honey-and-sweetdreams

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

Knelt At Her Altar

based off this idea by @leighsartworks216 <3 (i sat down tonight like oh ill work on the next part of unnatural affinity and some of the requests in my inbox but then i saw this post and it was like alright. i guess im writing this now). not too sure if i like this, but its too late for me to care at this point tbh (im posting this right after i finished writing it)

fem reader (you can probably guess which greek goddess shes based on) & written from sylus’s pov (except for the very last bit)

not proofread (its late yall, i usually reread these once but damn its 3 am); 2.8k words

Not many wandered near the mountain home to the last dragon.

His cave was high, hidden in the rocky terrain, surrounding trees and grass marking the territory. Still, the mortals liked to keep their distance.

A welcome distance, the dragon supposed.

That was why the noise had grabbed his attention so suddenly.

It was faint, far away from his shining hoard, but noticeable nonetheless. The dragon took off immediately, wondering if the mortals had finally had enough his presence so close to their civilization.

He descended quietly, watching as the men laid the stone foundation into the side of the mountain. They worked for months, unaware of their silent observer, until finally the structure was complete. The sun had nearly set by the time the final stone was laid and the unlit candles were arranged, the light on the mountainside almost completely dimmed.

The dragon landed before the structure once all the men had retreated back to their villages. He sat outside the structure for a while, scanning over the intricate carvings in the stone.

It was beautiful, the dragon noted, the artistry rivaling anything he’d seen before. However, that only made its location all the more confusing.

The structure was at least a day’s journey from any of the neighboring villages, too far for any frequent use, he thought. So why waste such an elegant structure for a herd of deer?

A warm flash of yellow came from the structure’s interior, and the dragon departed without a second thought.

Weeks pass before the dragon returns.

He’s hesitant, careful, as he approaches.

The sun is high when he first descends, flocks of men, women, children pour into the structure, bearing fruits and meats and jewels. They kneel before an altar within, prayers falling from their lips like their very utterance would wash away the blood staining their hands.

The dragon had never been one to subscribe to a faith.

Any creator that would make one such as himself only to leave him alone earned no reverence from the dragon.

Perhaps that lack of faith was what caused the dragon to hide in waiting in front of what he now knew was a temple, waiting until dusk to collect the offerings.

He may not have been one for gods, but he was never one to let such offerings go to waste.

The dragon waited for the shadows to overtake the mountainside valley, for the mortals to return to their homes with lightened loads and hearts. An hour passed with only the shuffling of birds in their nests before the dragon ascended the steps of the temple.

Scents of incense vaguely lingered and the stone held the warmth of the dying candles beneath his feet. At the very end of the temple, upon its altar where dozens of people had knelt just hours ago, were piles of fish, apples, gems, and so much more, just for the taking.

And the dragon intended to take.

His heavy steps were halted, however, by a soft jingling.

The dragon moved quickly, hiding behind a nearby column. The temple was empty before he entered, he made sure of it, so who was this being? He risked a peek from behind the pillar.

Met with the view of a young woman, the dragon was taken aback. This young woman, full and smiling, was clad in clothing the likes of which he’d never seen before. Fabric draped over her shoulders, hung from her neck to connect down to her wrists, another scrap tied around her waist.

Jewels decorated her, hung from her neck, wrists, ankles, jingling every time she moved. She sparkled against the shining stone, giving her an almost ethereal glow.

A song spilled from her lips, as full and jovial as the rest of her, and though the foreign words were lost on him, the effects were not. The dragon felt himself growing weary as he watched her gather fruits into her basket, his unease growing with it.

The temple seemed warmed, protected, as the woman moved around it, her movements resembling something of a dance.

The dragon may not know how to dance, but he knew beauty when he saw it.

“Are you hungry?” the woman asked, voice soft and full and holding a reprieve from the cold the dragon had known all his life.

He stilled against the stone tiles. Scales rising and wings flaring, he forced himself to remain hidden behind the pillars. It wasn’t worth risking a confrontation with this being, he figured, if they had evaded his observation so easily. The dragon was silent, a skill of his, impossible to find unless he willed it.

So how had this woman seen him, made him feel as if he were laid bare on the altar before her?

A pomegranate rolls along the floor, hitting his foot with a soft thud.

The voice spoke again. “Let my temple be a sanctuary to you as it is to others. I will not force you out if you do not wish it so. I am not one to force things. I will leave you food, and offer my temple as a hiding place.” Quieter now. “You will not be turned away, never by me.”

The dragon’s heart beats rapidly in his chest, a rhythm as unknown to him as the song the woman had hummed. The jingling stopped abruptly, but the dragon waited several minutes before moving.

The temple was empty now, the stone cold and the comforting feelings of secrecy in hiding were fading away. All the was left were burned candles, the pomegranate at his foot, and the basket still on the altar.

The basket was worn, stray straw poking out in certain places. It was filled with meats and fruits, nearly a quarter of the entirety of the offerings. The basket itself looked as if it were taken out of a common home, lovingly crafted and holding life in its weavings.

The dragon took the pomegranate before his departure.

The dragon did not return to the temple for weeks.

He busies himself with his hoard, with hunting, with dealing with those few who think it’s a good idea to challenge the last dragon.

He perches out in front of the temple early in the morning, before the sun rose. The rays of light took longer to reach this small valley, the mountain range hiding the sunrise itself, keeping the temple plunged in shadow for an hour longer.

Followers entered the temple in a steady stream, and the dragon observes each of them carefully, bright vermillion eyes glittering in the light.

None match the being he had seen that night.

The dragon is confident as he stands before the temple doors that it is empty, and yet the familiar jingling and song fill his ears.

He does not shy away this time, entering the temple with wings folded behind him. He thinks he sees a small smile warm her cheeks from afar, but the woman says nothing.

In her hands are two baskets, one more obviously weighed down with fish and fruit alike. His eyes snap to the very thing the woman examines. A ruby necklace, the delicate silver chain slipping between her fingers.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? It suits you, I think. I’ll leave it for you.” She grins as she carefully lays it into the overflowing basket.

“Why?” the dragon growls. His body is tense, distrusting of such a strange being before him. His voice is hoarse, as if it had been unused for decades.

It had.

No one wants to speak to a dragon.

The woman’s smile never fades despite his hostility. “It matches your eyes, don’t you think?”

The dragon finds himself stiffening again, this woman always catching him off guard. She has never had the opportunity to see his eyes, he knows.

None had.

She drops the heavy basket on the altar, leaving through the side of the temple with the lighter hanging in the crook of her elbow. The dragon chases after her, though there is no one to be seen, no jingling to be heard.

The woman is not lying in ambush, waiting to strike against the dragon as so many had before. Even her scent, the epitome of a comforting home that was foreign to the dragon like the songs she sang, had escaped him.

Cursing himself for missing her warmth, the dragon left the temple.

This time, he took the basket.

The ice of winter made its way through the mountain range and its surrounding villages in a matter of days. It overtook everything, animals retreating to their dens and villagers hiding in the warmth of their cottages.

The dragon himself settled within his own lair, hibernating through the season in a state of daze. Barely conscious, much like the other predators of the mountain.

Hibernation season ended before the snow had left the land, however, and the dragon set out to observe his territory. He caught sight of the villagers, only counting three, as they entered the temple bearing just a handful of offerings.

As the stars rise in the sky, the dragon descends.

The woman is there in the temple, as he expected, though she is not the same as he remembers.

Her fingers tremble as she reaches for the clumsily woven shawls on the altar. She wraps them around her frail figure, the natural warmth of her not enough to overpower the cruel ice.

The temple seems empty without her song.

The dragon enters the temple freely, for the first time.

This being cannot hurt him, after all, not in this state.

She smiles when she notices him there. It’s later than she usually does, but the dragon thinks he’s just imagining things. “Long winter, hm? Harsher than even I’d expected.”

The woman drops onto the floor, pulling her body into herself. Most of her bracelets are missing. “You can have the food,” she whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

The dragon looks at the altar. Only a handful of fruits, a couple of scarves. No jewelry.

“Too meager,” he sneers.

The woman chuckles, though the dragon struggles to find any humor in it. “Winter is tough for everyone,” she explains simply. “People give what they can. I cannot hold such a thing against them.”

The dragon is silent. He turns away from the woman, feeling something akin to shame as her eyes close again. “I can get better,” he finally mutters.

She hums in response.

If she realizes it was an offer, she says nothing.

Instead her breathing evens out and her shoulders relax. The dragon watches her sleeping form, reveling in the warmth that spreads from her despite the chill.

He leaves her like that, clutching a ruby necklace around his hand.

The dragon returns after a week of spring ceremonies. He’d watch the villagers bring new offerings, watched as more of them came.

The woman was fuller now, much to his relief. She grinned upon seeing that he did not hide away this time.

“You are the goddess this temple is devoted to,” he said gruffly. It was a statement, not a question.

She clasped her hands, beaming with pride at him. “Yes! Goddess of the hearth, at your service!” She gives a small, mock curtsy. “What is your name, if I may ask, brave dragon?”

He stiffens again. It comes out rough, underused. A nearly broken, “Stayrus” escapes his lips.

“It’s nice to meet you, Stayrus.” She smiles, taking a few small steps towards him.

“What is a goddess of the hearth?” he asks abruptly.

“Well, I’m a goddess of the home. I make sure people can feel safe and comforted, even in new places with new people.” she explains softly.

“I’ve never been good at adapting to new places and new people,” Stayrus mutters.

“Well,” the goddess smiled. “Consider this my blessing to you. May you always be able to find a home.” She handed him a pomegranate.

Stayrus took it with the reverence of a vow.

He remained with her for much after that. Some centuries passed, the dragon visiting his goddess as the stars twinkled in the night.

Stayrus always kept an eye on the villagers. He watched as they prayed to her, fixed the cracks in her temple’s stone, lit the candles at her altar. She was kind to them. Benevolent. She was how the gods should be, Stayrus thought, instead of how they are.

Perhaps that was why it was such a shock when the visitors began to dwindle.

“It’s been a few centuries,” the goddess told him. “They’ve placed their faith in me for a while. It’s just that they’ve found someone else now.”

“You will always have my faith, goddess,” Stayrus said quickly.

She only nodded, hands trebling against her fraying cloths.

That night, he brought a deer to her altar. “An offering.” he said stiffly.

She laughed, frail and pained. “It doesn’t work like that,” she murmured. “You’re not a mortal.”

Stayrus watched in silence as the goddess grew weaker and weaker before him. She no longer jingled when she walked, no bracelets or necklaces to adorn her. She didn’t sing anymore, the strength of the song lost as the followers left.

When her temple was empty for weeks and the cracks were begin to set in, Stayru grew desperate. “Is there nothing I can do?” he asked.

The goddess shook, looking more sickly than divine. “I shall return to the beyond soon. Nothing but stardust with no mortals to put their faith in me.” She turned to Stayrus again, eyes lightening with the fire of the hearth as she found the crimson. “Stayrus,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen the sunrise…”

Stayrus nodded, and without a word, lifted her into his arms. She melted into him, as if this was where she had belonged all along. Stayrus flew, with her safely tucked away, to the other side of the mountain range.

He sat with her still cradled against him as pinks and oranges painted the sky.

“It’s beautiful…” she breathed. The goddess turned to Stayrus, putting a trembling hand against his face. “You’re beautiful, too, Stayrus. I hope you know that. No matter what they say.”

Light littered over her body, little flecks of star covering her skin.

“No, goddess, you cannot leave me!” Stayrus cried. His voice shook and broke. “You cannot deprive me of the only home I’ve ever had.”

“You will find another,” the goddess replied softly. A weak smile grew as tears tinged her eyes. “I promise it. You will find another home.”

In the heart of the N109 Zone, Sylus was a king.

He had all the riches he could desire, all the power he could ask for, and yet something was missing.

His base, modern and sleek and luxurious, was so cold.

He had never found that warmth that he had as a dragon with his goddess.

Sylus had cursed the woman for her broken promises, but he only ever ended up begging for her forgiveness as tears streaked down his face.

He wished she was here with him, to wipe the tears away from his cheeks or to punish him for his insolence. He would take either, he thought, just to feel her warmth against his skin again, just one more time.

But Sylus didn’t have that warmth, only the responsibility of his territory.

As he sifted through the rubble far within the reaches of the N109 Zone, he stiffened as he came across a familiar face.

A bust of his goddess, fully intact despite the carnage surrounding him, and still as beautiful as ever.

Sylus took out a delicate ruby necklace, aged and almost crumbling, if not for the extreme care it had been handled with. Clasping it around the neck of the goddess, Sylus muttered a quiet thank you.

“Perhaps I should take you into my home,” he whispered. “Since you so willingly took me into yours.”

A quiet jingling reached his ears, and Sylus found himself hiding before he could even think of what he was doing.

“Why do you insist on going through all this rubble?” you asked, laughing with your friend as you stumbled through the broken stone.

“Because you never know what treasures you’ll find!” your friend replied. They stopped in the tracks. “Hey, come look at this. Doesn’t this statue look just like you?”

You gasped. “It really does!”

“That’s crazy,” your friend mumbled as they walked away. “How come I can never find my historical doppelgänger?”

You stood before the bust, unable to tear yourself away. “Such a beautiful necklace,” you breathed. “Familiar, somehow…” Your eyes snapped to a nearby pillar, but you didn’t see anything.

A smile grew on Sylus’s face. “Just as you promised,” he said. “I’ve found you again, goddess. I’ve found home.”

i cried writing this. i never do that. so i had to give it a happier ending.

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open!

masterlist

taglist (8/50): @dolledbunnytail @sleepykittyenergy @orbitraiden @coffeedragonhobbyist @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusgworl @angelkazusstuff @lamogliedizayne

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

You weren't Rafayel's muse.

If there's one memory that always stuck with you during your relationship with Rafayel, it wasn't when he first touched your hand or first kissed you under the night sky.

It’s the way he looked at her. MC.

You told yourself it was just work. After all, she was the perfect muse—every art critic said so. She had that kind of effortless beauty people couldn’t help but romanticize. She was effortlessly beautiful. Ethereal. Flawless.

And she was so kind. You’d met her a dozen times in the quiet afternoons of Rafayel’s studio when you’d slip in through the door after hours, and she would still be there posing, laughing, telling stories as Rafayel painted her form in front of a canvas. She would offer you tea before she left. She once complimented the bracelet you wore, not knowing it was a gift from Rafayel himself.

You couldn’t hate her.

That made it worse.

And Rafayel—God, Rafayel. He’d try to reassure you.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.”

But how could it always be you, when the world only saw them?

Because while the tabloids speculated endlessly about how they had to be together: Rafayel Qi and his muse, the golden couple of the art world, he was coming home to you. He was pressing kisses into your shoulder at 2 a.m., murmuring your name in a voice that sounded like an apology.

Because you were his secret. The one thing he kept from the world's eyes.

—

You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you.

You tried to pretend you could share him with the world without losing your mind.

Until the night you couldn’t.

It was raining. Of course it was raining.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you’d rather paint her forever than be with me at all,” you said, voice shaking.

He closed his eyes, exhaling hard. “Don’t start this again.”

You scoff, “Start what? The fact that she’s the one everyone thinks you love?”

He stepped closer. “I don’t care what they think.”

“But you care enough to never correct them.”

Rain was streaking down the window like tears you refused to shed. He looked at you, and for a moment you saw something in his gaze that terrified you. Not anger. Not guilt. But desperation.

Then he turned away, raking a hand through his hair. “Maybe this was a mistake,” he whispered.

You didn’t know whether he meant the fight or the whole, secret, hidden thing between you. But you couldn’t ask. You were too busy holding yourself together.

So you left.

—

Weeks passed in a blur. You avoided the articles. You ignored the opening invitations that arrived with your name written in gold calligraphy. But when you heard that Rafayel’s new art exhibition was finally open to the public, a one-day exhibit showcasing his greatest works, you told yourself you’d go, one last time. Just to see what he’d become without you.

The exhibition was held in a building converted into a minimalist shrine to Rafayel’s genius. White walls, black floors, spotlights catching every stroke of paint used. The guests murmured in awe as they drifted from canvas to canvas.

And there she was in most of his pieces, his muse, MC. People complimented her likeness. For a moment, your chest constricted again, that same old jealousy and shame boiling up. 

You drifted from piece to piece until your feet carried you to the center of the gallery.

There, in the tallest space on the central wall, hung a single, massive canvas.

It wasn’t listed on any of the guides or programs.

You.

Not MC. Not anyone else.

A painting of you in the old wool sweater you wore on cold mornings at his studio. You with your hair uncombed, your eyes sleepy, looking directly out at him—at everyone.

A placard rested at the base of the pedestal:

“My love, personified.” Not for Auction. This piece is not available for sale or private acquisition.

A gallery attendant noticed you staring, and she smiled sympathetically. “That one’s not for sale,” she said. “Mr. Qi insisted. He said it wouldn’t be right, not when it was priceless in his eyes, and that it was only for the world to see, but not to own. He worked on it for several months.”

Your throat closed.

You hadn’t realized he’d walked in behind you until you heard his voice.

“I was afraid,” he said quietly, “that if I showed this to the world, it would ruin you. That people would pick you apart like they did her."

Then a shaky sigh escaped from his mouth, "I couldn’t let them own any part of you. I couldn’t let anyone think they deserved you more than I do.”

You turned, tears brimming, to find Rafayel standing there, disheveled, exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept since you left. His eyes searched yours, desperate and vulnerable.

Silence stretched between you, you both stood there, trembling.

Then he reached for you, cautious, as if you might vanish. His fingers brushed yours—light as a question.

"If you can forgive me, come home. If not… I’ll keep the painting. So I never forget that you were mine."

[MASTERLIST]

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

lads literally glitches out on my phone- I tried installing it multiple times- someone help

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

"You think you're better than me because you don't use AI?" You think others are better than you if you're using AI. If you didn't think your own abilities were inferior, you would use them.

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

Is chatGPT really a better writer than you or are you just predisposed to think any halfway coherent thing you didn't write is a work of genius simply by virtue of not coming from you.

Is chatGPT really a better writer than you or are you just terrified of sounding like yourself.

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

the monster wears your face

By dinabelenko on threads.

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

Do I have moots now???

We're strapping down and celebrating the tiny things!! Moots, pls reply ♡♡

Luv yall, srsly. Thanks for enjoying this little corner of the ye old internet

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

New chp when??

Fools in Love

♡♡A Brant X Reader SMAU ♡♡

6. Jacket woes.

'[Name], you have no idea how to return this.'

The jacket is wonderful, light violets fading into the dark cerulean of the silk, and you have half a mind to iron it out before you return it.

He was.. refreshing. A person who could match, even challenge you, and yet do so with grace and joy. Someone you'd enjoy being around, certainly.

You have to return this, you suppose, thumb tracing the patterns on the fabric.

But..

Where could you even meet him? The club hadn't started yet, and you don't even have his number...

You suppose you could've asked Rover, but he doesn't share this class with you.

You let class pass you by, first.

When Brant walks by the library, reminicing, his eyes catch a box, tucked under the seat he took across from you.

He pulls it out, fingers hesitant, wondering whether this is for him. And there's his jacket, all fresh and smooth. He covers his cough, startled.

'Thank you', you've signed, and he slips the note into his pocket as he slides the jacket onto his arm.

A little late for that, I've already fallen. (Sick)

Prev. next.

When life gets real, you've always had the stage for it to unfold.

Outspoken, yet calm, you've been involved in Improvisation for years! When uni finally decides to create a club, you join in the hopes of making wonderful memories.

Those certainly happen, as a certain captain of the club is quite... memorable.

When the stage is your home, how will life fare with another who shares it?

Tags- @mr-crawlings-wife

M-list.

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

Supernatural.

A Jinu X Reader songfic.

Pt.1!

'Take Me to Church.'

My lover's got humor,

She's the giggle at a funeral.

The moment he saw you, his heart stopped. You weren't fighting him- fighting them.

You were walking through the crowd of demons as the Huntr/x blades clashed, steps certain.

Walking directly to him.

He's confused. You don't look at them like they're any danger at all. You look at him.. like he's worth being saved.

Knows everybody's disapproval,

I should've worshipped her sooner.

You watch, as the demons' patterns shimmer in the dim light. The way they fight.

They're.. defending themselves. Maybe not literally, but their eyes? They're tormented, and they know it better than anyone.

No one wants this war, and you have the courage to walk like it.

That is..

Until "Your Idol" replaces "Golden."

If the heavens ever did speak,

He's the last true mouthpiece.

You hum the song as it tops the charts. The boys are gaining traction, and yet, it's all a facade.

The illusion of normalcy.

You send a postcard to Jinu.

'May I have this dance with you?'

Every Sunday's getting more bleak,

A fresh poison each week.

He stares at the card. You're reaching out to him, but why? Why him, and why now? You've seen the patterns, you've seen the worst parts of him, and you're still.. trying?

He groans, kicking back onto bed.

He wants to go, but for one of those rare times, he has no idea what is coming.

'Do you really think she won't kill you where you stand?' His mind whispers, and his nails make moon shaped indents in his palms. 'Please. You know what you deserve.'

And maybe he does. But what does he want?

We were born sick,

You heard them say it.

He shows the card to the tiger. It nuzzles into the letters.

Huh.

It trusts you? Then maybe, just maybe, he might give you a visit. He might want to trust you, as well.

My church offers no absolutes,

She tells me, "worship in the bedroom"

"Cute PJ'S." He remarks, and you chuckle. "You came. I didn't expect that."

"Why did you ask for this?" He asks, almost nervously. His awkwardness.. is a surprising change from his stage persona.

"I don't want to fight someone if I have the nagging doubt that something deeper is going on." You explain, carefully. "I now have that doubt."

"What?" He chuckles, dryly. "But I'm-"

"A demon." He flinches. "I'm aware. But is that enough reason? A legend told throughout the centuries, forever unrepealed? Is that enough to carve a blade?"

"You don't know what I've done." He hisses, like he's striving to convince himself he's unredeemable.

"Then tell me, and let me make that decision on my own accord."

The only heaven I'll be sent to,

Is when I'm alone with you.

I was born sick, but I love it,

Command me to be well

You listen, as he strums his bipa, the tunes flowing of their own accord. The moon is low, and so is the sound. You inch closer to listen, and his fingers almost halt.

"You're.. a good audience." The words are bitter, too bitter for such a gentle tune.

You have half a mind to ask him what he's planning, but you know it's only going to cause this moment to flicker away.

And that's too soon, for now.

Take me to church,

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,

I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

He knows you're protecting him, not asking enough questions. He knows what you're doing.. you're letting him be Jinu, not a demon. He's opening up, and it's vulnerable.

'It's as if the past days of reassuring myself that it was okay are meaningless.' Invisible wounds, increasing endlessly.

And it terrifies him, because he knows what's going to happen. You're going to be just another-

Wait.

The voices. They're gone.

Your head lands on his shoulder, a soft hum as you settle in.

It's late, and he should go. But he doesn't.

Offer me that deathless death,

Oh good God, let me give you my life

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

The stadium's turned purple.

Huntr/x has disbanded.

He finds you in the crowd, eyes glazed. He didn't know what you were, when you met. An angel, maybe?

Turns out you were just another mortal, after all.

His line chokes up his resolve, even further. You look at him like everyone else does. Like he's just another demon, and you're under his spell.

Forget the fact that he's under yours, from the moment you looked at him like he was worth more.

"You know I'm the only one who loves your sins." Except, when he sings it, he knows you were the only one who meant it.

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

Take me to church but it's Jinu's!Lover Idol Reader.

That is all.

Will make a fic soon...

Pt1!

Losing it rn you have no idea

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

Hold me Back

A Rafayel X MC (READER) One-shot!

The man is sitting by the edge of the ship, legs safely implanted on the hardwood. He looks out into the sea, and all he sees is that fateful day, when he...

He shakes his head, pearls collecting on the floor as he wipes his cheeks and eyes clear of tears.

No one's truly with him, and he's faced with your apparition.

Fighting to break all his memories.

"Don't you miss me?" Your voice is silky, not the usual grit you had when you bantered with him.

If this.. thing.. had to exist, why couldn't it have the basic courtesy to get you right?

"More than you know." He admits, before he realizes he's speaking.

"Then jump in the water and kiss me."

He wants to can't.

"[Name], I've told you this before. You know I'm afraid of the water."

A half lie. His memories of the ocean forever tainted by sea-foam.

"I'll make sure that you are safe and sound." You coo, lifting up a child from the water. She has his hair. "Come play with me and our daughter and let's watch our love leave the ground."

He forces a casual smile. "Oh I would, but I'd be suffering trying to float the whole time."

You click your tongue—you never had that habit—in annoyance.

"Just jump in the water!"

"You know I'm shy, and terrified!" He's being honest, covering his truthful feelings with a facade of happiness.

"I would take the suffering from you." You insist, inching closer to the boat.

He doesn't know if he wants to step back or jump in.

"For you I would die, but can't you let me stay dry?"

"I would take the suffering from you." He can see the scales on the edge of your hands. He picks up his crossbow.

Aims it at you.

"The things I do for you."

That night, he's in his bedchamber, realizing that he murdered you, twice. He did it, twice.

And all he can do is blame himself.

Tags- @brailsthesmolgurl

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

so..

Rafayel in Suffering (Epic) as Odysseus and DEAD!MC being impersonated by a siren. Inspired by the newest myth????

Yes?? Should I do it??

Ok edit- Sylus with Would you fall in Love with me again???? Hello??? Skye as. PENELOPEEEEE

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

Fools in Love

♡♡A Brant X Reader SMAU ♡♡

6. Jacket woes.

'[Name], you have no idea how to return this.'

The jacket is wonderful, light violets fading into the dark cerulean of the silk, and you have half a mind to iron it out before you return it.

He was.. refreshing. A person who could match, even challenge you, and yet do so with grace and joy. Someone you'd enjoy being around, certainly.

You have to return this, you suppose, thumb tracing the patterns on the fabric.

But..

Where could you even meet him? The club hadn't started yet, and you don't even have his number...

You suppose you could've asked Rover, but he doesn't share this class with you.

You let class pass you by, first.

When Brant walks by the library, reminicing, his eyes catch a box, tucked under the seat he took across from you.

He pulls it out, fingers hesitant, wondering whether this is for him. And there's his jacket, all fresh and smooth. He covers his cough, startled.

'Thank you', you've signed, and he slips the note into his pocket as he slides the jacket onto his arm.

A little late for that, I've already fallen. (Sick)

Prev. next.

When life gets real, you've always had the stage for it to unfold.

Outspoken, yet calm, you've been involved in Improvisation for years! When uni finally decides to create a club, you join in the hopes of making wonderful memories.

Those certainly happen, as a certain captain of the club is quite... memorable.

When the stage is your home, how will life fare with another who shares it?

Tags- @mr-crawlings-wife

M-list.

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

Fools in Love

A Brant X Reader SMAU

5. In sickness and health.

Prev. Next.

Taglist- @mr-crawlings-wife

When life gets real, you've always had the stage for it to unfold.

Outspoken, yet calm, you've been involved in Improvisation for years!

When uni finally decides to create a club, you join in the hopes of making wonderful memories.

Those certainly happen, as a certain captain of the club is quite... memorable.

When the stage is your home, how will life fare with another who shares it?

M-list.

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

on kindness.

@shanastoryteller // @delepiphany on pinterest // @girlmostlikely // @anotherchocolate12 on tiktok // @frogus // @xotwodstarr on pinterest // the smiths, i know it's over

[honey-and-sweetdreams]

love someone who is kinder to you than you are to yourself.