother Destiny is sure of that."

You raised your eyebrow at this? This is a new spin of the story, you'd never heard this before. The author spoke as though they were real beings, real place. You chuckled to yourself. What if you dreamt there? Would that even be possible.. if it existed? Could you go through those beautiful places, and that library looked so large!

"He goes by many different forms and names according to the person. ONEIROS, MORPHEUS, SANDMAN, MURPHY, THE SHAPER OF FORM, KAI'CKUL, LORD OF THE DREAMING, THE DREAM KING, DREAM-SNEAK, THE DREAM- CAT, LORD Z'ORIL, KING OF THE RIDDLE REALMS, LORD OF THE DREAM WORLD, PRINCE OF STORIES, MONARCH OF THE SLEEPING MARCHES, HIS DARKNESS, THE DREAMWEAVER, THE NIGHTMARE KING, DREAM-CREATURE, THE SHAPER OF DREAMS, SULTAN OF SLEEP."

Now your interest certainly peeked, you never knew there could be such information and detail on a simple story parents told to kids to make them behave. There was such complex characteristics to detail someone that used sand to bring light-hearted dreams. Although, you wonder where he could have possibly gone when millions of people went to sleep around the world. Maybe, he had just decided, why not let humans be engulfed in dreams forever? Nonetheless, your focus went back to the page.

"He can walk through dreams, create them, but also break them. He has been through every human's dreams, as he is much of the Dreaming as it is him. An anthropomorphic personification is what he is. Being an essence and a form at the same time, that is the power he holds. No mere human can even dare to imagine the capability he has. He is the King of Dreams, hopefully he may grant you a good dream, little dreamer. Dream a little dream of him." - Fiddler's Green, your giver

When you read the last line, your head started to feel dizzy, as if someone was reorganzing your mind. You ignored it, who could Fiddler's Green be? Maybe someone from a few centuries ago who decided to write a good book? This seemed too.. realistic though. You had to atleast learn something, calm the earthquake emerging in your very being. Those words had moved your soul too much, like it was all real.

You rummaged through the books, ignoring the glares you received from others at the library. You had more important things to do then them, for sure. Except most people weren't trying to find out if the Sandman actually existed, or the Dreaming. The weird stare you got from the librarian when you mentioned the Sandman made you feel a little too self-conscious.

"The Sandman? My mom used to tell me that he'd give me nightmares if I wasn't good!"

You rolled your eyes slightly, you knew there had to be something. Who could write so much about something that didn't exist? If you told yourself four days ago that you were looking for remnants of the Sandman's existence, you'd laugh at yourself.

After five hours, you'd finally noticed the time was 12 am, it wouldn't be that bad to fall asleep, now would it? After all, it's a 24 hour library.. Maybe you could even dream of the splendid palace you saw in the illustrations.. Maybe you could-..

You easily plopped your head down against the table, your arms wrapping around your head, deep in a state of sleep. Although, it seemed you were having a normal dream, it was beyond that.

You looked around your surroundings, trying to make sure that you were actually there.

"No actual fuc-" You almost started to scream, when you saw a women come up to you.

Her smooth dark skin, her glasses, no. No. It couldn't be. Could it?

"You're Lucienne. No, see my subconscious is making this up, yeah! There's just no way-"

Her expression showed how alarmed she was.

"How did you know my name, and why are you in the Dreaming? You're a mortal. Aren't you..?" Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as if Delirium visited her, causing her to hallucinate you right infront of her.

"Well, I'll entertain this because this is a dream, even though I'm not supposed to fricking control myself in a dream! So you see, I just so happened to stumble across one of my favorite books as a kid, and some random person's page. Fiddler's Green, it was. Oh, and then I tried researching any of the information in there, but none! I just fell asleep." You spoke really fast, Lucienne was barely able to catch up with you.

Her face changed when she heard the name, Fiddler's Green.

"Did you just say Fiddler's Green?"

"Yeah..?"

"Are you serious?" She mumbled to herself, "What was the name of that book?"

You didn't think anything could happen, after all, it was just a dream. "The Sandman."

"How come I've never seen that book?" She murmured to herself again, her eyes roaming around the vast books across probably the largest library ever.

"T.. T.. T.. T.." She started to walk to the sections of books by letters, and you hurriedly followed her, you found a new type of energy within your dream.

"Th.. The.. Sandman?" She looked at you somewhat accusingly, but it quickly shaked off.

"Now what page is it?"

"The last." You said hesistantly, know starting to feel a little weary even though you knew you'd never forget such a place in your life.

"You were right.. Fiddler's Green did this.. Why though? To spread the hope of the Dreaming?" A fond smile grew on her face as she ran her fingers over the page, just like you did. The exact drawings of her, and others in the Dreaming on the page.

"But." She shut the book closed.

"We need to take care of you. How come I didn't sense a presence not of the Dreaming in its own realm? We should seek the conference of the King of Dreams himself."

She called for a name, "Morpheus!" Immediately, you could feel the ground slightly shake, as you appeared in a throne room, one with windows that held the most luminous colors you had ever seen. The throne seemed so enticing, you could imagine yourself sitting there. Except, somebody already has.

"The Sandman.." His name fell from your lips with a whisper and a small gasp. Beings like these weren't supposed to exist. His impassive face was just like in his painting. His jet black hair, down to the black robe. It was him. He was real all along, the Monarch of the Sleeping Marches. You couldn't even hide your surprise or fascination as Lucienne held your arm to keep you steady from falling on the ground.

"Lucienne. Have you brought me a mortal?" His voice brought you fear, but interest. It echoed against the high walls, a hoarse and penetrating voice.

"Yes, she stumbled into the library, she knows who we are. All of us, the Dreaming, everything. Fiddler's Green wrote a book on you, and on the last page.. I only wanted to share my theory with you, but I believe she has been tied to the Dreaming.. as one of it's own."

"What..?" His calm and steady voice rang out.

"As one of it's own.. Did you say?"

"Yes, but-"

"Give me the page, Lucienne." He said her name with a harsh tone, even though she hadn't done anything. You stayed quiet during the matter, not wanting to bring attention to yourself even though it was about you. After all, all you did was read the page.

Lucienne went up the steps, which seemed to take some time. She handed the page that was stuffed in her pocket.

He held the crinkled page to look at it, if he had any care for how the life of the Dreaming were revealed to a mortal, or how beautiful it was, he didn't show it at all.

His eyes didn't let go of the last line.

Dream a little dream of him." - Fiddler's Green, your giver

Had his own creation forgotten how powerful their own words were? Fiddler's Green had made a promise, as a dream himself, he promised to make you a part of the Dreaming aswell when he called himself your giver. He gave you a part of the Dreaming, now you were stuck. Every night when you would dream, you'd be in the Dreaming. You were now a resident, he supposed.

He looked at you hard one last time, inadvertently, he couldn't change what happened. Fiddler's Green promise had already been made, even if he got rid of the page, it couldn't change it.

Now, you were one of them.

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