#1570 AM

[itscherrylipsforme]

A love story yet to be written: Jason Todd x Vigilante!bookworm!fem!reader

Summary: The mysterious Red Hood has been your loyal teammate since you became another one of Gotham's vigilantes. Many literature puns and "subtle" flirty comments later, he has decided that it's time to meet you when you two are not covered by the city's darkness and your secret identities

Warnings: Just dozens of references to my fave classic lit authors and novels

Requested: yes

Words: About 1570

Author rambles: God, this has been on my drafts for so long. Glad I was finally able to publish it. Thanks to the anon who sent the request, hope you like it 🫶🏼

Masterlist Characters I write for

Likes and reblogs are appreciated ღ

I do not authorize any of my works to be copied, translated or plagiarized ✗

Gotham’s skies were pitch black when you submerged, like every twilight, in its streets and roofs. Masked face, combat boots, dark sweater and jeans paired with a black leather jacket and a bulletproof vest under all of it. Pointed daggers on your belt, a pair of guns attached to your back harness just in case. Being a vigilante was not an easy side job, but you needed to do it.

Some people simply can’t watch their whole world fall apart and stare blankly. And you would certainly not stay back when your beloved city was drowning in corruption and crime. Growing up you had always been aware that they were others protecting you. Batman, Robin, and the other peculiar crime fighters that had joined them with the pass of time. But being honest, Gotham was a criminals dump, and all the help they could get counted.

 So, you decided to do you your bit. Trained hard, learned how to hide in the shadows and started to feel that what you did matter to your people. Recognition was not long in coming, although fame was not what you were after anyway. One night a camera caught you beating up one bastard who was trying to assault a young girl, next day you were on the news. Dusk they called you and you were not annoyed by the nickname, it suited you in a certain way.

You soon became another no-faced admired warrior to your neighbours. Not bad for the girl who used to be bookworm theatre kid back in High School. Becoming one of Gotham’s saviours was not one of your dreams job as a child, but life has surprising turns waiting for us. What was even more unexpected is that you ended up meeting one of the other vigilantes and that he had become an interesting fellow during the otherwise solitaire superhero’s nights.

“Nice to see you here in the dead vast and middle of the night, darling” He greeted you, after hearing your feet landing in the same rooftop he was in. Didn’t matter if he was backwards, you had started to think he had developed a sixth sense to notice your presence. You could almost bet he was smiling bellow his metallic helmet.

“Good night, Hodd” You answered coming by his side. “Shakespeare, wasn’t it?”

“Smart girl. Hamlet, more precisely” You agreeded “You arrived later than you use to”

“Missed me, geekie boy?” A little chuckle broke the silence of Gotham.

“Of course I did! I would not wish any companion in the world but you” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his gaze locked in the city’s sky. “And admit it, you are as much a nerd as I am”

“The Tempest? Have you been rereading Uncle Willy’s plays again?” The question ended up sounding like a half-joke half-teasing “And you are right, bookworm and proud. We wouldn’t get along so easily if I weren’t. I declare after all that there is no enjoyment like reading”

A slow nod was the only answer you received. You were certain that a smile was decorating his face at the moment. But not in a million of years you could have imagined that his usual smirk was now followed by a pinkish tone in his cheeks. How long he had been like this around you? He couldn’t recall exactly. This flirting slightly hided between book quotes and glances had been part of your friendship for quite sometime now.

The only problem? He couldn’t bear with being just a friend anymore. When it had all started? He didn’t know. Maybe the night he met you. And when the two of you started patrolling together like every other night, he couldn’t help coming back to those sweet memories still fresh on his mind.

“Another superhero wannabe” that’s what he thought when he first saw you moving from celling to celling without the grace and rhythm that only years of practice can give you. And he was not wrong, you were an amateur, one who still need to practice, but you definitely were determinate enough for that. Jason was not aware of this, therefore he decided to have some fun.

“What are you doing here?” He asked jumping to your side with a voice tone much deeper than his usual one.

“Patrolling” You managed to say in a whisper, rising your head to look at him directly. Shivers run through your spine, not knowing what to do. But you would not allow him to notice your fear.

“Scared of me darling?” He leaned a little so he could be nearer to your face.

“Not even a little, I know who you are” You answered and somehow the most daring and wittiest part of your mind chose to add the next sentence “And also there is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others.”

“My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” He finishes almost instinctively.

He stared at your for some instants, not believed the words that had just come out of your lips. Another vigilante? Who quoted Austen? The night was turning up to be quite interesting.

“You are a sharp girl, with a good book taste” He resolved. “Red Hodd, at your service” He offered you his hand and his presentation, although it was no needed.

And that’s how all started, now a few months later you two keep protecting Gotham from whoever and whatever treats it. This night had been tranquil, a seldom occurrence, and Jason hadn’t talked to much, his mind was focused on a matter which had been troubling him for weeks. When the first rays of light threaten to appear, it’s time to farewell. Not without cracking some bad puns first of course.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Dusk is the sun.” He smirked once again.

“First, that’s contradictory. Second, you seriously have to get over your Shakespeare era”.

“Does that mean I don’t get a proper goodbye?” Even with his voice modulator you could hear the teasing edge on the question.”

“Of course, you do” You tried to come up with something silly, yet sweet. “Good night, sweet prince, and flights and angels sing thee to thy rest!”

With that you made a small joking bow and left the rooftop to go back home. It had been enough; Jason had made out his mind. He was going to look for you. He needed to see the unmasked face who had been able to be the first one to win his heart. Luckily, one of his many siblings is a professional hacker.

A bookstore, somehow, he was not surprised at all when Tim found your worked there. In his jean’s pocket there was a small piece of paper with dozens of cheesy books lines that made him think of you. "You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read." "We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright." “You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how” … And those were only the first ones. There were not enough words in the books from your bookstore to describe how nervous he was and how much he wanted to tell you he loved you. But he could at least try.

Your elbows were resting on the counter, another novel laying in front of you. When the doorbell rang announcing another client, you immediately smiled and looked at Jason. You left your seat to meat him by the door, the book long forgotten.

“Took you long enough to find me, geekie boy” You gritted him.

All his speech and quotes banished in the air with just a single sentence of yours. He finally came to himself.

“Wait, were you waiting for me?”

“Of course, I did” You chuckle, God he loved that sound “For almost two months, after all your bad pick-up lines I thought you would be ready to come and met me in person”.

“But… How have you recognized me?” Confusion was still seen on his face.

“Easy. Looked for the libraries and bookstores that had your favourite tittle. Cheeked the names of all the men who borrowed or bought them. Looked for their photos on the internet and compared them with the physical description I had from your” You shrug your shoulders as that work was nothing to you “I am a vigilante after all”.

“I have a brother who would love to meet you, you know?”

“Maybe later, but I guess you came here because you had something to tell me”.

He took a deep breath. Just a few hours, that was all he needed to win you over this time. "In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed.” He said softly, but determinate “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I love and admire you.”

Just after he finished your lips were meeting his in a soft and sweet kiss, like the ones written in romance novels.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul” You whispered to his ear.

“Actually, that’s from the movie, not the book”.

You had to kiss him again, this time with more passion, to shut him up.

[blackmetalbats]

Dies Irae

I am so sorry but i did a deep dive on the Dies Irae because of the last malevolent episode and now its gonna be all of you's problem.

one of the oldest and most frequently borrowed of all melodies is the ecclesiastical plainsong to the sequence 'Dies Irae', because of the theme's intrinsic merit, but also its liturgical associations. No record of its origin remains, but both words and melody appear to have been suggested by a passage from the Respond ' Libera me, Domine', which follows the Requiem Mass (catholic mass for the dead) on solemn occasion.

SOURCE: Gregory, R. (1953). “Dies Irae.” http://www.jstor.org/stable/730837

the Requiem Mass contained several special components; the Dies Irae was one of these, formally added to the Mass in 1570. Its text was penned by Thomas of Celano during the late 11th or early 12th century, and it offers a graphic depiction of the horrors of Judgment Day for sinners. the New Catholic Encyclopedia states that

"The medieval Sequence stresses fear of judgment and condemnation."

SOURCE: Brooks, E. (2003). "The Dies Irae ("Day of Wrath") and Totentanz ("Dance of Death"): Medieval Themes Revisited in 19th Century Music and Culture." https://scholarworks.uark.edu/inquiry/vol4/iss1/5

Centre panel from Memling's tryptich Last Judgment (c. 1467–1471)

the text contains three basic references:

(1) Zephaniah 1:15,16

That day is a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, a day of wasteness and desolation, a day of darkness and gloominess, a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of the trumpet and alarm, against the fortified cities, and against the high battlements.

(2) II Peter 3:10-12

But the day of the Lord will come as a thief; in which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall be dissolved with fervent heat, and the earth and the works that are therein shall be burned up. Seeing that these things are thus all to be dissolved, what manner of persons ought ye to be in all holy living and godliness, looking for and earnestly desiring the coming of the day of God, by reason of which the heavens being on fire shall be dissolved, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat?

(3) finally, the judgment portion of Matthew 25 is cited as part of the scriptural basis for the "Dies Irae."

THE TEXT, in an english translation from the original latin

Day of wrath and doom impending, David's word with Sibyl blending! Heaven and earth in ashes ending!

O, what fear man's bosom rendeth, When from heaven the Judge descendeth. On whose sentence all dependeth!

Wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth, Through earth's sepulchers it ringeth. All before the throne it bringeth.

Death is struck, and nature quaking, All creation is awaking. To its Judge an answer making.

Lo! the book exactly worded. Wherein all hath been recorded; Thence shall judgment be awarded.

When the Judge His seat attaineth, And each hidden deed arraigneth. Nothing unavenged remaineth.

What shall I, frail man, be pleading ? Who for me be interceding. When the just are mercy needing?

King of majesty tremendous, Who dost free salvation send us. Fount of pity, then befriend us!

Think, kind Jesus! my salvation Caused Thy wondrous Incarnation; Leave me not to reprobation.

Faint and weary Thou hast sought me. On the Cross of suffering bought me; Shall such grace be vainly brought me ?

Righteous Judge! for sin's pollution Grant Thy gift of absolution. Ere that day of retribution.

Guilty, now I pour my moaning. All my shame with anguish owning; Spare, O God, Thy suppliant groaning!

Through the sinful woman shriven. Through the dying thief forgiven. Thou to me a hope has given.

Worthless are my prayers and sighing. Yet, good Lord, in grace complying, Rescue me from fires undying.

With Thy favored sheep O place me, Nor among the goats abase me. But to Thy right hand upraise me.

While the wicked are confounded. Doomed to flames of woe unbounded. Call me with Thy Saints surrounded.

Low I kneel, with heart submission. Crushed to ashes in contrition; Help me in my last condition!

Ah! that day of tears and mourning! From the dust of earth returning, Man for judgment must prepare him;

Spare, O God, in mercy spare him! Lord all-pitying, Jesu Blest, Grant them Thine eternal rest.

the first six stanzas describe the Judgment. the other stanzas are lyric in character, expressing anguish of one of the multitude there present in spirit; his pleading before the Judge who, while on earth, sought him unceasingly over the hard and thorny ways from Bethlehem to Calvary; and now, in anticipation of the Judgment, pleads before a Savior of infinite mercy, who, on Judgment Day, will be a Judge of infinite justice, before whom scarcely the just will be secure.

SOURCE: Demaray, D. E. (1965). "Thomas of Celano and the" Dies Irae". https://place.asburyseminary.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2018&context=asburyjournal

[peonierose]

Bite Me

Book: Immortal Desires

Characters involved: Gabriel Adalhard; Cas Harlow

Words: 1570

TW: anxiety, vampires, blood-drinking

A/N: Happens a bit after book 1 of ID ended.

Gabe

I leaned against a tree in the woods.

It’s late I can tell as the sun won’t be up for hours. Ever since I became a vampire I got more sensitive to the sun. Not just because I was more exhausted but because my internal clock was telling me when the sun rose and when the sun sunk. I became pretty attuned to it. 

I let out a breath, as the crisp autumn air gives me some relief from my hunger pains. 

I haven’t fed in weeks and I refuse to do so. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror. Seeing my eyes turn molten silver, and my fangs protruding from my gums. I try to force it away because it always reminds me what I am and what my grandmother Sara almost turned into. I’m glad she’s not here to see me like this. 

What would she think of me? Would she be disgusted? Devastated? I don’t know and I can’t ask her anymore. 

I felt around and let the rough bark of the tree, and the dank moss ground me like nothing else can. Except for Naya. She grounds me pretty well, but I didn’t want to overwhelm her right now. 

”So this is where the golden boy has run off to. Interesting hiding place. Not as lux as I would have pegged you for.“

Of all the people to turn up…why Cas? 

I mean how did he even find me? And why was he even looking for me in the first place? 

”I followed the stench of misery. You should think of showering a bit more, you know?“ Cas said and I didn’t even have a response, to be honest. 

I sighed as my eyes remained closed and I tried to shut out any noise, with vampire hearing that’s almost impossible, but I still wanted to try and block out anything, Cas‘s voice included. I like him on good days and tolerate him on bad days, but right now I just needed five minutes to myself. 

”I’m not hiding. I’m trying to relax, so what do you want?“ I said, too tired to have a confrontation. Whether it’s a verbal or physical one.

I heard some rustling and I opened my eyes, only for Cas to throw me a blood bag which I caught with my left hand. 

”Thought you could use a drink. Since you can’t think for yourself. Others have to do it for you. It’s pathetic but someone’s gotta do it.“ 

I put the blood bag next to me on the ground and didn’t tear into the blood bag immediately.

”You’re welcome, Adalhard.“ Cas says, his expression didn’t give away anything. I always found it hard to read him. 

When I didn‘t say anything for a while Cas rolled his eyes that glowed silver in the dim moonlight. 

”Next time get your own food.“ Before he can walk away I threw back a question I’ve been meaning to ask him ever since showed up.

”Why do you even care? You never liked me. So why are you being all friendly and shit?“ 

He didn’t turn around but turned his head slightly so that I’m seeing him in profile. 

”Because for some reason you’re being stupid and putting us all at risk by not feeding regularly. I think last time when you almost made mincemeat out of Naya gave you enough of a scare didn’t it? So this time around? Do the right thing.“ 

Before I can mouth anything he continued.

”Remember back at the caverns? What Naya said? How she doesn’t want to lose you because your morals got in the way of your health? How she won’t let you be that foolish? Remember that little speech?“ 

I scoffed as Cas’s words. Not wanting to remember that moment, but getting overwhelmed by memories of the past.

”Oh I see this is because you want to keep Naya safe. You don’t need to. I have it under control.“ I balled my fist not wanting to swing out and hit him. 

He now fully turned around. His eyes glinted silver in the moonlight as his fangs were on full display. 

”Oh I can see how under control you have it. Sitting under a tree in the middle of the night feeling sorry for yourself. Wow, good job Adalhard. You deserve a medal for that. Will bronze do? Or do you strive for gold?“ 

I breathed through my nose not wanting to take the bait. He was goading me and he has always been good at pushing my buttons. 

”I guess I owe you thanks. So thank you seriously.“ I say before I return to sitting under the tree. Watching the moonlight cast shadows. 

”You know what? Be a dick if you want. But if you don’t have your blood lust or lack thereof under control, how do you suppose you’re going to help Naya navigate through it, huh?“ 

He was hitting very close to home. And he knew it. 

”What do you want me to say? Oh, I’m sorry I don’t want to drink blood but that’s my life now? Welcome to the party of people who hate being a vampire?“ 

Cas sighed.

”I get that you didn’t choose this life. But try and see it from Naya’s point of view. She’s scared because she has to lie to her mom and her friends about being a vampire. She has to choose a coven. She’s scared of overdoing it with the blood-drinking. How do you think she feels? She knows your adversity to blood and she still chose you. Sometimes I wonder…“ He doesn’t finish his sentence. 

”Oh so that’s how it is. You’re trying to kick me out of the way so she trusts only you and your ways. Maybe even choosing the Venandis. Was this your plan all along?“

And then I went in for the kill.

”Sounds to me like you’re still in love with her.“ 

Cas kicked a stone out of the way and stared me down. 

”Of course I love her. But she chose you and I have to respect that. It’s a crappy choice but it was hers to make. But I’ll be damned if I won’t help her out as a friend, because clearly you don’t have yourself under control.“

I chuckled against all odds. 

”Oh I’m happy to amuse you Adalhard. Glad I could be of service.“

I looked up at Cas and for a flicker of a moment I saw a raw vulnerability in Cas’s silver gaze but when I blinked it was gone. As if it was never there. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I am putting everyone at risk by not feeding regularly. 

”You’re right. I’m sorry. I just…it’s hard for me. I sometimes wish I was a normal human being. But I guess I have to live with what I’ve got now and make the best of it.“ This conversation has gotten way deeper than I anticipated.

”Please leave that sappy stuff for Naya. I don’t get paid enough to listen to it.“

”You don’t get paid at all.“ I countered.

He grinned and his fangs glistened. 

”Exactly.“ 

I looked up to the stars and pondered what Cas just said mere seconds ago. About Naya and her transformation. 

But before I can help Naya with her feedings, I need to get my house in order first before I can even attempt to help her. I’m glad Cas is here, as much as he’s a pain in my ass, but he’s here when he could turn a blind eye to my problems, he still decided to reach out and help me, and I have to respect that. I guess he’s alright. For a Venandi. 

As complicated as his feelings might be for Naya, he put his pride aside and brought me a blood bag to help me. And that takes a lot of guts.

A small smile curved around my lips.

”You’re alright Harlow.“ I said as I drained the blood bag within seconds. Feeling grateful he’s here. 

He physically shuddered. 

”Not so loud. I have a reputation to uphold.“ 

”It’s just you, me, and the wild animals in the woods right now. But the animals might hear you speak negatively about them and declare you enemy number one.“ 

I grinned and my fangs glistened. After I’ve inhaled the blood bag my fangs retracted and my eyes returned to their normal shade of maroon brown.

”Pfft. I’m not scared of some small animal.“ 

”What about Snow? I heard Snow is the boss around your place.“ I’m referring to Cas‘ cat, whose name is Snow. 

”Where did you hear about that? Nobody knows about my cat. How in three hells did you hear about it? And who else knows?“ He asked, his voice dipped lower. 

”I have my ways.“ I said vaguely and continue ”I might’ve told Naya about it.“ I grinned. 

Cas rubbed a hand over his face and groaned.

”Don’t repeat this to anyone and I won’t share how you need a nightlight on at all times.“ 

Now I’m speechless. 

”How…?“

Now it’s Cas‘s turn to grin.

”I have my ways.“ He repeated my words and we both shared a small smile and just let the night air and sounds of the forest surround us. 

Having Cas as company feels good. It just feels good to have a friend. Someone who understands you. Someone who won’t judge you, who will just sit in compatible silence and enjoy the time we have and maybe even become close friends. 

[chantsdemarins]

😅Real Villain Training [Tom Hiddleston circa 2012 X Fem.Reader]

Chapter three of Breath of the Æsir is almost here. I’m SO sorry for the wait! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a very brief Tom story...

Honestly, I pledged to myself, no more Tom stories just focus on Loki. But I think I just can't help it. Especially when slutty inspiration like this photo comes my way (@lokischambermaid and @lokisgoodgirl 😳)

I am humbled by this era of Tom. In 2024 he is a husband/father/seasoned iconic actor in perpetual good cheer, but in 2012, he was a bad boy. As always please reblog and comment if you feel inspired!

Summary: Tom is hanging out with some real jerks for a new role, and he runs into you, literally. Your depression has caused your life to turn a little black and white, could this handsome stranger possibly add some color back? (at least to your cheeks🥵).

Smut factor: I hope...HOT 🔥

(Authors note: I have no concrete proof he was in fact a bad boy so please don't take seriously my young Tom plot themes of drugs and sex, which once again appear here. I could be totally wrong about him. It's art! It's a fabrication! Also, this story does involve mental health!)

I also don't know who would want to be on a tag list for a Tom fic these days! These are a few people who might be interested?? @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokisgoodgirl @wheredafandomat @sailorholly @mrs-illyrian-baby @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2 @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbs @tbhiddlestan83 @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger @kikster606 @mjsthrillernp @hiroyukinasukawa

Los Angeles, 2012

That afternoon, the rooftop pool at the Saint Avalon was a pink swirl of bathing beauties in early spring. Tom tried to focus on his deadpan conversation with his agent, but polka dots and silly cocktails danced around him. He pushed his Ray-Bans back into place, his sweat—or perhaps nervousness—causing them to slowly slide off his nose.

"Serious British actor succumbs to being typecast as a Norse sociopath. That's where this is headed, Tom, if we don’t do something, get you something else.” “Do you really want to be known only for Marvel?” he repeated his plea. The words just weren’t sinking in.

Tom laughed and inadvertently tried to change the subject. "Have you been to the La Brea Tar Pits yet, John? It’s wild—10,000 years' worth of dire wolf bones.”

His stare remained galvanized by the poolside girls. They just didn't look like that in London. Number one, the sunshine. Number two, the tans. Number three, well, his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, rather—made it hard to look too long at anyone else. So had he ever found himself at a rooftop pool party, he wouldn't have had the chance he was having now.

“Tom, are you paying attention? This is important. You're only here for a week, and we need to move on this role. I need to know if you're a yes.” The truth was, Tom was suddenly filthy rich with his own money for the first time in his life. He really loved being a Norse sociopath and already had big ideas for Loki’s eventual character arc into becoming an anti-hero someday. He had filled three journals on his bedside stand with his ideas for Loki.

His agent tried again, “Just hang out with Giorgio. It’s less than a month. Then the movie should be a very easy shoot. You get to embed yourself with some real hedge fund cats.” Tom’s attention snapped back. “Wait, I like that.” “Right? It’s like if Loki worked on Wall Street.” “Well…” Tom hesitated. He didn’t think Loki would actually ever bore himself that way. Those guys were boring to Tom and to Loki.

His poor agent was right, though. He did need another role. Things had gone so well; filming for the next Avengers movie was starting this summer. If he could find another gig, a time filler, a totally different genre, it really would be the best for his career. “Then a play next,” the agent mused, taking a sip of his own cocktail. “Shakespeare, or something 70s.” “70s? As in the 1570s? Or the 1970s?” “Tom.” “How should I know?” Tom laughed to himself, eyes still canvassing the poolside display around him. His agent leaned across his lawn chair and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “So, you’ll do it?”

Two Weeks Later

Deep down, he knew he didn’t have the dissociation required for the job. He was too corporeal, too embodied. Years of being a long-distance runner and a trained athlete had fastened his mind, heart, and soul firmly into his muscles. He clearly wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings in his highly emotive, sensitive body. That was the first thing he noticed about the guys he was forced to hang out with for this role. They were covered up with their suits and sexist jokes. It was like they had Hadrian’s Wall around them. Which was, in fact, what exactly led to his sudden departure from the bar at Rue 23.

He had been embedded with short and loud Glen, buzz-cut Ellis, and the tall and lanky, just like him, Brad Nelson. There were a few others, but they were too milquetoast to be memorable. Role be damned. He left so fast the thick glass door almost hit a nice young couple as he bolted into the cold Los Angeles spring night.

He wasn’t dressed right; in his haste to leave London, he didn’t remember that California got into the 40s after the sun went down. He didn’t even pack a suit coat. Thank God he remembered to grab his leather pack from under the bar. It contained exactly five cigarettes, a finicky Zippo, his aftershave, a white t-shirt, and a travel toothbrush. There might also be a rolled-up Popular Mechanics magazine from the Burbank airport, something he never would be caught dead reading at Heathrow.

He also hadn’t done so much coke since he was in college. Why was LA always so incredibly cliché? He couldn’t blame Luke. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for this role. He said yes when he was distracted. He was in over his head. They had hired these real blokes to make sure Tom looked authentic when they started filming next month, and given his intense drive for perfection, he had agreed that it was “brilliant” of the casting director to force the eight of them to spend these weeks in Los Angeles and one week in Manhattan, in a true immersive centrifuge of shallow materiality.

The night spun around him, a neon ball of yarn, teasing open his pupils until his eyes were black and not at all blue. As he walked, he ran his large hands down the surface of his body, the material of his shirt feeling like a fancy pillowcase from a boutique hotel.

One finger lingered over his jawline, tracing it as he brought his hands back up to his face. Engrossed in the comfort of his form a moment too long, he was distracted once again. This part of LA seemed to always be full of clusters of locals and tourists, laughing and talking. He was unfortunately moving against the flow of the crowd, a wayward salmon when he almost ran straight into you.

“Watch where you're going!” you yelled, dropping your purse onto the dirty LA sidewalk. It opened enough for your things to tumble out. Tom immediately stopped and bent down to help you, but you batted his hands away. “What the hell? I can pick up my own damn Chapstick,” you scolded. “Ma’am, I am so sorry, I am obviously not from here, and I am a little overwhelmed,” he rattled off. “Why is that obvious?” “My accent, of course.” “I didn’t honestly notice,” you spoke as you inspected the tall man’s face with squinting eyes.

You, of course, did immediately notice the timbre of his voice, his height, and the buttons on his tight shirt which looked like they were in the process of unbuttoning themselves. “Would you believe I’ve been doing coke all night with a bunch of Wall Street assholes at the Rue 23, and I had to get the fuck out of there,” he continued, not sure if you were listening, but you were definitely looking at him, so he continued.

“So now I am wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, and I haven’t the foggiest how the rest of my night will go.” You shuffled your feet for a moment before speaking. You had been heading home after a long day at work. You felt genuinely unprepared for navigating a handsome foreigner in the right direction. Yet there was a certain appeal to a man suddenly without his ship or his crew, so to speak. So you didn’t immediately walk away.

He had been shuffled from the airport to the bar in a hired car, he tried to explain, and his sense of direction bordered on problematic. Further, his flip phone was really only good for texting, and that even took way too long most days. He really did seem high, overwhelmed, and a little lost. He also seemed the type unable to handle any silence in a conversation.

“Do you live far?” he said after suffering through 30 seconds of no discourse. “It’s LA, everything is far.” “Fair enough,” Tom muttered sheepishly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, which were still somehow unbuttoning themselves. He thought he had bought the right size shirt. Maybe not.

You realized that if you were to ask this too-high, too-hot British man back to your apartment, you would inevitably cave and end up sleeping with him just because he caught you in this particular moment of your life. It was an in-between time. You weren't quite your old self and your new self that you'd been working so hard on, hadn't emerged yet.

“Want to grab something to eat?” You finally offered a neutral segue. That seemed to be just what the man needed to hear. His demeanor calmed. “Oh sure, yes, I could go for a big American cheeseburger, honestly.” “Okay then, let’s go to Patty’s on Vine, we can walk,” you said as you pulled at his shirt to turn him toward the right direction. He bristled at the feeling of your touch.

His whole body was even more sensitive than usual. You looked like the queen of the ancient British Iceni to him. In truth, he didn’t much care for the California look. He loved that you appeared out of nowhere and you looked like Boudica, not like Gwyneth Paltrow. Even though he was sure he heard she was nice. RDJ seemed to really love her.

The diner where you were headed was the second-tier after-hours hang, so it wasn’t populated with the usual crowd, not yet at least. You had some time before you would be inundated, and perhaps before someone would recognize him, which you still did not. You could ask him, of course. Although, sometimes in Los Angeles, the worst part is knowing who someone is.

Although Tom being Tom was unable to resist personal questions. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, just a little,” he had to ask as the night air propelled him quickly down the sidewalk. You considered telling him about your job, but it was just how you paid the bills. Your passions were your passions and not for a stranger. So you decided to be a little goth. It couldn't hurt.

“I have something like anhedonia, I suppose,” you finally said. Tom seemed to know what you meant right away. “The inability to feel?” He spoke. “More classically refined, which results in numbness, making capturing interior somatic sensations nearly impossible,” you clarified. “Sounds like you are depressed,” Tom flattened out your creative retelling of your current state. “Maybe,” although you weren't sure of his simple label. "You think it will pass?" Tom continued, ever the optimist.

You considered one way to try and test if this state you'd been in could possibly change, would be to see if he could provoke feelings of passion or at least some kind of low-grade horniness. You’d been feeling functionally blank for a while now.

He was stunning, after all.

He seemed game for anything, his amphetamine grin taking up the majority of his handsome face. He looked so lovely under the hanging light in your dingy booth. You ate the two-egg special you ordered and watched him devour his American cheeseburger with genuine joy.

“So, you're here to practice for a new part?” You sincerely tried to keep the conversation flowing despite the growing desire to test your theory. “Yes, they want me to branch out. In my career, there’s the fear I am already 'type-casted,' I guess you could say.” “Type-casted? So early on?”

He looked young to you. Possibly younger than you actually. “Yes, I had a big role as a villain, it really blew up, but, he's like a mythological comic book one. I am misunderstood mostly. I mean my character, not me.” "Sure." You nodded in understanding and agreed even if you didn’t quite pick up what he was putting down. You wondered if he had ever seen 'The Last Starfighter.' A favorite movie of yours, you rarely shared with anyone else. Or had he been in that? Your mind wandered. You really didn't recognize him, but you also didn't want to offend him by this fact.

“So how would this role be redefining your abilities? If you are playing a heartless hedge fund dude, isn’t that also a kind of villain? Maybe that is why you got this part.” Tom pondered your insight. He again fell into overthinking and was only a text away from bailing on the entire endeavor. He was becoming that kind of guy, emotionally uneven under his elite veneer.

“I guess they feel like I don’t have the chops to be a 'real world' baddie.” “I needed more practice.” “You don’t?” you said very timidly, suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. You gently pushed your plate aside so you could focus.

You realized his bromance compadres would find him eventually. Another LA truth: it was hard to get truly lost for long. You had been studying his face during the conversation. His pale complexion was slowly becoming flushed in small increments. Was it shyness or a hidden boldness he was bursting to demonstrate, you couldn't tell.

You had worn your espadrilles today, maybe it wasn’t the right season yet, but they always went so well with your outfit-a flowery dress from H&M. Gently and playfully, you kicked one of them off your foot, making a soft thud. Tom dipped his eyes beneath the table for only a moment and brought them back to you, a new flash of crimson emerging. Why were you taking off your shoes? Maybe your feet hurt from the walk?

He picked up his water and chugged almost all of it.

Your right leg lifted up and found purchase exactly between his, landing on the soft seat. Tom chuckled nervously and grabbed your foot. “Just what are you doing?” “I thought you were in training to be a real villain. Or did I misunderstand that?” You teased. Tom’s sincerity and earnestness were effulgent. “Oh no, I am, I really want the part, I need this role.” Suddenly when the idea of something illicit going on beneath the table loomed, he was not reticent about this new role. “Then you better continue to practice.” You laughed, your own smile forming across your face. “How long do we have until they find you?” You inched your foot closer to his crotch.

Tom took a deep breath in and pulled out his flip phone eyes squinting, trying to see the rectangle text banner across the tiny screen. He held the phone up to you. “Can you read this at all?” You grabbed it from him, feeling his hand shaking a little. It was charming. He was nervous.

You read the tiny screen aloud, “Not really, something about where are you at…you wanker, we are about to call your agent." It did say exactly that, and you wondered if possibly Tom was throwing away this role. Were you watching him collapse his career before your eyes? “Are you one for self-sabotage Tom?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. Maybe no one had asked him so bluntly. “Maybe,” he said after a long minute of typing something on the seemingly minute phone with his long fingers and even larger hands. “Just like I am possibly depressed," you offered. He looked up and sat his phone down. “Yes, I think so. Just like that.”

Incoming

Just then the waitress came by filled your water glasses and gave you another quick refill of coffee. Your chosen sobriety was a strange foil to Tom’s imbibed stimulant cocktail which showed no sign of waning. “So, are we on?” He finally said after biting his bottom lip, for what seemed like a year, until it was slightly puffy.

“For what? A staring contest?” You offered, laughing nervously too, your foot still stationed between his thighs. You wondered what you could accomplish at this hour with the looming threat of an incursion at any moment.

The glimmer in his dilated orbs registered that Tom was now aligned in a mission of testing the perpetuity of your anhedonic state. Suddenly under the table, you felt his long legs spread yours apart, like opening a long-closed window that had been painted over.

You gasped but didn’t say anything. He laughed and widened his legs further. You moved your eyes to watch him under the table, his hand reaching down to adjust his cock, which was obviously becoming hard.

At that moment you wanted to jump over to his side of the booth, you wanted to concede and take him to your far away apartment in embarrassing Marina Del Rey.

Tom went silent and finally let go of your bare foot, he had been holding it so hard with his other hand, that you were sure it would be bruised. You immediately placed it on his now impossibly hard cock, tenting his pants obscenely. Honestly, you’d never given a “foot job” before and only seen something like this in a French film once. You had no idea what you were doing.

You slowly began to move your foot up and down his length, which was quite impressive and required more force than you had anticipated. You curled your toes around him to try and create more friction, dragging your heel just at the base.

You placed your hands on the edge of the diner seat so you could put some real weight into getting him off. That seemed to work, and Tom let out a guttural moan. He quickly grabbed your water glass and drank it in addition to his own.

“Should I stop?” You let yourself wonder out loud. “Are you crazy? No.” Was Tom’s quick reply. “Does this feel good?” “Fuck yes.” His voice was breathy, and he shifted in his seat, daring to look around at the customers, but none showed any sign of noticing anything other than themselves. “But this isn’t fair,” he spoke again softly, panting. “How so?” “Because I am um, I am receiving.” “Aren’t you supposed to be a selfish cold surface-level junior business asshole?” “Yes.” “Then this is what they do, they get foot jobs in diners, amongst other perks of course,” you laughed. “Shit, you’re right,” Tom barely squeaked out.

Just then the diner door opened, and you could see the dim faces of the guys he had been partying with. They finally found him. “Don’t look now but your Republican friends have arrived.” Tom’s flush became pale. “Should I stop?” You checked in again. “No.” His response was as clear as mid-day.

So, you increased your speed, you took a deep breath. You were so turned on at this point. You were positive there would be a wet spot on the cracked vinyl seat. You lifted your skirt up further. Tom noticed and peered beneath the table again. He saw your hand brush past your underwear and a finger curl inside the lace trim. You matched his erratic breathing to your motions as you fucked yourself intently. His eyes were glued to you, his fists almost punching into the flimsy placemats. You laughed to yourself about the chances of you both coming in public, surely, he wouldn’t, or you couldn’t.

You were about to mention that perhaps you should stop. When suddenly Tom let out a muffled cry. His breath hitched. You could feel moisture beneath the bottom of your toes as you brought your foot back to the tip of his generous cock once more. “Ah, I see,” you laughed. "Well looks like we are done here." There was no more time to discuss what just happened. The bros had spotted him and you and made their way to your back corner.

Tom closed his eyes in what looked like a silent prayer. He had just had one of the best orgasms of his life. The short blond one with cropped hair spoke up, “Hiddleston, where the fuck have you been, your agency was about to call the cops, which would have been lame.”

“Hiddleston,” you said his surname out loud. Realizing you never got his last name. Tom looked at you with both lust and remorse. Then turned back to the assholes. “You found me, good work,” he said assuredly. “Well we gotta go dick we have a strip club that closes at 3am and it’s in the contract that we take you there.”

Tom slowly got up and used one of his long fingers to expertly untuck that white button-down shirt to conceal the mess you had both made. He looked your way, the pale blue of his eyes returning.

You exchanged numbers for the pleasantry of it, as the assholes looked on impatiently, probably wondering why Tom was wasting his time on a girl who looked like Boudica, but that's just what assholes do you remembered. Although you really didn’t expect to hear from him again. To your surprise right before dawn, perhaps as he was leaving said strip club, a text came over your Blackberry.

“I hope you felt something, I know I did.” Shit.

You did feel something, a lot of things actually. Tom had brought something back to the solemnly plain bagel of your life. You quickly wrote back.

"Don't let the bros see you texting me Tom, you laughed knowing he was probably squinting and barely able to see your words. You picture all of them looking over his shoulder.

"They went home. Can I come over? I feel like we aren't done quite yet. My asshole-in-training self expires at sunrise and I turn back into the real me. Is that okay?" You blinked a few times just to make sure you saw that correctly. "So you're actually Cinderella," you laughed nervously.

You managed to type your address and push send before pulling your covers over your head and screaming quietly enough to not wake up your still-slumbering roommates. You then looked around your room in quiet delightful horror, you had about 30 minutes to hide all your dirty clothes from the past three months under your bed...

[nepenthean-sleep]

Historical Fashion in The Priory of the Orange Tree

I'm not a historian, but I've spent a significant amount of time over the past decade researching historical fashions from across the world. Naturally, this colored my reading of The Priory of the Orange Tree when I first read it in 2019. I started rereading Priory this month in anticipation for the release of the sequel, and I thought it would be fun to share my ideas for the clothing styles of the various countries in the book, based on real-world historical fashion. I also wanted to use this as a moment to compare some of the fashions of Priory with those in the forthcoming A Day of Fallen Night. These are by no means definitive; they're just my personal headcanons for the book, but I thought some fans and artists would appreciate this as a reference.

To begin, Inys and Queen Sabran's court reminded me heavily of Elizabethan England, so while reading Priory, I mostly thought of the book taking place in an analogue to Earth of the mid-to-late 1500s. This colors my perception of the various clothing styles, so you will notice that most of the countries will have clothing from the same century or thereabout. This extends to Fallen Night, which takes place 500 years earlier, but only for the countries that I was able to find enough reference information on. (Trying to find fashion references for eleventh and twelfth century Europe and Africa on the internet is very difficult!) I've made (terrible; I am not a graphic designer) collages to lower the photo count in this post, but please keep in mind that this post is still image-heavy.

SEIIKI

Seiiki is based off of Edo-era Japan. In keeping with the 1500s theme, I have imagined fashions similar to those of the very early Edo period and the late Azuchi-Momoyama period. With how they are described in the text, I believe the wealthy and fashionable in Ginura would likely dress more like the fashions from the early 1700s with elaborate nihongami and extensive sea-themed accessories.

For A Day of Fallen Night, this would land us squarely in the Heian era, my personal favorite of the Japanese historical eras in terms of fashion. Now I can only imagine Princess Dumai with extremely long hair lmao.

SEPUL

Sepul is based off of Korea. We don't know much about Sepul, but for Korea, the 1500s would have been towards the beginning of the Joseon dynasty. 16th century hanbok looked more similar to the hanbok of Goryeo, as opposed to the more "classical" 18th century style of Joseon hanbok that is used today in film and re-enactments.

For Fallen Night, that puts Sepul in the middle of the Goryeo dynasty, when it followed Song dynasty fashion. However, Sepul is a queendom, and during the Silla period, Korea had three regnant queens. Because of this, I imagine that the queens of Sepul would likely dress more similar to the royalty of Silla, with their elaborate crowns and gold chains.

EMPIRE OF THE TWELVE LAKES

The Lacustrine are based off of China, and the 1500s lands us in the later half of my favorite Chinese dynasty: the Ming. We don't get to see much of the Empire, but what we do see is very lavish and grand, much like Ming dynasty hanfu itself.

500 years back lands us in the Song dynasty. One of the interesting trends of the Song dynasty was pearl makeup, something that would likely be popular in the Twelve Lakes due to the continent's general aquatic theme.

INYS

Inys is based off of England, and while reading I imagined something similar to the fashions of the 1560s and 1570s during Queen Elizabeth I's reign. I'd also imagine that Inys would be "behind" in terms of fashion compared to Mentendon, due to how Inysh society and fashion is described as more conservative.

MENTENDON

Mentendon is based off of the Netherlands, and I particularly imagined it similar to the Dutch Republic, especially in regards to the country's relationship with Seiiki. The Dutch began trading with Japan in the early 1600s, so much of my headcanon for Mentendon is based off of the Baroque era, particularly the 1630s and 1640s. Mentendon seems to be the most liberal nation of the West, so I'd imagine their fashions to be more forward-facing while still retaining a lot of the similarities to the Elizabethan era, such as the usage of lace ruffs, doublets, and kirtles. Aubrecht and Truyde are described as having long, loose, curling hair, which fits perfectly with the popular hairstyles of these decades.

YSCALIN

Spain was the inspiration for Yscalin, and I imagined something similar to the 1540s and 1550s, particularly modeled after renaissance Italy as opposed to the Tudor stylings of the English and French.

LASIA

Lasia is based off of the Kingdom of Kongo, a state that existed in present day Angola, Republic of Congo, and Democratic Republic of the Congo from 1390 until 1857, when it was colonized by Portugal and made a vassal state of the Portuguese Empire. As such, it is difficult to find references for Kongolese fashion without the influence of Portuguese-style clothing. As far as I am aware, the references below are from the 1500s and 1600s and represent Kongolese clothing without European influence.

THE ERSYR

The Ersyr is based off of Iran. We don't get to see much of the Ersyr in Priory, but Chassar would likely wear Ersyri fashions even when away from home. For Iran, the 1500s puts us at the beginning of the Safavid Empire. The reference images below are from the 1570s to the 1650s.

For Fallen Night, the eleventh century would be the Abbasid Caliphate. Below are images of artwork from that era to give a general sense of the styles during that period.

If anyone has any additional information or corrections about the fashions from these time periods in this countries that they would like me to add to this post, feel free to send me an ask or a DM. Thanks for reading! Looking forward to reading A Day of Fallen Night later this week. :)

[the-monkey-ruler]

Wow ancient fanfiction because how does Wukong have a daughter if he’s supposed to be in the West and celibate? This new guy is Iron Fan’s second husband? Good for her.

It would be better to call this ancient media than fanfiction. This was a published work by Yu Xiangdou around 1570s-1580s very close to the publication of Wu Cheng'en's version. I think that due to Wu Cheng'en's version being published close to this version, it might not be directly influenced by it. If anything it could be considered an original work, but still connected to the popular tale of Sun Wukong, possibly more by the Wukong of the Zaju play that was around the early-Ming dynasty.

This could make sense as the Zaju play, Princess Iron Fan was single and sworn off marriage, and Wukong did kidnap a wife (though she was released back to her home country by King Li and Guanyin). This would follow why Princess Iron Fan was able to marry in JTTS with no mention of a previous husband and she was living with her brother and mother. And how this would not contradict with the Zaju ending of Wukong who I am not positive becomes a Buddha at the end. In any case, it is great to see earlier works of media that portrayed Sun Wukong and how his legend continues to change his image and how he interacted with other mythological figures and thus the audience.

[artifacts-archive]

Shabti (Funerary Figurine) of Nebseni

Thebes, Egypt, New Kingdom, early Dynasty 18, about 1570 BCE

To assure themselves a comfortable afterlife, Egyptians stocked their tombs with at least one figurine called an ushabti, who acted as a servant in the afterlife. The message carved on each of the figurines explained that if the deceased is called on to do any work in the afterlife, the ushabti will respond with “Here I am” and will do the job. Some tombs had as many as one ushabti for every day of the year and another 36 overseers to keep order. All but the poorest citizens provided themselves with some kind of funerary furnishings. Products for burial and the labor to produce them made up a large industry in Egypt.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Hours In The Moonlight: Fairest Midnight - 6. Shatter to a Billion Pieces

Summary: Questions always came with answers, and sometimes they were answers you wouldn’t like. But sometimes it's hard to realize quite how bad a situation is until something smacks you in the face with the reality of it all. And reality can be the harshest thing in the world even when you're surrounded by creatures that ought to be pure legends.

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire, Blood

Word Count: 1570

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

Despite Rook’s suspicions, the murders continued even after my run-in with the vampire woman and her subsequent death. 

And the matter had gotten far worse than it had been. While there had previously been no incidents, murder or otherwise, around where I lived, that had changed swiftly and to a degree that had been beyond upsetting.

Especially since I’d stepped out of my apartment building to head off to work one morning only to find officers across the road talking to the crying Felmier family.

It hadn’t taken me long to trot across the street, immediately wrapping my arm around Granny Felmier and softly questioning her while the officers talked to Epel’s distraught parents.

“What happened?” I’d looked down at the old woman worriedly as she’d hugged me tightly, pressing her face into my shoulder, before she at last pulled away and looked up at me with teary eyes.

“Epel’s gone.”

Her tear-choked words had almost caused my heart to stop right then and there as I went cold all over.

Epel. Epel was missing.

By now, it was a well-known fact in the neighborhood, with missing-person signs hanging on almost every wall. Constant reminders that my young friend had disappeared amid all the bloody murders that had been taking place.

I sighed slightly as I took the bags that Rook had insisted on carrying for me after he’d bumped into me at the store. A ‘pure and joyous coincidence,’ as he’d put it. But he and I both knew that wasn’t the case. 

I’d been seeing more and more of Rook since Epel went missing, which only made me feel more and more like the recent attacks in town had some sort of connection to the fact that vampires were after me. 

The only question was, why now? What had changed?

I was still living in this same area that Vil had declared his zone, so if this was a vampire, they weren’t afraid of challenging Vil at the very least.

There was something going on in the neighborhood that Rook wasn’t telling me. And with the knowledge that he was a vampire hunter, whatever Rook was hiding couldn’t be good.

I could only hope that his suspicions and my fears weren’t true. Because if the vampires were the ones causing the numerous missing persons along with the murders, then Epel…..

The thought of him being attacked by vampires sent a pang of worry coursing through me. 

It was probably for the best that I’d bumped into Rook, though. Vil probably would’ve had something to say if he’d found out I’d been out shopping after dark on my own, despite the potential risks.

I glanced at Rook clandestinely, wishing I could ask him about everything but knowing he wouldn’t answer. Rook had many secrets, only one of which had been his status as a vampire hunter.

“Thanks again for carrying my bags, Rook, though you really didn’t have too,” Despite my words, I knew exactly what response was coming as Rook looked over at me fondly.

“Non, non, Trickster! I could never let you carry your own bags when I am here,” He smiled blissfully, and I shook my head slightly at his grandiose words. So like him in an undeniably comforting manner. Almost like he knew exactly how much time I’d been spending preoccupied with my own fears and concerns for Epel.

I waved slightly before turning to go and head into the apartments. But I only made it a little ways before I froze in place without even rounding the corner and coming into sight of the doorway to the apartment building. 

I stared wide-eyed at what, or rather who, was kneeling by the wall, trembling from the cold with a blood-stained scarf wrapped around his throat.

I would recognize that soft-looking, pale purple hair anywhere.

I breathed out his name in both relief that the missing boy had been found and fear that stemmed from the sight of blood on his person, “Epel.”

He flinched and looked up slowly, a glazed look to his large blue eyes that had me going tense all over. Something was definitely wrong. Something that had me feeling oddly chilled to my innermost core. But all I really knew was that he needed help.

I dropped my bags and dashed towards him, “Epel! What happened? Are you hur-”

My words ended harshly in a shriek as I was yanked backwards, just in time to be pulled away from Epel’s sudden wild dive. He stopped short, staring at me with bared fangs as he hissed, his fingers curling into his palm in an almost inhuman way.

And I stared in horror, my eyes wide as I gazed at him. But this wasn’t the Epel I knew… The short-tempered but sweet young man who was always holding open doors and greeting me with a wide smile.

This one was…

Rook’s solemn, almost cold words said it before I could even finish the thought, “He’s not human anymore, Trickster… And he’s at his limit.”

My blood had turned to ice in my veins the very instant I’d registered the fangs that now replaced the boy’s once-human canines. And yet a part of me still didn’t want to believe the truth, even as it stared me in the face, “But he…”

I trailed off, my voice cracking slightly, and Rook’s grip on me tightened slightly before he gently turned me so that I was no longer facing the once-human boy. 

My eyes were wide, even though the only thing I could see was the fabric of Rook’s coat as he rubbed my back soothingly and murmured words that I hardly even noticed.

 I was oddly unable to cry. Instead, that frigid numbness that started in my veins now seemed to spread throughout me in an almost condemning way.

Epel was a vampire now. And even though I didn’t know how, some small part of me whispered that it was my fault. 

I’d known that vampires were after me, and yet I’d still lived so close to other people. Rook had told me that vampires were the ones causing the murders, but I’d stayed. I’d let myself believe that Vil’s words would be enough to drive away other vampires. And now it was my fault that Epel was cursed in such a way.

“Y/n?” I froze at the quiet, hesitant voice that I recognized all too well. Rook’s motions had stopped, and he let me turn but kept a steady grip on my shoulder as I made eye contact with the now-lucid-looking Epel.

“Y/n… I didn’t…?” He trailed off, his voice cracking weakly as he looked down at his hands with wide, too-wet eyes.

My heart began to break as tears began to trail down his pale face, and he shook his head, burying his face in his hands as he broke.

His muffled sobs were like reality’s way of smacking me in the face. There was no going back after this. My life was that of someone who was surrounded by vampires and who knew what other monsters. 

Even those who were close to me weren’t safe.

I attempted to start forward, to go and comfort the crying boy, even though it was my fault he was like this, but Rook wouldn’t let me go. Instead, he held me tightly to his side as he responded in a quiet, remorseful tone, “They are unhurt, Monsieur Cherry Apple. You did not bite them.”

The young man lifted his head, sniffing slightly, “That’s good, I thought…. I was afraid….” He trembled slightly before crumpling forward.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n…” His voice broke even as he continued to speak. Apologies spilling from his mouth even though I was the one who was truly at fault here, “I didn’t mean to, I’m just…. I’m so hungry, but I can’t… I won’t…!” 

He shook his head, his hands curling into trembling fists on the pavement as I attempted to swallow the raw feeling in my throat that was slowly trying to choke off my ability to speak.

Rook inhaled slightly but nodded, rubbing my shoulder and giving it a squeeze before at last letting go, “He hasn’t lost his way yet, but… He needs to eat. I'm going to take him with me.” 

Rook’s green eyes met mine, a concerned and serious look in their green depths that told me he’d had the same thoughts that were currently threatening to overwhelm me. Epel hadn’t been a target. He’d just been unfortunate enough to live near me.

When Rook spoke again, his voice was solemn, “You need to go inside and not let anyone enter, Trickster.”

He carefully knelt, carefully collecting Epel, even though he was putting himself at risk by bodily supporting a starving vampire. But he hardly seemed concerned about that; instead, his eyes stayed on mine, “I will send Roi du Poison to you. Until then, stay inside and stay safe.”

His gaze softened slightly as he glanced down at Epel and then back to me, “He will be alright. I promise you.”

I distantly nodded as I let that numbness swallow me whole. Freezing my emotions and allowing my brain to take over.

 I would handle my grief and guilt later, when I was alone. When Epel wouldn’t see me shatter to a billion pieces over the horror I’d brought into his life. 

His now immortal life.

If you would like to read more:

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[cobragardens]

Another Post About Crowley's Terrible Handwriting

Actually his handwriting here isn't terrible, it's just, like Anathema's spelling, 300 years too late.

So first, I posit that we can be reasonably confident this is Crowley's handwriting because he is very likely the only celestial being besides Aziraphale who can spell devourer correctly.

Crowley has taken more care than usual with his penmanship today because this is a Fancy Presentation, and there are some delightful things to note about it:

--The beautiful serifs on each letter and variation in width of the strokes (the lowercase r's especially)

--Enthusiastic but intermittent capitalization of nouns

--The L that ends "Hail" is a small capital like the ones used in the Bible to spell LORD; the l in Worlds is lower-case

--The lozenge shape of the letter o

--Both s-es are oversized and dip below the writing line

--The kerning is terrible, the script wanders off the writing line at several points, and the location of the writing line is not imagined consistently

I am not an expert in the history of handwriting, but every single point of this suggests to me that Crowley learned to write in English in the late 16th or early 17th century, between say 1570 and 1620, and he learned to do it by copying printed material, not somebody else's handwriting. And it looks like late 16th-century writing. Or rather, like somebody learned to write by copying late 16th-century print and hasn't practiced enough for his style to change significantly in the last 400-500 years.

This means Crowley would have learned using a quill pen, poor devil, and if that's true no wonder he doesn't do it more often. (I wonder if this is why he now owns a pen that looks like it can break the sound barrier; if the Bentley is a permanent replacement for the loathsome, buttocks-abusing horse, maybe he keeps the expensive pen as self-reassurance that he'll never have to write with a quill again.) Quill pens would explain the lozenge-shaped o's: quills can only make a downstroke, so writers who used them shape o's as lozenges made of four downstrokes. Someone who learned writing with a quill would shape his o's like a calligrapher.

16th/early 17th century is the earliest I think Crowley would have learned to write in English because before that there was no block print; there was no print at all, only handwritten scripts of varying legibility, none of which look remotely like Crowley's handwriting does.

Here's what print looked like in Germany in 1471 (printing does not arrive in England for another 5 years after this):

The printing press showed up in England in 1476. Between 1500 and 1600, England got its shit sorted out wrt fonts and typesetting and started turning out what we would recognize today as readable material.

Here's what English printing looked like in 1623, c. 150 years after the German one above:

Not bad, right? I've received Xerox copies less legible than this in classes I paid for. I think it is likely based on his handwriting that Crowley learned to write from printed material a decade or two older than this. The adornments Crowley puts on his letters are serifs, not ligatures: these are not letters that were ever meant to join up in cursive, but letters that were copied from typeset.

From the 16th through the mid-19th century, variations in how a handwriter capitalized letters were very common, and two of these variations show up in Crowley's writing as well.

First, English inherited from German the capitalization of all its nouns. You can see it in Titus Andronicus, above (1623). Due to variations in education and taste, this quickly shifted to capitalization of whichever nouns the writer (or publisher, or printer) felt were important to capitalize, as you can see in Paradise Lost from 1688, below. Hail the Great Beast, devourer of Worlds.

Second, It was also very common during this time to capitalize terminal letters of words, either as a sign to the reader that previous letters had been omitted or because writers using quill pens wanted to be sure readers knew what letter they were looking at through the smudges and weird spacing and general wretchedness of the reading experience imposed by quill writing. I think this latter reason may be why Crowley writes "HaiL" when his other letter L, in "Worlds," is both lowercase and carefully printed with a pretty serif.

Handwriters in English between 1500 and 1800 also had a major hard-on for abusing the letter s, which was shaped like a lowercase f (to contemporary eyes) or a loose S, either of which drop below the writing line. Here's an example in print from 1688:

Use of the long S in print fell out of favor and disappeared abruptly in the UK after 1800.

Crowley's S-es could be a holdover from this: they both drop below the writing line, and they're both oversized.

What I think we can say for sure is that he's not very good at writing s-es, so they always turn out bigger than he intends. The S in "Beast" is noticeably different at the left curve than the S in "Worlds," which I would expect for someone who hasn't written thousands of s-es yet, and the S in "Worlds" looks very much like someone has faithfully rendered a shape they have seen rather than written a letter. Since he can write a letter r elegantly but can't do a curved s, it suggests to me that he hasn't had as much practice doing the curved s yet as he has the other letters, which fits with someone used to writing a long s 75% of the time.

Even the kerning speaks to me of someone who learned to write with a quill: leaving (comparatively) large spaces between letters gives the ink somewhere to drip and smudge without rendering the letter illegible.

There's one other reason I think Crowley probably learned to write in English in the 16th century: He's lazy, and he probably wouldn't have needed to know before then.

The movable-type press arrived in England in 1476. The Protestant Reformation kicked off in England c. 60 years later in 1534 when Henry VIII declared himself head of the English Church. Prior to the surge in literacy among the wealthy and merchant classes in the 16th century, thanks to this intersection of printing press and Protestants (who believe it's important that each person read the Bible for themselves), almost no one knew how to read, including most of the gentry and nobility, and still fewer knew how to write. If you had a message, you sent a guy or you showed up yourself. If you had something you wanted recorded, you summoned a scribe. If you needed to know something, you found somebody who knew and you asked them.

By the time of Queen Elizabeth's accession in 1558, 82 years after William Caxton began operating England's first movable-type printing press, a fully literate royal court were passing each other and their spies and their assassins gossipy notes like everybody was a 12yo in math class. Elizabeth wrote letters and poems. Among the gentry gentlewomen replaced monks as the medical caregivers for their communities (bc Henry shut down all the monasteries), and they wrote and shared and copied multi-generational "receipt books" and herbals of medical and cosmetic treatments. In the space of a single generation, literacy--the ability to write, not just to read--became a prerequisite for functioning in the upper echelons of society.

So if he didn't already know by then, Crowley would have needed to learn to write in English in the mid-16th century. And he would have had to learn it with a quill. (Wearing black probably came in handy for all the ink he spilled or dripped on himself.)

Last to consider is the W in "Worlds," which has no serifs and is not written with any particular attempt at straightness or symmetry. To me this suggests that Crowley learned to write w's from a modern reference, not his original reference. And this makes perfect sense: w was very much in use in the 16th century in English, but nobody agreed on how to write or print it, so there were crossed v's, two capital U's, and this weird gothic lowercase n with extra tentacles. W, Crowley would have learned, always needs to be checked up on before you commit.

Crowley's spelling here is modern, which is frankly a huge achievement for someone who was present for the formation and transformation of all 3 English languages. The contemporary Modern English we use today was a going concern for over 2 centuries before anyone wrote an English dictionary, and it was three centuries before dictionaries became authorities on how to spell correctly and people started giving a shit about that. (Before that as long as people could read the word and understand what you meant by it in context, you'd spelt it correctly.)

Taken together, the W and the modern spelling suggest that although Crowley almost never writes by hand, he reads regularly. This matches with two Words of God I've seen from Neil Gaiman (which I am too lazy to find and link) in which he mentions that Crowley likes to read but won't admit to doing so or to liking books.

Aziraphale should get him a book about ducks for Valentine's Day.

[scotianostra]

16th July 1588 saw the death of Agnes Keith Countess of Moray.

Agnes was a noblewoman the eldest daughter of William Keith, 4th Earl Marischal and Margaret Keith, born in Dunnottar Castle, about 1540. Her paternal grandparents were Robert Keith, Master of Marischal, and Lady Elizabeth Douglas, and her maternal grandparents were Sir Wiliam Keith and Janet Gray. Agnes was a descendant of King James I of Scotland and his consort Joan Beaufort, the subject of a post yesterday, who was in her turn the great-granddaughter of King Edward III of England.

She had two brothers, William Keith, Master of Marischal , and Robert Keith, 1st Lord Altrie and six younger sisters. These were Elizabeth, wife of Sir Alexander Irvine of Drum; Alison, wife of Alexander, Lord Salton; Mary, wife of Sir John Campbell of Calder; Beatrice, wife of John Allardice of Allardice; Janet, wife of James Crichton of Frendraght; and Margaret, wife of Sir John Kennedy of Balquhan. Her aunt was Elizabeth Keith, wife of George Gordon, 4th Earl of Huntly who would lead an unsuccessful rebellion against Mary, Queen of Scots in 1562. Her first cousin was Lady Jean Gordon, the first wife of James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, who himself would become the third husband of Mary, Queen of Scots. Agnes's father was a member of Queen Mary's Privy Council; he had fought at the Battle of Pinkie when she was about seven years old. He died in 1581. You can see I’m filling this post out a bit, but I am just showing that the Marischal's had connections far and wide with their fingers in a lot of pies.

At St. Giles Cathedral, Edinburgh or at Holyrood on 8 February 1561/2, Agnes was married to James Stewart, the illegitimate half-brother and chief adviser of Mary, Queen of Scots, who had been created Earl of Mar the previous day. The ceremony was magnificent, attended by many of the nobility, with John Knox having preached the sermon. The lavish wedding was followed by three days of festivities and banqueting at Holyrood Palace, the “frivolity” of which was subsequently denounced by Knox with the words: "the vanity used thereat offended many godly".

Queen Mary made much of the new Lady Mar and regarded her as a close member of her family. Having been well-educated, Agnes was described by author Antonia Fraser as having had "genuine intelligence and spirit". Keith M. Brown, Professor of Scottish History at the University of St. Andrews, called her "clever, acquisitive and steely". It was recorded that in August 1566 following the birth of Prince James, the future King James VI of Scotland, Agnes was one of the ladies with whom the queen kept the most company. In early February 1567, Agnes suffered a miscarriage, which provided her husband with an excuse to hastily depart from Edinburgh; thus he was away when Lord Darnley was murdered at Kirk O'Field.

Mary was deposed by the Confederate Lords at the battle of Carberry Hill, while Moray was still in France. Mary was taken in custody to Lochleven Castle. Although the Lords would not forward Moray's letters to Mary, Agnes stayed with the Queen and her mother-in-law at Lochleven in July 1567. The English ambassador in Edinburgh Nicholas Throckmorton heard there was "grete sorowe betwixt the Queen and her at theyre meeting and much gretter at theyre departing." Soon after on 24 July 1567, Mary was forced to abdicate.

Moray was proclaimed Regent of Scotland for the infant King James VI on 22 August 1567. While her husband held the regency, Agnes was the most powerful woman in Scotland. She was a very intelligent and intimidating politician, and many people were afraid of incurring her wrath.

In May 1568, before the Battle of Langside, she coldly informed her frightened cousin, George Gordon, 5th Earl of Huntly, "ye haf mad me angary". Huntly had indicated that he would support Mary rather than Regent Moray, so even though she had been close to the Queen , her loyalties lay with her husband.

Moray was assassinated at Linlithgow in January 1570, Agnes was pregnant at the time of her husband's murder and delivered a daughter, Margaret, shortly afterwards. She spent the two years following his assassination managing the family estates and fighting a series of legal battles in which she sought to obtain financial compensation for the time he acted as regent.

While Agnes was at Dunnotar, her mother-in-law, Margaret Erskine, looked after her second eldest daughter, Annabell at the New House of Lochleven Castle. Although Annabell was described as 'merry and very lusty' by Agnes' secretary John Wood in April 1570, some months later Margaret had to write to the widowed Countess of Moray describing her death. She told Agnes that, 'God sall send your Ladyschip barnis efter this, for ye ar young aneuch.'

Sometime between January 1571 and February 1572 Agnes married another powerful man, Sir Colin Campbell, heir presumptive to the earldom of Argyll. When he succeeded his brother as the 6th earl in 1573, Agnes was henceforth styled Countess of Argyll. During her second marriage, Agnes became embroiled in a litigation over Queen Mary's jewels which had earlier fallen into her keeping. It

Mary,had written to Agnes from Tutbury Castle soon after Moray's assassination on 28 March 1570 regarding these jewels. Mary wanted them sent to her in England including a piece made up of diamonds and rubies called the "H". This was the "Great Harry", a diamond given to Mary on the occasion of her first marriage by her father-in-law, King Henry II of France. The Earl of Huntly asked for the jewels on Mary's behalf on 1 November 1570, and Mary herself wrote again for them on 27th January 1571. However, the Regent Lennox had also asked for them on 13th September 1570. Facing a dilemma between handing the jewels over to Mary or the Scottish government, (knowing also that Moray had sold some of the crown jewels to Elizabeth I to fund the civil war), Agnes chose to hang onto the jewels.

It was Agnes' desire to hold onto these valuable jewels which provoked a feud between her second husband and the Regent Morton, who demanded their return on behalf of King James VI of Scotland, threatening the couple with arrest if they failed to deliver the jewels which he insisted belonged to the Scottish Crown. Agnes argued that she retained the jewels as a pledge for the debts owed to her for the expenses that the Earl of Moray had laid out as Regent.When Agnes and her husband failed to hand them over, they were both "put to the horn" (declared rebels) on 3 February 1574. Agnes appealed to the Scottish Parliament, and wrote several articulate, formal letters to Queen Elizabeth requesting her intervention which would permit Agnes to retain the jewels. These letters were considered by Francis Walsingham in September 1574.

The lengthy inquiry and litigation with Regent Morton over the custody of the precious stones, ended on 5th March 1575, when the earl, in his own name and that of Agnes, surrendered them to Morton. The Earl of Argyll would later be partly responsible for Regent Morton's fall from power and loss of the Regency in 1578. ...

Agnes died on 16th July 1588 in Edinburgh and was buried in St. Giles Cathedral inside the tomb of her first husband as seen in pic two.

[christliche-kunstwerke]

Christus am Kreuz mit der Heiligen Maria, Johannes dem Evangelisten und Katharina von Siena, um 1570 von Marco Pino (oil on panel)

[msbarrybeeson]

Princess and Her Matra | Cyno X (F) Reader (Part II) (Royal AU)

Summary: Your Prince of Avidya had arrived with the intent of taking your hand in marriage, but something seemed off about him and his advisor. A bitter taste infected the General Mahamatra's tongue, watching you from afar. Matra Dehya and Candace could not help but tease a little.

Relationship: (Bodyguard) Cyno X (Desert Princess) Female Reader

Characters: General Mahamatra Cyno • Matra Dehya (Lionness) • Matra Candace (Priestess) • Prince of Avidya Scaramouche • Avidyan Advisor Il Dottore.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1570

Parts: One / Two / Three / Four / Five

➵ ➵ ➵

"So, you're going to explain how you managed to catch Her Highness's heart?"

A whisper.

Cyno whipped his head to find two Matra beside him, one smirking and the other with a knowing smile. He grumbled, "Dehya. Do not."

"Just curious, General."

"We have figured you two have feelings for a while," Candace chuckled. "There is no need to pretend anymore."

The Mahamatra, however, froze. Hushed, he demanded, "Don't tell me word got out to every–."

"Calm yourself, General." The Lionness flapped her hands. "We're not clueless or ignorant as you think. Really offensive if you even think of us like that." He deadpanned in response. She continued, "It's obvious what'll go down if this reaches our King."

"We can assure you your secret is safe."

Cyno could not have asked for better friends. He sighed, crossing his arms. "So?" Dehya pushed in a quiet voice.

The General thought back to the other late afternoon, half a week ago. He could still feel the touch on his lips. His fingers nearly ghosted over as the memory flashed, but he was also aware of prying eyes from his friends, especially the Lionness's.

"It simply happened."

Candace snorted as a soundless laugh shook her body, while Dehya looked offended. "'Simply happened'? What kind of answer is that?" She flickered between her friend and Cyno. "Pretty certain your lovey-dovey moment is a lot more than 'happened.'"

"At ease, Dehya," said Candace, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Careful or the whole throne room will catch us."

Dehya scoffed. "Whatever. Guess our General has other– more shameful– secrets hidden." She glanced in your direction. Then, eyed Cyno. "Today's the day, huh. How're you feeling, General?"

He was well aware of what his friend meant. He sighed, a pained look in his eyes. How could it ever be easy to watch your own lover look into another person's eyes, hold another person's hands, and eventually live their life with them instead of you? The Mahamatra trailed his sights from the floor to you, meeting your eyes and your upset expression.

You were there, yet you were also so far.

Suddenly, a loud rumble of the palace entrance opening cued everyone to positions. Cyno cleared his throat as he, with force, put down his partisan.

Adorn in cream-colored fabrics with gold and auburn linings, you stood from your throne alongside your Father.

As the giant doors widened, light crept into the throne room and a set of men in uniform of forest green and onyx black, presumed to be bodyguards of the Prince, or the Matra's counterparts known as "Rangers."

They were followed by a rather interesting man.

Your posture stiffened as he, who had light blue hair and eyes covered with a mask, entered the throne room. His stature, tall. You were quick to note his unusual clothing compared to the Rangers.

"What in Deshret's name is that man wearing?" Dehya murmured. Candace creased her brows. "Strange. I have traveled to Avidya when I accompanied our merchants before, and this does not suit their culture."

"So you're saying he's from a whole 'nother kingdom? I never even thought there is a place outside of Setekh and Avidya."

"I am sure no one from either kingdom would adorn themselves in such thick animal fur."

"Honored to meet you, King of Avidya. Your Highness all the same." The strange man bowed to you. "My name is Il Dottore, closest advisor of His Highness, whom I may formally introduce to you: Prince Scaramouche of Avidya."

Your hands turned clammy.

Your breathing hastened.

A young man of a shorter, slender figure strolled in.

His locks were indigo, matching his eyes distinguishably outlined in red. You found his clothing bizarre as well. While he was dressed in what would be closer to Avidya fashion, there was also a large amount of purples and reds in his palette, especially in his wide ornamented hat. A long, leafy green, silk veil accompanied him from behind.

"The pleasure is all mine." He put on a smile, bowing.

Cyno felt his jaw tighten.

The King nodded his head. "Prince Scaramouche. I welcome you to the Setekh. I have my faith all is well in your travels?"

"Your concern is appreciated, Your Majesty. Not a single trouble there was."

"I see. Allow me to introduce you my daughter, Princess (Name). Or shall I say, your betrothed." The King signaled in your direction to bow. You nearly scowled.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Scaramouche." You had hesitated in great distaste. It seemed Scaramouche paid no attention to it. He held out his hand, bringing yours as he placed a gentle kiss. "I must say, you look rather stunning, Princess (Name), seeing you dressed in glowing silk."

The Mahamatra found his own eye twitching.

You hummed. "Then, color me impressed to find your subjects in such thick fashion. The Setekh rarely has anyone in thick fabrics. Perhaps, it would do you well to alter yourself in better convenience, my betrothed." A slight swing in your tone, as if to mock.

A Setekhan council member broke into snickers, gathering eyes which forced him to compose himself.

Your Father narrowed his in your direction.

"My, I suppose you do have a point, beloved." Scaramouche's hand twitched. "But I'm afraid us Avidyans take much pride in our culture."

"Then, perhaps the Setekh is not a suitable place–."

The King hastily cleared his throat. "Excuse my daughter's fatigue. It has also been a while since we have had honored guests welcomed into our palace. You must be exhausted yourself. Allow my Matra to guide your way to your chambers."

As the guests began leaving the throne room, Cyno glared, sending daggers toward the Prince. However, you, catching onto his glowering expression, signaled your hand. 'Calm down,' you mouthed.

I could say the same for you. He did not say it though. It was much preferable to him for you to impolite to another man. Cyno huffed, before marching to your side, as always when you were due for slumber.

"Matra Dehya, Candace." The King named, stopping the two from accompanying the guests. Confusion seeped into their faces. "As of tonight, I shall assign you to guard my daughter. Nothing shall get in the way of this wedding."

They bowed. "Understood."

"And you, (Name)." You knew where this was going. "I expect better behavior of you in front of the Prince tomorrow. The future of Setekh is dependent on your relations." Your Father's voice was laced with disappointment, nearly making you feel guilty. "Do you understand?"

You mumbled, "Yes."

"Rest up. You have many plans to fulfill with the Prince"

Silence filled your walk to your chamber. You did not wish to say anything, especially when concerns bounced in your mind. The General Mahamatra stared towards you, equally worried. But it seemed the Lionness had some ideas of her own. "That guy was bizarre."

At least you had someone who loved to speak her mind.

"Hm." Candace hummed. "Il Dottore or Prince Scaramouche?"

"To be honest, both."

"I have to agree. They wear unusual clothing."

"You two noticed as well?" You paused in your tracks. "All of Avidyan merchants who entered Setekh are dressed purely in greens and browns. Occasionally, they would wear black."

"Il Dottore is dressed in a thick coat. Even in Avidya, the weather is much too warm for him to wear such a thing, as I said to these two," Candace pointed out. "I cannot say much about the Prince. He suits Avidyan fashion better than his advisor."

"I have a hypothesis," you slowly voiced.

"You should be cautious, Your Highness. All of us should be." The General Mahamatra crossed his arms. "It could be that the arrangement is tampered by external parties, coroborrating with Avidya."

"Why though?" Dehya questioned. "What are they even getting by uniting Setekh and Avidya? Haven't they always hated us?"

"That is exactly what one of my Father's councilmen said. For many centuries too." You nodded. "Tomorrow, during lunch, both parties are discussing plans for the arrangement. Perhaps things will finally make better sense then."

"If something ever happens–." The Mahamatra jumped quickly to urge you.

"Any harm done to anyone of my palace and Setekh, and those men will not leave unscathed, I promise you that."

"Don't let your guard down, Your Highness," Cyno reminded.

Everyone paused.

"Seriously?" Dehya groaned, hands on her hips.

"Have I said something.. wrong?"

You blinked. Oh, he was serious this time. Suddenly, a laugh jumped out. Even Candace smiled. Dehya's smile was more painful and awkward.

"Would anyone care to enlighten me?"

"The one time..." Your General looked at you confused, as if pleading for an answer. You remained silent this time. For the best, you thought.

"We bid you a good night, Your Highness." Candace smiled.

As the door to your chamber finally shut tightly, Dehya could not stop herself, breaking into snickers. "Our mighty, stoic, fierce General," Dehya wrapped an arm around him, swinging from side to side, "is actually a lover boy. Always ready to jump in for our sweet Princess." She clasped her hands together and imitated the scenario playfully.

She spoke in exaggerated voices, switching between Cyno's deep pitch and yours. "'I will always be there for you, Your Highness.' 'You make me so happy, my General!' 'It makes me jealous that another man is taking you–.'"

"Say another word and you'll be sorry."

[jiliansky-blog]

I will find my way back to you. Chapter 4. Visits to the Dreaming

Pairing: Morpheus x FemaleReader

Rating: PG

Words: 1570

“You’re shining and lost in thoughts,” Miranda noticed. “What is happening to you?”

“I saw him again in his castle,” you smiled. “She made me a place in his library. And he was very sad and told me his story.”

“You’re falling for him,” she admitted finally.

“What? No, don’t say stupid things,” you replied, blushing.

“But it’s not stupid things,” Miranda said. “I know you look when you’re in love.”

“That’s impossible,” you sighed. “He is the god of dreams, and their laws forbid such relationships. Besides, I’m not sure if he feels the same.”

“And he is your imagination,” she remarked.

“He is not,” you objected it. “I know it!”

You appeared in the Dreaming in a few days. Morpheus met you in his throne room for the last time. And he even smiled a little.

“How is your book?” he asked.

“Good,” you smiled. “You are a good inspiration. And how are you?”

“I am,” he said, looking confused after such a simple question.

“Don’t tell me anyone asked you this before,” you said.

“No, my friend Hob Gadling asked, and my sister,” he said. “It’s just…I don’t know what to answer. I’m fine, I suppose.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “I met Lucienne the last time. She is nice.”

“Yes, she is a great librarian and adviser,” Morpheus replied.

“You should be great to know such a big library so well,” you admitted.

“She was a raven once,” he replied.

“Oh, so you can change forms,” you said.

“They call me Shaper of forms,” he smiled. “But I change my ravens, dreams and nightmares. Not everything or everyone.”

“Oh,” you said.

“And ravens were once humans,” he continued. “When they were alive.”

“So are you saying that they became ravens after the death?” you asked.

“Indeed,” he nodded. “If they die in their sleep and choose to stay here instead of going to the sunless lands of my sister.”

“So, your sister...” you said. “Death?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course,” you replied.

“You were waiting for me,” Morpheus said. “While I was...Why?”

“Well, you don’t meet beautiful strangers in your dreams every day,” you smiled. “Sometimes it felt more real than my real life.”

“You, people, think that your life is a real one,” Morpheus smirked. “But life in the Dreaming as real as in the Wake world.”

“My friend wouldn’t agree with you,” you admitted. “She still thinks that our meetings, and you, are not real.”

“Did you tell her about us?” he frowned.

You knew that he meant different thing, but you still blushed after the word “us”.

“Not everything,” you replied. “She thinks it’s my imagination anyway. And I didn’t try to reassure her.”

“Good,” he agreed suddenly. “She doesn’t have questions in this case. Keep her thinking that I am not real.”

“Alright,” you agreed.

“I can show you around,” Morpheus offered. “Or maybe you prefer to stay in the library?”

“I would love to look around,” you smiled.

And he led you through corridors and outside the castle. Everything was beautiful. You saw the river with a stone bridge, held by a giant stone hand. And in the distance, there are some cozy houses.

“That’s incredible,” you whispered.

“Thank you,” he said. And smiled.

It’s amazing how a smile can change someone’s face. He became more beautiful, warmer, and younger. Completely different person.

“Did you change your story?” he asked suddenly. “After what I’ve told you?”

“Not much,” you replied. “I wrote about the prince who was lost and unlucky to be caught. Until the girl came and helped him.”

“Oh?” he smirked.

“She couldn’t immediately get him out of his cage,” you continued. “But she could keep him company. So she came every day there and talked to him.”

“I didn’t come to you every day,” he admitted.

“But I wish you could,” you said. “I can only imagine how lonely you were. And I wanted to help you.”

“You are helping now,” he said quietly.

“Are you lonely even now?” you said, surprised.

His eyes darkened, and he pouted, like when he gets offended. But then he sighed.

“Yes,” he said. “Sometimes.”

“Then I’m glad that I can help you,” you smiled.

“And still I’m afraid to get attached,” he admitted.

“Why?” you asked.

“I hurt everyone I love,” Morpheus replied. “Perhaps it would be a gift if I wouldn't let you stay here and then be hurt.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you admitted.

“Yet,” he says, shaking his head. “You can ask Calliope.”

“We are not our past,” you said. “I don’t want to believe that all you can do to us. Look around; you created all the beautiful stuff. You can change. You can act different.”

“You are giving me too much credit,” he sighed.

“Perhaps you deserve kindness in your life,” you smiled.

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “Everyone said that I’m terrible and that I deserve to die. Why do you say different?”

“Because I don’t see a terrible person,” you replied. “I see a lonely and hurt person who tried to hide his own wounds behind a cold attitude.”

He didn’t say anything. But then I felt like waking up, and the dream was over.

You hoped that Morpheus would invite you to the dream as soon as possible. And you tried to avoid talking much about him in front of Miranda. She was still skeptical about him being real and could warn you about your feelings.

But one time, Calliope visits you. Perhaps, she saw the change of narration in your story. She joined in the café as before.

“You met him,” she admitted.

“I didn’t look for him,” you said. “He found me. And we talked. Everything is fine.”

“Yes, he changed,” she nodded. “He is not as arrogant as before.”

“And you still warned me against him,” you said.

“It’s still dangerous for me to be with you,” she replied. “If you get attached to him. And you're already attached to him.”

“Perhaps,” you said. “But nothing happened. Can I ask something?”

“What?” she tensed immediately.

“He said that he hurt you, and I can ask you,” you said.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Calliope frowned. “He just became distant; go back to his work. He can be cold and say some cruel things to you. And then... our son. He couldn’t save him or stop him.”

That was something for the woman who didn’t want to talk about it.

“He regrets his choices,” you replied. “I think that perhaps he couldn’t be any different. He didn’t know how to.”

“And he didn’t want to change,” the muse admitted.

“Perhaps he believes that he can’t,” you replied.

“I know, though, that he can be charming, kind, and generous,” she said. “He is a gentle and attentive lover. But still, you shouldn’t begin love affair with him or your world will die.”

“That’s pretty cruel,” you sighed, shocked. “But I doubt that he is interested in me. I am just a mortal, after all.”

“She invited you,” she admitted. “I didn’t remember him doing that with any other mortal girl.”

“He is just grateful,” you shrugged.

“I hope you are right,” she replied. “For your own good.”

You have met with him a few more times. And each time, he has shown you different parts of his world. And you found out that he is willing to discuss your books or stories. And it was interesting to listen to his point of view.

Also, you got to know his raven, Matthew. He was quite chatty and was glad that he talks to humans.

“He changed after your meetings,” he told you once, when Morpheus left to do his work.

“How so?” you asked.

“He is gentler, calmer,” he said. “And I believe that he loves your meetings. Poor fellow is starving for simple communication.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” you smirked. “But do you really think so?”

“Yes, he wouldn’t show you everything himself if that wasn’t the case,” the raven replied. “He just doesn’t know how to show emotions.”

“He can be very sweet sometimes, though,” you noticed.

“I suppose so,” he replied.

Morpheus

I got used to this girl in the Dreaming. She still wanted to see me, as I was one of her friends. She wanted to know my opinion on different things. I forgot how good it is just to talk to someone. Perhaps, I should talk to Hob Gadling more too.

“My lord,” I heard Lucienne’s voice.

“Yes?” I asked in return.

“What do you think of Y\N?” she asked.

“She is...nice, I suppose,” I replied. “Or what people say in this situation. But I need to admit that I love to talk to her.”

“She is mortal, though,” Lucienne said. “You need to be more careful, my lord.”

“Don’t remind me,” I frowned. That reminding was like cold water.

“I like that girl too,” she continued. “But she started falling for you. You both need to be more careful.”

“I don’t understand,” I sighed. “I don’t give her any kind of romantic affection. Just my presence and allowance to the Dreaming”.

“Perhaps it’s enough,” she said. “Not everyone is going to wait stars from the sky.”

“Perhaps,” I agreed.

Still it was something wonderful in the fact that someone can love just because I let her stay next to me in my home. Or just talk without courting.

“I will consider your words, Lucienne,” I said anyway. “Thank you.”

@shadowqueen1318 @mypsychoticlove @justathirstyhoe​ @ladymoztaza @sapphireonline @deniixlovezelda

[liannelara-dracula]

Hey, sweetie!

How old you think are the sakamaki, mukami and tsukinami? i have seen lots of posts and all says different things from each othe, i'm really confused--

Hi Love,

This is a really good question. Its something I've always wondered and have been struggling to answer but I will do my best. A while ago I did some extreme math to calculate their age which I will say, I do not recommend such torture to anyone. Plus, I completely forgot the logic behind the formulas so whelp to that. And I think I am either correct or Rejet is inconsistent with their ideas. Either case, something is off and I'll do my best to explain what I think their age range is.

-Liannelara

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Prompt

Requests are open

Rules

Warning:

*certain words have been censored for Tumblr guidelines.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Okay so as I'm sure most of us know, we are aware of their physical age but when it comes to their actual age its tough to say but there are some estimates that could pinpoint a rough estimate as to how old they are.

For example. in one of the drama CDs I believe Reiji was the one who explained to Yui that the mansion that we see in the anime was given to them back in the 18th century? or was it 1800s? I can't remember overall it was a long time ago. And whichever it was they were all grown up to live there on their own as a family. This means for over 200+ years they have looked like teenagers!

The Tsukinami's age also helps us determine the Sakamaki's age. In the Young Blood manga, you can notice that Carla looks just as old as he looks now, and this is when the Sakamaki's were only children. So he and Shin are fairly old. Plus it was stated that they were trapped for thousands of years, so they are old considering that they had some business with their father.

If we also look at Beatrix's attire that Rejet gave her, it is a style that leans more toward the 15-1600s and her children where very young at the time. Of course these years are somewhat misleading because if you think of it, that dress is probably from the demon world so their way of doing things hardly changes. So there is a chance that the attire doesn't greatly respect the time.

However! In another drama CD when the boys were asked about their age Shu said he couldn't remember how old he was exactly but that he was roughly in his early 1,000s. Reiji, Laito, and I believe it was also Kanto who admitted that they were several of 100s of years old. (This was all on the CD which of course I don't remember which one.)

So having said this I've dug far deep to give a good estimate on all this so here it is:

Sakamaki

Shu:

1,051.

Idk why but this exact number is what I always think of when I see him.

Although in terms of range it would be 1,030-1,080.

Reiji:

932-986

he's approaching 1,000 real soon.

Laito:

743-870

Kanato:

720-850

Ayato:

715-820

I know they are triplets and they were born on the same day, but it's hard to picture they're all the same age. So I gave each a different range for each one because I don't know what to pick, but for them I would say the range is roughly : 715-870

Subaru:

660-700

Kino:

I always feel like he was older but it turns out he's younger than Shu?

890-950

Mukami

Now considering that Shu met "young" Yuma or "edgar" in this case, centuries later, it shows how slowly purebloods age and just how fast a turned vampires age, so while the Mukamis look to be the same age as the Sakamakis they're actually younger.

I know the Mukamis are psychically a year apart from each other but you know vampire aging works a little differently. Plus, we don't know how much they really are I'm just going by what age range I see on them.

Ruki

He is old and was probably born in 1500-1700s, as much as I want to say 1800s but we know it's not accurate.

Now idk why but I feel like he was born in the year 1570. (It just sounds right lol)

So for age wise its 518-640

Yuma

He's younger than Kou and it's just so hard to believe.

He's probably 460-580

Kou

500-620

Azusa

440-550

I could see him being in his mid 400s

Tsukinami

Oh my, they are very old.

And I'm just going to say it, they do not look like teens. I always felt that they looked like they were in their 20s. Honestly all of them look like their in there 20s.

But anyways, lets keep in mind that Carla looks exactly the same as he does now when the Sakamaks were kids. (This was in the young blood manga btw).

(also please let me know if I'm wrong about my facts so just let me know.)

anyways I feel like they are quite old and over a thousand. they said he was trapped for thousands of years so they are really old.

Carla

5,018-5,480

Shin

3,080-4,660

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˗ˏˋ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 ˎˊ˗ ©𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔~Present

[the-monkey-ruler]

Hi! I don’t know if you happen to know, but I’m trying to research Journey to the South (as I am currently reading Journey to the West) but I can’t seem to find any translations of it available to an English speaking audience. Would you happen to know of any translations?

Thank you

Funny enough I happen to know quite a bit! I helped create and edit the JTTS pdf together and it is publically available thanks to @journeytothewestresearch

Feel free to enjoy!

[triforce-of-mischief]

Trust Fall

Word count: 1570

Warnings: Panic attacks, needle

Summary: Legend's trypanophobia is triggered before he's ready, and Warriors tries to help him feel safe.

AO3

Reblogs > Likes!

He was surrounded in a matter of seconds. In the back of his mind, he knew that the medics were only trying to help. But goddess, they were making things so much worse.

Warriors had said that he wouldn’t let anything happen until Legend was ready. They would make a plan and practice coping skills and only then would Legend be prepared for another encounter with his phobia.

They hadn’t expected for this to happen so soon. The medics wouldn’t listen, Warriors wasn’t there, and Legend wasn’t ready.

He found himself trapped in the corner of the tent, fighting the instinct to cower like the bunny he was. He was shaking from head to toe, his breathing unsteady and his ears pinned back; he looked vulnerable enough already.

“Stay back!” he warned. The medics glanced at each other, then continued to advance. “I said stay back!”

One reached out with the intent to grab him, and blind fear overtook him. He let his Fist Ring guide his hand, landing a punch on the closer medic that knocked them clean out. The other medic jumped back, out of the hero’s range, and shouted “We need backup!”

A few soldiers ran into the tent, unarmed but clearly well-trained and strong. Legend snarled, unsure if he could hold his ground. He still fought back, but the soldiers easily overwhelmed him. They held him in place as he watched the remaining medic draw up a sedative in… in a…

He suddenly felt lightheaded, and he would’ve collapsed if it hadn’t been for the soldiers forcing him to stand. He knew that it was worse to look but he couldn’t make himself look away and Warriors would tell him to stop but Legend was alone and scared and-

Another soldier entered the tent and addressed the medic. “What’s going on?”

“Just a stubborn patient,” the medic answered. Legend didn’t dare look away from them, barely even paying attention to the new soldier. “He rendered my partner unconscious so it would be helpful if you could attend to them while I handle him.”

The soldier walked in between the medic and Legend, blocking his view of their preparations. “No problem. I’m happy to help-” He froze, giving Legend the opportunity to finally look at him.

Legend almost didn’t believe his eyes. It was Warriors, and he was mad.

Then the captain spoke, and Legend realized that he was furious. His tone cold and commanding as he ordered the other soldiers to “Release him. Now.”

“B-but sir,” the soldier on Legend’s right said, “He’s highly dangerous and violent.”

“So am I,” Warriors hissed. “Hands. Off.”

They released Legend at once and ran out of the tent before he could retaliate. He fell to the floor, his aggression fading as he processed what was happening. Warriors rushed over and knelt in front of him.

“Oh Hylia, Lege… they didn’t do anything, did they?” Warriors asked, and Legend shook his head.

“Th-they said it would be better if I’m sedated while they heal me, and I agreed. But I didn’t know it- would involve-” He let out a ragged sob, and let Warriors pull him into a loose embrace. “I’m sorry. I thought I was getting better but I’m not fine. It just came over me, I’m sorry… I wasn’t ready…”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Warriors murmured. “I’m here now. Let’s try what we’ve worked on, yeah?”

Legend nodded and took careful control of his lungs, counting his breaths. In for seven, out for eleven. And repeat.

While Legend did that, Warriors looked over his shoulder at the confused medic. “Put that away,” he whispered, nodding at the syringe in their hand.

“But he still needs-”

“Just wait.”

The medic grumbled under their breath, but didn’t dare argue with the captain. Legend heard a few soft clicks as they capped the needle and hid the syringe in a drawer.

“We’ve got a truce, see? You’re in charge now,” Warriors said.

Such a novel concept, and a drastic change from a mere minute ago. Legend struggled to accept that he was now in control of his consent, remembering that he had just been physically restrained against his will. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen, but Warriors was clearly desperate to make things right. Legend could persevere through his fear at his own pace, just like he always did.

He could do this. He was still injured for goddess’ sake. Surely that was enough incentive to stand up and walk over to the cot.

Instead, he shuddered and clenched his fists tighter around Warriors’ tunic. Clinging to the physical reminder that his brother was there and ready to help. Legend could wait another minute. He could wait until he was ready.

The minute passed and he still wasn’t ready.

“Lege?”

If Warriors asked if he was ready, Legend didn’t think that he would say yes.

Warriors gently loosened Legend’s hands and held them in his own. “Come with me,” he said, pulling Legend up to stand with him.

Legend didn’t want to follow. But he did anyway. He let Warriors lead him to the sturdy cot in the center of the tent. He didn’t let go of Warriors as he hopped up and made himself comfortable, leaning on a single flat pillow. Warriors didn’t let go either, offering to let Legend hide in his arms again. Legend did so without hesitation, noticing how it felt different than before. Instead of feeling trapped, Warriors’ embrace helped him feel safe, however misleading he knew that feeling was.

Warriors couldn’t protect Legend this time, but he was going to keep him safe. Two words, two actions that meant totally different things in the moment. To protect would be telling the medic no, they’re not allowed to sedate him. To keep him safe was letting him be sedated on his own terms, making sure that he wouldn’t feel completely alone as it happened. As much as Legend hated it, he would take being safe over being protected. He knew that this had to happen, but at least he wasn’t alone.

“Are you ready yet?” the medic asked impatiently, and Legend flinched at the sound of their voice. That same voice had ordered the others to restrain him, uncaring of their patient’s mental state. Legend didn’t want the voice or its owner anywhere near him.

“Hey, Legend, remember to keep breathing,” Warriors said, and Legend caught himself on the brink of hyperventilating yet again. The vet quickly readjusted his breathing and buried his face in Warriors’ shoulder.

“They’re going to come over now, okay?” Warriors continued.

Legend growled softly. “No. They’re not touching me.”

He felt Warriors sigh. “They have to, so they can treat you-”

“They’re not. Touching me.” Legend repeated. “I don’t trust them to get close anymore.”

“Alright then,” Warriors said easily. “Do you trust me?”

“’Course I do, what-”

“Lege.” His tone was still gentle, but serious now. “Do you trust me.” It was more of a demand than a question, a plea to discover what he was really asking.

Legend knew what Warriors meant. He hadn’t expected it, but as he considered the captain’s unspoken plan, he decided that he trusted Warriors fully. “Y-yeah. I do.”

“Good. Stay here and keep your eyes closed. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Then Warriors left, and Legend was alone on the cot. He shrank into himself, cold and in pain and more scared with every second that passed without Warriors holding him. He heard the captain speaking quietly with the medic and tried not to listen to their words. He shivered, hugging himself tight, his thoughts nothing but anxious anticipation.

“Hey… I’m back.”

Legend nodded and felt Warriors sit beside him again. Legend heard the rustle of fabric as Warriors awkwardly unclipped his scarf. He fumbled to undo the clasp with only one hand; the other was holding something. The scarf was draped around Legend’s shoulders and he hid his shaking hands under it.

“I’ll be fast. Just a few moments, then you can rest.” The cadence of Warriors’ voice was steady, almost unnaturally so.

“Wars-” He struggled to speak, his protest strained and weak.

Legend still wasn’t ready.

Warriors had pushed back the sleeve of Legend’s tunic, and he paused to smooth his thumb over his skin. A final attempt at comfort, one that Legend registered but didn’t receive.

“You still trust me, right?”

Despite everything, he still did. Legend swallowed back the whine building in his throat. Warriors needed him to be strong, for both of them.

“Deep breath, bud.”

It was more of a shallow gasp, but Legend managed it.

“And let it out.”

A sharp prick of pain sent a numbing chill down his arm. Warriors was fast despite his lack of experience, and Legend felt the needle slide out before he lost feeling altogether. Warriors was comforting him again in an instant, pulling the scarf tight around Legend and whispering praises in his ear. “Great job, bud, you did so well. You can relax now, I’ve got you.”

A choked cry tumbled out of Legend but he was already too distant to notice. He finally slipped into a sedated sleep, and Warriors stood back to let the medic work.

They still had a while to go before Legend would be ready on his own. Warriors wouldn’t give up on him, though, and Legend trusted him to always be there.