#Merv reblogs

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Happy weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The car comes to a stop. It takes you a minute to notice as you reel yourself back to reality. You blink through the tinted window as Merv turns the music down; a song about glory days or something. 

“Here we are,” he announces and cranes to look back at you, “have fun, miss.” 

“Have fun...” you whisper to yourself in confusion, “what? Where do I go?” 

He laughs, not mockingly, and he points through the window, “well, you’ll want to go into that restaurant and give them Mr. Barnes’ name. They’ll sort you out, I’m sure.” 

“Oh,” your brows draw together. A restaurant. What? 

You undo your seatbelt hesitantly and peer out through the glass again. This is strange. You’ve only had a few interviews and most of them were in cramped backrooms or closets. You pull the handle and let yourself out, thanking Merv before you step up on the curb. 

You shut the car door and hook your bag over your shoulder. You stare up at the restaurant’s marquee. It’s a bistro of some sort. Upscale by your measure, thought you have little experience beyond chain joints and fast food. The white facade with its tall windows is intimidating as you approach the entrance. 

As you step inside, you’re all but assured that you don’t belong. A woman greets you with a pearly smile, her hair in a wispy bun, as she sports a flowery white dress. You look back and forth as she cradles a tablet in one arm. 

“Do you have a reservation?” She asks. 

You look down at yourself. That’s a generous assumption. You don’t know how she’s not telling you to leave. 

“Erm, I... I think I’m looking for someone,” you say, “Mr. Barnes?” 

“Barnes, yes, party for two,” she taps the screen, “he’s waiting. Won’t you follow me?” 

She spins on her heels and strolls away. She’s tall and gorgeous, just like the woman at the casino. You peer around and find no less finery and beauty among the staff and diners. The table are all white and polished and the walls are hung with abstract paintings of heaping fruit and bright cocktails. You’ve never seen brunch done so extravagantly. 

You nearly trip as you look ahead just before you reach the stairs. The hostess climbs ahead of you. You envy her modelesque figure. How is she stuck here? She’s breathtaking. She could be in magazines. 

More importantly, where are you going? 

Several flights and you emerge into the open air. You've never been on a rooftop. You’ve seen things like these in movies. There’s a bar center to the space and tables beneath umbrellas set all about. There is only one diner despite the sunshine. It is strangely desolate for such a warm scene. 

You’re led to the only occupied table. Mr. Barnes stands as you near. He wears a pair of teal slacks and a patterned shirt with an open collar. Casual but just as refined as before. It hardly seems like job interview. 

“Doll,” he greets you with a kiss on the cheek to your surprise. You don’t comment on it, it might just be his way. “You made it.” 

“I...” you check your watch, “it was before noon when I got to the casino.” 

“That’s on me,” he insists as he pulls out the chair for you, “I got restless. Changed my mind. Please.” 

He gestures to the seat and you accept stiffly, moving your bag into your lap as he tucks the chair in under you. He resumes his seat and looks up at the woman patiently standing to the side, “Melody,” he says, “she’ll have a vodka cran, give me my usual. Thanks.” 

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” she replies eagerly. 

“Oh, and the lunch menu,” he returns. 

She clacks off in her heels as you squirm and clutch your purse. You peer around the rooftop and finally at Bucky. You give a sheepish smile. 

“This is a nice place.” 

“Sure is,” he sits back carelessly. There is no tension in him but your wound tight as a spring. 

“Never been anywhere like this...” your eyes drift over and you stare at the city skyline. 

“Made sure we weren’t near the edge, doll,” he assures, “I remember you’re not a fan.” He rests a hand on the table, rubbing his index and thumb. “And I wanted to have this time alone so my pal did me a favour and cleared the roof.” 

“Oh, wow.” 

“He owns this place,” he shrugs. “Never got into the restaurant business. It’s fickle.” 

You nod, not knowing what to say. He knows about these things. Obviously, a lot. You’ve never even worked a full-time week of work. 

“How’s your sister?” He asks, “I assume you got home safe.” 

“Yes, er, thank you, again, for doing all that,” you bite your lip and his blue eyes catch the gesture as his eyebrow tweaks. “I’m really sorry she did that.” 

“Doll, you’re real sweet apologising for her,” he inclines his head slightly, “but you gotta worry about yourself, don’t ya? That’s why you’re here.” 

The hostess, Melody, reappears and sets down two glasses. Yours is bright red with a lime on the rim and his is dark, no ice. She lays down a menu in front of each of you and straightens her posture. 

“I have to get back to the door but Hailee will be up to help you shortly. Our specials today are a goat cheese and beet salad or a brown sugar salmon with seasonal veggies.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky says as he taps the menu. 

Melody leaves you again and you bend your neck to read the menu. You look for a price beneath the dishes and find none. That can’t be good. 

“I’m not very hungry,” you sit up straight. 

“Doll, don’t worry about it. It’s on me,” he circles his hand around his glass, “why don’t you try your drink? Make sure it’s up to snuff.” He sits forward and lifts his own, “cheers.” 

Your hand slips up the condensating glass before you get a grasp on it. You raise it and clink it against his. You bring it to your lips slowly as he does the same, mirroring you as he watches you intently. You gulp and set down the glass as your cheeks strain. 

“You don’t like it?” He wonders. 

“No, I... well, I don’t drink much,” you take the cloth napkin and dab your lips. 

“Ah, if that’s too tart, you can have a look at the cocktails. Some of them are so sweet, you wouldn’t know the difference.” 

“I’m okay,” you assure him, “so...” you swallow and force out your breath, “about the job--” 

“Damn, doll, I’m so all over the place lately, I didn’t even tell you how good you look.” 

“I...” your eyes widen but you quickly wipe away your shock, “that’s nice. I mean, thank you.” Your voice shakes as you struggle to comprehend the compliment. What do you say? “You too.” 

He smirks, “yeah, you think so?” 

“What?” Your voice cracks. 

“You think I look good?” He combs his fingers through his long hair. Oh god. 

“Yes,” you answer cautiously, “I like your shirt.” 

“You’re adorable,” he snickers and shakes his head, leaning forward once more, bending his arms against the table. 

“Uh...” you peek down at the table and back to him. You can’t even blame the sun that you’re about to melt. The umbrella blocks out the bright beacon though a glare comes over the edge. “Bucky, sir, Mr. Barnes,” you shuffle through his titles, “the job. What would that be?” 

His brows rise and he brings a hand up to drag over his mouth and beard, his fingers brushing along the trim of his jaw. 

“The job,” he repeats as he narrows his eyes, “ah,” he lowers his head and presses a fingertip to the menu, “let’s order before we get into all that.” 

You look over the menu again then raise your chin, “I appreciate it, but it’s too much, Bucky. I wouldn’t want to... waste your money.” 

“It’s my money,” he looks at you, “so I’ll decide how I waste it.” 

“Oh,” your cheeks set alight, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he tilts his head again, “you’re just that type of girl. You don’t know what it is to be treated so allow me to show you.” 

You’re confused. This is the oddest encounter you’ve ever had. You almost feel like it’s a joke. You’re this poor helpless girl and he’s flaunting how rich and powerful he is. Is there even a job? 

“I’d feel worse if you didn’t eat, so doll, don’t step on my toes.” 

You chew your cheek and look down again. That’s it. You’ll have the cucumber sandwich. That’s not too much. It can’t be. 

The waitress arrives, a different woman but just as stunning. She introduces herself as Hailee. Bucky prompts you to order first before he gives his own. As she leaves, you rock slightly in your chair, stilling yourself before you can look weird. 

“So... I could clean or... I could learn something--” 

“Let me stop your there, doll,” he puts a large hand up, his palm rough and lined. “It’s my turn to apologise. I... haven’t been honest with you.” 

Your heart drops and you can’t help the glimmer in your vision. No. You’re going to have to go home and tell your mother you failed again. That you wasted her time and gas. You close your eyes and frown. 

“Doll, doll,” he says and you hear his chair scrape. You open your eyes as he pulls his chair around to sit closer to you, “hey, let me finish here.” 

You look him in the eye. Big mistake. You could drown in the blueness. He smirks and rubs your arm. 

“I’m not... it’s not a job I have to offer you,” he says deliberately, his other hand fluttering on your knee, “I would call it an arrangement. Mutually beneficial.” 

You stare at him. You’re entire being is on fire. You don’t understand what he’s saying, more so, you can barely think with him touching you. 

“But... I need a job,” you sniffle. 

He scoffs, not unkindly, “you’ll have money. I know you got a family, your sister, maybe your parents? Economy’s tough, I know it.” 

“Money? For what?” 

He squeezes your knee and sits up, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he leans even closer, “for your company. For yourself.” 

“What?” Your voice piques sharply. “I don’t...” 

“Look, let’s take it slow here, alright? Today is the taster. We spend some time together, see how we vibe, and go from there. Now I know you went to a whole lot of trouble to get so nice and pretty for me today,” he coaxes, “and I’m not gonna waste your time so you won’t go home empty handed. One thousand.” 

“Thousand?” You breathe. 

“Just for lunch,” he says, “I’d pay a lot more so I’m open to bartering.” 

“That’s... a lot...” you mutter. 

“Nothing’s too much for a girl like you,” his fingers dance along your shoulder. 

“I... I...” you heave each word. 

“Now don’t you freak out,” he’s on the edge of laughing, “doll, I mean it. Just lunch. You and me. Nothing...” he pulls away from you and puts his hands up, “untoward.” 

He stands and moves his chair back across from you. He sits and pushes his shoulders wide, “I mean it. Let’s get to know each other. I want to know all about you, doll.” 

“Me?” You gulp. 

“You,” he points over the table, “you must like music. You went to that concert, didn’t ya?” 

You nod and curl your shoulders. 

“What kinda music you like?” 

“Oh, I... old stuff, I guess. Destiny’s Child?” You give a sheepish cringe. 

“Old school,” he remarks, “I like it. Spice girls too?” 

“Yeah,” you clamp your lips together. 

“I’m not teasing ya. I can’t lie and say I never turned the radio up when I heard them,” he chuckles, “no judgment. That goes for you too, alright? When you find out how much I like ABBA, you can’t giggle.” 

Your cheeks dimple as you try not to smile. It’s hard to imagine him listening to Dancing Queen. You push your shoulders higher and look away. 

“Don’t laugh,” he chides. 

“I didn’t,” you turn back to him. 

“Yeah, you’re too nice, that’s why,” he purrs, “you gotta tell me your fave ABBA song.” 

You shrug and he squints cynically, “everyone has one. Come on. Fernando?” You shake your head at his guess. ���Waterloo?” Again, no. “Mamma Mia?” Nope. “Take a Chance on Me?” No. “Alright, I surrender, tell me.” 

“Gimme, Gimme, Gimme,” you eke out. 

“Hm, not what I would guess but interesting,” he muses as his eyes wander from your face and back up, “but I at least knew you had taste.” 

He winks and you let out a giggle. Whether your nervous or something else, you can’t untangle all your emotions from one another. Yet you do feel a little better, a little lighter. It’s an unexpected situation but not as bad as you foresaw. 

[thewandererh]

💜💙❤️finally designing some jashlings for myself…after a full year of knowing chonny…

⚠️TW // GOREY CONCEPTS, BLOOD, NOOSE/RED ROPE IMAGERY, DESCRIPTIONS OF AGONY

i have pages of designs for the three that i doodled in my school sketchbook, and honestly i can’t pick one so i’m using ✨all of them✨. switching em out yknow?? maybe i accidentally created a bunch of aus instead of characters(??) because they all have loops that happen in different ways, or maybe they *are* the same but in different loops—the chonny paradox. anyways uhm some fellas to mention: nerd mind, merve (<3), deltarune soul, roe, toy-style soul, tadc mind (half an accident), a rabid heart, simon mind, an awesome enby soul…heart with heart-eye glasses but then disruptivevoid reblogged someone’s cute render of the same idea— (honestly, lmao)

the gangs all here !!

but anyways I want to show off one design of soul in particular that has become an extremely fast favorite between me and my fellow rain-jash friend Sluggx!! it’s kinda gorey so i don’t know how to censor it :[, but the image is small so scroll past if the warnings above irk you. but uh. say hi to Dyadracide—a word i coined that means “to kill the duo”

me and my friend sluggx are going FERAL for him,,

ft roe and corona 🔱👑☀���

had the idea of designing a buttload of minds a bit ago, then recently this week i decided the same for soul. doodled him at school, then showed him to my friend via whiteboardfox :]. i draw Dyadra semi different now than there, but all his design is the same. rope neck that coils up inside his body when not in use, oversized pointy teeth (went monochromatik style with human teeth originally but nah), frizzly uhkempt hair, and a trident through his head. he’s always bleeding from the roof of his mouth, whether the trident is retracted into his skull or not. i love him so much😭💛. he has a full body and even a cute little gut but that’s kept for later for now. consider this a teaser of my inner workings :monk_devious:

ive been drawing him *SOOo* muchhh aaugha…can’t wait to show you when i can :]. building a batch of art for a tumblr post that i’ll dump later today maybe. get ready for some fun and gore galore~ (its not too gorey, just the trident-through-head-hes-always-choking-on-his-own-blood concept in full force. yummy ideas have to be explored huhu)

and off i go to have a late brunch. i always write these when i have something else to do lmao. *bites into omelette*

[skygifs]

MERVE BOLUĞUR GIF PACK**

find a payhip link in the source to access 225 gifs of merve boluğur as nurbanu sultan in muhteşem yüzyıl (the magnificent century) episodes 135-136. all gifs were make by me from scratch. please reblog if using

please note some gifs contain images of choking, stabbing, knives, funeral/mouring attire, children

you may edit them, however permission and credit is required for redistributing. do not make into gif icons smaller than 100x100.

do not use to rp as real people (including historical figures) or against them/in groups with them

do not post in gif sets/gif hunts

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full rules, ko-fi,& commission information in pinned post. please reblog if using

[abbygifs]

merve bolugur, mag century various

gif page | download link please reblog the original post if you intend to use these

[dark-mnjiro]

Hi Lee, I have reason to believe that your reblog of tokyo revenger characters (@/merve-01) was posted by an art re-poster after looking through their blog. Some of the art pieces are unmarked but there's multiple that have watermarks from completely different people with no other twitter/tumblr/etc link to them.

Ooooo gotcha. Thank you for being so polite - I’ve had people in the past leave me anons about other art reposters get very nasty when I didn’t answer in a time they saw fit. I’m a little inactive due to my pregnancy right now and I queue a lot of stuff as I mindlessly scroll so it’s totally my fault for not checking either. 😅😐 i have removed the post. Thank you for bringing it to my attention 🥰

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: who's a tired bitch?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky drives you home. Just him. No Merv. You have your books and the pajamas but it feels like so much more. 

His fingers tap on the shifter. You’re overly aware of his every move. You try to shrink yourself in the seat, feeling crowded with only him in the car. His hand slips and he reaches over to rest it on your thigh. He rubs you through your pants. 

“You alright?” He asks in a grit. 

“Yeah,” you squeak, fixating on his touch. “Fine.” 

“You don’t gotta be so nervous. You know I like you,” his fingers continue to move, sending ripples through you, “not much you can do to change that either.” 

You press yourself into the seat and flick your eyes up to the windshield. You recognise that house. Your thoughts rush over you and you grab his hand, squeezing it. 

“Stop,” you say. 

He hits the brake and you flutter your lashes, looking at him, “just drop me here. I can walk.” 

“What? Doll? What’s wrong?” 

“I... well... what if someone sees you?” You ask, “my mom, my sister... they’d wanna know why you were driving me home if I’m just working at the hotel, wouldn’t they?” 

He considers you and tilts his head, “hm, you’re clever too, doll. Suppose they would.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m not--” 

You keep your hand on his but don’t try to move him. Nor does he pull away. Instead, he squeezes your leg and lets out a purr. 

“I’ll make you a deal, doll, you give me a kiss and I’ll do what you say. You can go, enjoy your books, try on your jammies,” his blues eyes blaze at you, “and I’ll be patient. I’ll wait for you. Until tomorrow.” He makes a pained expression, “you know a man can only take so much when it comes to pretty women.” 

You giggle, overwhelmed by his words. No one ever calls you pretty, only your mom. In fact, Roxie always said it was good you have a brain because your looks won’t get you very far, and she wasn’t proven wrong. Not until him. 

“Okay, uh,” you gulp and look down at his hand, slowly peeling yours off of him, “I just...”  

You touch the seat belt and follow it down to the buckle. You click the button and let it repel behind the seat. You swallow again, trying to wet your dry mouth. If it gets you home without any extra questions, you can give him a kiss. It wasn’t so bad earlier, was it. It made you feel... a lot. 

You shift and lean towards him. His hand crawls up your leg to your hip as he urges you close, himself angling over the space between your seats. Your gaze meet his sapphire irises and you squeeze your eyelids shut. He’s so handsome you could melt. And he want a kiss. From you! 

You press your lips to his. He growls and his other hand comes up to the back of your head, holding you there before you can pull away. His tongue glides along your lips and delves past them. Like earlier, he invades your mouth eagerly, drawing you into him as he groans. You grasp the front of his shirt and squeak. 

The smell of his rich cologne seeps into your nose and his warmth swirls around you. You’re trapped by more than his strength; you’re completely swept up in his need. You’ve never felt anything like that. No one has ever wanted you as much as he has. Even if you’re scared, it’s nice to feel that. 

He leaves you breathless as he parts his lips from yours, hovering just before you as his pants shallowly. His tongue pokes out and traces his lips. He purrs and his eyes threaten to swallow you up. He’s even more handsome up close; ever line is like a paint stroke in a masterpiece, every hair is placed perfectly, and his features are sculpted just so. 

You blink and feel your chest crush. He's so much better than you; more attractive, richer, older, smarter... Your eyes gloss over just a little with the reminder and his hand slips down to your neck, his grip on your slackening. A divot forms between his brows in disappointment. 

“What’s the matter, doll?” He rasps. 

You shake your head and force a smile, “nothing,” you eke between taut cheeks, “I just... I don’t want to let you down.” 

“Doll, you can’t do that,” he chuckles, “you gotta trust yourself. Trust me. I mean every word I say.” He exhales and looks you up and down, “I want you so bad...” His fingers curl into your neck and you feel him shake, “you...” He closes his eyes, his lips slightly open, and he pulls his hand off of you. He recoils and sits back in his seat. “You should go before I just gotta show ya.” 

Is it a threat? It sounds like one. Your blood runs cold as he balls his hand to a fist. He puffs through his nostrils, eyes still closed as if he’s fighting himself. You reach back to grab the bag from behind the seat and pull it into your lap. 

“Thank you, Bucky, for the drive home,” you say, “and for everything else. It’s all so nice.” 

“Doll,” he dips his head down, “anything...” His fist tightens, “have a good night.” 

“You too,” you chirp and pull on the door handle. 

It doesn't open. Panic pricks in your chest as you search for the lock. You hear a pop and glance over as Bucky presses a button. The door unlocks and you nearly fall out of the car. 

You right yourself and close the door gently with a sheepish look in his direction. He watches you, reaching to grip the steering wheel. You give a tiny wave and slowly turn away. There’s a giddiness in you. Even if you’re entirely out of your element and can’t quite believe any of it, you feel special. You’ve never really felt that. Just forgotten. 

You start down the street. You don’t look back until you get to the corner and look back. Bucky sits still in the car, just where he stopped. You can’t see through the tinted windows. His headlights flash, a signal but for what, you’re not sure.  

You turn and continue onto your mother’s street. You stop just at the threshold and look down at the bag in your hand. You don’t like to lie but you need one. You walk up to the front door and onto the small porch. You enter quietly, hoping maybe you won’t be heard. You’ve never struggled very much before going unnoticed. 

Your sister lays on the couch in the breadth of the oscillation fan. It’s hot. The news said there’s a heat wave. You’re feeling it now. You almost feel bad that you’d been too busy to notice before. That you’d been in nice places where every detail, including the temperature, is perfect. 

“Finally home,” Roxie sneers without looking over the back of the couch, “long shifts at the casino, huh?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you do your best to keep the bag from crinkling. “Busy.” 

“That’s what a job is. Try a night at the club. That shit is chaos.” 

“Sure, uh, I can’t imagine,” you shuffle into the kitchen.  

You expect to find your mom waiting for you but it’s empty. You go to your room and hide the bag on the other side of your dresser. You close your door and come back out. She’s there, in her robe with a bonnet on her head. 

“Mom,” you croak, “hi, uh--” 

“How was it? First day!” She chimes. 

“Uh, yeah it...” your voice trails off as your jaw locks and you fear the truth spilling out. The day flows through your mind; the kissing, the books, the food, and more kissing. “...was a lot.” 

“Oh, yes, well, a casino,” she chuckles, “that can’t be anything but hectic. So what do they got you doing? Dealer? That’s exciting.” 

“No, er, no, just... cleaning,” you stammer. 

“Right, yes, I forgot. You said before. I’m sure people make a mess there too,” she scrunches her nose, “so, what do you feel like for dinner? We’ve been waiting on you. Tacos? Spaghetti?” 

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” you say, “sorry, but I’ll help you cook.” 

“You should eat, honey,” she insists. 

“I now, it’s just...” you look up at the ceiling and think. You scour your mind for your brief recollection of the casino, “they have a buffet at work. Employees eat free and... I got carried away.” 

“Ah, lucky. Wish my work had a buffet,” she trills, “guess I should just be thankful for the health insurance.” 

“Mm, yeah,” you try to smile, “so, I can help cook--” 

“No, no, you just had your first day. You just relax. I’ll leave a bit extra for you, just in case,” she squeezes your shoulder then caresses your arm gently, “I hope you know how proud I am of you.” 

“Oh yeah,” Roxie blusters as she appears behind you, “because scrubbing toilets is so amazing.” 

She shoulders past and your mom moves out of her path. You frown and your mom gives her a sardonic look, “hey, I’m proud of you too. I’ve told you that.” 

“Why? I hand out flyers to desperate men looking for one-night stands?” 

“Don’t say it like that,” your mom rebukes. 

“Well, it’s the truth,” she snickers, “half the night, I don’t even hand out the things. I just hang out by the hot dog seller. He gives me free food.” Roxie looks at your archly, “see, not the only one with perks.” 

“Mm, I like hot dogs,” you say, “um, I’m gonna... lay down.” 

“Sure thing, honey, let me know if you need anything. Oh, chamomile? I could put the kettle on.” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you assure her as you back up. “Promise I’m fine. I, er... tomorrow, I start in the afternoon so I’m gonna sleep in.” 

“Oo, that will be nice. But be careful, if you’re working late, I’m sure there’ll be some unruly people hangin’ around,” her forehead lines with concern, “I’ll give you some extra money for a cab. I don’t want you on the bus that late.” 

“Oh, alright,” you agree, just wanting to hide. You don’t like lying and with each word, it’s harder to hold yourself together. You don’t think you can do this. “Thanks.” 

“Course, hon, whatever you need.” 

You retreat to your room. You sit on the bed and stare at the wall. It’s not just today, but tomorrow, and the next day. How long until Bucky moves on to the next thing? You googled him, you’re not that naive. At least you don’t think you are.  

It feels rotten. You don’t like not telling your mom the truth. You tell her everything. She’s the one person who listened to you. Well, until Bucky. You can feel his gaze just thinking of it. How intent he is on every word, how he focuses on your lips as they outline every syllable.  

You’re an adult. It’s not a lie. It’s a secret. And you don’t have a lot of options. It’s about time you help out and Burger King isn’t calling you back to scrape grills. 

No matter how many times you justify it, it still feels wrong. Even if the way Bucky looks at you makes you all wiggly inside, it’s still lying. Even if you really need the money, it doesn’t change what you’re doing. And you are doing it. You have to.  

You don’t want to see another red notice in the mailbox, you don’t want to hear your mom crying through the wall. You want to be able to give her a day off, more than that. She’s taken care of you for so long, this is just what you need to do to take care of her. 

That’s what you’ll keep telling yourself. 

You get up and go to the dresser and take the bag from behind it. You slide out a book and lay down with it. That’s how you cope. You read, you go to a world that doesn’t exist, just until you’re forced back to reality.  

You shiver at what awaits you at the end of the first chapter. You know what Bucky expects and you know he won’t forget. The thought of the pajamas, the little top and the tiny shorts... 

Don’t think of it. Open the book. Things will be normal for just a little longer. 

[skygifs]

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[10moonymhrivertam]

Oh damn I found what looks to be my last sandman reading post and it was from 2014 T.T like I knew it was more than five years ago cuz I read it in high school and I’m almost twenty-five but I did not expect that number

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Younger Gods: Chapter VII

Master List Chapter 6

Morpheus x fem!reader

The chaos of younger gods brings old horrors to the Dreaming.

Warnings: suggested PTSD triggers, the most awkward beans alive, Taliesin and Matthew being little shits

A/N: Getting this chapter on the page was like getting the last of the ketchup out of an old glass bottle - holy SHIT. I know the readership for this fic has dropped sharply, but I love each and every one of you (especially when you take the time to comment/reblog <3). Much love as we move towards the final chapter!

Chapter 7: Dangerous Thoughts

“Lucienne.”

She knew his voice, and she opened her eyes to see her lord returned, whole and hale. Alive. She could not remember being so happy to see him, not even after his imprisonment over the past century. While he was gone she had hope, but in the horror of the last hours her fears overtook all sense. Panic stole her reason and informed her the Dreaming had fallen, and she’d known it to be true – because she’d seen it. Heard it. Tasted it.

Her friends had abandoned all they held dear. Her king had perished.

A sob caught in her throat as she seized Lord Morpheus’s proffered hand, and though she’d come back to herself just enough to feel humiliated by her behavior, she hadn’t rediscovered enough pride to stop it. She needed that hand – alive, alive, alive – to anchor her.

“I am sorry, my lord.”

“There is nothing for which you need apologize.” Both of his hands closed over hers, hiding her trembling from the world. His aspect turned dark, and only that grip assured her his wrath had other targets. “You were attacked. Can you tell me what happened?”

“The Dreaming fell. My lord – you were – everyone had deserted the palace, and the gates had fallen.” She rambled, failing to stop for breath until Lord Morpheus set a hand on her shoulder, hushing the lingering panic with his touch, his clear and very real presence.

“How did it begin?”

He looked at her like she’d grown fragile in the hours since they last spoke, and she finally felt enough hurt pride to clear her throat and sit up. When she reached instinctively to straighten her spectacles, she found her face bare. That couldn’t be right. Had they fallen off? Were they broken? What would she do –

Merv – standing at her elbow – cleared his throat. “Got your glasses here, Luce.”

She cleared her own throat, banishing the sticky tears fogging her tongue, and swept the pair up to their right and proper position. The instant they framed her face, she felt better. The world looked correct, and she – and all she cared for – was well.

One deep breath banished the fading screams from her lungs. It brought balance, awareness, focus. A safe, important pattern. She was herself. She was Lord Morpheus’s royal librarian. There was a threat to her library, and she must inform her lord.

“I thought I saw dreamfolk entering the palace after an attack.” She glanced at Mervyn, who’d been in the library when she first heard their guests. “Was that illusion or fact?”

“No one came in that I saw,” the pumpkinhead said. His sounded contrite, apologetic even. “The guardians didn’t see anything, either, but a couple a’ dreams said the sky went weird.”

Morpheus’s frown creased his entire face. “How so? What did they see?”

“More like what the didn’t see, boss.” Merv scratched the back of his orange head. “They said it moved, like they knew they should see somethin’ that wasn’t there. Kinda the way a mirror plays tricks on you. Sorry, like I said, I didn’t actually see anything.”

The King of Dreams sat back in his chair, going cold and still as his fury mounted. The tenderness in his eyes sank below a marble mask as his rage swelled like the tide. The nuisance had become a threat. The trespassers had drawn blood. Lucienne’s cuticles were ringed red, though someone had already bandaged her scalp.

“None of you are at fault.” Morpheus’s eyes flicked to the nearest window, a long slit in the wall offering a splendid view of the green hills and flowering fields rising behind the palace. But the bright sun did not warm his face. “They ride their father’s chariot. Even Aries hopes to see the Dreaming at war, even if it is only with itself.”

Merv grumbled under his breath, fidgeting, expressing all the anxiety his master could not. “What do we do?”

“Watch. Wait. They pile evidence against themselves by the day, and once I have seen them meddle in the affairs of my realm with my own eyes, I will have just cause to retaliate.” The lord of the Dreaming closed his eyes, resigning himself to an unpleasant decision. “The strategy remains. I must let them build their own gallows, though they grow more daring.” Outside, the sky turned dark, and the grey sky growled with the king’s displeasure. “To strike at my librarian within the palace… rest assured, Lucienne, they will be punished.”

He met her eyes as he made the promise, and she wondered if the world would soon be short two gods.

“I have no doubt, lord.”

Never a fan of tension, but still reluctant to leave the room, Mervyn crossed his arms and asked, “Where’s the new kid?”

Morpheus rose from his seat beside Lucienne, offering a final, reassuring touch to her shoulder, and turned away, summoned by all the chaos he must arbitrate, the defenses he must build.

“Matthew is with the bard and his storm god. There have been complications.”

“If I may be of any assistance –” Lucienne rushed to offer.

“You have more than enough work to consume your time.” The king made to leave the room. The burden of his title and crown giving weight to every resounding step. “And I would rather you rest. Recover, Lucienne.”

It wasn’t up for debate. He was learning to listen, yes, but he did not take threats well. He did not take loss well, and this came close. If she hadn’t collapsed, if she’d run into the waves instead, they might’ve never had this conversation. And in addition to all that, she couldn’t help suspecting he’d nearly lost something else. He would not leave Matthew to watch over the storm god in her own home if he wasn’t concerned, and Lord Morpheus rarely showed concern without great reason.

She wanted to ask, but she didn’t.

Once their liege had left earshot, however, Mervyn turned with squinted, hollow eyes. “Think something’s up with that?”

Lucienne tsked, brushing herself down as she swung her legs over the edge of the narrow bed. She would recover best on her feet. In the library. Surrounded by her books with a task or twelve in hand.

“It isn’t our business to ask.” It was never their business when their master lost his perfect control. It wasn’t their business when the stars glowed like proper suns or – later – when the clouds turned noon dark as night. Safer that way. Tidier, at least for his librarian. “If the situation with Matthew’s savior were to impact us in any way, I’m sure our king would tell us.”

“Yeah?” Merv’s eyes narrowed to slits. “How sure?”

----------------------------------------------

After her flight from her home, the torturous months without sleep, and everything that happened with Dream while she slept, she found herself becalmed.

She’d been racing towards something – death and freedom sat shoulder to shoulder in her world – and now? Nothing.

The attacks on the Dreaming kept Dream busy in his own realm, and until he and Taliesin found a new approach to her problem, there was nothing to do.

Nothing to do, and nowhere she could run from her troubles.

So, she drifted. Picking up one project, then another, sometimes finishing a new scarf or improving on a potion before she moved on, sometimes leaving shawls half-knitted and cups of tea half-full around the cottage.

She felt adrift, caught in the vast nothingness between goals without a wind to propel her. Although she had a destination in mind, it was still much too far away to see, and nothing could close that distance unless forces outside her control made it so.

She hated it.

At least she wasn’t alone. Matthew stayed, and he got on alarming well with Taliesin. Thick as thieves, those two.

Minutes ago, the raven fluttered to the bard’s head and whispered in his ear. Then they both suddenly had somewhere else to be, and they rushed out the door like something was actually wrong. If it weren’t for the poorly-veiled smirk Taliesin worked too hard to wipe off his face, she might’ve been concerned.

She was still concerned, just for different reasons. Apart, each one was trouble. Together? The world wasn’t ready.

By pairing off, the two also made her a third wheel in her own home. Besides the uncomfortable stirring of unwelcome jealousy – Taliesin was her friend, damn it – their partnership gave her entirely too much time alone to think. And she mulled entirely too much about things she shouldn’t, things she’d never wrestled with before. If Taliesin wasn’t so busy conspiring with Matthew, and if Matthew wasn’t really Dream’s mobile spy cam, she might confide in him. But no. Not when someone might overhear. Especially him.

Sticky little visions and insidious questions spun through her head, and she found herself helpless to stop them as they hooked into interesting places where they could grow and blossom into something painful to ignore.

When she thought of their conversations, her imagination wandered to his pink lips, wondering they were soft, what they might feel like if she dared to brush over them with the tips of her fingers, whether they’d welcome her own lips – which she suddenly realized were NOT soft after all her nervous chewing and went hunting for balm.

Even memories of their early acquaintance took on new shades. He’d been frightening, but beautiful, too. Statuesque, a monument to things beyond desire. He contained worlds. Impossible and untouchable.

And yet.

He sat with her in the rain.

That night when things went so wrong, when she’d been so vulnerable she couldn’t stand her own skin, he showed her tender patience she could never have asked for.

When he might’ve handed the duty to someone else, given her orders, or simply left her to come back on her own, he chose to wait. He lowered himself and showed he was vulnerable, too. The Endless empathized with her suffering because he’d lived through his own, and in the tangle of wind and wet loam, he’d shared it.

There were few understandings so potent as showing each other your scars and discovering they matched.

He accidentally propped open a door that evening, and she stayed vulnerable ever since, against her wishes and better sense.

At least she didn’t dream. She shuddered at the imaginary horror of the Dream King sensing – or even seeing – the warm sparks glowing in new and strange places when she thought of his hands hold up her hair, brushing her neck, carrying her home.

Yeah.

No.

Taliesin was talking about brewing a milder version of the potion she took to avoid Dream in the waking world, and she was more than onboard with the plan. It was a temporary solution until they had time and opportunity to further investigate the curse, but she’d take it.

Dream must never know.

Never ever.

The kettle sang, and she lifted it away from the fire, muttering under her breath as she filled the two waiting mugs. She set it all up to share with Taliesin, and then he’d swanned off with the raven. Ungrateful shit. She could just put the tea bag back, but she was feeling left out and spiteful, so she set it to brew.

If he didn’t come back before it went cold, it could stand like a tepid modern art installation. She’d call it something melodramatic, like Forgotten Conversations or some such shit.

She was two sips into her own drink when a knock came at the door.

Her frustration popped like a bubble, and she sprang up in a swirl of skirt and shawl, mug clutched in one hand to let her friend back inside. Had the silly, over-protective thing tried locking it and forgotten his key?

She was safe here. He should know that by now.

Or maybe he was waiting on the other side with a funny face to try to scare her, or he had his hands full with a basket of blueberries he’d found growing in a swampy patch between the hills. Always a surprise, that man.

She yanked the door open, still trying to decide whether she wanted to chide or tease him more, and froze.

Dream stood there, eying the top of the doorframe, and every inappropriate thought she’d suffered in the past weeks crashed through her psyche at once, leaving no room for speech or movement or manners as his gaze dropped down to hers.

He had gorgeous eyes, even when he was pretending to be more human than he was.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, shit.

Had she even brushed her hair that morning? She’d gotten much too used to Taliesin’s relaxed approach to everything, and she was in full gremlin chic. Fucking hell.

And he was looking at her.

And there was no one else in the house.

Fuck.

What did one do when the object of their quiet fascination arrived unannounced?

“Would you like some tea?”

Yes. Tea was good.

Leaving the door open for him, she hurried back towards the table by the fire where the second mug stood in all its judgmental splendor. Still warm, too. Thank gods.

Having a task made it all better. She didn’t have to guess at what to say, how to behave. They’d officially reached a point in their acquaintance where her urge to be a good host outstripped any screaming anxieties by a mile. She would give him tea no matter what he said, and if he stayed too long, she’d start fussing over dinner, too.

“I was steeping this for Taliesin, but he wandered off with Matthew just a few minutes ago.”

“Thank you, but –”

She shoved the mug into his hands before he could refuse. Shrugging off the baffled eyebrow creeping up his face, she said, “It’ll just go to waste. Might as well warm your hands. If you don’t drink tea.”

He didn’t, she noted, immediately set the cup aside. He arranged his grip just so, long fingers arranging themselves to cradle the cheap porcelain like something that mattered, even if he clearly didn’t understand why. She could imagine him weaving a new dream like that, a small, shapeless thing held close as he spun it beat by beat from the first pulses of a warm heart.

She doubted he’d had much time for new dreams lately.

While he always looked a little gaunt by human standards, the Dream King looked haggard in the firelight, peering into his tea. Shadows hung in pockets under his cheek, ringing his eyes, even curling in little wisps along the fringes of his shadow. The pallor glowed at odds with his feverish eyes, and she wondered how long it had been since he had a chance to stop and breathe.

“You look tired.”

His gaze snapped to her, catching her watching, sending her rushing headlong into an apology before she could even process how the thought escaped her lips in the first place.

“I’m sorry.” She looked down into her brew, genuinely contrite. There were a thousand better ways to ask if she could lend a hand. This wasn’t something she knew how to do. It’d been ages since she developed any kind of relationship outside of her friendship with Taliesin.

And her traitorous tongue wasn’t through humiliating her yet. “Was that rude? I only meant – I mean, I know there’s nothing I can offer someone like you, but – The people you love are hurting. Someone attacked your home. If there’s anything I can do to��� help? I’d like to. Help, I mean. I’d like to help.”

Her initial insult had startled the lingering frustration from his eyes, and she barely had time to notice how they warmed by inches throughout her stumbling explanation. He shook his head, nearly smiling through the faint haze of steam wafting from between his palms.

“Thank you.” He gave the words far more gravitas than she deserved, and the weight of his lordly gratitude dragged her low in her seat. “But I believe you’re right; there’s nothing you can do at this time.” Finally, he set the mug on the side table, still full and fairly warm. “I came to check on you. Has the collar caused any more problems in your waking hours?”

Ah, so it was a serious medical consultation. She couldn’t make it a social call even if she tried. At least she’d foisted the tea on him. Briefly. And with this clear purpose maybe she could keep all those dangerous dreams of hers safely locked down.

Setting her own cup aside, she traced the edge of her scarf. The bandages were long gone, but she had plenty of new scars. It was awful – to look at and to feel.

“My neck aches, but it’s healing, and Taliesin hasn’t found any fresh wounds, so… Looks like there’s nothing you can do at this time, either.”

He nodded slowly, a thousand tasks and anxieties rushing behind his glittering eyes.

“Then I will not disturb you.”

“You don’t disturb me.” She said it so fast she nearly yelped it, and he looked at her so sharply, so attentively, it was like he’d never been tired at all. A hint of burning stars flickered in his blue eyes, and she a jolt of fear interrupted the butterflies that had been so merrily swarming her gut. Her secrets weren’t safe at all. If she kept holding his gaze…

She looked down – coward – into her empty hands and wished she hadn’t given up her tea. Now she had nothing to fiddle with, no excuse to fill her mouth with drink and buy herself more time to think of a suitable, reasonable, and not at all embarrassing explanation.

He held the silence. She couldn’t even see if he was breathing, and in the end she had to keep wading across the river she’d so blindly jumped in.

“I’m glad to see you,” she said, oh so carefully as she met his eye, “and I wish there was something I could do. You’re always welcome here, just so you know. If you ever need a quiet moment, my home isn’t grand or inspiring, but it’s a good place to rest.”

This time, she saw when he smiled. Barely more than a smirk, it lifted his eyes as well as his lips, and the butterflies escaped her stomach to swarm her chest.

“Thank you, little storm god.”

A deep breath pulled in all the smells of home. Woodsmoke and drying herbs. Fresh tea and bread baked early in the morning. They told her more than anything that she was safe, no matter how embarrassed, and that confidence gave her a little power.

“I’m serious you know.” She pulled herself up straighter, wanting to be believed, not pitied. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be what you are, to manage everything you shoulder, but I understand exhaustion. If all I can ever offer you is a quiet place to gather your thoughts, I’m happy to keep the door open.”

Ah – she’d nearly forgotten. She’d talked it over with both Matthew and Taliesin, and they’d enthusiastically agreed with her. Very enthusiastically. They almost made it weird.

“I even –” She wrestled through her pockets, remembering slipping it into one after she added a black ribbon the day before. Heaven help her if it fell out and the couch ate it. But – no – there it was. Cold metal touched her palm, and she triumphantly yanked out a delicate silver key strung on a long ribbon for safekeeping. It twinkled in the firelight, as she held it up for her guest to take. “I made you one, like Taliesin’s, so you can come and go with a little less effort. Consider it an official invitation. You’re always welcome, Dream.”

The Lord of the Dreaming accepted her gift, studying the craftsmanship. When he peered back at her, he looked through his lashes. She was sure he didn’t do it on purpose, but her stomach flipped, and she wondered if she hadn’t set herself up for trouble with this offering.

“An invitation from the master of one realm to another?”

The tension burst again, and she laughed in relief. “I’d hardly call this a realm.”

He tucked the key inside his coat, in some pocket or universe hiding behind the left side of the fabric, around the height of his heart. He finished his task with care before returning all his attention to their conversation.

“And yet, without you, it would cease to be. Perhaps you do not give yourself enough credit.”

She felt the heat bloom over her entire face, and looked desperately for an excuse to busy her hands. “I don’t know about that.”

No excuses presented themselves, and she was trapped in the full power of the Dream Lord’s stare as it wandered from her eyes to her neck. He couldn’t see through the scarf, but she was sure he remembered the damage he’d seen that night in the rain, when he sat beside her on the couch and helped Taliesin stitch her back into a single, functioning piece.

He was invested in her problems, but she wasn’t sure if he cared beyond that. She was careful with her life because she knew Taliesin would grieve if she lost it, and he’d lived so long, he’d lost enough. The Dream Lord was different. Would he be hurt if this went badly? Would he blame himself if he couldn’t fix her?

What, if anything, did he want from her? Did their connection begin and end in the collar?

She swallowed, and he met her eyes again. Something new hid there, but he masked his emotions so well she couldn’t read him. All she had were his words. His actions. Her choices were her own, and she knew her life hung by too fine a thread to let him even imagine he was responsible for them.

“You can’t save me, Dream of the Endless,” she murmured. “I saved myself a long time ago.”

His eyes flicked to the scarf. The barest glance. It spoke volumes. Regret and hope effused the concentrated frown his face fell into when he thought too deeply.

“Not entirely.”

His voice dropped into a rumble, and it nearly distracted her from her goal. But he was the focus of that goal for the moment, and her blooming affection for the Endless brooked no risks she could divert. She’d said she wanted to help, and despite his insistence, this was something she could do. Fresh resolve stiffened her spine.

He had enough burdens at the moment without trying to struggle under her own struggles. His guilt wouldn’t protect her, but it would sap his strength, pull his attention from critical matters of the Dreaming. That would hurt them both in the end.

She heaved a sigh big enough to lift her shoulders.

“I hope I escape the collar someday, but even if there’s no solution, even if I never dream peacefully, I’m content with my life. I might be miserable sometimes, but I learned to live with it before you decided to… what? Rescue me? If I’m content, why can’t you be?”

Dream took one step towards her. There wasn’t much space between them to begin with. Her home was cozy, not large. Celestial fires raged behind the thinnest scrim of blue, evidence of a struggle against passions he wouldn’t share, and his expression shifted like his sand. Determined and stiff, soft and nearly open.

He took another step, and she feared if she breathed too deeply, she’d touch him by accident. He was, by virtue of his nature, intimidating, but it felt like she’d grown a magnet in her chest that begged one of them to close the delicate gap, like it was the most natural thing in the world to plunge headfirst into danger.

Decisions yet to be made fluctuated in the pull of his lips, trembled along his tense jaw. His hands clenched and stretched open at his sides. But none of that was for her, only the starlight that called across endless miles and lifetimes with a song she’d echoed in a bower of saplings under the storm.

When he spoke, his voice was the softest she’d ever heard. It still filled the room, but the fire and the light from the open door dimmed so the shadows could swaddle his words, keep them for her and her alone.

“Maybe I am not content to see you miserable.”

The stars swept her face like searchlights, looking for something, or gathering a sacrifice she gave without knowing. The gap between them no longer mattered. It wasn’t there. Not really. He stood in her space, and she welcomed him, every dream and terror he possessed. She met him with hurricanes and gentlest showers under soft grey skies. They saw. They understood.

A thread stitched them together, the ties still loose, but undeniable.

This was more than pity. It wasn’t guilt or grief or the mere drive to cut out the foreign magic from her dreams.

It… he might –

“We’re back, darling! Why is the door open?”

The moment shattered, and they both turned to see Taliesin and Matthew sweep inside. The bard’s face lit up when he spied their guest, and he hurried to throw his wet coat on the rack as the raven shook himself dry.

“Hello, Lord Morpheus! We had no idea you were coming today.” A touch too excited. A little too loud. Projecting, like he was performing on stage.

Matthew croaked. “Hey, boss.”

Dream’s eyebrows crept up as he stepped back from the warm place in front of her. She mourned the loss, but schooled her features, because Taliesin was in the room, and he’d never let her hear the end of it.

“Did you not?” Dream asked. He addressed Matthew second. “Since all is well here, and you’re struggling to maintain your post, I think it best you return to the Dreaming.” He looked at his raven with the stern eye of a ruler. Or a disappointed parent.

Matthew ducked. “Of course, sir.” He only sounded a little ashamed.

Dream slipped his hands into his pocket as he circled the couch, his wry voice trailing after him like a cloud.

“Thank you again, little storm god, for the tea.”

He strode through the open door, into a misting rain, down the path, and through the gate with Matthew flying over his shoulder. The sand consumed him as he climbed the first hill, and both entities of the Dreaming were gone.

It took Taliesin less than a second afterward to pull her back, push her down in a chair, and set the kettle to boil again. He didn’t stop to refill it, and he didn’t give her time to warn him. With a clap of his hands, he squatted to her level and pinned her with a wild, delighted glare.

“Spill. I want to know everything. Right now. Spill the tea. Please. Or I may cry and it will be all your fault.”

She puffed out her cheeks, gripping the arms of the chair against his onslaught.

She didn’t know what to tell him. She didn’t really want to tell him anything. After all, it wasn’t like he knew her feelings, the little whispers of fantasy and possibility that plagued her, and he’d missed the rest of the show because he preferred the bird’s company.

Fine then. That’s what she’d say. Nothing.

“I think,” she said slowly, leaning into his desperately curious gaze, “that you’d better not burn my kettle, bard.”

----------------------------------------------

A month. Two.

But when the moment came, no one had to bring a report.

Dream knew.

Before the screams and the creeping shadow, he felt the two intruders descending over his palace. Their call to panic pricked over his skin like needles, pressing on his equilibrium with the unspoken demand that it crack, that he let his unrestrained essence flood his realm, drown it with every dread collected over eons of existence. But their flimsy hooks couldn’t pierce deep enough to draw more than his ire. They didn’t touch his mind or strike his heart. It would take power beyond their fantasies to lance his bones and make him scream.

He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and breathed in the rising stink of fear as his people’s terror curdled the light of his throne room. It was a terrible thing, but beneath his frustration and pain for his dreamfolk, an ember of satisfaction smoldered.

At last.

He rose from his throne, descending the twisting steps with dark intent.

Already, he could feel their suggestions, their subtle magic twining close, seeking open wounds and half-forgotten agonies. But he was King of Nightmares, and he’d long since tired of their games. He’d send Ares’ children crying back to their father. The Dreaming was no chessboard, no gaming green or bright field for challenges of skill, and they would regret mistaking it for such.

They would bleed for Lucienne’s tears and for every whimper they inspired from one of his creations.

Time to end this. And then to rest with the rain on the window and –

He quickly banished the thread of longing.

The little storm god had been right; he was tired. Remaining on guard over so many weeks, with so many of his creations in need of care and restoration wearied him. He had no doubt the invaders planned it that way. But they had grossly underestimated their opponent.

He must focus.

Stepping outside, he found the sky as Mervyn had described. A warped reflection of the clouds hung over the palace’s spires, and all the dreamfolk fled from it, all but the gatekeepers. Even as panic crackled into madness, they could not leave their posts. The Griffin tore at his own feathers, shrieking against something he imagined under his flesh. The hippogriff screamed and bucked, striking at imagined enemies with its hooves, and the wyvern mistook its master for an intruder. Dream pushed the snapping jaws aside, incandescent with rage.

They would not trick him into harming his own. He’d repay every broken wing, bruised face, and quiet limp the refugees had brought to his attention on Phobos’ hide. He’d gift Deimos with the cost of shattered hands and mangled bellies carried to his palace by weeping friends who blamed themselves for the horrors inflicted.

Beyond the gates, he saw baskets upended, a few dreams who’d fallen or stood in the way of giants pulling themselves to illusory safety behind trees and carts and houses. The gates stood fast, keeping the desperate crowd locked away from the greater danger of the seas beyond.

Matthew, shuddering but still sane, alighted on his shoulder.

“What now, boss?” The raven twitched, dodging something only he could see, and Dream ran a hand down his familiar’s back – from the crown of his head, between his wings, to the base of his tail. His loyal friend, determined to do his duty even in the face of his greatest fears. Matthew cawed, shuddering under the second pass of his master’s fingers, and Dream glowered at the ___ in the sky.

“Now, I give them reason to regret ever setting foot in my realm.”

But he would not risk his raven. Not again.

“I need you to stay here. Guard those who’ve lost themselves, and inform Lucienne that I have left for battle when you find her.”

Perhaps he said it too carefully, too gently. Matthew shook himself so every feather stood on end. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“I will not leave the Dreaming for this fight.” He pet the tuft of feathers at the top of Matthew’s beak, assuring them both that the raven stood there in one piece, unbroken and breathing. “Do not fear, Matthew.”

A tall order, but the bird rallied to meet it. Dream’s request cut through the phantoms, sharp with purpose. Matthew scoffed, fluttering down from Dream’s shoulder only to stare up with every bit of force and determination a raven could contain. “Be careful, okay? Lucienne will turn me into a feather duster if anything happens to you on my watch.”

Dream did not smile, but Matthew’s faith swelled within him, a boon to arm him against the greatest terrors – which he would face alone.

“My brave raven.” Once again, he must order him to stay. Once again, everything that made Matthew a good and reliable aid also complicated Dream’s plan. He buried his affection deep, letting the cold authority of his office shade his next command: “Do not follow me.”

Matthew croaked, lifting his wings to emphasize an impending retort, but Dream didn’t wait for disobedience. He donned his helm, lifted a handful of sand, and left his subject cawing at thin air.

He saw the chariot, a shivering blight in the blue sky, eating up the sunlight with its invisible shadow. More realm than transport, it could house an army. Or a single room. Whatever a visiting mind feared, the space held. Once Deimos and Phobos knew a victim’s weakness, it became their world.

He moved into the stolen space over his palace where Aries’ chariot hovered. It came to his kingdom without invitation, and therefore he needed none to enter.

As his sand bore him across the short distance, he wondered what horrors the invaders might summon to save themselves. When the shimmering grains fell away, however, only darkness greeted him, a consuming silence echoing itself into infinity.

Terrifying for a mortal, perhaps, but he didn’t even need light to see within the bounds of the Dreaming. He, like the night sky, was as much depthless shadow as starlight.

Such a meager effort to unbalance their opponent. He must teach these younger gods the meaning of panic and fear.

Smirking, he strode into the emptiness, searching for the brothers who surely recognized their error now that he stood in their haven.

What had the King of Nightmares to dread?

He paced deeper into the hollow realm, empty hands closing into fists as he summoned to mind all the harm the feckless immortals brought to those in his care – to dreams and dreamers alike. This ended here. Now. They may delay their fate by minutes or hours with their games of hide and seek, but retribution came for them with the inevitable draw of the cosmic tide. The eyes of his helm glowed, and the dead air warmed in lurid shades of red.

“You cannot hide from me.” He watched simple shapes appear as from a black fog. Walls and ceilings manifested from the floor upon which he stood. Doors grew along them and empty arches promised new spaces beyond. “I am the Dreaming, and you intrude in my realm.”

He sensed them – waiting below. He must go to them. They would not be called.

One door, firmer and brighter than the rest, creaked open, inviting him down a flight of stairs. It had the grandiose showmanship of an obvious trap, but Morpheus had no fear of any surprise the two may spring, and he stepped through, pulsing with malicious intent.

He wouldn’t deny the fools his attention when they courted it so eagerly.

The steps led deep, past logic and into something more akin to nightmare than reality. Dreamers sometimes encountered stairs like these – an endless descent they followed in desperation and confusion. The ultimate liminal space they raced through en route to a destination they’d never reach.

At first, he didn’t notice his footfalls growing heavier. The echo and shock of his feet against stone crept over him like the daybreak, a rising and unwelcome awareness. More of his anthropomorphic body burdened his hunt than he’d intended, and he felt his power drawing in, wrapping close. It left him feeling strangely small as he lowered himself a step, a step, a step at a time. Though he could see far more than he had at the top of the stairs, some senses dimmed, went blind, and his waking sense of caution whispered in alarm.

But he continued.

He had faced far worse than this mild discomfort – his people had – and these invaders must be stopped.

Deeper still he trod, and then deeper again.

Cold, musty air enveloped him. He tasted the stale rot of forgotten centuries and smelled a blend of old candle wax and lingering mildew. Artificial light in a place that never escaped the damp.

A basement.

He hesitated. Only for a moment, but long enough. The waiting claws of Deimos’ and Phobos’ power pierced his defenses, hooking deep in his marrow with a surge of anxiety beyond fear. His corporeal body’s heart stuttered, and he fell to a knee as the stairs folded up into a familiar room. The walls feel back into endless pillars, studded with lights too dim to combat the shadows beyond the golden circle.

Collapsing, he felt his power drain away as the shackles of ancient magic bound him once again in his weakest state. A prisoner. Physical anguish warred with his distress, and he groaned, reached for the edge of the circle with a shaking hand.

A sandaled foot pinned his fingers to the stone, almost gently, and Dream looked up through the eyes of his helm to find Deimos and Phobos towering with sated grins. Deimos – easy to mistake for a human youth – crouched down, following the bidding of Dream’s fears. As his brother – Phobos, identical to his brother apart from his leonine head – kept their hostage from breaking through his terror, Deimos plucked his bag of sand out of his grip, tore away his cloak, and seized the helm with the same awkward malice Roderick Burgess employed.

He had no ruby to lose, but Deimos stole everything he had including…

Deimos lifted the key to the storm god’s cottage, examining it in the harsh white electric lights the younger Burgess installed many years after he failed to keep his promise. “What does this open, I wonder?”

A knot seized Dream’s stomach, and he curled in on himself, gasping against the wave of piercing terror conjured by the mere idea of the brothers using that key, slipping into the storm god’s home and taking her apart through the horrors of her past. As he once had. But worse. Without escape. Without a hand to pull her back out of the nightmare. It would destroy her.

He groaned, and the sound reverberated.

Flinching upright, he reached for the edge of the circle, frantic, only to crash against glass. The lights danced in his eyes, mockingly bright when the rest of the world was so dark.

They’d put him back in the glass cage. Or his fears had. It didn’t matter. Now as then, he was powerless. And this time his captors knew their work, had access to realm, and would not need any gift from him to achieve their aims.

It was everything he feared, the worst thing he could imagine.

Deimos moaned, pressing his hand flat to his belly as his eyes rolled back in his head. “The fear of an Endless truly is a potent thing. Bless the fool mortals who taught you such dread.”

Phobos rumbled, his lion’s voice filled with impressions and sensation rather than words. It rang in Dream’s ears like a chant.

Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

It wasn’t true. It wasn’t real. But he felt the cold, curved floor sapping heat from his bent legs, smelled the cheap coffee the guards used to wash down their damned pills. More solid than any nightmare. And he did not dream.

Sighing, like he’d finished a grand meal or enjoyed an orgasm, Deimos said, “Facts don’t change fears.” He looked around the room, eating it all with his gaze. Gloating. Sated. For the moment. “You are the Dreaming, but it’s taken so long to taste your fears, Lord Morpheus. Your creations only held whispers, full of their own worries and visions of darker days. But those tastes sustained us. Strengthened us. And they told us much in the end.”

They told his absence, of the slow rebuilding. Some of his own hopes and fears always went into his work, and his new creations sang of freedom, whispered of imprisonment.

He closed his eyes, trying to think, trying to call for help – from Lucienne, Matthew, Death, anyone. It would not, could not happen again. The Dreaming would not survive it. He would not survive it.

Phobos took the bundle of clothes and tools from his brother, rumbling the worst promises with the voices of the dead as he retreated from the illuminated circle.

Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

[limpwristssavelives]

The Sandman | Merv Pumpkinhead | Icons

please like/reblog if you use/save

[thejunkertownqueen]

130 gifs

Merve Boluğur gif pack. Click the source link for a collection of gifs made by me of Merve, in Magnificent Century as Nurbanu Sultan. Merve is a Turkish actress. Please do your best to name your character accordingly and do your research. Please like this post, and if you reblog know that sometimes I add to this, as I use Merve as a face claim. Thanks!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Hellllllooooo 😁

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The next morning comes too soon and with too little sleep. Despite your efforts, you couldn’t lay still long enough to get much rest. Every time you sunk into the shallows of sleep, you were just as quickly awoken by visions of the unknown. You don’t know anything beyond the time at which you’ll set off to your fate; nine o’clock. 

You don’t need an alarm. You're already awake and alert. You sit up and rub your temples until the thumping dulls. You can’t entirely shake the pulsing thrum.  

You drag yourself to your feet and cross to your dresser. You open each drawer, sifting through the contents with disappointment. You don’t have anything that nice. You pick out your nicest jeans and a halter top Roxie gave you. You’ll be sweating your bum off in the denim but you don’t have many skirts or even shorts. 

You can hear your mother getting ready for her own day of work. Of actual work. You wait until she’s done to claim the bathroom. She’s off only a couple minutes after, calling out a goodbye and I love you that you return in a higher pitch than you mean to. 

You dress and tidy yourself up as best you can. Your bedtime shower did little to help you sleep but at least it saves you a step. You spritz yourself with strawberry body spray and try to smile at your reflection as you put your toothbrush back.

Sigh. Did Bucky really call you sexy? 

It’s not even eight. Lots of time to wallow in anxiety and self-doubt. You pace around the front room, ready to go, but not really. You have your purse with the fringe and your least-worn flats. They pinch around your toes but they’re cute; pink loafers with a little leather rose on each. 

You cradle your phone then squeeze it hard enough to make it light up. Only a few minutes. Or not. You hear a car outside and peer through the curtain. You recognise the vehicle. Shoot, time to go. Oh, god, what are you doing? 

You lock the door behind you and turn to face the gallows. Each step is filled with sand, your legs are heavy and your feet clunky. As you near, Merv appears to open the door for you. You’re surprised but not to find Bucky waiting within. 

As you slide onto the seat, he watches you and rumbles out a silty, ‘morning, doll.’ You aren’t ready. You don’t know why but you thought the drive would give you time to toss away the last of your caution but you’re clinging to it like a raft. You feel entirely powerless. More than you ever have. 

What he promises, money; you always assumed it would give you more control, that it would solve all your problems, but it’s really just a new set of problems. You settle onto the seat as the door closes and buckle your seat belt, focusing on the simple task. He stretches his arm over the back of the seat as you lean against it and his heat seethes into you. 

“Good morning,” you force out at last. 

“That’s a cute shirt,” he purrs as his hand wanders down to tickle your bare shoulder, your nude bra strap showing garishly. “Would look better without this.” He touches the strap and you make a noise. “But I can wait for that, doll.” 

You stare forward. The divider between you and the front seat is up. You are completely alone. You feel your heart about to swell and split. 

“I’ll admit, I was up late last night,” his arms shifts slightly as he leans forward. You only notice then the scent of coffee and two cups in the holders behind the console. “Got a pick-me-up to start the day. Gotta be awake for you, doll.” 

He takes one of the cups and you realise, he means to offer it to you. You feel too bad to tell him you’re not much for coffee. “It’s called a blue dream tea latte? I think it’s blueberry or something. I saw it in some ad online. Sounded like something you’d like.” 

“Oh, thanks, er, it does?” You murmur. You’d seen the same promotion on Pinterest. It’s a rather strange coincidence that he’d think of you. “I... I’ve never tried a tea latte.” 

“Doll, I’m gonna give you lots of things you never had, take you places you never been,” he flutters his fingers across your neck as he retracts his arm. He grabs the other cup and groans as he sits back, blowing over the plastic lid. “So tell me,” his arms presses against yours. He seems so big sitting so close, “where’ somewhere you always wanted to go?” 

“Er, I don’t...” your eyes drift over as Merv drives lazily through your neighbourhood, “know. I never... thought about it.” 

“Anything you always wanted to do? Skydiving? Wait, yeah, you don’t like being high up. Makes sense, being so close to the ground, huh?” He chuckles and leans into you playfully, “you an outdoorsy type? You like hiking?” 

“Um, I don’t know, I think... I like walking in the park sometimes,” you hold the cup with both hands, letting the warmth flow into your cold veins. You can smell the blueberry and you instinctively take wife through the slot of the lid. 

“Mm, don’t worry, we’ll figure it out, doll,” he assures you and sips again, swallowing thickly before he lets out a thigh. “I think you’ll like what I got planned, even if you don’t know what you want. I’ve always been good at figuring that out, you know?” 

“Oh?” 

He laughs again, “you’re so cute, doll.” He looks over at you, “how’s the latte? Did I do good?” 

Your eyes nearly cross as you stare at the cup. You bring it up carefully and take a dainty sip. You almost moan at the creamy but sweet taste. You pull the lid away and dab your lips with the back of your hand, turning to give him a wide-eyed look. 

“It’s delicious,” you smile. 

He grins and tilts his head, “see, doll, you don’t even gotta say it. I know exactly what you need.” 

You’re breathless. Something about his tone, his words, mingles and coils around your throat. It’s like one of those old Wattpad fantasies you devoured in your teen years, those escapist dreams of having everything taken care of and not having to think, and yet, it’s too real. You take another drink to keep busy. 

“After our first stop, we’ll eat,” he says, “that okay? You’re not ravenous?” 

His words make you flinch. You blink and shake your head, “I’m okay.” 

“Sounds good, doll,” he relaxes and once more extends his arms over your shoulders, this time hugging you closer.  

He turns his head and nuzzles you, making you squirm. You’re rigid, paralysed by the proximity. You’ve never been this close with anyone. He still feels like a stranger. 

“Mmm, strawberries,” he growls, “I like that.” 

You giggle and barely keep a hold of your cup. You really can’t understand it. You never had interest from anyone. You didn’t even really have friends in school. Sometimes, you even think Roxie hates you, and your mom, well, she loves you because you have to. You just can’t comprehend what he sees. 

“Thanks...” you wisp. 

“No, thank you, doll,” he drawls, “for making my morning brighter.” 

🃏

You doubt Bucky does anything in half-measures. Merv pulls up to another upscale building and you can’t help but gape out at the white brick facade. Everything is so big and fancy and better than you. You’re so out of place in his world that you can’t but wait for the moment he decides to kick you out of it. 

The white-haired driver gets out to open the door. As you step out, your loafer slips off your heel and your foot slides down the curb. You trip outward, bracing yourself for impact, but don’t hit the ground. A hand wraps around your arm and pulls you back onto the seat. You cringe, happy at least that Bucky can’t see your face as he clings to you. 

“You okay, doll?” He asks, “you hurt yourself?” 

“No, no,” you wriggle in his grasp, “I’m fine. It was just... stupid.” 

“Not stupid, good thing I was here to catch you, huh?” He reluctantly releases you, a caress along the back of your arm, “now you be careful. You need me to get out and carry you--” 

“No, no!” You grab the car and push yourself out, fixing your shoe as you get your bearings. “Really, I’m okay.” 

He chuckles and follows. It he laughing at you? You turn to face him as he steps up on the curb. It’s easy when he’s sitting to forget how small you really are. 

“All good, doll, I just can’t have you getting banged up,” he says as he gestures you across the wide sidewalk. 

You peer back as Merv shuts the door and Bucky brings his hand to your lower back, just like that woman at the casino. His gentle touch sends a chill up your back despite the beaming heat from above. 

“Promise, you’re gonna love this.”  

He urges you on to the front doors. They are made of iron, twisted in the middle, and two long handles curlicue in the middle. He stops and presses the little silver button along the side, a buzz muffled within. You wait, fidgeting, and presses his palm firmly to your back. You still yourself and clutch your bag tighter. 

The interior doors, dark walnut, open inward and a woman appears within with a particularly snobbish look. She’s tall with straight shoulders and a Chanel style suit. She unlocks the iron doors and opens the right one. She eyes Bucky past her hooked nose as she lifts it higher. 

“Mr. Barnes,” she greets. 

“Meredith,” he returns, “thanks for having me.” 

“Only for you,” she assures as her eyes fall upon you, “you’ve brought...” 

“Someone very special. A connoisseur like yourself,” he insists, curtailing whatever she thought to remark. 

“Yes, certainly she would be,” the woman accepts with a sniff and steps back, “please, come in. Should I have Charlene make tea?” 

“I don’t think we will require it. Doll?” He pauses as he confirms with you. 

You shake your head, “no thank you.” 

“Very well, follow me, then,” she spins and struts away.  

Bucky nudges you inside first, following through the narrow door. As he comes up parallel to you, a shadow appears to close the doors behind him. The whole experience is eerie. What is going on? 

You follow the woman, Meredith, up the wooden stairs with a rose-printed runner along the center of the steps. At the top, you smell the definitive scent of books. She directs you into a room, opening the door but standing back to let you through. Bucky nods and thanks her one last time. 

“You know the rules, Barnes,” she warns. 

“Been a while...” he mutters. 

“You remember,” she rebukes. 

He laughs and pulls the door shut as she retreats, her heels clicking through the wall until they taper off to nothing. A record player drones from the corner and the window lets in the yellow sunshine, adding to the illumination of glass-shaded lamps. You peer around, as curious as you are confused. 

Bucky brushes by you, knuckles rubbing against your waist, and he approaches the antique table at the center. Several stacks of books sit neatly piled atop it. You approach sheepishly and read the spines. You recognise the titles though you’ve never read any of them. As you think, you realise that these are the same books you have on your reading app. How could he know? 

Your mouth falls open as you keep your hands folded together. You don’t dare to touch anything. It all seems so nice and likely expensive. And with how Meredith spoke, you’re certain she wouldn’t appreciate you putting anything out of place. 

“She’s a book collector. I came here a few years back to buy some first editions for my sister,” he picks up a book. 

“How...” you bend to read further down a stack. 

“A lot you can learn about a person online,” he flutters through the pages, “isn’t there?” 

You look at him and blanch. 

“I know you Googled me. Everyone does,” he snickers, “it’s fine. Comes with the territory. But you...” he snaps the book shut and comes around the table, holding it out to you, “all I found were some books and a few pictures of a cat.” 

You take the book and stare at the cover. Those pictures were old. Kai died at the end of high school. You run your hand over the embossed title; Middlemarch. You remember adding it after binging and old British series. 

“My cat. She’s gone now,” you shrug. 

“Sorry to hear that, doll,” he says. “I might know someone who can cheer you up, though.” 

“It’s... fine. She was a good cat,” you shrug. 

“Hm, yeah, but a friend, all the same,” he says, “so, you want it?” 

“What?” You peek at the book again. 

“All of them? I can have them packed and sent to your house.” 

“Huh?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “my mom...” 

“Ah, it’s fine, we can sneak em in,” he assures. 

“No, no, I couldn’t... it’s too much. Very nice but... must be... a lot.” 

“It is, doll. Meredith gave me a damn headache tryna get in here on short notice but I did it,” he leans a hand on the table and hooks one foot over the other. “You gotta at least pick one thing to walk out of here with.” 

“Oh, I... I wasn’t meaning... I didn’t mean to be ungrateful,” you rub your thumbs along the edges of the book, “sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I know you’re not, doll. You’re... adjusting. I’m doing my best not to scare ya away but you gotta bite the carrot a little here,” he says, “so grab a few and we’ll go have some breakfast.” 

“I...” you look between him and the table. You have no doubt that he went to a lot of effort for this. For you. You can’t just throw it back in his face. “Thank you, it’s...” you turn to face the table and lean in to see more of the books. You let yourself smile, “it’s wonderful. No one’s ever... except mom...” 

“Get used to it, doll,” he steps closer, his hand once more on your back, “with a smile like that, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing it.” 

[themelodyofspring]

I posted 1,884 times in 2022

187 posts created (10%)

1,697 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@appleinducedsleep

@therefugeofbooks

@godzilla-reads

@storytime-reviews

@stefito0o

I tagged 1,879 of my posts in 2022

#booklr - 188 posts

#books and flowers - 165 posts

#books - 156 posts

#mypics - 156 posts

#bookblr - 151 posts

#the sandman - 143 posts

#dracula - 135 posts

#😂 - 113 posts

#dracula daily - 113 posts

#read - 96 posts

Longest Tag: 102 characters

#he created his helm to keep the sand out but he overheard merv saying it made him look like a mosquito

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Guess who got the book because of being unable to keep up with the Dracula Daily emails 🙃

184 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

#4

💕 Persuasion - Re-read

Started re-reading Persuasion in preparation for the disastrous Netflix movie that drops this Friday.

I'm bad at remembering character names so I started making a colorful family tree (sort of) chart to remember who is who 😂 and what their problem relationship with each other is.

216 notes - Posted July 13, 2022

#3

JOMP Book Photo Challenge

June 17, 2022 - Female Author

239 notes - Posted June 18, 2022

#2

See the full post

242 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Shelf-Confidence Book Photo Challenge

April 18, 2022 - You Light Up My Life

260 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[dee-is-for-lots-of-things]

I posted 1,062 times in 2022

That's 1,042 more posts than 2021!

104 posts created (10%)

958 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dreams-in-a-sandbox

@sandmancentral

@milfzatannaz

@sizeleak

@dee-is-for-lots-of-things

I tagged 1,007 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#tv - 445 posts

#dream - 334 posts

#art - 187 posts

#comicc - 151 posts

#edit - 143 posts

#corinthian - 97 posts

#sandman - 75 posts

#johanna constantine - 66 posts

#the sandman - 65 posts

#lily liveblogs - 64 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#cropping it like that it looks like hes trying to take a pic of him in a graveyard to seem more goth but has no idea how to make it good 😭

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Ngl I've seen more posts talking about dream being the next tumblr sexyman than posts actually sexymanifying him

762 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

#4

Merv pumpkinhead is the sort of character where I don't have complex or interesting thoughts about him, I don't have any emotional attachment, I don't even rotate him in my mind, but whenever he shows up I'm like it's my boy merv!! That's him!!

1,307 notes - Posted August 11, 2022

#3

1,369 notes - Posted July 3, 2022

#2

See the full post

7,325 notes - Posted June 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

yes pathetic little man thats exactly how u should sit

25,425 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[decapodparty]

tagged by @passengerseatcas so now I get to display my passion for graphic design AND music (blank is in the reblogs)

tagging @falloutboycd @howldean @beachboysnatural @merv-wasnt-here @mrcowboydeanwinchester @dylfnatural @whensomethingsbrokenitsalliknow and anyone else who wants to do this!!

[gt-icons]

Merve Dizdar Icons

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