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sciencelings-writes · 10 months

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The Fable of the Dragon and the Phoenix

Day 4 of Zelink Week: hosted by @zelinkcommunity

Prompt: Hand in Hand

WC: 4003

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48558865

Summary: In Chinese culture, the dragon is a symbol of divinity, power, and royalty, they are immortal creatures with the natural forces of the earth at the tips of their claws, the phoenix is a symbol of transformation and rebirth, the beautiful rulers of the skies, the majestic weaver of flames. Together they are the perfect symbol of lovers, together they are balanced and whole.

Zelda makes an eternal choice and Link learns to rise from the ashes.

Link dreamt of death. For a century he had experienced the relief it provided, the reprieve from the fear and the stress that was so intertwined with his life that not even sleep could shield him from the experience. Every waking moment was spent chasing visions and killing monsters, every moment he managed to sleep was filled with nightmares of fiery eyes and a world covered in blood.

He wanted to blame the gloom clinging to his veins, ever since his body was corrupted he had been consumed with an emptiness that could only be compared to a freezing-cold depression that no fire could thaw. But the same moment had also been the one that he failed to save Zelda. Whatever the cause, they had a similar compounding effect. One that sent him spiraling down a familiar path.

Spiraling like the beach, whose center held the final tear that he had been dreading to collect. Though he knew the vision he would be given would not be kind, he scrambled to the location the moment it had been revealed to him. He was desperate to see a glimpse of her, one that wasn’t an illusion made to take advantage of his love for her.

There was no use running now, the constant allure of adventure had died in its tracks. What was the purpose of visiting shrines and exploring caves when the one thing he wanted to save was already lost? How could he even consider continuing his search when it was uncountable thousands of years too late?

Link’s mind numbly acknowledged his knees hitting the sand. The white, nearly blue glow illuminated his loose hair that fell free in front of his eyes as his head hung low, fixating on one of the many flowers that had appeared in front of him. His name being among her last echoed so loudly in his ears that he was surprised he could hear anything else.

He had cautiously hoped that the worst-case scenario would be that she would be unable to escape the past, but would still be able to live a long happy life, even if he would never get to see her again. She deserved that much, after everything that she’s been through. He never imagined that he would witness her functionally commit suicide only for a sword. To win a fight he couldn’t even bring himself to care about.

Would beating the demon king fix anything? Would it miraculously bring her back? Would a single thing that he has lost be returned to him? Would he ever be free of this curse? It was too much to hope, wasn’t it. That the death of one man held the key to turning everything back to how it was.

Even with Ganondorf dead, what would be left? Zelda would still be gone, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stand the countless reminders of her influence across the kingdom. She was so known and so loved and he had been so happy to simply be referred to as hers. Wherever she wandered, he had always been by her side, to the point that seeing them separated was nearly unheard of. The most frequently asked questions ever since he had emerged from the castle’s crater were always ‘Where’s Zelda? Why isn’t she with you?’

Before he knew it, his cheeks were wet and his eyes burned so badly that he had to squeeze them shut. His chest spasmed as sobs clawed their way to the surface, strong enough that he didn’t even attempt to hold them all back. His tears dripped off his chin into the basin that seemed to be created just for that purpose.

For once, the control of his emotions slipped through his fingers without trying to stop it, he had held strong for so long to reassure everyone else that he would get their princess back, and everyone was convinced that he could do it. There wasn’t really anyone left that he felt like he could express himself with, whether that be because he didn’t want to be a burden to them or he just wasn’t close enough to them to be comfortable with it.

He had so many people on his side, cheering for him from the sidelines, but not a single one deserved to have to deal with him like this. A perfect swordsman now crumpled on the ground in a puddle of pitiful tears.

Sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t what everyone said he was. The valiant hero who defeated the calamity, as if he didn’t nearly die again a hundred more times just to get to the point where he could approach a guardian without his sword arm shaking from sheer terror. Some hero he was, he could never save what mattered the most to him.

A thunderous roar interrupted his thoughts, sending waves of force crashing into him purely from the sound of it. The water around him rippled from the vibrations and the loose sand blew in clouds away from the sound's origin.

Link’s head whipped upwards towards it, and he saw her, or what remained of her. Her scales shined gold and iridescent in the afternoon sun and even in the bright daylight she clearly glowed with a divine power he had only been blessed enough to witness a few times. She was still so beautiful, but he far preferred her in pants stained by grass and ink, with a smile that burned brighter than whatever magic she had sacrificed herself for.

A rock conveniently plummeted down between him and the one he had been searching for since she fell. He had started running at it before it had even landed. He desperately needed to get up to her, he nearly tripped face-first into the water as he scrambled to his magic elevator. He ignored a cut he got from the stone as he tried to climb to the top of it as furiously as he could.

Link was rarely impatient, but the boulder rose from the sky far too slowly. He itched to throw himself at her but he knew if he lept prematurely he wouldn’t be able to make it. So he waited, tapping his foot at a speed that resembled the beat of a hummingbird's wings. Finally, he launched himself into the air and flew onto her back.

He could immediately feel the power radiating off of her, it was a warm and intensely comforting energy that wrapped itself around him like a blanket. For now, the agony of what happened to her seemed to diminish, though not totally, and not forever.

His boots thumped quickly against her scales as he made his way to her head. Even his natural inclination to get distracted by the fragmented pieces of her spikes, which if she were any other dragon, he wouldn’t even hesitate to collect. He didn’t even wonder what they would do, all he could think about was getting to her face.

Maybe he could still fix this. Maybe he could wake her up. Maybe she would recognize him. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

He climbed through her mane of golden hair and passed by the master sword fused with her forehead without a single thought, he already began to lose the tiny drops of hope he had managed to come up with as she didn’t even notice him standing right on her nose.

“Zelda? Hey Princess, can you hear me?” He asked after clearing his throat from the thick feeling coating it. He pushed through how it burned from his grief, and forced a pleasant tone of voice, as if this day of chasing her tears weren’t the worst day of his life, even surpassing the day the calamity rose or the one where he died.

Her ear didn’t even twitch, her eyes continued to dart around the empty sky, focusing on nothing in particular. She did nothing to acknowledge that Link was standing on her nose, that there was anything different about her life at all.

“It’s okay,” he lied, “I’m sorry it took so long, I need to stop making you wait for me.” His hastily placed mask of pleasantness was quickly crumbling, as he was already unable to stop the stuttering gasps one has before breaking into sobs.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I didn’t catch you,” He sniffled, “I wish I didn’t send you the sword, I wish you could’ve lived, I bet you were having a blast watching history unfold before your eyes. I bet it was cool to see everything before all that was left was ruins. I bet you got everyone to love you back then too.”

When there was no response, Link found himself sitting on her snout, straddling it like it was the back of a horse. His head low from the weight of everything until it met the short fur between her eyes. He had already cried so many tears, yet more kept coming. He never seemed to run dry.

“I love you, I know I haven’t been able to put it into words, but I hope you knew. I hope you could tell. I’m sorry I didn’t say it when you could remember me. If- when I fix this, that’s the first thing I’ll tell you. You deserve to hear it even if I have been too much of a coward to say it before it was too late.” The ache became too much and what weight he was sustaining with his arms sent him collapsing into her. He instinctually folded his arms to shield his face from the rest of the world.

“I love you when you’re a scientist and you cover our walls in diagrams and notes and you can’t stop talking about whatever is interesting you that day, I love you when you’re teaching the kids and you struggle to simplify complex concepts and end up teaching them about theoretical physics derived from sheikah technology, I love you when you’re gardening and you braid the flowers you had to prune in my hair because you hate just leaving them in a vase. I love you when you decided to reclaim the throne even though it was hard and it scared you, I love that you love your kingdom more than they could ever realize, I love that you can get anyone you meet to love you.”

“I even love you like this, because I know that there's still a little bit left of you in there, even though you’re not rambling about the latest book you’ve read or about how your flower hybrids are coming along, I can feel you in there. You’re still the light that freed me from death and I still feel that light now.”

Link wasn’t sure that he could turn her back, all that he knew about draconification was that it was permanent. People far smarter than he was had likely studied it so many thousands of years ago and banned it for how it destroyed one's mind. It was impossible to say if there even was a way to reverse it, even if there was, any scraps of information that they’d find about the forbidden magic were unlikely to include a cure. It seemed like even Minaru had been convinced that there was no way to undo what had been done.

He would try, of course, he would try, but even now he was already mourning a failure. He would try, he planned to search the depths and dig for any stone tablet that mentioned dragons on it, but he was almost sure that it wouldn’t be enough. He was pretty good at doing the impossible, but this was a curse from a people that had gone extinct so long ago, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t just be able to hold up his hand and ask Rauru about it. The world was never that kind to him.

Link didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard a different sound ring in his ears. It was the metallic song of an object he had started this tragedy by neglecting. The sword was the thing that tied them together, whose broken state was ultimately the reason Zelda chose to sacrifice everything.

For a moment, he despised it with all of his being. From the moment he had been led to pick up the holy blade, his life had been set on a path of misery. Its consequences broke him beyond what any blessed magic could fix. It stole his voice and stole his life and stole his memories and stole countless lives of people he was born to protect, and worst of all, it stole her. It stole the years of life she had left and convinced her to curse herself eternally. Just so a stupid sword could make itself strong enough to kill a stupid guy who killed simply for the promise of power.

It wasn’t the sword's fault it broke, it wasn’t the sword's fault that he was chosen to bear its burden. He had someone with more reason to be angry at, and directing it at a soulless blade was a waste of the burning rage that suddenly coursed through his veins.

When he finally stood, he looked towards the tendrils of scarlet that surrounded the castle. Horrors left behind by a vile creature who believed he could conquer the world and mold it to his own desires.

The Calamity had felt more like a divine force, a scourge of nature with motives far bigger than what could be understood by the likes of the mortals that lived above it. Ganondorf was far simpler. As many times he hailed himself a king or a god, it did nothing to change the fact that he was just a man.

Link had been through things far more terrifying than a mummy with a craving for power. Though neither the calamity nor the experience of death had been as malicious towards him specifically, neither of them toyed with him by parading the ghost of the princess he was chasing or puppeted her around when he was so desperate to find her. Neither of them spoke with her voice to get him to abandon all reason to distract him.

However, not one single part of that scared him. None of that compared to how quickly the castle and its adjacent town were consumed in smoke, or how one by one the divine beasts glowed magenta, turning into moving sepulchers before his eyes. None of that could be compared to running for their lives away from the beast they were born to defeat, or realizing when one injury would be the last one he could take. Ganondorf’s ploy was nothing compared to waking up alone with nothing but a name and having to take on a broken world he knew he had failed.

Link knew fear, and there wasn’t a trace of it when he thought of the so-called ‘demon king.’

His hand wrapped around the hilt of the Master Sword, it was so familiar, so reliable, so filled with golden light that it felt more like Zelda than whatever it had been before. Just like he had done so many times before, he pulled.

What wasn’t like every other time he had released the sword from its pedestal, was the reaction of the ground beneath his feet and the horrible roar she bellowed. His immediate thought was that he had to let go, he was hurting her, how could he hold on when he was hurting her! He forced his grip to stay steady as a violent whip of her head knocked him off his feet.

He clenched his teeth together as she screamed in agony, the pit in his stomach grew even as he found his footing again and continued to force the blade from its home of ten thousand years. He never wanted to hurt her, he couldn’t imagine even trying to justify it, but he had to get his sword back or her entire sacrifice would’ve been a waste.

For several minutes, the sword was nothing more than a handle for him to grab so he wouldn’t be flung off into the sky, he was rarely ever balanced enough to truly pull it like he was meant to. All the while his ears were filled with her deep sirens of pain that he was directly responsible for, and the deafening wind that tore into him physically just as deeply as Zelda’s screams did psychologically.

All at once, the chaos stopped. The light dragon's shrieks grew silent and the force trying to divide them vanished as she led them up into the sky above the clouds. Up there the whole world was golden, with sparking rays of sunlight glowing on the fluffy layer that separated them from the kingdom below. Link was tempted to reach his hand out to touch it, if only to see the water vapor swirl between his fingers and give any movement to the heavenly skies that seemed so still. Between the sudden calmness of the dragon below him and the lack of wind, it was difficult to determine if they were even moving at all.

One more time, his hands positioned themselves on the darkness-sealing sword. He didn’t even have to pull. The spiraling tendrils of fur loosened their grip on the glowing blade and fell back to their origin. She was giving it to him. She was letting it go.

He held onto it as petals of warm light bloomed from the blade's recovered form, he was a little disappointed, the gold was rather pretty. It left behind a bright metal that shined in the pattern left behind when it had been damaged. Perhaps it was fitting that the sword be left with scars just like her master.

Link brought the flat of the blade to his face, so he was looking right at the symbol of the Triforce. For a moment, he bowed his head as if he was sending a prayer to the goddess. He had no words to give her, he didn’t need her quiet well wishes or luck where he was going. Even if Ganondorf’s army was filled with King Gleeoks and armored silver Lynels, it wouldn’t be enough to keep him from tearing that bastard down.

Even demon kings died, and Link took a little bit of pleasure in knowing that he was the one born to do it. Perhaps that would be enough to temper the fury within his bones that shielded him from the grief of Zelda’s sacrifice. Killing him wouldn’t fix everything, but it might.

There was only one way to find out.

***

Link felt like he had come back from the dead, which was a little odd, because he couldn’t remember dying. He could feel his spirit still settling back into his body, like dye slowly mixing with water, starting from his chest and slowly gaining feeling in his arms and legs. He felt heavy, something was pulling at him, but he couldn’t figure out what. He knew he must’ve been dreaming, or… something. There were the ghosts of recent images in his mind that he couldn’t quite decipher, just golden light and ghostly turquoise clouds.

He forced his eyes open and made the discovery that he was falling. With a gasp of thin air, it all came back to him. Rauru and Sonia, being filled with blinding light, turning the slumbering light dragon back into the person he had been chasing this entire time.

Link jerked his head around, searching for her, ignoring the fact that he was plummeting head-first toward the world below. She was nearly a speck of white in the distance underneath him. Immediately, he dove for her. He reached his arm out long before he was even close to grasping her again.

She drew closer and closer until he was worried about diving too fast past her or into her and risking hurting her. He carefully leveled off his body as quickly as he could bear before grasping for her hand that limply trailed in front of her in her unconsciousness.

He was inches away. One more desperate push, and finally, his hand was in hers once again. He immediately pulled her towards him, wrapping his arm securely around her shoulders. The other made its way to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair. He could’ve claimed it was to protect her as they dropped, but in reality, he just needed to be close to her again.

The wind swept away the relieved sob he couldn’t help but let slip out as he tucked his head into her bare shoulder. He had done all he could to convince himself that it would be hopeless. He knew how much more it hurt to cling to hope when there was no reason to. He chased memories that were doomed to never return and people who had died so long ago that weren’t lucky enough to linger if only for a single conversation. There was safety in accepting that it was too late, that all attempts were all for nothing.

But she was here, in his arms. Alive and breathing, the sound of her heart beating rumbled steadily beneath the ear he had pressed near the artery in her neck. If they weren’t plunging through the air faster than a burning comet of fragmented stars, he could’ve imagined waking up in their bed in Hateno as entangled as they were.

Link wasn’t afraid of falling, he never hesitated to leap off of high places the moment King Rhoam first gave him his paraglider. He loved the feeling of floating weightlessly in the air, seeing the full majesty of the kingdom he had sworn to protect. He rode the air currents of the dragons without a worry of falling too far, but he had never felt like he was flying.

Now, while plummeting through the skies, he had never felt more like he was soaring. She was his wings, her return was the only thing keeping him from sinking so far into the darkness that there was no hope he could make his way back up to the surface. He had gotten so used to the gloom that infected his veins and the refusal to hope that he would ever see her again that he had forgotten what it had felt like for everything to be right.

He should’ve worried about landing, or about thinking of a way to pull out his paraglider while being able to keep his hold on her. He should’ve at the very least brought his eyes out from their hiding place in the crook of her neck. He didn’t. He trusted that some divine force would save them, perhaps they had earned just one more miracle.

Link held her through reaching terminal velocity through the air, through the sudden impact and submersion into a body of water, through yet another fight for their lives and their world, and even when they were safe on the surface, he hesitated to let her go. Even though his muscles ached and the emotional whiplash had mentally exhausted him, he held her close to his chest and prayed for her to wake up.

Eventually, his exhaustion won and he had to let her down gently into the grass before his legs gave out and she was given a less-than-romantic wake-up call. It took a moment, a second of feeling a steady stream of water transfer from his soaking wet hair down his bare back, of ignoring how the white fabric of her dress had turned partially transparent and clung to her thighs.

In the golden light of the sun, pouring through the fluffy clouds, Zelda’s eyes began to flutter. After countless thousands of years, she was finally allowed to wake up, and Link would be there by her side to wish her a good morning.

#zelink week 2023 #hand in hand #zelink #totk #totk spoilers #tears of the kingdom #totk fic #zelink week #tears of the kindom spoilers

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touchoflaughter · 7 months

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The Clegane Brothers pt. 3

[GOT Tk-Fic]

Fic below the cut ⇣

[Ticklish!Sandor⎢Ler/Gregor]

Authors note: This is the sequel to The Clegane Brothers pt.1 & pt.2 (you're invited to read them first but you don't necessarily have to). I couldn’t help but make a little drawing of the scene once again. Hehe.

sfw nsfw

Summary: Y'all remember when Sandor trapped his big brother and tickled him to oblivion for revenge? Well, let's say the most feared knight of the kings guard won't put up with that...

warnings: this is a tickle fic⎢non-con tickling⎢foul language

Something was off. Sandor had a bad feeling for days now.

Since he made the escape out of the woods and hid a few days successfully from his vengeful brother, they first collided at the court for a training session with the other knights.

To Sandors surprise, Gregor didn't seem to seek revenge. He didn’t even talk to Sandor at first. It almost seemed as if the older one was ashamed due to the past events. The days went by and things returned to normal. Gregor acted as if nothing happened so the younger brother almost hoped the humiliation from the woods would be forgotten and never be talked about again. He'd loved to tease Gregor with the things he found out but he wasn't tired of life.

But now, about two weeks after his wicked revenge, Sandor felt like a massive storm is coming up all of a sudden. Gregs behaviour didn't change but he simply knew his brother won't just take such a humiliation. Him being so polite and unbothered was not a good but a warning sign. He probably planned something even worse, than Sandor could ever make up in his head.

What can I say? He knew his brother well. Cause he was right. Oh man, he was damn right. And then- the day came...

It was one of those warm and sunny evenings at Casterly Rock when Sandor decided to finally reach out to one of the maids, named Mable. He courted her for a long time now. He brought her flowers and wrote a few poets, even though he knew he wasn't good at it. And now, finally, he asked her to meet at one of the terraces with a great view over the sunset sea.

He had prepared a little picnic and was pretty nervous when he waited for her. Sandor wasn't used to feel such agitation. She was the most beautiful creature he ever laid his eyes on and much more important to him than all the negligible affairs before. Since he had seen Mable, he forgot about all the other girls he'd been with. Mable was not only beautiful. She was also smart and graceful with a great sense of humour. On top she wasn't panting after his highly trained knight's body like everyone else but seemed mildly unimpressed by his uncommon strength.

Of course this behaviour attracted and triggered Sandor in same measure. So he suggested to go to the training court after they finished their picnic. He planned to give her a taste of his skills and strength, hoping she'd be impressed. But things took a turn...

"Who's gonna fight me?", Sandor entered the court with Mable on his side and a lot of confidence hin his luggage.

The few men that were currently training looked at him confusedly.

"What about me?", another voice sounds from a different direction. It was -oh no-

Sandor hasn't seen his brother in the dark corner to his left, practising some shadowboxing. Even though the younger one was pretty well trained and uncommonly strong for his age, he'd never dare and challenge Gregor. The Mountain was feared among the knights, for good reasons.

But now he couldn't back down in front of the girl he desperately tried to impress. "Umm-", Sandor mumbled when Greg paused his practise and walked over to them.

"Isn't that your brother? The mountain?", Mable asked. Something in her voice had changed. She wasn't as confident anymore. It seems his presence somehow frightened her.

"That's right. But don't worry, I fought him many times before.", Sandor tried to play it cool, knowing exactly his brother always spares him. But he wasn't so sure he'd do him this favour now, after what happened.

Suddenly Greg put his arm on his little brothers shoulder what made Sandor look small next to his gigantic shape. He bowed down so his head was right behind Sandors ear and whispered loud enough, that Mable could hear him too: "So that's your new girl, huh? I bet she's not aware of your little weakness yet?"

Sandors stomach tightened but he tried not to show: "Beat it, Gregor!"

"That's perfect.", Gregor pulled his shirt over his head and then got into his typical fighting position. "I thought about my revenge a lot. Embarrassing you in front of your girl is better than anything I would've come up with!"

Sandor looked over to Mable, who was closely monitoring, shaking her head barely noticeable. "Don't."

He looked at his older brothers massive body with every muscle bulging clearly and already knew whatever was coming, he wouldn't perform well. What was also sure by now: Gregor wouldn't be as merciful this time. But turn tail before they even started wasn't an option.

Intentionally or not- Sandor also got into his fighting position, looking up to his 6.9 ft bear of a brother who was grinning from ear to ear. The younger one swallowed hard before he quickly moved forward and threw a punch. Gregor didn't dodge the attack on purpose, let his brother strike into his stone hard obliques just to show it doesn't mean shit to him.

"Adorable.", he snickered. All of a sudden his arm shot forward and caught Sandors fist who tried to land the next punch. Their eyes met for a second when Sandor realised it was over already.

The mountain turned his wrist, forcing Sandor to the ground, placing himself right above him. With his wrist tightly secured in his hand, he had full control over his little bothers body and movements.

"That's all it takes? I thought I trained you better!", Gregor shook his head disappointedly. Sandor was deeply embarrassed. He never lose that fast before, not even against his brother. That was by far his worst performance. "Let me go!" It was hard to understand what he was saying with his head being pushed into the dusty ground.

"Good joke, little one.", Gregor chuckled again. "We're not done here."

"Greg, no!", Sandors heart started racing. He didn't knew exactly what his brother would do to him but he knew he'd ruthlessly humiliate him in some way. With Mable watching.

He looked up to her from below and saw that she had her hands in front of her mouth with wide eyes.

"What's your name, precious?", Gregor ignored his brother beneath him, turning towards the maid.

"Mable.", she tried to sound confident but everyone could hear the insecurity in her voice. Some of the other knights had come closer to watch the scene. Most of them had been defeated by Sandor before, so they desired to watch the skilled knight getting his ass handed to him.

"Beautiful name. So Mable, you probably think my little brother is a respectable warrior who's going to protect you with these strong muscles.", Gregor squeezed into Sandors defined bicep, right beneath the armpit, who immediately flinched with an involuntary grunt leaving his throat.

"Well- you're wrong.", Greg snickered. "Listen up guys!", he turned towards the other knights. "Everyone who had been beaten by him, I‘ll give you some information you can deal with however you want!“

„Gregor NO! Shut up!“, the younger brother shouted strongly. He had a bad feeling about this.

„You gotta know he may be able to defeat you if you’re attacking with fists or swords - but - have you tried fingers yet?“, without further warning Gregor scribbled his free hand all over Sandors involuntary exposed ribcage.

„GREG NOHOHOO FUHUHUCK YOUHAHAHAA!!“, Sandor started twitching from left to right uncontrollably, shouting and laughing from the top of his lungs. He couldn‘t even hold it in for at least a few seconds.

The knights exchanged some irritated but amused looks while Gregor continued tickling his brothers ribs: "What's wrong, Sandor? Are we a little ticklish?"

Sandor started screaming while laughing his ass off when Gregor stayed at his back ribs, a really bad spot indeed. "PLEHEHEASE! STOHOHOP!!" He didn't dare to look up to Mable who was probably still watching the scene. Sandor was deeply embarrassed about how the situation turned out. "NOHOHO MOHORE PLEHEASE GREHEGAHAHAA!!"

All of a sudden the tickling stopped. Between his own diminishing laughter, Sandor heard a weird noise, something like the squeak of a piglet. Greg let go of him and Sandor immediately turned towards him to dodge any further attacks. The scene before him surprised the younger brother completely: Mable had sneaked up on Gregor from behind to attack him with tickles as well! Greg, wo was caught completely off guard couldn't stifle an involuntary squeak and fell off of him.

"W-What are youhu-", Sandor stumbled, still giggling, looking at the young woman in absolute disbelieve.

Gregor turned around as quick as a viper, catching her hands in a heartbeat. with her wrists captured, he got up and increased his appearance to his full size. "What do you think you're doing?"

Mable looked up to him with a cheeky smile. Her attitude had changed. Even though she has fallen into disgrace by now, she seemed confident again. "I was tickling you:", she answered with a smirk.

Gregor looked down with a stony face. He didn't know what to counter when, out of nothing, he squeaked again!

Sandor had approached from behind and clawed into his brothers ribs! Gregs arms immediately trapped his hands but he couldn't build up enough pressure to immobilise his fingers completely so Sandor continued tickling him. Every muscle in Gregors giant body tensed while he tried not to burst out laughing. His grip around Mable‘s wrists loosened while trying to figure out what to do.

"Come on guys! Help us! That's your chance to take revenge for every time he humiliated you!", Sandor invited the knights around.

That was the moment Gregor knew he needed to act. He let go of Mable and turned around to face his brother. He didn't waste a second and pounced on him to start a rigorous tickle attack. But before Gregor could lay his hands on his brothers ticklish upper body, two tiny hands squeezed into his sides from behind. "Ehehey!!" He turned his head around, still sitting on his brothers waist, only to meet Mables bold gaze. She smirked when she continued clawing into his ribs.

"Fuhuck! Stop that NOW!", Greg captured one of her hands when very sudden his other wrist was pulled backwards. He lost his balance and fell on his back. Then he saw one of the knights, who had pulled him off his brother and now kneeled on his arm. Before he could use his free hand to grab him, another knight caught it and did the same. Gregor didn't know what hit him when he suddenly laid flat on his back, two knights kneeling on his tree trunk shaped arms and another two hurrying to hold his ankles in place. "What-?! GET OFF YOU BASTARDS!"

Well- those knights might enjoyed watching Sandor being punished but Gregor?? Gregor was the epitome of harassment to them. They’d probably give their left leg to see him suffer for once.

The mountain pulled as hard as he could and - indeed! - he managed to lift up his arms slowly but surely, with the whole bodyweight of his opponents on top! His strength was inhuman!

Just when the knights realized it was a risky idea to challenge this monster of a man, his brother rose up in front of him. His eyes had a fierce glance. "You're going to suffer SO BAD for this."

"Sandor-", Gregor shook his head in a warning manner. "You'll regret this!"

"How could I regret this?", he smirked when he kneeled down next to his brother. Then he slid one finger up and down his side, drawing little circles here and there. The muscles on Gregors upper body bulged out again. "Ahhrghh. DON'T!"

"Wan't a piece of the cake too?", Sandor grinned over to Mable who came closer with an evil smirk. She seemed proud of her actions.

"Sit down.", he winked at her and she kneeled on Gregors left.

"You thought it would be a nice revenge to humiliate me in front of my girl? Well, you underestimated her.", Sandor smirked, then made an inviting gesture. "Ladies first."

Mables smile widened when she started wiggling her fingers at Gregor, who's eyes widened. He seemed to be unable to accept what was going on here. Again, he tried his best to get out, while shaking his head. "Nonono! Don't you dare!"

"Oh I dare!", she snickered when her sharp nails started skittering all over his ribcage. Gregor immediately lost it: "EHEHEVIL BIHITCH! KNOHOCK IT OFF!"

"Wow he's indeed very ticklish!", she giggled, surprised about his intense reaction.

"Right?", Sandor snickered. "I always wanted to test how bad his armpits are." He moved is hands in his direction and watched Gregor go crazy about it.

"NOHO FUHUCK NOO! DON'T TOHOUCH ME!", he sounded pretty fed up but the involuntary giggling due to the soft tickling of Mable destroyed his fearsomeness.

"I'll be gentle, don't worry.", Sandor smirked when he slid one finger from Gregors elbow down his bicep.

"FUHUCKING PRIHICK!!", Gregor tried everything in his power to free himself but for the first time (in forever?) nothing helped. Six opponents at once that were also aware of his probably biggest weakness was simply too much. He was inferior.

When Sandor finally reached his exposed armpit, a helpless scream slipped out of Gregors throat: "AHHHAHAAA PLEHEHEASE DON'T!! SAHAHANDOR!"

"I think I never saw someone as ticklish as him! Wow!", one of the knights chuckled.

"I mean you barely touch him!", another agreed.

"Yeah but we can change that!", Sandor grinned and started clawing into both of Gregors armpits at once.

An indescribable scream, followed by hysterical laughter was Gregors involuntary response to that merciless attack. While everyone was exchanging surprised looks while smirking or chuckling because of that reaction, Mable started kneading his hips softly.

Gregor, who wasn't able to threaten anymore, shook his hip from left to right, to escape her torturous hands. But Mable wasn't easy to dismiss, so she climbed on his waist to straddle it. Unfortunately her bodyweight wasn't enough for the mountain to hold still, so Sandor climbed on his chest as well. Now he was immobilised completely.

When Sandor looked down to his screaming and laughing brother, he recognised an uncommon glance on his face: Fear.

He didn't even know the mountain was able to sense such an emotion. So the younger one decided it was time to give him a break and slowly decreased the tickling. Mable also stopped and the laughter slowly subsided.

While Gregor still was breathing heavily, Sandor bent forward so his face was only a few centimetres away from Gregs.

"Do you apologise, brother?"

A contemptuously hiss was the answer.

"You sure?", Sandor snickered, clearly enjoying the power he held in this moment. He started drawing soft, little circles with his pointing finger right beneath Gregors armpit, an even worse spot he discovered.

"You little shihit!", his big brother growled when another giggle slipped. "Youhu better apohologise!"

"Wrong answer.", Sandor chuckled, while giving everyone a sign, Gregor clearly understood. "You seem to mistake the situation. You're not the one in charge here."

"SANDOR, NO! FUCK DON'T LET THEM- PLEASE! WE'RE BROTHERS!", Gregors panic grew when he noticed the knights on his ankles were taking his shoes off.

"You know the game of thrones brother. You described it to me quite a few times. Wether you win-or?", Sandor looked down at him with an evil smirk. "Say it."

"MY ASS!", Gregor shouted.

"Say. It.", Sandor started kneading his armpits, provoking helpless laughter once again.

"-ohor youhu diehehee!", Gregor gave in, laughing desperately.

"Correct! Since you lost, it’s time to die now!", Sandor celebrated when all at once started tickling a certain spot:

The knights that were sitting on his legs spidered their fingers over his bare soles, the ones on his arms were targeting an armpit each while Mable focused on his thighs. Sandor was still kneeling on top of his hips, kneading his sides and ribs mercilessly.

That was too much for the mountain, who remained more of a molehill, at best.

“BAHAHAHA-BAHAASTAHARDS!! I’LL KIHILL Y’AHAHAALL!!”, he screamed on top of his lungs before his words drowned in a hysterical laughing fit.

“Aww poor brother, are you too sensitive to handle a little tickling?”, Sandor mocked, knowing he’d be doomed himself if he was sin Gregors shoes. “Look at the fierce Mountain, everyone! Collapsing under a few skittering fingers!”

“FUHUCK OHOFF!”, Greg groaned tortured between the high-pitched laughter.

“Hopefully our enemies won’t figure this out!”, one of the knights chuckled.

“The’d probably switch their swords to a more effective weapon. Such as feathers!”, another one laughed along.

“Shush!”, Mable acted as if she wanted to protect Gregor, only to go one better: “It must be hard for him to train his whole life and maintain the facade of a fierce warrior only to have it destroyed in seconds because of this big weakness he can do nothing about!”

Gregor, who was still laughing uncontrollably, didn’t get much of the conversation but he knew they were making fun of him. He hasn’t been humiliated like this his whole life. And he knew he couldn’t take much more. No more teasing but especially no more tickle torture.

“I’LL PEHEEEL OFF YOUR SKIHIN AHAND EHEAT IT FOHOR DIHINNER!!”, he threatened, helplessly laughing.

“What did you say? Couldn’t understand due to all that laughter bubbling out of your mouth.”, Sandor chuckled poking his abs continuously.

“LIHISTEN YOUHU FUHUCKERS!! HE’S MY BRHOHOTHER AND SHE’S AHAHA GIHIRL BUHUT YOUHU-“, Gregor turnt to the knights, that were totally absorbed in tickling him to pieces. “-I’LL TAHAHAKE YOUR LIHIVES IF YOUHU DON’T STAHAHAP RIHIGHT NOW!! I MEHEAN IT!!” Gregor almost failed to finish his sentence due to all the laughter and upcoming coughing.

Well, that threat had an impact finally. The knights exchanged knowing looks, aware of the ruthlessness the giant warrior normally shows. They knew he wasn’t joking.

“Don’t listen to him! That’s empty talk! The king would punish him endlessly if he harms any of you.”, Sandor tried to prevent them from turning their back on him.

“I’LL MAHAKE IT LOHOOK LIKE AHAN ACCIDEHENT!”, Gregor countered with all the discipline he had left. The knights had stopped the tickling when one suddenly rose up. He had secured one of his arms so Greg didn’t waste any time and grabbed the other one that still kneeled on his other forearm.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry!”, he immediately pleaded, even though there were still four people securing the rest of Gregors body.

Sandor, who realised it’s only a matter of time, Gregor would free himself completely, exchanged a warning look with Mable: "Run!"

She looked from him to Gregor who slowly but surely rose up. "B-But you-"

"I'll be fine! Now leave!", Sandor demanded while giving his everything to hold his brother down.

Mable didn't seem convinced but she rose up and hurried to make a run from it. She knew she wasn't able to protect Sandor from him so she decided to at least save herself. The other knights immediately did the same, hoping they could somehow get away with what they've done.

Only seconds later, Sandor was left alone with his exhausted brother who was still boiling with rage. Without much effort the Mountain freed himself and pinned Sandor beneath him.

"Truce?", the younger one asked with intimidation.

The evil smirk on his brothers lips was answer enough.

"You know how it is, Sandor. Power is power. And you'll have a taste of mine now."

#fics by aphro #got tickle fic #tickle fic #tickle fights #tickling #tword fic #tword blog #tword content #got fic #the mountain #the hound fic #house clegane #game of thrones fic #tickle community #sfw tickles #tickle blog #tickles

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soulntes · 1 year

Text

SEYKXEL KAY'S FIRST COMMUNION WITH EYWA

BONUS CHAPTER - PART 1

PART 2

the little bundle of joy resting in her arms smiling with filled giggles that ring happiness to her pointy ears, bringing light in the darkness. seykxel plays with ingyen's handmade jewelry and clothing hanging that entertained the young child, holding onto a jade like stone that caught his curiosity meanwhile she prepares their kelku on their first night together in their hut.

with the help and teaching from max, norm and the scientists at the lab gladly volunteering for her accustomed of mothering a human child, she became a natural in caring for him. there were similar teachings which she picked up when her mother raised her that help her relax like a lullaby for a long awaited nap to lull his slumber. anything she weaved and crafted for toys and clothing, her son loved the texture and the comparison he makes in seeing a real animal from one of his toys.

ingyen knew it wasn't going to be an easy task but she will love her child 'til her last breathe and her body stands her ground in protecting him from harm.

the journey is an ongoing of judgmental stares and whispers among the omatikaya clan of mo'at's daughter's choice of declaration on a sky demon's child, claiming as her own. the obvious hatred deep within their hearts can not change the damage sky demons have done to their home but putting it on a child, born between wars and the very man who caused the hurt, simply will not be tolerated for ingyen. there's a deep part of her that this is how her sister neytiri felt when she announced being mated before eywa with the tawtute.

right at the moment she felt what she had wanted and that's the love of this child and his growth to be omatikaya. she already knew he can not make tsaheylu with any creature that requires their kuru to neural link, like the iknimaya test if he were to become a hunter and warrior. most of all, was the first communion with eywa that every newly baby goes to live within and experience. it's impossible for a miracle since there's no science or way ingyen can find for her child to ask and express gratitude and perform healing rite.

what if he wants to be able to see his mother and memories live within eywa to seek her in times of sorrow when there's nothing to connect as she passes?

him being alone to not have a passage to see her and cry about his worries. seykxel can't do that.

that changed on the day of jake and neytiri's first son and daughter's communion, witnessing their first connection as she saw this wonderful moment, holding her son playing with her hair. mo'at announced her grandchildren's memorial with their cheers and extraordinary event of dancing and singing with a longing distance, her mother knows that look. the dull and lost look. after the event, mo'at went to seek guidance from the great mother for a safe solution for her human grandchild's connection to her and live within her and she within him.

it's been several days since the communion, a regular day for ingyen and her son spending their time playing and the teaching of the navi when mo'at came into their hut. "oel ngati kameie ma sa'nok, what brings you here?"

" 'ite i know it is not easy raising a sky baby especially that he can't make tsaheylu to be connected with everything and i've seen your sadness during neytiri's children's communion." mo'at states kneeling to sit next to her daughter, halting her movements from preparing seykxel's pa'li toy to go along with the other animals.

ingyen sighs shrugging suggesting on discussing about it because for her, what's there to talk about? she knows what struggles she'll be facing with her son and she is determine to face them head on. a mate who will not accept and love her child like she does, devoting her life on becoming the mother deserves, is a useless one to thinking of wooing her and views her son as a nuisance. she accepts she'll never have a mate and she's fine with it until comes the day someone will see him as one of them.

someone who acknowledges him as their son. not a demon.

ingyen nearly cries when she started to blink rapidly to avoid her walls be broken but her mother hugs her, petting her hair gentle like she always did the times her daughter came crying to her because she did not want to be looked down on by her peers who wanted to become warriors. "hush now my child. ma'ite, you and neytiri are such a strong women the great mother has blessed me.. she in return blessed you two with wonderful children. no matter the differences. eywa doesn't leave any of her children out on their first experience with her." mo'at reassures with creasing her scarred face, proudly smiling at her.

she continues speaking, "child i have something that'll put your mind at ease. eywa whispered to me of your wishes." ingyen tilts her head curious on what her mother is talking about.

mo'at inhales and exhales carefully remembering what was instructed to do with the sky baby.

"the great mother grants seykxel his own communion which i will show you how your baby will have a connection with her. eywa wants her child to live within her, ma'ite." certainly it will be a great challenge to do the ritual right and safely for her grandson in hopes a spiritual passage.

ingyen couldn't believe what her mother has implied thinking that one of the many thing was impossible became a light of guidance for seykxel. she grins and chokes back on her sobbing while looking at her boy sleeping in peace with those adorable blonde curls and sleeping position he is in on his stomach got her to love him even more.

she goes to give back the same gesture her mother did into comforting her and silently cries thanking her mother and eywa, "oh thank the great mother and her blessings she has given me and my child. thank you sa'nok in accepting him as your grandchild."

mo'at laughs at her sudden speech going to pick baby seykxel off the ground and rocks him, "of course my sweet girl. besides seykxel is an adorable tawtute prrnen like you seen how small he is compared to a navi prrnen. i'm disappointed on how you've been keeping my grandson all to yourself." she scoffs jokingly and touches seykxel's hair texture and ingyen playfully pouts at what she said.

"you are the mother. given the circumstances the people will be comfortable showing up to his communion, you may pick whoever close to you as invites to witness something marvelous."

for the first time her excitement for her seykxel's first communion skyrocketed that she couldn't get some shut eye so she can walk around the clan and announce the invites. no matter it took a while but right now is the best time.

ingyen got up immediately as soon the light rose, getting her son ready in a wrapped prrsmung in front of her chest, checking if he was comfortable. adjusting his mask and checking his batteries for safety, they were ready for their day on.

she's been thinking having a conversation with neytiri and jake to invite but it could turn out completely than she was hoping if her sister mentions that he is not one of them. clearly neytiri wasn't fond of her child and she doesn't blame her. what is different is he was born between wars without hate in his heart. jake was one of the sky people following a mission to bringing down home and she warned her sister not to attach herself to him, later it happened but he fought for them. she'll never bring it up knowing it will go nowhere and doesn't want to hurt neytiri.

with her head in the clouds, she saw the sky people renewing their entire lab and making new equipments on their long stay on pandora when she spotted norm preparing to link with his avatar.

remembering he showed up at kiri's and neteyam's communion, she decided she'd invite most of the scientists. they helped her in her time of need and taught her ways to take care of her baby, for them to be invited to something sacred and forbidden outsiders to watch, it would be great pleasure and honor when spider would be the first to receive a ceremony of his birth. the first human baby have their first communion on pandora by his mother in history of humanity.

ingyen went up to norm planning on what seemed to be his exploration out in the forest. norm caught sight of her being happy and jumpy was something unusual because she gives him a dirty look the whole time.

"oel ngati kameie ingyen." he respectfully greets her.

"oel ngati kameie norm. i have a huge announcement to tell you and i need your help telling your comrades at the shack later on." she gets right into the point and norm stops whatever he was doing and paid attention to her.

"my son, seykxel, will be having his first communion with eywa in a few days and i personally wanted to invite you to witness it again for my child, i'll gladly accept your friends to attend. of course you're all to dress appropriately." ingyen see his face of disbelief about spider having one and snaps her fingers in his face like one of his friends taught her.

norm snapped out and smiled at her, "really? spider is having his first communion! h-how is that possible?"

"i'll tell you later. me and my mother have preparations to attend to. i hope we can meet up soon today so i can invite everyone." ingyen was ready to leave him to do his thing but norm grabs her hand apologizing before he drags her to the shack.

"screw soon! we have to tell them now. this will be history for everyone!" norm laughs screaming at the top of his lungs the heck of a great opportunity spider has.

as soon they arrived, everyone was confused on of the sudden rush, norm urged her to tell them the bigs news barely able to hold back his tongue.

"as you may know my son is part of the people. he is omatikaya but my mother brought me great news yesterday noticing my disappointment what couldn't be possible for seykxel. the great mother made it possible. i invite you all to my son's first communion with eywa in a few days, dress traditionally and wait until preparations are done. this is thanks for handling and not judging my character ever since I became a mother and for the help to understand him better. thank you." after she was done it was all silent. it was nerve wracking enough to admit her mistakes but can they at least say something because she's going to end up backing out.

then max began to clap congratulating her and spider that eywa blessed her the moment she wished for. soon everyone joined giving her congrats and asking to help her on the type of wardrobe is appropriate.

ingyen felt the love and appreciation the sky people have for her and her child. they understood her hard exterior of her hate towards them and never used it against her. the rda took everything from her and now she glows more than ever when becoming spider's mother. her true mother.

the day of seykxel's communion will come by quick and it has to be perfect for her boy. during the day she met with her mother about to discuss of how she was going to connect seykxel with the tree of souls.

mo'at closes her eyes asking eywa's guidance on her grandson's safe path. moments pass by that she got her answers. her mother tells her to lay the human child where their olo'eyktan once laid and soothes him to a deep sleep as the mother's roots connect to his head and body.

she will pray for the child's future to be bright and full of blessings and to be guid the good in his heart into the people who will despise him at first sight. while her mother holds his hand in comfort and prayers that she'll always be by his side.

ingyen asked questions about the state his body will be in but her mother reassures her to not worry as she will go to eywa everyday and believe her son in the great mother's hands.

@skinmittensgoblin @eternallyvenus

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claudemblems · 2 years

Text

Fierce Tides | Diluc

Summary: Sometimes it's hard to find the strength to simply get out of bed, but knowing that Diluc is always there by your side gives you the courage to fight on.

Notes: So I wrote another Diluc drabble and thought that I might as well just post this since you guys liked the other one I wrote so much :,) It was supposed to be kind of angsty but it turned hopeful in the end. Take it as a message from me to you: whatever pain and sadness you are going through, they will pass. Something that's a great comfort to me is the verse: "Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning" (Psalms 30:5). It's a reminder that you will not be sad forever, and good things are waiting ahead. If you need help or encouragement, don't hesitate to reach out to someone you trust. Take care of yourself <3

P.S. I want to make it clear that I am not saying through this piece that depression is easily overcome by deciding you will not let yourself feel like that anymore. It can take a long time to recover, but it does help to have motivations guiding you to that recovery :)

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"Love?"

Diluc's voice echoes softly in your room as he stands at the doorway, eyes anxiously glancing up and down at your slumped form laying on the bed.

You didn't need to tell him what was wrong. By now, he was keenly aware of the depression you so fiercely grappled with. He'd seen firsthand how quickly it could steal your smile and turn it into a look of disgust, ashamed at yourself and the creature you'd become. He would have simply lavished you in sweet, comforting words if he knew they could make you better, but they were only bandaids on a shattered heart. He knew because this disease nearly ravaged him, too, after the death of his father.

Still, he sends kind words your way, slipping in his deep affection for you in casual conversation. It’s important that you remember that you are loved. You should never forget that Diluc is ever at your side, leading you through troubled water. If he can offer you nothing else, he will act as your anchor.

The world doesn’t deserve you, and, truly, he doesn’t either, but losing you to this silent fiend would kill him. So he will give himself, heart and soul, if it means a chance to save you.

“If you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be going over some paperwork in the living room. Get some sleep.”

His footsteps echo off the hardwood floors as he approaches your bedside. Quietly, with one hand on your back, the other gently running through your hair, Diluc leans down and presses a tender kiss to your temple. It fills you with warmth, his light chasing away the looming darkness. You breathe out a small sigh, feeling the tenseness and anxiety gradually begin to leave your body. Tears brim at your eyes as your heart swells in your chest. The happiness Diluc brought you just by his presence could not be expressed through simple words. It is all-encompassing; a blanket of protection. It is something so beautiful and intricate, precious to you in every way. It makes your dreary heart glow like sunlight. It teaches you how to keep fighting, not wanting to miss a moment of life at his side.

As Diluc turned to leave you to your slumber, you clutched at your heart, relishing in the lingering sensation of his lips against you.

I will overcome this grief, you tell yourself, resolute in your decision. I will get through it. I will make it out of this well, happy, and most importantly, at his side. No matter what it takes, I will not allow it to take any more time at Diluc’s side.

Closing your eyes, you focus on evening your breaths, relishing in the comfort of your pillow and piles of blankets carefully laid over you. It’s not long before you give into sleep, your dreams gracing you with wonderful worlds and stories that soothe your soul.

Take my hand, Diluc. Together, we pull each other out of the fierce tides.

#claudemblems writes #genshin impact #genshin x reader #diluc #diluc x reader

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pingguins · 2 years

Text

When Dreams Despair

||Ch. 1|| "Only you can see me,"

↳ Navigation | Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Dream of the Endless x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: Cursing, drowning (kind of)

Notes: I'm backkk!! With the longest chapter of any fic I've written!! I worked hard on this y'all, I even made a schedule for it. I hope you guys like it, I would love to hear your thoughts!!

Summary:

After spending decades dreaming of the same man, who knew that a babysitting job would be the one thing she needed to end it?

However, a select few have gotten their dreams back, some even receiving them in the waking world. An air of mystery lingers around Y/N, and a recurring nightmare spanning decades might have just uncovered it.

"Have you got any information about the Burgesses? Fawney Rig?"

Johanna Constantine sat behind her desk, drinking tea while pondering over another email. Y/N called hours earlier, asking if she could visit. There had been something different about Y/N that night, acting more timid and getting stuck in her own mind more often than not.

Over the phone, she simply asked Johanna if she would be open to having some tea and catching up.

Y/N sat on a nearby couch, hoping to find some answers about Roderick Burgess by asking Johanna. She knew of her occupation, and wanted her consultation.

"Y/N, I don't spend my time dwelling on stories about devils in basements. Roderick Burgess has been dead a long time; the rumours died with him," Johanna replied, not looking away from her laptop screen as she took a sip from her cup.

Y/N sighed. "But his long life remains in question."

"I'm not denying that he was into occult shit; but the Burgesses are old news. Whatever magic Fawney Rig held went away a long time ago."

“You seem so sure. Have you ever paid them a visit?”

Johanna’s eyes flicked towards Y/N’s, and she saw it again. The distant look in her eyes, constantly lost in thought since the moment she stepped foot into her home. She went back to her emails, deciding that if her friend needed help with anything, she would ask. Until then, she would be keeping an eye on her.

“No,” she answered. “I have other things to do—it pays well to keep your focus on the important clients.” She smirked, hoping to start their usual playful banters.

Y/N paid her no mind, busying herself by turning to look at the window beside her, observing the passersby and stray animals that wandered the streets.

* * *

The water rippled beneath her fingers, her reflection looking back at her as if it was a creature of its own. Her outstretched hand was mere inches away from it, the fog engulfing most of her surroundings. Other than herself, Y/N could not see anything else in the water, only the mist that danced in the air.

Longing for a semblance of their lost monarch, the water accepted her. Her reflection reached out, tightly gripping her wrist, and pulled. The cold engulfed her body in a matter of seconds, millions of dreams and nightmares swimming around her as she sank lower and lower.

The depths of something so inhuman, so inconceivably omniscient pained her, the pressure building around her body and inside of her lungs. She did not have enough time to take a deep breath before she was under the water, her chest burned, and her head felt heavy as the images she saw became too much.

And so she awoke, finding herself back inside of her bedroom unharmed.

There was a harsh throbbing in her head, making her squint her eyes shut from the pain.

Years of being plagued by dreams you could not understand, that humanity was not meant to explore, would expectedly cause such headaches.

It troubled her that as much she frequented that place in her sleep, there were still some places yet to be discovered. Places like those waters—desperate for something she could not give. She groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples to try and tame the still-building pressure.

Nevertheless, she swung her legs off the bed. The shutters were left closed, keeping the light from entering the room. When one experiences such painful mornings, one tends to make adjustments around their sleeping quarters.

Under her bed, her hand clasped the wooden frame, careful of the soft white fabric that wrapped around it. It was her canvas, stored under her bed in case of mornings like these.

Y/N found that the best way to soothe an overwhelmed imagination was to paint what she saw—to get the images out of her mind and create something which she can touch and feel.

She was an artist—a storyteller of profound dreams and visions she knew not the value of.

Her easel and the rest of her materials were all set up, always ready in the corner of her room, waiting for her next tale.

She had dreamt of many stories and considered them a significant part of her sleep, though in the waking world, Y/N looked at them as an art she’d yet to master, looking no further for meaning or purpose that surpasses those of the mortal realm.

Whenever her dreams were brought and told to the many inhabitants of the waking world, she always relished in her decisions to remain truthful. She may not be the most honest person in the world, but her books and paintings accurately hold all the beauty and horrors that she witnessed in her sleep.

However, not all of her dreams make it to the human world.

There was one specific picture that she’d seen too many times to count. Canvas upon canvas were stacked and littered around her room just from the past month. The same dream over and over again, each one more vivid than the last.

She knew all the scenes well, her hand expertly guiding the brushes as she carefully worked on her latest piece.

Y/N basked in the nostalgia of the painting, having seen the same picture since she was a child. It had been too tragic, she refused to bring it to life.

This time, however, it called to her.

The sorrowful image, mostly of browns and blacks, held only one pale figure in the middle, seemingly glowing in the darkness he laid in. Aside from the man, unconscious and naked on the floor, the painting was barren.

Only he brought life to the painting; even though his story was one she shied away from throughout the years, thinking it too heavy on the soul to even think about, let alone tell. What happened? What had gone so wrong?

Y/N desperately wanted to know, but uncovering his narrative would take effort; maybe if she kept painting he would tell her. Maybe she’d hear him speak one night, if he even had a voice.

The story of Lord Morpheus, however, was not very different from hers. And it was not his story alone, but the tale of millions upon millions of dreamers.

Had Y/N known that, she would have been enthralled, yet heartbroken that a being such as him could look so small and evanescent on her painting.

The silence was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her phone, the high pitched tune extinguishing the haze over her eyes. She answered the call, carelessly placing down the brush onto the palette.

She had been stuck in another one of her trances, spacing out when utterly focused on her work. Though the painting was nowhere near finished, the painter had decided to turn her back to it, telling herself that it can wait.

"Hey, we're leaving in about 5 hours. You can come here any time before then. Amelia's excited to see you!"

The voice of her long-time friend, Maurice, was heard through the phone. And Y/N shook her head, rubbing the back of her neck to wake herself up.

"Got it! Tell little Amy I'll see her soon, be careful on your trip!" Y/N answered. A small, fond smile appeared on her face, voice sounding bubbly regardless of her drowsiness.

Amelia never seemed to run out of creativity, always telling her about the adventures she embarked on in her dreams. Her mother, Maurice, was one of the people whom Y/N worked with at the Inn.

Maurice liked to tease Y/N, always saying that in the almost two decades they’ve known each other, Y/N didn’t look a day over 25. All the while Amelia aged Maurice as time passed by, having worked above and beyond to be a deserving mother to her young daughter.

"Make sure to stay with her until she falls asleep. She said she gets better dreams when you're around. I swear she only gets a full eight hours when you're babysitting," Maurice chuckled before saying goodbye.

Maurice and her husband, Adam, were scheduled for a one-day business trip. And while Amelia surely loved her parents, she wouldn’t dare give up an opportunity to be with her favourite babysitter.

She was only seven, and having no siblings to play with, her time was usually spent burying herself in the variety of books that resided in their small library. The bookshelf in her room, though, sheltered most, if not all, of Y/N’s published story books.

Y/N placed her phone down, sitting at the edge of her bed, before browsing through her sketchbook which had always been placed on the bedside table in case of urgent matters. Those matters being rough illustrations for when she did not have enough time to paint.

The ache in her head came creeping back as she flipped through the drawings she made in the past few days. Graphite and charcoal sullied the pages, creating the image of the same subject over and over again.

These pictures were of the same man in her painting, who now was trapped inside of a glass sphere surrounded by a gold circle drawn onto the floor. There were runes, ones that only Johanna knew of. She referred to it as a binding circle, but the reasoning behind it was lost to Y/N. There was no fathoming why anyone would trap a man inside of such a cruel prison.

In the 32 years she had lived, the dream never changed. No matter the variety that visited her as she slept, the circumstances of the trapped man were substantially the same when his turn to visit her came.

It seemed, in a way, that she was trapped with him. Cursed to watch and feel him in misery for all those years without one person coming to his aid. She was but a helpless observer, never being able to touch or speak with him.

The dreams were frantic now, though, and they pestered her to no end. Every night she could see him. Same place, same fire in his eyes that would put the biggest star to shame. No other dream dared to compete.

How long has he been there? Was he still there? Did he even exist?

Questions that have long been unanswered were now occupying her mind. Questions she tried to forget ever since they woke her in the late hours of the night, crying out to her father several times a week.

He would soothe her back to bed, filling her mind with positive thoughts and reassuring her that no , that man would not come for her. He was a mere nightmare and nothing else.

There was a time when she wondered if the man was angry at her, furious that she would not set him free. She wanted to tell him that if it were up to her, he would have been out of there long, long ago.

Her five-year-old brain had not processed the dream well, and years after, she would continue to be haunted and disturbed by the dream’s air of resentment unmatched by anything she’d seen in the waking world.

* * *

The time flew by fast, and soon enough, Y/N was sat by Amelia’s side, tucking her into bed an hour before her curfew.

Determined to focus on taking care of Amelia, Y/N purposely distracted herself when the opportunity presented itself, letting her mind drift away from her recent dreams. It was not an impossible feat, though from time to time, she would find herself beginning to wander back to the thought of her unfinished painting, to which she turned her back and left all alone in the corner of her room.

Only to be reminded that she was at Maurice’s house by an energetic Amelia or a barking dog outside of the house.

“Can you tell me a different story tonight? I’ve read all the ones I have.” Amelia pouted, her eyes pleading as she tried to convince Y/N.

Y/N went along, making a face as if she was in deep thought. “Hmmm, I don’t know…thinking of stories on the spot is no joke, you know?” she teased, keeping her tone playful.

“Well…” Amelia dragged on, and her babysitter stayed silent, giving her time to think. “Tell me a dream. Your dream. The ones you have when you’re asleep.”

Y/N chuckled, caressing Amelia’s hair. “Why would you want to know about my dreams? If you go to bed now, you get to explore yours.”

“You said you wrote books about what you dream of. I reckon you have some unwritten ones.”

“Uhmm, I don’t know, Amelia. Maybe I don’t have any more dreams to tell,” she baited.

Amelia whined, kicking her feet in protest. “But you always have dreams! They’re always so good! Especially when you turn them into stories!”

Y/N laughed at the little girl beside her, who was clearly determined to get a bedtime story. Who was she to deny her?

“You know, Amy, dreams are the stories. They’re the only place where you can truly experience the most fantastic fairy tales. A place where you can truly be free,” Y/N trailed off, but only for a moment. It was a lie, at least to her it was. But for Amelia, she could pretend, bend the truth for her peace of mind.

After all, how do you tell a child that not all dreams are realms in which you can control? That sometimes, there are things you are only meant to observe, no matter how painful?

To Y/N, there was already enough of that in the waking world. Amelia did not need to know that dreams could be just as terrible.

“I don’t need to turn them into stories, Amy. They already are, and when I feel that the world deserves to know of such wonderful places and inspiring creatures, I write them. To help people like you, who may need a reminder that dreaming is free, and that all you need to do is get a full night’s rest.” She smiled, winking at Amelia.

It was Y/N’s way of getting her to go to bed early, and for a while, it worked.

When Encephalitis Lethargica befell the world, not all could dream. And not all could get out of dreams, either. However, as Y/N brought the adventures she saw in her sleep to the waking world, dreamers became just a little bit more hopeful, and a little bit more rested.

This time, though, Y/N had no story to tell, as all her dreams had been the same. She was a vessel, a writer who retold the stories she saw in the dead of night. The years she spent being an author had certainly made her a master at conjuring up tales in an instant if she wished, but when her mind was clouded with the same images and the familiar feeling of anguish from seeing the trapped man every night, it was not so easy to think of happy tales that Amelia deserved.

The little girl was hoping for another adventure-filled fantasy. One that would act as a send-off before she walked the realm of dreams.

The efforts Y/N made at trying to form the perfect story for her had become futile. Only one dream, one story stayed in her mind. Scenarios of what could have happened to the man, stuck in a cage he had filled with endless indignation, were at the forefront of her mind: images of him getting hurt and beaten just to get him inside of the sphere.

But perhaps it did not need to be that way.

“I…guess I do have a story for you,” Y/N said reluctantly. It was a stretch, but in the end, all stories, no matter how sad, could be adjusted to fit a happier narrative.

There was only one who had the power to command dreams and stories to venture on a different path. But on that night, for one little girl, Y/N would dare change the story of one such as the Dream Lord himself.

Routinely, she took the small vial of sand placed on Amelia’s nightstand, stationed there for the days Y/N would stay over to babysit. The little girl beamed, her wish coming true before her eyes as Y/N sat up from the bed and poured the white grains on the table.

She kneeled in front of it as Amelia moved to lay on her side, watching intently.

With the sand, Y/N drew, her story coming to life in mere seconds. The small grains of white followed her fingers ever so slightly, seeming to follow every movement of her hand to create any image she wished to show.

In that moment, in the darkness of Amelia’s bedroom, the faintest hint of light radiated from the sand like the moon covered by clouds. Barely there, only seen when one looks for it.

“Somewhere dark, somewhere hidden, there is a man.” On the nightstand was the image of a figure, enclosed within a sphere. “His eyes hold the universe, his skin as white as paper, his hair like the feathers of ravens.”

She drew a circle, encasing the sphere inside as she drew the runes she could remember. “And he’s trapped. No one knows how long, and no one knows how much longer.”

Now, there was an image of a raven, flying while its beak touched the glass sphere. “His raven had gone a long time ago, a victim of the man’s captors, leaving him truly alone.”

Amelia’s face showed a deep frown as her young brain comprehended the tale.

“He never speaks, never asks for help. But he lets you see, he lets you observe his pain as if even he thinks he deserves to be caged as one would a rabid animal.”

With precision, she added more detail to the image, using one of her better drawings back home as inspiration. “He’s known not the kindness of humans, not for a long time, but perhaps, one act of true humanity might give him all he needs to be free.”

In one swoop, Y/N cleared the drawings with her hand, turning them back into messy piles of sand before putting them back in the vial. She pushed the sand off the corner of the table, effortlessly catching them with the glass container and closing it with its cork-made seal.

“One act of true humanity,” she booped Amelia’s nose, snapping her out of her trance. “That’s where you come in.”

Interested, Amelia sat up as Y/N went back to her place next to the little girl. The painter pushed back some of the girl’s red locks behind her ear before continuing. “He appears in dreams. He only shows himself to me, and now to you through my story. It’s our duty to dream of his freedom.”

“If I dream, will you make it come true? Will he be freed?” Amelia asked, eyes pleading for a positive answer.

The worry that showed on the girl’s face was vehement, her empathy swam within the confines of her room.

Though all dreams could be felt by the Dreaming, there was something about children that fueled the realm of stories. There is an intrinsic ability for a child to dream, unafraid and untainted by the horrors one would face in a world such as theirs.

“Promise,” Y/N whispered, leaning down to kiss Amelia’s hair before tucking her back into bed. “Sweet dreams, Amelia.”

She stood, walking to leave the room, the little girl’s gaze following her. Y/N held the doorknob and spoke just before she closed the door. “And remember, you don’t need to be asleep to dream.”

In the guest bedroom, Y/N stood by the window, observing the quiet street and the clear skies. There were no traces of pollution, only stars that twinkle light years away. It looked serene, and she’d hoped that maybe somewhere out there, maybe in another universe where dreams really do come true, the man would roam free.

The man that held the cosmos in his eyes. The man who had started as her nightmare, and whom she had come to understand and sympathize with.

Y/N wondered if Amelia could do it—change her dream. It had been a long-standing one; the only place she had no control over while she slept.

The air was calm, much like how it felt whenever she was in the middle of writing or painting one of her dreams. Dreams that, if only she knew, were more palpable than she nor her father ever thought.

Remembering her dad, she dialed his number, waiting to hear his voice on the other side.

“Hey! Everything okay? How’s Amelia?”

Y/N smiled, eyes trained to the stars and the moon outside her window. “Hey dad. We’re good, she’s asleep.”

She spoke softly, not wanting Amelia to be distured in case she could hear them. Y/N loved her father dearly, and he would certainly be over the moon to know that perhaps she could finally get a good night's rest—one that did not require his comfort.

“What story did you tell her this time? She usually gushes about them when she visits the inn.”

“I, uhm, I told her about the… that dream.” She waited, but no response came. The dream was a topic to avoid, Y/N knew how much her father would chastise himself for not being able to make the nightmares go away, especially in the days when she was much younger.

There was no sound, only silence. One that Y/N took the first step in breaking. “I toned it down, obviously. I thought that maybe if I…made it a little more hopeful, maybe it could change.”

“Right,” there was a pause, concern dripping from his voice. “how do you feel?”

“I think—I think I’m going to have good dreams tonight.”

“That’s good!” he responded, the volume surprising even himself. “That’s great. I’m proud of you.”

Night after night his daughter would wake, crying about a man in her dreams. He was a good fighter, vowing to protect Y/N all throughout her life from any danger that dared to go near. He could give her knowledge impossible to acquire in her generation, and wisdom from years before the birth of their oldest friends—most of them, at least.

Of all he could protect her from, Y/N’s worst nightmare had to be exactly that—a nightmare. One that never seemed to fade away, one that haunted them for years.

Her because of the sheer weight of what could be seen during her slumber, and him because in his lifetime, there had never been such an unreachable feat.

He couldn’t walk her dreams, he could only hope to alleviate the sorrow that came after.

And for a man like him, for one who had steered clear of Death herself, no wound or hunger could feel as painful as the ache in his chest when he could not chase away the man that plagued her daughter’s sleeping mind.

“Yeah, it is. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you for letting me know, my little daydream. Sleep well.”

“Sweet dreams, dad.”

As a child, after she wrote down each and every one of her nightly adventures, her father claimed that her dreams never seemed to stay put in her unconscious mind, but rather, spilled into her creations during her waking hours.

“My little daydream” he would call her.

After she dozed off in the guest room, the next thing she could remember was the feel of soft, powder-like material under her feet. The sound of the ocean reached her ears in a melody of waves, alternating as they touched the sand before going back into the water.

She welcomed the smell of salt and the breeze that graced her skin, the wind moving in time with the ocean. Y/N felt herself relax, finding that her mind was quiet here, as opposed to the burden she would carry in the waking world.

The beach, the sun, the sand—they were all hers. Her territory in the realm of the sleeping. Though she was none the wiser, all aspects of the Dreaming would bow to her in a heartbeat if she wished, following her orders to the best of their abilities as they would their missing monarch.

“Y/N!” The voice of Amelia shouted, running towards her, leaving her footprints on the soft sand. She hugged Y/N tightly, wrapping her small arms around her waist before looking up at her eyes. “Are you here to save the caged man? The one with stars in his eyes?”

The breeze stopped, their hair no longer blowing in the wind. The sound of waves could no longer be heard.

Everything stopped, no grain of sand gave the slightest bit of movement. Only she and Amelia existed in this plane, their surroundings a mere image of the life that once fueled the beach.

Y/N donned a black coat that reached her ankles, her feet clad in a pair of Doc Martens. She wore a black shirt and a black pair of jeans instead of the pajamas she slept in. To her, there was no meaning behind her clothing and why she wore them in her dreams.

However, as Amelia mentioned the Dreaming’s absent King, the realm seemed to have recognized what Y/N’s purpose could be that night. The land had stopped to listen, straying from their function to hear word of the man who could very well be their master.

The change in the atmosphere was stark, heavy on Y/N’s heart. She only had a moment to herself, thinking that maybe she could roam aimlessly without bearing the weight of that man’s anguish.

She was no longer trapped with him, but perhaps, she must fulfill her promise to Amelia.

She cleared her throat, glancing at their surroundings before stroking Amelia’s hair. The world began to move once again; the waves were loud, the sand moved by the wind, and Y/N’s coat billowed from the breeze.

“Yes, I am. But I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that—”

The waves reached their feet now, and from the corner of her eye, as she looked down at Amelia, she saw the water glow.

It shimmered when it covered her feet, electric and familiar, but remained a normal shade of blue when it hit Amelia’s.

“—but I think I might have just figured it out,” she spoke slowly, her eyes glazing over as she looked at the distant shoreline. It wasn’t the endlessness of it that caught her eye, rather, the blue vortex several feet away from them.

Amelia followed her gaze, seeing the same bright light. She beamed, looking excitedly up at Y/N. “What are you waiting for, then? I think that’s for you!”

Other than an unwavering smile, she offered Amelia nothing else before running off towards the portal, the sand glowing a bright blue every step she took.

Without so much as a second thought, she jumped, feeling herself get carried away by the vacuum before violently landing on black sand.

It was harsh, unlike the smooth, white sand on the beach. Here there was no water, no sound but the rush of stale air. The ground was coarse, small stones and pebbles pricked her skin as she tumbled.

Behind her was a gate—the entrance to the Heart of the Dreaming.

She felt no surprise, finding herself in a place she had been to many times before. She walked towards it, touching the grand structure gently before the Gates of Horn and Ivory opened to welcome her in, revealing the ruins of the palace.

It was a sorrowful sight. The castle broken and abandoned by most of its inhabitants. To her, however, the scenery looked the same as the first time she saw it.

She still wondered, though, about what the kingdom used to look like with its walls intact and cared for. Was the land bustling with life? Did they celebrate their own holidays?

Or was it tranquil? A calm paradise in which everyone basked in their people’s company with no need to gather?

The kingdom had long passed its golden years, but how could something devoid of life seem so…out of place? As if it couldn’t be anything other than alive .

Without the presence of their King who functioned as the heart and soul, the Dreaming could not be called a kingdom, but only a spectre that lingered in the space between realms.

It was barren, and had been for more than a century, but the ghostly structures—to her— felt unnatural. As if, instead of the ruins of a once thriving paradise, it was dying . There was a missing piece, an absent force that drained the realm of its life.

She kneeled, grasping a handful of sand that glowed with her touch. She opened her palm, blowing on the sand as it flew toward the palace, swirling around the broken walls and pillars, repairing the cracks and missing pieces.

There was no bringing back its prior beauty, however, she will do what she can, aiding the land while it still stands.

There was no telling how long it would last without Y/N before it turned into dust, turning into a vast desert where the grieving dreams and nightmares may wander, wishing for their King to give them back their home.

The black grains delicately fell back down onto the floor, barely doing enough for the castle. Only a small measure had been mended, but it would do.

It was as much as she could do no matter how many attempts. Whether she rebuilt it by hand or by sand, it would never go back to its former glory. It refused .

And though it denied her help, the Dreaming was, in essence, kept alive by the thin thread that had attached itself to Y/N when she was born, her care and love for it keeping its foundation intact no matter how battered it may seem.

Since her first visits, Y/N endeavoured to heal the land in hopes that some of its inhabitants might return to help. There was Cain, Abel, and Gregory, but they had insisted there was nothing to do for their home, yet keeping all other details hidden as per Lucienne’s request.

Contented with her work, knowing she had done all she can, Y/N entered the palace. Even in its broken stature, there was a memory of brilliance and power that lingered in the air, one that greeted her its fleeting welcome as she walked the halls.

She had explored all there is that surrounded the palace, though Y/N rarely ever stepped inside. And whenever she did, she would not stay very long. It was clear to her that the realm embraced her presence with open arms, but she did not feel comfortable roaming around inside.

She felt at home there, yet a part of her could sense that she was crossing into someone else’s territory—one that showed no malice, but deserved deep respect.

The inert landscape was a tragic sight. But within the palace walls was a kind of suffering she could not describe. It yearned for something, longed to thrive like it once had, but unable to do so with its throne lying empty, the broken seat of an absent ruler sat atop a regal set of stairs. The presence of Merv and Lucienne, though, told her that their history was not as simple as a runaway monarch.

It had been years since she went back inside, the last time being when she was still a teenager. She neared the throne, daring to get halfway up the stairs before she heard familiar footsteps.

Y/N grinned widely and eagerly turned around, rushing down the stairs as she engulfed Lucienne in a tight embrace.

The librarian tensed, stunned in place as she calmly held Y/N’s arms and gently pushed her away. “Uhm, pardon my ignorance, but I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before. Are you lost, perhaps?”

“Oh, uh,” Y/N stepped back, awkwardly shifting her feet, but her smile was as wide as ever. “I guess my father was lying when he told me I barely aged. Did I really? To the point of unrecognition?” she chuckled, hoping to refresh Lucienne’s memory.

The librarian studied her carefully, taking in her appearance and the uncanny similarities towards the Dream Lord. Finally, it dawned on her.

“Miss Y/N!” She held Y/N’s shoulders, stroking her hair with one hand. “Oh how you’ve grown!” She awed, this time, opening her arms to embrace Y/N. “Your father is no liar. I have not seen you in the Dreaming for so long, your visit was merely unexpected.”

Y/N’s shoulders tensed, Lucienne pulled back with a confused expression. “Is there something wrong, miss?”

She beamed widely at the librarian. “The Dreaming. Is that what this place is called, Lucienne?”

Hesitancy lingered in the air, silence invaded the palace as Lucienne contemplated her next words. In the years Y/N has visited the Dreaming, she took it upon herself to keep quiet about their affairs and the tragedy that befell the once prosperous realm.

The last that Lucienne knew of Y/N, she was blissfully unaware of the depth of their troubles. Lucienne had caught her trying to repair the palace walls by hand, finding materials around the Kingdom or borrowing from Cain and Abel to do so.

Gregory had been with her, and they were flying around to the tops of the castle in a misguided effort to rebuild.

Lucienne did not have the heart to stop them, only informing her that they had done what they could, but the Kingdom remained broken. No other information was disclosed, most questions were redirected or dismissed.

Nonetheless, they remained friends. The librarian adored her love for their realm, having not seen any other creature care for it besides a select few. At the time, Lucienne took her for a lost dreamer, finding their way to the Heart of the Dreaming because there was no one left to keep them away.

They were familiar with lucid dreamers, some better than others; she assumed that the young Y/N might have been one of the better ones.

Her visits started when she was only 12 years old, and she frequented the realm on most nights. Lucienne read all she can, attempting to decipher their mysterious guest. However, when more and more of the library vanished, she laid her investigation to rest.

In some respects, those who stayed in the Dreaming saw the curious little girl grow up.

She rarely visited the palace, where Lucienne spent most of her time, so they have not bonded the way Y/N and the others have. Moreover, that did not take away from their friendship.

The librarian liked to monitor her, though, for any other strange happenings. And in the process, she had started to care for her the way she does for the rest of the realm. Y/N had become more of an honoured visitor than an uninvited guest.

“Yes, miss. You are in the Heart of the Dreaming,” Lucienne answered, abstaining from revealing any and all other details.

No malice could be felt when around Y/N, she has crossed the gates many times on her own and has acted with good intentions—there was no doubting her kind spirit.

Nevertheless, as a loyal subject of Morpheus, she was unsure of how to go about telling a mere human about the existence of the Dreaming. There was no confirming that Y/N knew about their realm’s true nature, for all she knew Y/N thought this was all a strange dream regardless of the recurrence.

“That’s…nice,” Y/N replied, her smile turning mellow. “My second home finally has a name.”

Lucienne was touched. Most of the Dreaming’s inhabitants are long gone, losing their trust in their missing monarch. But no matter how broken, how unfixable their Kingdom was, someone had managed to find a home in it.

However, there was no denying that she did not belong there, and no one knew of any consequences that might occur due to her visits.

“With all due respect, you belong to the waking world, miss Y/N. This is merely another destination you venture to in your sleep,” Lucienne said, empathetic as ever. She did not want to deter her from coming to the Dreaming.

Y/N walked towards the bottom of the steps, taking in the newly-named palace. “I am dreaming, Lucienne,” she spoke, elegantly waking up the stairs.

Lucienne was frozen in place, watching as the girl walked up towards their King’s throne. It wasn’t her actions that baffled her, it was the semblance of power. Something seemed to have shifted in their realm every step she took, as if there was a low rumbling coming from deep inside the palace.

“My mind conjured this up a long time ago, and it is not willing to let it go so easily,” Y/N continued. “This is my realm. I belong here.”

Her voice grew more confident as she neared the broken throne. “They say that names are powerful—and I do believe they are. The Dreaming has become my refuge, and I hold you all dear to my heart.”

She arrived at the top, gently touching the throne. Light emitted from beneath her fingers, black smoke radiating from them as Lucienne let out a quiet gasp.

Y/N looked at the librarian, “I have tried to fix this place long ago, and now I think I finally can. For now, at least.” She looked around the room, broken pieces of the palace rising from the ground, going back into their rightful place.

The cracks and rubble from the bottom of the throne healed, becoming an almost-perfect image of its former self.

“This is impossible,” Lucienne whispered, overcome with gladness and fear at seeing her home be restored by such a display of power that she had not seen in over a century. The palace shook, but she kept in place, stunned in silence.

When the rehabilitation of the palace halted, Lucienne looked up at the girl in her master's clothing.

The throne room could not be revived to its former glory. However, all that was left were cracks and chipped pieces on the walls. It resembled a restored renaissance painting—alive, but never as beautiful as the days it spent with its creator.

Unfortunately, the sight did not last. It took only a few moments before the colour drained from the walls, the structures crumbling once again, but thankfully, not to the state Y/N found it in.

Y/N’s stature could not help but falter, discouraged that her efforts remained futile despite the power she could feel flowing within her veins.

Lucienne, however, staggered. She cleared her throat, straightening her posture while clasping her hands formally. “I mean no disrespect, ma’am,” she hesitated for a moment. “But what are you? ”.

She almost seemed afraid, and Y/N took notice, going back down the stairs as she stood in front of Lucienne. “I-I am human, and this is my dream—” she chuckled nervously. “There’s no need to worry—”

“The Dreaming is not your realm, ma’am. It is not yours to take,” Lucienne defended, her voice apprehensive but nevertheless defiant. “I mean no offence, but you do not belong here . I think it is best you go back—”

“No,” Y/N interjected. Lucienne’s words sparked a memory—her duty and purpose in the Dreaming coming back to her. “I need you to take me to the water. I don’t recall how I arrived there the first time, but I—”

“My apologies, ma’am, but it is not my place to show you where it is located.” Lucienne stood her ground, her voice wavering ever so slightly regardless of her efforts to stay professional.

“I have good reason to be there. You can trust me, Lucienne. I would never do this place any harm,” Y/N spoke, bringing down her voice to a softer tone.

Lucienne kept silent, and Y/N’s heart broke. “Ma’am, I do not take you for a liar, which could only mean that you do not know of the power you possess. No matter your purpose here, this realm cannot take any more damage in the instance that you might harm it unintentionally.”

Y/N swallowed, unable to hide her sorrow as the woman she once knew to care for her, now looked at her in fear. But she could not deny that she understood Lucienne’s apprehension. What she could do in the Dreaming was natural to her, she was sure of the fact that she could never bring any harm to it.

If she could not see that, Y/N did not have the time to convince her.

The man was waiting, and he had been for long enough.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sand swirling around her figure, growing thicker until Lucienne could no longer see her.

In her mind she focused on the water, not having a single recollection of how she wound up being pulled into a sea of different worlds. Regardless, she remembered how it felt, and she held onto it, letting it take over her body before she was violently tossed onto the wooden floor of a foggy pier.

Y/N was thrown across the wooden planks, covering her head with her arms as she stumbled, stopping right at the edge where she could see herself in the water. She kneeled on the wood floor, staring into the white, beady eyes of her reflection.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by it, she would have found it familiar.

She held her hand out, carefully reaching for the water, but pulled back right as she was about to make contact.

Instead, she dove in.

The water splashed around her as her body was engulfed by it, and she continued to go farther down.

Shadows and scenes of hell and paradise and domesticity swam around her, and she flailed the deeper she got, having regretted her decision to enter the treacherous water. Unfortunately, before she could try swimming up, something had caught hold of her foot, dragging her further down the deep blue.

Y/N screamed, air bubbles rapidly flowing out of her mouth as she aggressively kicked her foot, trying to loosen the hold of her captor. When she looked beneath her, there was nothing. The space where she could feel the pressure on her ankle lay empty.

Her hands stopped flailing, and her feet stopped kicking, feeling her lungs a second away from being filled with water.

Then, she was on a yacht. Clean and luxurious. Mountain tops could be seen in the distance; her clothes were dry and her breathing as light as ever. The familiar scent of the ocean reached her nostrils, and she breathed in, taking in lungfuls of the fresh air.

Her black coat billowed in the wind and she looked around. Other than the yacht she stood on, nothing could be seen for miles besides the silhouettes of mountains and the clouds that floated above her. She could hear seagulls, some landing beside her feet, and some placing themselves on the metal railing in front of her.

She clasped the handrail, looking down at the ocean. The waves obstructed the mirrored images of herself and the yacht, however, she recognized those same white eyes that gazed back at her.

In spite of the clear skies and the sun that burnt her skin, the water had no shimmer on its surface. No light bounced off of the ocean, and it remained as dark as she saw it on the fog-covered pier.

There was a depth to it, an endless dark blue inhabited by strange movement and worlds that seemed to pass by.

Her eyes squinted, noticing the circular shape surrounding her reflection. Everything moved slower, her coat floated as if she were in space instead of the quick flutter from the breeze. There were no seagulls in the reflection, but rather ravens accompanied her second self.

Then, just as she saw the familiar shape of the trapped man behind her reflection, she jumped in once again, pushing herself upwards as she held the steel bars tightly, swinging her legs over them and landing into the water once more.

The pressure in her ears was instant, and her body felt ice-cold—but only for a second.

When she landed on the other side, the air no longer smelled fresh, but stale and musty, old and worn. Her lungs felt heavy instead of refreshed.

Her clothes were still as dry as ever, but they no longer moved. There was no wind, barely any ventilation.

Y/N stood on the battered cement floor worn by time. Tall pillars held up the room and wooden arches supported the ceiling, but all were void of life. The colours they once held were now faded, barely visible in the darkness.

There was a door, next to it a man was sat on a chair with his eyes to the floor, glazed over in thought.

He was daydreaming, and it provided a dangerous path for Y/N to embark. She paid him no mind, as her presence was fairly obvious, and yet he failed to notice the stranger standing mere feet away from him.

Y/N knew where she had arrived, her gaze landing on the attenuated gold circle on the floor. Slowly, she looked upwards.

The man inside the sphere with his back turned to her, sitting motionless with his head bowed down. His alabaster skin glowed with the singular light placed above him, illuminating him as if he were a museum piece, bare and presented for everyone to see.

For a long time, this man haunted her dreams. Years of countless nights she was awoken by her own screams, the burden of sharing a fraction of his torment scarring and embedding itself into her childhood years.

But as she approached the glass sphere, silent tears fell from her eyes, weeping for the man who had been trapped here for far longer than she could imagine

There was an inkling of doubt that yearned to be acknowledged, crying for denial, telling her it was all a dream, and that when she wakes, it will all be a figment of her imagination, a memory from a place fantastical and unreal.

However, as she mourned his lost freedom, the doubt could not rise.

Her foot stepped beyond the circle, uncaring about its importance—after all, what good purpose could it have if it was created by his captors? She reached forward until her palm was only a few inches away from the glass.

The man turned to Y/N when her hand touched his enclosure, expression cold and shoulders broadening in an attempt to show power. Even now, with him as helpless as one can be, he commanded the room with only his eyes.

Upon seeing her tears, he turned his body to face her, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly at the sight. He had not known empathy in a long time, decidedly untrusting of it after Jessamy’s passing.

What Y/N could not see in that moment, were the eyes that Lord Morpheus himself was gazing into.

A pair of dark orbs, the cosmos within them as they shed tears—as if the galaxies beyond her eyes were weeping for him. The clothes she wore did not go unnoticed by the Dream Lord, nor the small but significant smudges her shoes had inflicted upon the circle that bound him.

Knowing he could not lose any more than he has, his palm touched hers from the inside of the sphere, their hands a few inches from one another. His expression remained stoic, but his fingers gave the slightest twitch.

Deep within Y/N’s soul, she knew she had found what the palace was searching for. And she had discovered what the man had been missing in the years he spent inside of the darkness.

They both turned their heads toward the door when another guard entered, their hands still barely touching.

Y/N remained looking at the guard, observing to see if they would notice her. Morpheus tore his eyes away from the door, jaw clenching and the hand that stretched to be near Y/N’s tensing, fingers almost clawing at the glass.

When Y/N turned back to him, she smiled delicately.

“Only you can see me,” she mouthed.

The newly arrived guard turned to their coworker, shaking his shoulder. “Spacing out again? Enough of that. It’s my turn to get a bloody rest,” they said, crossing their arms as they went to their seat.

When the resting guard awoke from his daydream, he sat up straighter, clearing his throat as he tried to get ahold of his surroundings.

Meanwhile, Morpheus briskly placed his other hand next to the one on the glass, tilting his head downwards, his eyes sharper than ever .

Y/N placed her other hand on the glass, growing anxious as she saw them begin to fade.

The daydream has ended, and so has hers. She was no longer tethered, and he was no longer undiscovered.

Y/N sat up, feeling the bed below her as she clutched her blanket. She was in no distress, and there was no perplexing want to paint. There was no headache present. A heavy heart took their place, and now, much like the Dreaming, she felt herself wanting to call for something missing.

And somehow, that feeling was much worse than the pain she used to wake up to.

In the darkness of the guest room, swirling black smoke emanated from her eyes. And as she brought up a hand to rub the sleep away from them, she felt a sprinkle of sand on her fingers then onto the blanket that covered her legs.

The glow in her eyes vanished, as did the smoke. But the sand remained, and while she took them between her fingers…

The Dream Lord had been busying himself with putting a certain man to sleep.

***

“I think they’re true—the rumours.”

Johanna looked up from her laptop for the first time since she sat down, furrowing her eyebrows at Y/N’s bold statement. “Since when were you into this? You never liked meddling with anything that came close to my job.”

Y/N held her cup in both of her hands, one leg resting on the couch as she looked at the window pane. There they were again—her eyes that shone brighter than the stars in the night sky. They weren’t as vast, nor were they as celestial as the man’s, but they were surely noticeable.

And Johanna was not one to miss such a detail. Her friend’s image in the window pane blended almost completely with the buildings and the lights outside, but her eyes reflected back two white orbs that could almost be mistaken as distant suns.

“Have you heard of the Sandman?” Y/N turned to look at Johanna, who tore her gaze away from the reflection and to her friends’ eyes. She closed her laptop as she sat up straighter.

“He’s a fairytale,” she shrugged it off, albeit her voice was just barely above a whisper. “With all the dreams you’ve had, you might as well be him,” she chuckled apprehensively. Something had changed in Y/N, but being the busy woman that she is, she overlooked it until she had seen the window that reflected her friend. “Are you alright?”

Johanna had never been very good at caring, jumping from one relationship to the next without so much as a goodbye. But Y/N had been a long-term friend, never expecting anything out of her other than a bit of her time.

Though she would not admit it, her first meeting with Y/N had intrigued her. She originally engaged in conversation due to her suspicion that she might not be human. Maybe a demon? An angel?

And when she learned about Y/N’s father, her interest grew. Her investigations proved to be futile, learning that her friend was no more than any other mortal that walked the Earth.

But perhaps she was wrong.

“I am,” Y/N answered. “I’ve actually been feeling much better since last night.”

Johanna cleared her throat, finding the haze in her friends’ eyes strange and a tad uncomfortable. “Did Amelia ask you to tell her another one of your bedtime stories?”

Y/N nodded gently, “Yeah, she did. It was a bit different this time, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I told her about the man. The one in the glass sphere?”

Johanna leaned back into her chair, not knowing what to say. She had known about the recurring dreams, but when she asked, Y/N had dismissed it, saying that it was nothing more than her imagination. A part of her wished she had not settled for such a simple answer.

“Isn’t that a little…scary? For a seven-year-old?”

“I changed it.”

Something in the air shifted, and Johanna felt it. Her job was to know when something otherworldly was afoot, after all.

There was more to Y/N's answer than what meets the eye, and Johanna knew that maybe she hadn't been wrong to investigate when they first met.

Unlike Gods and Endless, Y/N was not born into her function; she was hardly supposed to be anything else but human. And in a way, her purpose had been deeply rooted into her humanity.

Everyone else could feel it whenever she tells a story, that warmth that only a dream could bring, but Y/N firmly refused to acknowledge it.

She knew of impossible things, and yet she denied being one herself, even after discovering her father's long-kept secret.

Y/N turned to look back outside, staring at all the houses where people slept soundly in their beds, wondering what kind of adventures or horrors they were facing behind their closed eyelids.

She wondered if she could see them someday.

"I promised Amelia a good story, Johanna. I saw to it that I spoke true."

Notes: Chapter one's done!! Again, I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on it!

#When Dreams Despair #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader angst #morpheus x reader fluff #sandman netflix #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #dream of the endless imagine #morpheus x you #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x you #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus imagine #dream x reader #morpheus x reader

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nuagedemots · 1 year

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Alone on Halloween - a Steddie ficlet

October 31th, 1971

Little Steve is sitting down on his front porch, his tiny fists closed, his eyes filled with tears. A few drops fall on his knees, his blue jeans absorbing the liquid without leaving a trace. Around him, kids his age are enjoying themselves, dressed as ghosts, vampires and others ghouls. Not him, though. His parents are way too busy to buy him a costume, let alone coming with him trick-or-treating. They left him alone, alone in this big house they brought with their big adult money, with a big pantry where no candies can be found, even on Halloween night. And even if his father has told him a million time he shouldn't cry, because crying is only for girls and pussies, he can't help it. He cries his stolen childhood, his innocence crushed by parents that had a kid because it was what good people were supposed to do. He cries, because it's the only thing he can do.

October 31th, 1981

Steve doesn't like Halloween. Never had, as long as he can remember. But of course, he's still invited to all the themed-parties the cool kids of Hawkins are organising to celebrate the night, and of course, he has to go to maintain his social status in school. He's King Steve, after all. People are expecting him to act a certain way, and if it's the only way for him to be accepted, he'll do it in a heartbeat.

The music is loud, people are laughing and dancing and making out on alcohol-stained couches. Girls are wearing angel wings and devil horns with lot of glitters and sequins, while most guys have made the bare minimum and put on their favorite sports jersey, proclaming they're dressed as famous athletes. Steve is near the bar, drinking vodka straight out of the bottle. Around him, there are teens he calls his friends and girls that visited his bed more than once, but he's alone. After all this time, after all the sacrifices he made to be the person he thought people will finally love, he's still alone. He's not crying about it anymore, though. He's simply drinking, drinking so much he can't feel pain and sadness and misery.

October 31th, 1984

He knew that sooner or later, Nancy would break up with him. Why would a girl like her, so smart, so beautiful, so perfect, fall for him ? He's destined to be alone, after all, his own parents rejected him - he's simply not good enough. He can't blame Nancy for calling their relationship "bullshit". It's better this way.

This night, when he finally come home and fall into bed, without even taking his clothes off, he has a nightmare. It's becoming quite ordinary, these days. Flashes of monstrous creatures and the kids he grew to love dying in his arms, flames, ashes, blood, despair. He wakes up in a cold sweat, as tired as he was the night before. Thank god, october is finally over.

October 31th, 1985

For the first time ever, Steve isn't miserable on Halloween night. Robin is at his house, they're watching an horror movie and eating sweets. Of course, Steve pretends he's not scared of Freddy Krueger and his claws, he flinched only because a fly was bothering him. He lets her paint his nails and he listen to her complain about her disastrous love life - but hey, can it be any other way in Hawkins, Indiana, for a lesbian teenager in 1985 ? He cannot stop smiling while she's rambling again and again about this girl she has a crush on but who's also desperately straight. And when the ring bells, when he sees Dustin and Will and all of the gang dressed as various pop-culture characters he doesn't seem to remember the names, shouting "trick or treat" before dashing inside without any permission, he feels like crying. Not out of sadness, like little Steve on his porch, but out of glee and gratitude. Maybe he can allow himself to be happy for a while.

October 31th, 1986

It's been 7 months since they saved the entire town from Vecna. The people of Hawkins don't know that, of course, still believing an earthquake hit and people had died from this terrible event, but they know, and maybe that's the most important thing after all. Eddie has been cleared of all his charges by Hopper, who has regain his place as sherif, and everything has returned the way it's supposed to be. Robin had asked Steve if he wanted to join her and Nancy for Halloween but he didn't want to be the third wheel - besides, the kids should come over after they're done collecting candies around town. Knock knock. Maybe it's them.

- Hey, Stevie, says the voice when he open the door.

And here he is, Eddie Munson in all his glory, long frizzy hair, big brown eyes, and devilish smile. He's wearing fake vampire teeth and -ohmygod black eyeliner. His right hand is on his hip, while his left is hanging on the doorframe, like he's been waiting on Steve for a while.

- I heard you were alone on Halloween, so, I decided to come grace you from my presence.

The "vampire" grins, and his fake canines escape from his mouth - he tries to put it back quickly, but it's still pretty ridiculous. Steve laugh, and the little frown Eddie began to wear fades. It's beautiful, when Steve laugh. They come inside, and the laughter continues. It fills the big empty home with sun and warmth. The boys talk all night, and sometimes, somewhere behind the wall of the Harringtons big house, they exchange a first kiss - more like a promise. The promise that Steve will never be alone at Halloween ever again.

#steddie #stranger things #well that was a journey #i hadn't write in english since like 2014 i'm so rusty sorry #hope you like it tho #steve is me i'm steve #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #writing #stranger things fanfiction #bynuagedemots

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alpydk · 2 months

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Cabinet of Oddities -Part 1 - TavxGale (Fanfic)

I have decided to jump on the actual story bandwagon with my changeling Nana (tav). Honestly, I love her too much so here is part 1

Summary: "Mamma, I believe that creature is a changeling: she is a perfect cabinet of oddities, but I should be dull without her; she amuses me a great deal more than you or Lucy Snowe." - Villette - Charlotte Brontë Nana is a changeling who has done an excellent job keeping this quiet. After spending her life alone she comes across a group of adventurers looking to save themselves from their new parasites. She follows after them, humouring herself with their remarks and eventually thinks, is being alone really worth it?

Ao3 Link

It had been two days since the changeling Nana woke up on the Sword Coast. Her head was spinning and body aching after the Nautiloid crashed. She could feel the tadpole twisting and turning in her skull and no matter the form she took, it was still there. “Well, this is certainly a new one.” she said out loud to herself. After living alone for so long, without conversation with others, talking to herself had become a regular occurance. Maybe she had gone a little mad over time or maybe she no longer cared about looking strange. Either way she’d been happy residing alone in her swamp, reading a journal for what seemed like the a millionth time, when suddenly she had found herself upon the mindflayer ship. The next thing she knew it was falling from the sky and she was clinging onto the edge of the pod by her fingertips.

Nana could not believe she was still alive. She ran her hands along her body looking for any signs of injury before looking around the area. “Elf?, check, human?, check, me?, check. That’s the important ones ready and able.” She morphed through various personas as she spoke. It was easy and natural to her as breathing. “Ok, let’s go!” she exclaimed before wandering along the coastline aimlessly. Bodies were scattered around, clearly victims of the crash. Her life had always been one of scavenging and hunting so checking for trinkets and supplies was nothing new, she just had to make sure they were dead first.

She would come upon a body and give it a kick with her boot first before then checking the pockets and any bags, making sure not to make eye contact with the corpse. People looking at her, no matter her form, had always made her feel uncomfortable. It was as if they knew what she was and they were trying to find her weakness. Too many times had she been hunted down, people believing the unfactual books, or confusing her with a doppelganger. This is what had driven her to a life of solitude, only appearing in more common forms to trade with the nearby villages.

She continued to trek for three more days before eventually coming across a band of adventurers. She watched them with great interest as they argued over different topics, Mindflayers, The Grove, spellings of names. How anyone could spell the name Will wrong, she didn't understand, but despite all this she continued to follow them. She had enjoyed watching people from afar for most of her life. She liked to assign them backstories. Was that elf secretly a spy? Or maybe that gnome was a cursed giant. She’d write in her journal all the conversations she’d observed and then play them out acting each part in a different form. Sometimes she would insert herself in the stories she made for them. Maybe she would marry a handsome knight or be saved from an evil wizard. It wasn't a lonely life, at least not in her eyes. Things were simply safer this way.

And so after seeing this strange party, she continued after them. Watching them, listening, writing down their conversations. I’ll say one thing for our troupe - we’re not short on drama. She enjoyed this individual the most. The one in the purple who spoke so elegantly. She liked the way his voice lilted up and down and how his face would scrunch when he was unimpressed with something. Her evenings were filled flicking back and forth between forms, one moment as this man and the next as a dark haired half elf.

“You seem to know a good deal about our condition, Gale.” The half-elf’s voice was all high and regal. Nana morphed quickly, her physical body changing to that of the human wizard and her voice altering, becoming deeper and more suave. “Everything, really - not to put too fine a point on it.” She changed back to the half-elf just as quickly with a smile on her face. “A humble specimen, aren't you?” She laughed at herself at the newfound amusement and turned back again. “On occasion.”

“These people are much more interesting than villagers,” Nana confirmed to herself. She knew that she would have to meet them. They had far too many stories amongst themselves and upon hearing how accepting they were of the vampire elf they had picked up, a very small hope rose up that maybe they would accept her too. She transformed herself into a human, braided her long blonde hair and armed with her preferred green eyes, she slowly approached the campsite.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #galemance #fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #changeling #dnd character #dnd #bg3 tav

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justlittleguysims · 8 months

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OC INTRODUCTION: Part 4

Here's the last character from my WIP project I'll be posting for a bit. Here's Morgan Larson, the most timid and introverted character of main cast, but there are several reasons for that.

Content Warning: Allusions to abuse and neglect of a child, Religion, Homophobia, Transphobia, Misogyny.

Morgan Larson (She/Her)

Age: 34 || Birthday: Feb. 21th ♓ || Traits: Gloomy, Creative, Neat || Height: 5'7"ft ||Sexuality: Heterosexual|| Occupation: Unemployed

For as long as she could remember, Morgan’s parents would tell her that she was sick, which always confused her. She remembered being 5 years old, and having her mom pray for her, but she never got better. It took ages for her to figure out why that was, since her family did everything in their power to try and minimize her “incorrect” behavior. As Morgan continued to grow up in the church, she desperately wanted to be good, especially after years of being told she wasn’t. She never wanted to do anything wrong, she was far too scared to even entertain the thought of breaking the rules, but no good deed was ever enough for her father either. He would often punish her for playing with dolls, or for trying to play fairy princess with her sisters, and she would frequently be sent to bed without dinner for simply crying, and at 11 years old, Morgan finally found out why he was like this. She overheard her parents talking about her one night, and she caught her father saying, that no real son of his “would be behave like that.” Her mother was crying, insisting that she “didn’t cheat,” but her father wasn’t having it, “Morgan isn’t MY son,” he screamed… and in hindsight, her father was right about this, just not in the way he thought.

After being sent to therapy at her church, where she was constantly told to repent and relinquish her “unnatural” feminine ways, Morgan, once again, failed to change. Enraged by this, her father decided to send her away to an all-boys Christian school, where the boys would continue to bully her for just about everything, just as her father did. Soon rumors about her started to spread around the campus, with each year’s rumor mill becoming progressively more gross and inflammatory, until her junior year, at just 16, she was attacked by classmates, leading to her expulsion for her safety. Once back home, she was immediately kicked out, and when she tried to use her credit card to buy supplies for herself later that day, she discovered she was already cut off. Her family finally got rid of her, which was both a relief and a stab in the gut for Morgan.

For the next 18 years, Morgan was on the constant move, not trusting any one place for too long. She made most of her money drawing quick portraits on the curbside of anyone who could spare a few dollars, and as she worked her way through a DIY transition, she avoided shelters to not cause trouble or draw extra attention to herself. However, the current town she has found herself in has recently started cracking down on their unhoused population, and the pandemic seems to have worn away at the compassion of the town’s citizens. It’s become harder for everyone to gather enough money to eat, and police have been patrolling and harassing people who hung around in the more popular encampment spots throughout town. Everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before a police raid would happen, but when it did, those bastards chose the coldest night on record to carry it out. As Morgan was running for her life after the raid, she ran into a man named Derek, who seemed determined to help her out. Not wanting to freeze, she decided to take Derek at his word, and this where our story begins.

Fun Fact (because we really need one on this post): Morgan has always loved art, and even when things were at there worst, she always kept a secret sketch book she could escape into. She has always had a dream of illustrating children's story books, filled with magically creatures and fanciful things.

If you’ve reached this point of the post, THANK YOU for reading and please feel free to drop an ask about this character. I hope to have more sim updates in the coming weeks for you all. Please follow and yell at me to get shit done! Okay, thanks, BYE! 💜✨

Further Reading: OC Intros Pt. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 || Pizza Gang Pt. 1 | 2 | 3 || Family Intros Pt. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 || The Henchmen Pt. 1 | 2 || Multiverse Characters Pt. 1

#ts4 cas #ts4 screenshots #showusyoursims #show us your sims #simblr #ts4 story #ts4 story blog #justlittleguy posting #project: wip #project wip: morgan #ts4 simblr #my sims #my ocs #ts4 maxis match #ts4 maxis mix

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theflyingfeeling · 1 year

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All I want is Aleksi and Olli taking Rilla and going for the most cozy week in some cabin in the woods to celebrate their birthdays by spending the time cuddling, exploring the forest, doing some cooking together and lazily making out... 💕

So...something like this, maybe? 🥰👬🐶🐿️

One fact about Aleksi Kaunisvesi was that he was not a religious person, per se. He did celebrate Christmas with his family in a traditionally Christian way, yes, and he had appreciated the long weekend they were always given from school during Easter, even if he had usually spent the four days stuffing his face with overly sweet chocolate and watching cartoons rather than contemplating the Passion of the Christ, but he did not believe in an “invisible force” that allegedly controlled all life on earth as if it was his personal puppet show. Likewise, he wasn’t entirely convinced of the existence of places like Heaven and Hell, or any other form of afterlife for that matter; the moment he’d be lying dead and stiff in a wooden box, Aleksi supposed (and partly hoped) the only place he was going was six feet under.

He did think, however, that if there was a heaven somewhere, it would be a lot like where he was right now: under a blanket on the couch of his family’s summer cottage, with scented candles and the remains of a birthday cake on the coffee table, and two sleeping figures pressed tightly against him, one curled up in the crook of Aleksi’s neck and sighing dramatically in his ear from time to time, the other resting his head on Aleksi’s chest with one of his arms wrapped around Aleksi’s waist. To him, heaven was the smoothness of Olli’s lips, the look in Rilla’s eyes when she hurried to him with her favourite toy in her mouth, Olli’s sleepy moans in the morning when they pleasured each other in bed, and all their footprints on the front porch of the cottage after a morning walk on foggy fields and mossy forests.

Indeed, if the clouds in Heaven weren’t as soft as Olli’s curls or Rilla’s fur just behind her ear, Aleksi sure as hell wasn’t going to bother living a life free of sin. On the other hand, if the life hereafter was anything like this, Aleksi wouldn’t have minded passing away this instant, as long as it meant he’d get to spend eternity exactly where he was now, all snuggled up with the two creatures he loved the most in the whole terrestrial world.

The drumming of the rain against the windowsill was almost like a lullaby that nearly made Aleksi lose the battle against sleepiness, which he had been fighting bravely ever since they all had settled on the couch together; not because he wasn’t feeling drowsy from the three-course meal they had had – minus Rilla, who had turned up her nose on the filet mignon flavoured Cesar meal – but because he simply couldn’t resist savouring the sight of his loved ones clinging on to him like touch-starved baby koalas. He was, in fact, maybe just a few seconds from nodding off himself, had it not been for the smallest, barely audible rustle sounding from behind the front door.

“Ril–” Aleksi didn’t have any more time to react before Rilla bolted up and sprang to the door, barking sharply at the visitor behind it.

“Mmhhuh?” a sleepy voice mumbled against Aleksi’s sweater.

“The darned squirrel is back again,” Aleksi sighed. “I told you we shouldn’t have started feeding it.”

“But it looked so sad and starved!” Olli exclaimed as he lifted his cheek off Aleksi’s chest and rested his chin on it instead, locking eyes with Aleksi. Although Aleksi knew it was unintentional on Olli’s part, he couldn’t help but smile fondly at Olli’s face which was an impeccable image of the expression the squirrel had pulled the other morning as it had looked at them through the window while they had been having brunch. Olli had insisted the poor animal had been staring at their late breakfast snacks, and before Aleksi had had a chance to point out that he doubted squirrels were particularly keen on chocolate muffins or yoghurt, Olli had taken a handful of blueberries and put them on his already empty bread and butter plate before tiptoeing to the porch and placing the humble offerings on the small glass table under the window.

Now, Aleksi had always considered himself a man of reason and rationality, and this part of him argued they should restrain from interacting with wildlife like this, no matter how cute. In a few days, their little vacation in the middle of nowhere would be over and there’d be no one leaving the squirrel blueberries fresh from the grocery store anymore. But when it came to Olli Matela, he knew this sort of reasoning was no use; sharing his life with Olli, Aleksi had learnt not only that ‘a second breakfast’ was more than just a silly quirk from the pencil of Mr. Tolkien, but also that some matters were simply meant to be dealt with by your heart rather than by your (annoyingly logical, as his bandmates often complained) head.

Inviting a lonely squirrel to your breakfast table was clearly one of these matters, and since then, their new friend had paid them a visit at least once a day, making subtle noises on the porch to attract their – and especially Rilla’s – attention. Aleksi thought the furry rodent was trying his luck a little too boldly, climbing up the wooden pillar of the porch just inches before Rilla’s teeth would snap its furry tail, but Olli admired its persistence and bravery and rewarded it with a squirrel-sized portion of salad seed mix (whereas Rilla, Aleksi assumed, was of the opinion that the squirrel would be better off as far away from her territory, which consisted of the area surrounding the cottage as far as Rilla’s eyesight could reach and a little beyond that, just to be sure). Yet, no matter how stern Aleksi tried to be, it only took him one glance at the way Olli’s eyes brightened as he observed the squirrel nibbling on whatever little snack he had given it from their travel cooler, and Aleksi knew he wasn’t going to stop Olli from feeding the animal the next time it would arrive either.

When the squirrel had finished its meal of the day and scurried back to the nearby pine where they suspected it slept in, Olli turned to Aleksi and shuffled closer, right into Aleksi’s personal space.

“Shall we continue where we left off now?” Olli’s low voice was like hot chocolate on a winter evening, especially now that Aleksi had already lost all the body heat they had built together under the blanket.

“Mmmmh,” Aleksi hummed and let himself be dragged towards the couch, slowly and a little clumsily, as neither of them couldn’t bear letting the other go once they were entangled in an embrace once again. “Or maybe…we could do something else?”

Olli didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. The answer was given in the curve of his lips, in the brilliant gleam in his thunderstorm coloured eyes, in the tongue that immediately found Aleksi’s when their mouths touched. As Aleksi felt himself be pushed back on the couch cushions, gently but with certainty and purpose, he knew he wouldn’t have to second-guess whether or not Olli had understood his indirect suggestion.

Divine, Aleksi thought when Olli’s hungry eyes undressed him before his hands could. Celestial, he sighed in his mind when Olli’s hands groped his body wherever they could reach, in perfect sync with his equally celestial tongue. Angelic, he almost whispered out loud when Olli’s lust-filled eyes met his. Holy, he wanted to scream when their bodies moved together, the windows of the small cottage fogging up. Heavenly, when Olli finally collapsed on top of him, panting heavily, sweat glistening on his chest.

Heaven, when they kissed slowly by the kitchen counter, waiting for their mulled wine to brew; when they sat wrapped around each other at 3 am, chatting idly about everything and nothing; when their naked bodies melted together as they finally fell asleep.

To think of it again, maybe Aleksi could find a little bit of religiousness in himself after all.

#blind channel #blind channel rpf #blind channel fanfiction #eyyyyy would you look at that! i actually finished something!! :D #also: sometimes i randomly remember how i bonded over dachshunds with aleksi in stockholm last summer and 😭😭😭#do you think he'd be up for another chat about our furry lil' friends if i sent him a dm on instagram? 🥺#ps. i don't know who anon is but this is for my dearest ju as much as it is for anon 💖#random tumblr ficlets by theflyingfeeling #(i'll have you know i could've been in an nhl game or a lost society gig but instead i was writing this)#(both events sold out before i could get a ticket lol)#(and well. i suppose the ls gig hasn't even started yet 😅)#ah fuck i hate it when i edit a post after publishing it and the readmore moves 😑#ollixallu

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smallestapplin · 2 years

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Hey howdy hey- ya pal is here! So remember when that hells big AU that Sycamore was actually xerneas! That just makes all the creative juices in my mind go wild.

All I can think of is Sycamore falling for a mortal. But since the world sucks and I love pain what would happen if his mortal love dies?

Made this more of a god au

TW : death but again nothing explicit.

He hasn’t meant to fall in love with a mortal, no one in his place does. You had just stumbled upon him while walking through the forest.

And sparked a friendly conversation. It’s been a while since he has checked in on humanity so you were perfect to answer his questions.

You were too kind to him and the creatures he resides with.

The inside jokes you two shared, the hilariously cursed conversation you’d have with him late at night.

Sycamore loved showing you around how domain so much, your praise meant the world to him!

One thing simply lead to another and he wanted to spend eternity with you, your glowing presence made it all worth while.

The deity was looking into how to make you an immortal like him, he knew there was a way all he needed to do was find it. He couldn’t imagine spending life without you after you wiggled your way into his life.

But like the life force he brings there are ones to take it away.

Sycamore always kept you close but away from other immortals, truly he knows most would be delighted to meet you, an old friend of his wouldn’t.

Stuck in a song and dance for all of time, he should’ve known Lysandre would take any chance to harm sycamore.

When you never showed up to the usual clearing you two deemed perfect he knew something was wrong. You were hardly ever late, sure you had been before, but not hours late.

He began his search, asking the creature if they have seen you or if they could help you.

A Sylveon guided him, following your scent.

The further the two went the more distressed the Pokémon became. He didn’t know why until the the lush lively forest slowly turned into a dead one.

All the life having been draining away from it all.

When they found you it was far too late.

The god of life wept and sobbed for hours by your husks side. He cried, he screamed, and he pleaded.

His own abilities would not work, no matter what kind of life force he tried to give nothing worked, for your spirit was long gone by now.

Towns people soon notice how quiet the forest is, no birds chirping, no leaves rustling, no howls, not even the sound of pangoro’s and pancham’s causing a ruckus.

It was all deathly still.

The man became hollow.

He sat on the tree stump he usually sat at, staring at the one across from him. You use to sit there and talk with him for hours.

He will never hear your voice again.

He will never hear your jokes again.

He will never get to hold you close and kiss you.

He will never get to tell you how much you mean to him.

Were you afraid in your final moments? Did you call out for him? Were you content with how you lived?

The deity of life lives for eons more.

Sycamore however died along side you.

#pokemon #pokemon imagines #pokemon x reader #pokemon fanfic #pokemon sycamore x reader #pokemon sycamore #other

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jammatown919 · 1 year

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A Witch and Her Familiar (3)

Scylla desperately misses Raelle, but at least she has her other constant.

In a way, Scylla thought the stench of death helped to complete her image. She was already so heavily associated with it; the Work she'd studied at Fort Salem relied on it, and she'd caused far more of it than most people would ever see firsthand. Now she smelled the part, sitting in a room full of every dead thing she could find.

Not that she really noticed it, though; she'd long since gone nose-blind to scents of this nature, but she'd heard plenty of complaints about how everyone else could practically smell it outside. Had it not been for Raelle's Unit, someone probably would have tried to make her clear out the carcasses after the first complaint, but they had handled that argument for her, because they understood what it was all for. A chance to reach their sworn sister, the love of Scylla's life.

She'd managed a sign once before, at Yule, and she didn't care what she had to do for another one. She would personally slaughter all the world's fauna if it meant one of those corpses might give her what she needed. Every single creature except the lovely dark bird resting by the open window.

Morrigan had brought her half the rats and squirrels and whatever else that littered every surface of the room, both before she'd left with Edwin and right now, and Scylla loved her Familiar dearly for it. Morrigan alone understood her pain, because it was theirs to share. Every love and loss belonged to both of them, and Raelle's absence was a gaping hole in some metaphorical collective heart only they could feel.

Without her, they were incomplete. No matter how much Scylla tried to keep hope and remain calm, the cracks were starting to show.

Her fist tightened around the dead rat she'd been working with, tiny ribs snapping under her fingers. Somehow, the feeling of breaking bones only made her feel more hopeless, until suddenly she was hurling the small body across the room in a fit of frustration.

Morrigan fluttered up from her perch in an instant, not out of fear, never out of fear, but instead to offer whatever comfort she could to her suffering witch.

Scylla received her by sweeping the other duds off the table to make room for her to land. Though the crow could not speak to her in words, Scylla understood every expression and gesture about as well as spoken language. Now, she seemed to say, "It's going to be alright."

"Yes," Scylla agreed with a huff. "Eventually, when we get her back. But right now, I can't even talk to her."

Morrigan nudged Scylla's hand, still resting on the table.

"Don't give up."

Scylla didn't even dignify that with a response. They both knew she would die and take Morrigan with her before she gave up on Raelle, but it was hard to keep faith in the same method when, no matter how much she tweaked the Work, nothing happened. An unfortunate possibility was beginning to take hold in her mind, that she simply wasn't strong enough to do this without the help of certain energies that could only be tapped into on days like Yule. Morrigan sensed her doubt and bit her finger, refusing to let her consider it.

"Ow!" Scylla shouted indignantly, and Morrigan flinched too. Not at the sound, but because she'd essentially just bitten herself. "Morrigan!"

The crow let out an insistent kraa, a fierce refusal to let Scylla worry herself out of continuing to work toward the one thing she wanted more than anything else. Objectively, it was a kindness, and Scylla might have thought so if her hand wasn't throbbing.

"If it's not working, it's not working," she snapped.

"Well, what else are you going to?" Morrigan replied in the tilt of her head.

That was honestly a great question, one that Scylla couldn't answer because she couldn't think of anything else she could do. She'd exhausted all her options, even spoken with the late Willa Collar herself, and nothing had come of any of it. All she had left was the hope that if she kept doing the same thing, something different might eventually happen. The definition of insanity.

Scylla let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward, resting her forehead on her hands.

"I don't know," she said miserably.

Morrigan cooed gently at her, reaching up to tug at her sleeve. Scylla pulled it away.

"What if I can't reach her?"

If that worry was the devil on her shoulder, Morrigan was the angel on the other. She grabbed the fabric again, undeterred.

"What if you can?" each tug demanded. "What if you can, and you stop trying, and that's why you never see her again?"

Scylla knew, beneath all the frustration and feelings of hopelessness, that she was right. There was nothing else to try, and giving up was simply not an option, so the only way forward was to persist.

She found herself grateful that Familiars kept their own distinct personalities and opinions that allowed them to challenge their witches when needed. As it turned out, having a constant second opinion was good for her. She might have been saved from some less than stellar decisions if she'd met Morrigan sooner.

In any case, if she was going to sit here and go insane, she supposed there were worse reasons and worse companions. For Raelle, with Morrigan, there was quite literally nothing she would not do.

Besides, what could a few more tries hurt?

"Alright," she decided at last, reaching for a dead dove which had landed closest to her after her aggressive clearing of the table. "Let's try again."

----

If you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging to share it with others. Or, if you’re feeling generous, you can support the writer by donating to my Ko-fi!

#motherland fort salem #motherland: fort salem #raylla #raelle collar #scylla ramshorn #morrigan the crow #part four is in the works! just trying to juggle it between midterms

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sarahsamok · 7 months

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Sarah Sanderson is based on Sarah from Hocus Pocus. She is a 38 year old/temporarily immortal witch, Until Sunrise owner, and uses she/her pronouns. She has the powers of siren singing, electrokinesis, potion brewing, and spell casting. Sarah is portrayed by Annabelle Wallis.

death mention tw

being the youngest sanderson and the most beautiful sanderson in her opinion, came with its ups and downs. mostly ups, and she is very grateful for that, but the downs were not so fun. like the constant yelling from winnie or the smacks to the head when she did something wrong, which in some people's eyes were a lot, but other than that she pretty much did whatever she wanted.

still, when her sisters called to her, she dropped everything to get to them. her sisters are her favorite people, her number ones. she would do anything they asked of her without a complaint. though she does wish winnie could be a bit nicer about things.

she learned at a young age that she could pretty much get people who were not her sisters to do whatever she wanted as long as she batted her long eyelashes and swayed her hips the right way. oh, how the boys used to fall at her feet! and that was before the witchcraft!

the witchcraft was an added bonus in sarah's eyes. each sister had their own special gift and hers was her siren song. sing a spell, lure the children, stay young forever! it was such a good plan. of course, it didn't turn out too great in the end and made a lot of people upset, but they were just jealous that her and her sisters were so beautiful and strong.

dying was such an uncomfortable experience, but clearly they were doing something right if they came back! sarah took this new chance of life to live it up the best she could. honestly, she knew her sisters were pretty worried about not remembering why they were alive and all that serious stuff but sarah could honestly care less. she is a business woman now! she couldn't even dream of doing something like that back in salem!

it just made sense to sarah to start a business doing exactly what they used to do but in a way that didn't make the townspeople hate them! and she was giving back the youth or something, so that had to count, right? she is good at what she does and her charm and her magic get her far. she embraced her life in evermore with open arms and it has been kind to her and her sisters. what more could she desire?

well...she had a few additional desires. like a few guys to mess around with. she remembers her cages and what fun she had locking boys in her cages...which she now knows is something she cannot just do whenever she wants to! that doesn't mean she hasn't found herself one. but it is unused. a sad, but factual thing.

she has had quite a few lovers in the past, but her favorite had always been billy butcherson. for some reason, people thought that he was winnie's boyfriend, but that just was not the case. he was hers and she might have even loved him once, but he is dead and she is not. so that is that. plus winnie would totally kill her if she tried bringing him back or something of that nature.

she has a deep love for spiders. they are her favorite little creatures. favorite snacks too! but she tries to not eat them in front of others. she has learned the hard way that people do not seem to like that.

she keeps a lucky rat tail in her pocket at all times. it is her favorite charm. it has never done her dirty. she was a little heartbroken when she realized she was going to have to enchant a new one since her old one didn't follow her to death, but she makes due.

sarah is not a good secret keeper. she blurts things out all the time without meaning and she can make her sisters pretty mad by doing that. she is working on it! but sometimes she simply forgets a secret is a secret in the first place.

sarah isn't really scared of much beyond winnie. she normally takes delight in the things that go bump in the night. they make her want to bump along with them! the only real fear she has is the fear of rejection. she can't handle rejection. rejection tends to make her...do awfully wicked things in retaliation. also never call her ugly! that brings out her mean side fast!

siren song aside, she does really love singing in general! she has to be careful with it since her magic can easily send the mass the wrong way...but she is hardly ever careful with anything she does!

she does not understand modern slang. at all. she uses it wrong every single time she tries to incorporate it.

sarah at her core just craves affection and attention. she doesn't always want it to be lustful or romantic, but it is what she knows best so it is what she gravitates to. sometimes she just wants to be told she is doing a good job or that she matters.

#🔮 amok! amok! amok! || hcs.#intro #death mention tw

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mamahex · 1 year

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This is a very edited little story (the one on AO3 is VERY NSFW). So if you want to see the porny version, it's on there. I just want to say that this really hurt to write. It seems ridiculous, somehow, that I'm a forty two year old woman, sat here crying about the long since death of a fictional character from a game... but yet here I am. I'm really, really sad right now... 🥺

Why Does It Feel Like We're Saying Goodbye

By the time we got to Shady Belle, I knew the end was looming.

I can feel the end of us as if it were a physical thing, a giant creature that has been chasing us all since Blackwater, stomping at our heels no matter how far we ran. And I'm not stupid, I can see the decline in Dutch as clearly as if I were reading his story in a book held tightly in my hands, but I am as powerless to stop his decline as if it really had been a book that someone else had written many years before; beginning, middle and end.

Of course, I think of my boys... My two boys who I love with every ounce of feeling that's still held inside of me, but also the others, the women and little Jack... I've told them, time and time again to get out while they still can, because I know the end is near and I know there's no hope, no escaping this monster at our back's, no Tahiti...

But most of all, the thing that hurts the most, more than losing my own life or losing any one of my sons... I think of Dutch.

He has always suffered from these dark moods, retreating behind his impenetrable walls that I could never breech. He was always so full of life and light and love that each time he retreated into his darkness, it felt as if the whole world had suddenly been rendered black and desolate. It always hurt. But I had always been able to coax him back out, eventually, back to us, back to me. But since he killed that woman in Blackwater...somethng had changed, and I simply couldn't reach him.

And I know I've been as bad as the others have been, agreeing with his plans, encouraging him even when he rants about Tahiti or wherever else he plans on running us all to, and I do it just to see him smile. I do it just to see a faint flicker of life light his eyes again, like they used to be lit. And sure, we've argued, we've debated, we've stormed off from each other's company plenty times since Blackwater, but I haven't dissagreed even nearly as much as I should, and I hate myself for that. I'm weak...I'm a weak and pathetic old man, agreeing with a madman just because I love him...

I love him so much that it's beginning to kill me, seeing him like this.

Arthur simply agrees with Dutch, like he always has, because he loves him too. John is beginning to question him now, and that does surprise me somewhat, but all his doubts are doing is pushing a larger wedge between Dutch and they boy he loves. Dutch won't ever listen, won't ever hear him.

And Micah... Micah is the devil, I'm sure of it. I truly think that the end has come for me, for us all, and that the devil himself has come to march us all to hell. But of course, Dutch won't see reason, he won't see the truth, because the more we doubt his erratic plans and argue with him, the more Micah is there to tell him he is right and we are all wrong, and that's always the best medicine for Dutch: having someone tell him he is right. So long as he believes he is right, he will hear no other truth.

I went up to his room in the old, run-down plantation house without any sort of plan or reason. I just... I just needed to be with him. Sometimes, I simply need him, without words, without questions, as it has always been between us. Throughout all the years, it has always been the same. The love we share, it's never needed an explanation, or an identity, or a question... We have never felt the need to be each other's Only, to cuddle by the fireside, holding hands and showing everyone our love. We just simply have always been... We could have months pass without so much as a touch, but then I, or he, would simply walk up to the other and fall into his arms, and be taken, without question, and loved.

Molly answered the door, looking angry and dark. "No," she simply said, staring up at me. "No."

"Go sleep somewhere else tonight, honey," I said, feeling tired and old and not ready for a fight. I don't know if she had any real idea why I was there, why Dutch would simply not be there with her, some nights, but the look on her face told me she perhaps had an idea. But the fight had already been wrung out of her by then. I think that she, too, must have felt the end coming, more so for her and Dutch than for the rest of us. She simply scowled at me and pushed past me and left.

I went into the room and quietly closed the door behind me.

There was an old tin bathtub in the middle of the room that some of the boys had carried up for him to use. He was laying in the bath, then the hot water gently steaming the room, making the already swampy and humid air even more unbearable. He looked up as I approached and smiled at me. There was no question, no surprise. He knew why I was there, as was our way.

Without a word, I walked over to him and leaned into a crouch by the side of the bath, leaned down, and kissed him. We hadn't been together, like this, since before Blackwater, but the time that had passed and everything that had happened had done nothing to change our unspoken closeness, our unquestioning love for each other.

Dutch took a hand from the water and lightly pulled me closer, his hot wet hand touching my hair and making me damp. He leaned up and kissed me, one deep and lingering kiss on the lips, before sliding back down to sitting and taking back his hand. I got down to the floor, stiffly, and sat beside him.

"How's the headwound?" I asked, reaching out and stroking his wet hair, being careful not to touch the most sore place.

"It's better," he said. I nodded, still running my fingers through his hair. "I've missed you, old girl," he said. His voice was deep and quiet and full of thoughts.

"I've missed you too, my love," I said, and I felt as if I might weep, there, on the floor beside him. "I need you tonight," I said, my voice coming out thick with feeling.

Dutch turned to stare at me, his black eyes reaching inside of me to gently pluck at the very most hidden places. I was afraid, then, that he might reject me for the first time in over twenty years. But his dark look melted into a half smile, and he gently took my hand from the wet tangle of his hair and slowly began to kiss my fingers, my hand, trailing slow delicious kisses up to my wrist.

"We don't have to...if you are too tired..." I said, suddenly feeling shy, suddenly feeling the distance that had pushed us apart since Blackwater. I didn't mind if we didn't have sex, I just needed to be with him, very suddenly.

"I always want you, Hosea..." he spoke between kisses. "I'll always want you..." He turned back to look at me and gripped my hand a little tighter and tugged my hand into the hot water. He held my hand over his hardness, "I always want you..." he repeated, his voice grainy with lust.

I bent to kiss him again, a hungrier kiss than the last. As our tongues began to gently entwine, I felt my own arousal, my own need begin. We broke apart, panting slightly, staring at each other.

In one sudden movement, Dutch lurched to stand, water sloshing over the sides of the bath to sink into the floorboards. He stood before me, the fire in his eyes almost terrifying. I got to my feet and let him come at me.

He climbed out of the bath and went to me, pressing his wet body against my dry clothes, and kissed me. I felt the hot water from his body begin to soak my clothes, but I didn't care.

Dutch pulled away from me and began to tear at my clothes, his hands fumbling in his desperation. I helped him as best I could, stripping my damp clothes and casting them aside.

We made love then, a desperate, needy love that I hadn't realised I was craving until it was consuming me.

I gasped a laugh. "I'm getting too old for this..." I said.

Dutch smiled at me, and my heart flared at the sight of it.

"We'll never be too old for this."

"Come to bed?" I asked.

Dutch took my hand and pulled me into his bed. I gladly fell into his embrace, resting my head on his chest, running my hand through the hair on his chest. He held me tightly, his body warm and familiar and safe. We clung to each other, and there was nothing but love and the promise of a better future there, in that bed.

But, of course, I knew it was only temporary...

I know that, in the morning, we are to rob the bank at Saint Denis. I know that it's meant to be our last big heist. I know it's meant to be the last big take we need before...Tahiti.

I sighed, feeling the bliss of our lovemaking leaving me.

I couldn't shake the feeling that this was the last time we will ever lay in bed together. I can't shake the feeling that I was saying goodbye...

"Dutch," I whispered.

"Mmmm," he said, half sleeping beheath me.

"Tomorrow... after the bank job...after we get the money..."

"What?" he asked, waking up a little more.

"When we get the money, when we leave...I've been thinking...I want to go away with you. Just you...I want us to go away somewhere and... just be together. I can't lose you, Dutch."

I felt tears begin to sting my eyes, and the awful, desperate feeling that I was losing him gripped my chest like a vice.

Dutch peered at me. "We can't leave the gang..."

I sighed, swallowed anything that was trying to come to the surface. I knew I'd never be able to convince him that the gang was finished. I knew that he believed in his promises of a life in Tahiti... I knew he wouldn't listen to reason, and I didn't want to end this night with another argument. So I did what I've done all along, and I let him keep a hold of his plans, his dreams, simply so I didn't have to watch him retreat back into his own darkness once more and leave me cold without his light.

I'd wanted to ask him to come away with me, to let the boys go... I wanted to get him away from Micah and then, just the two of us, we could be safe, and I wouldn't have to lose him. Of course, I wanted Arthur and John to remain close, but the gang was done...

But I couldn't say it. I couldn't ask it.

"I know, Dutch... I don't mean we leave the gang... After, when we are settled... How about you and me go somewhere together, just for a while, just the two of us... Somewhere, we can grow into older old men, with each other. And when we get back to the gang, watch our son's grow, whatch our...family thrive? But before that, before that, let's just let it be you and me for a little while..."

Dutch stared up at the cieling, deep in thought.

"We need to get everyone settled..." he said.

"I know, and we will... But once they are all settled and safe, lets just you and me go away together, sleep together like this every night. No more running, no more hiding... We can be free after tomorrow. The bank job is going to work, we are going to be rich, and when the family is safe, we can be together."

Dutch smiled up at the cieling and smiled up into his dreams.

I sat up and looked down at him and stroked his hair back from his forehead.

"Tomorrow," I said, "we are gonna be rich. I say we send Micah back to Blackwater for the rest of the money while we book passage to Tahiti, and then we can meet him out there... and once we are settled... we can be together like this forever."

I knew that the words I had been trying to say had morphed into a lie, but I simply couldn't bring myself to disappoint him...

I smiled and bent to kiss him.

"I love you, Dutch," I said, and again, I could feel tears begin to choke me. "Whatever happens tomorrow, with the bank job, with the plan... just remember that I love you. I'm in love with you, I have always been utterlly in love with you, and I always will be, until we are both up in heaven..."

"I love you too, Hosea," Dutch breathed, huffing a slight laugh at my unusual display of affection. "Why does it feel like we're saying goodbye?" he asked, kissing my forhead and holding me a little tighter.

"I'm not saying goodbye...I'm just saying I love you, Dutch...and I'll always love you."

"I love you too, old girl... there is no world without you in it... you are my world...if something should take you from me...I dread to think what would happen to me."

"I'm not going anywhere without you, Dutch," I whispered, stroking his face.

Dutch grinned at me. "See, you are finally starting to believe, Hosea! We are gonna be all right, we are gonna be better than all right! We are gonna be rich and safe and free, just how we planned it, right from the start..."

I kissed him softly, our lips warm. "Get some sleep," I said, snuggling back down into his chest. "Tomorrow will be difficult."

I felt Dutch snuggle deeper into the old and battered matress beneath us and sigh, sleep taking him.

I tried to sleep. I lay there, feeling his breathing slow and watching him doze off, but sleep wouldn't come to me. I gently slipped out of bed and retrieved my still damp clothes from the floor. I bent to kiss him, just before I left him sleeping, and smiled as his brow furrowed slightly at the invasion.

Sitting here now, writing in this book... That awful feeling is gripping me once again. The man I love is soundly sleeping upstairs, my boys, my family, they are all well around me. But...for how long?

Tomorrow, we are to rob the bank at Saint Denis, and it was my own plan, so I know that nothing should go wrong. So why does it feel like the end?

I don't know what the morning will bring, but I'm determined that, however this plays out, wether its Tahiti or the end of a rope for us, I'm going to make sure Dutch is with me.

#vandermatthews #ao3fic #red dead redemption fanfiction

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