[aeyumicore]

KINKTOBER 2025 DAY 2 ━ SMAU #1

$6.99 APPETIZER 1 ━ NSFW SMAU. ALL FIVE LADS MEN synopsis. you accidentally text them a nude/explicit photo (pre-relationship) incl. caleb, zayne, rafayel, sylus, xavier

━ ✧ cw: mdni, highly suggestive and borderline smutty, crack, fluff, the men are very forward, mc is flirty, guys send a nude back in some of these

━ ✧ links: kinktober 2025 masterlist | general masterlist | smau masterlist

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. the dividers in this post are by @/cursed-carmine. please do not reuse my usual blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[sasukeparagraph]

Another strong contender for funniest Naruto panel

[homunculus-argument]

Nothing slapped my shit back into place like someone pointing out that the "genius gifted child with so much potential who got burnout and mental illness" is just the nerd equivalent to the jock "could have been a pro at sportsball if it wasn't for the injury".

[enki2]

[liminalstrands]

Good news! It gets worse!

I think it's the galactic orbit thing that really did me in

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHARKS HAVE BEEN AROUND THE GALAXY TWICE

[asteroidtroglodyte]

It’s a very good design

[iydiamartinx]

LETHAL DEVOTION

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 1.6k synopsis: To Damian Wayne, this is just marriage. To his brothers this is a one way ticket to Arkham. a/n: Damian's version to 'Til Death Do Us Apart is here! I think he's so far my favourite out of the series. I was watching The Addam's Family while writing this and he's so Gomez coded!

Damian Wayne had been stabbed twice, poisoned six times, almost lost a finger, and very nearly attacked by a Caspian cobra that had mysteriously appeared in his closet—though, in the end, he simply adopted the serpent and named it Caspian.

He wasn’t upset about any of it.

In fact, he was starting to consider it foreplay.

Most people wouldn’t interpret a tripwire on the staircase or a gas-emitting bookshelf as romantic gestures. But Damian was not most people.

You were, after all, an assassin—one of the most lethal in the world, a Black Widow. And also, his wife. Which meant that affection came with a few… complications.

Like needing to sniff his tea before every sip.

That morning, he sat in the garden beneath the soft canopy of climbing vines, a leather-bound Persian manuscript resting in one hand, a delicate china teacup in the other. You floated into view like a vision, carrying a fresh tray of biscuits, teapot and a suspiciously serene smile that usually meant something was about to happen.

You refilled his cup with practiced grace, the scent of jasmine rising between you. He brought it to his lips, took one measured sip, then paused. His nostrils flared slightly. He sniffed again.

“Belladonna?” he asked, not looking up from the page.

You set the tray down, gently brushing crumbs off your fingers. “Only a trace.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Too floral. It throws off the jasmine.” Another sip. “Next time, try aconite. It blends better.”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Noted.”

Your attempts came and went like the seasons—some subtle, some so absurdly theatrical it was almost comical. Once, you’d rigged the library’s fireplace to release a sleeping gas if the wrong book was pulled from the shelf. You knew Damian would figure it out. And he did—of course he did—though he was a little smug about it.

He crouched by the hearth with a small, curved blade in hand, dismantling the delicate mechanism with an ease that irritated and impressed you in equal measure.

“I almost admire the mechanism,” he said dryly, flicking a piece loose and catching it mid-air. “You’re improving. The trigger delay was clever.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “You’ll have to try harder next time.”

And you had.

The following week, you’d set a spring-loaded dart trap just outside the hallway near the greenhouse—timed perfectly to his morning routine, right as he turned the corner, casually eating an apple.

The dart whistled through the air.

Damian shifted to the left without so much as blinking. The dart missed him entirely—only to pierce straight through the apple and embed it into the wall with a soft thunk.

He stared at it for a moment. Then calmly walked over, plucked the dart free, and retrieved the apple.

“You’re getting lazy,” he remarked, holding the dart up to the light, examining its make. “This one’s off-balance. It veered left.”

“Maybe I just wanted to nick you,” you said breezily as you strolled past, lips twitching into a grin. “You did mention needing to work on your reflexes.”

He chuckled under his breath, biting into what remained of his apple.

“How considerate, beloved,” he muttered.

But then came that Sunday afternoon.

Damian’s brothers had come over—against his better judgment—for what they claimed would be a “simple brotherly brunch.” 

Within minutes, he regretted opening the door.

His home was louder than usual, filled with overlapping voices, the clatter of silverware, and the relentless stream of bickering that passed for affection in the Wayne family. The pancakes were drowned in ungodly amounts of syrup. Someone had opened a bottle of orange juice with their teeth. 

And worst of all? Someone—he still didn’t know who—had touched his katana display. There were smudges. Smudges. Left on the usually pristine, sparkling glass. He said nothing. But he made a mental note to run a full scan later and find out exactly which one of those imbeciles had committed the crime.

He had just excused himself to fetch something from the west wing and only made it half way across the dining room when it happened.

A soft click.

He froze mid-step. Looked down.

A pressure plate.

From his seat, Jason glanced up, a fork halfway to his mouth. “What was that?”

The ceiling above them shifted with an ominous creak.

And then—whoosh.

A pendulum blade, polished to a mirror shine, dropped from the rafters and arced through the air like something straight out of the Addam’s family. It missed Damian by less than an inch as he pivoted smoothly to the side, ducking in one seamless motion. The blade swung past with a rush of air, that ruffled his hair.

The others froze mid-bite, forks suspended in the air, expressions shifting from confusion to outright horror.

Before anyone could react, another panel hissed open—this time along the wall. A rapid click—shhhk echoed through the room as sleek, retractable knives launched from hidden compartments, hurling straight toward Damian.

He moved like water—graceful and effortless—spinning out of the way, one hand casually snatching a blade mid-air. While another knife sliced cleanly through the fabric of his sleeve, but didn’t touch skin.

He exhaled, long and put-upon. 

“Again with the ceiling blades,” he muttered.

The others, however, were not so composed.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” Jason barked, nearly flipping his plate as he bolted upright.

Dick stood, wide-eyed, gaze darting to the now-settling blades embedded in the wall. “Are you okay?! What the hell just happened?!”

Tim was already pulling out a compact scanner from his pocket, frantically scanning the room. “Is the house booby-trapped?! Did someone breach the security grid?! Is there an intruder?”

Damian remained exactly where he was, unbothered, as he studied the captured blade that was held delicately between his fingers.

“No intruder,” he said annoyed at the clear overreactions. “This was my wife’s work.”

All three stared at him in horror.

Tim blinked. “Your wife just tried to impale you,” he said slowly, carefully, as if explaining a basic law of physics to someone who should’ve known better.

Damian hummed to himself, turning the blade between his fingers, letting the light catch the polished steel. “She’s improving,” he remarked. “These ones actually had decent balance.”

Jason just stared. “Why the fuck are you so calm?” he snapped. “SHE JUST TRIED TO KILL YOU.”

Damian let out a slow sigh, clearly irritated by the dramatics. “She didn’t try to kill me,” he said, as if the distinction was obvious. “If she wanted me dead, I would be.”

“Damian,” Dick said, cautiously, as if speaking to a feral animal.

“She’s just being affectionate.”

Tim blinked. “That’s not affection, that’s—”

“It’s her love language,” Damian interrupted, stepping around the still-swinging blade without a flinch. “She’s very dedicated to making sure I'm aware of her love.”

Dick looked like he was about to pass out. “You’re telling me this happens regularly?”

Damian shrugged. “You’re just upset no one’s ever loved you that much.”

Moments later, you strolled in, utterly unbothered. Silk robe tied neatly at the waist, not a single hair out of place. In one hand, a steaming cup of coffee. On your lips, a soft, pleasant smile that nearly made it hard to believe you were the architect of the carnage around the room.

“Good morning,” you greeted cheerfully, leaning in to press a kiss to Damian’s cheek before casually glancing at the embedded blades. “Did the new blade wall trigger too soon?”

Damian nodded as he tucked you to his side. “Off by two seconds. Adjust the fuse delay.”

You let out a quiet sigh. “Noted.” 

Your gaze shifted to the blade still turning slowly from the ceiling. You tilted your head. “Is that one still rotating? I meant to fix the alignment—it’s drifting too far left.”

“I told you to aim for a clean ninety-degree arc,” Damian added, glancing down at you. “You’re losing power on the backswing.”

You made a soft, thoughtful noise. “I was worried about overcompensating.”

“Next time,” he said, without missing a beat, “use a counterweight.”

Jason looked at Dick. Dick looked at Tim. Tim looked like he was ready to drag you both to Arkham and checking you in under a shared room. The three of them turned back in unison, staring at the two of you standing there—utterly calm and composed, as if you were discussing home décor and not lethal traps embedded into the manor’s infrastructure.

Jason blinked. “You’re two are joking, right?”

“Of course not,” Damian replied coolly, taking the coffee cup from your hand with ease and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “We’re a team. I only wish the best for my beloved.”

“I don’t think the feeling is mutual,” Tim muttered under his breath.

Damian rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of the coffee. He paused, considered the taste, then added matter-of-factly, “This is poisoned, isn’t it?”

You tilted your head, smiling sweetly. “Just a touch of cyanide.”

He took another sip, unfazed. “The coffee was already bitter. This just makes it more obvious. Try strychnine next time—it’s cleaner.”

You giggled and kissed his cheek again. “You’re so picky, darling.”

Dick stared at the two of you, eyes wide, colour slowly draining from his face. “I—I think he’s going to die.”

“No,” Damian said simply, sliding an arm around your waist as the two of you turned and began walking away—utterly unfazed by the blades, the scorched wall, or the stunned expressions behind you. “We made vows, Grayson. I promised to love her, cherish her—and survive her.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This is just the life of marriage.”

And for Damian Wayne, it was everything he could have ever asked for.

Jason Version | Bruce Version | Tim Version | Dick Version

[infectiouspiss]

kids deserve so much more respect and it turns out that saying that is a great way to locate the horrible people in any community <3

[infectiouspiss]

you'll say something as simple as "no child deserves to be hit" and people will crawl out of the woodwork to explain why they should be allowed to beat a 6 year old for spilling some water

[infectiouspiss]

you'll say "i think it's weird that adults literally have control over when children are allowed to use the bathroom" and up pops a teacher to say that when they're not shouting at the kids they teach, they're trying to stop them from hiding in the bathrooms

you'll say "i think children shouldn't be forced to eat food they hate" and here comes someone who feeds their kids plain rice and boiled chicken (while eating a nicely seasoned stirfry) claiming that it's okay actually and kids shouldn't be allowed to taste things

you'll say "i think kids should have bodily autonomy" and in comes someone who pierced their babies ears before it was even 24 hours old, frothing at the mouth because their kid wanted a haircut and thats somehow an insult

[infectiouspiss]

children are an oppressed class and everyone should be looking back at their own childhoods and making sure they don't ever make a child feel the same way they felt.

[pngblog]

[itsmeemeg-fandomsandfics]

Homecoming

Free from captivity, Morpheus finally returns home.

3.8k

Rated E for everyone (Fluff)

One hundred years is a long time– even to one of the Endless, especially when being held captive in the basement of a man who thinks higher of himself than god—those long years, locked in the basement of Rodric Burgess, had affected Dream in more ways than he had expected. Stripped of his power and locked out of his own realm– knowing the consequences of his absence and being powerless to stop it.

There were a few times that Dream had allowed himself to feel hopeful. After years of confinement, the sight of Jessemay had been a welcomed one. He had known she was still alive– Burgess would have gleefully rubbed her death in the Dream Lord's face had any of his shots been successful. Knowing and seeing however, were two very different things, and for the first time in over a decade Morpheus had felt hopeful.

Only to have it stripped away from him in a second.

Splattered against the glass of his prison were the remains of his raven. Shot by the boy who until that moment to Dream may have had a shred of compassion for all things considered. Laying his filthy hands on her body and carrying her away. The gore left behind remained for days until eventually the Burgess boy had been forced to clean it up by his father. Morpheus could only glare as the boy stuttered out a mix of apologies and excuses, as if they meant anything to the Dreamlord.

His raven was gone. Jessamy was dead. His raven, which had been a gift from his sweet wife on their wedding day many millennia ago was now gone. Along with any hope Morpheus had of escaping his prison and mending what he had left broken decades ago.

Would she still be waiting for him after everything he had said and done?

The second time came with the death of his captor– Rodrick Burgess killed by the son he berated and abused for years. Despite his crime of murdering Jessamy, Alex had tried his best to ‘befriend’ the Dream Lord. Sneaking down into the basement to tell Dream about anything and everything– his ‘friend’ Paul, of parties thrown upstairs, and of his fears. As if the Endless cared about any of that.

He had nearly released him that very moment– nearly close enough to give in and break the seal that kept him bound. In the end he was a coward unable to follow through. Forever in his fathers shadow, unable to be his own person.

Morpheus may have forgiven the boy for his transgressions had he freed him. However, as it so often does, human cowardice won out in the end, and now they would never know. What Dream did know was that he could afford to wait, he had nothing but time on his side. Eventually, in this century or the next he would be free of this man made prison and Alex Burgess would pay for his crimes. In this realm or the next. Morpheus would make sure of that.

Years ticked by. One after another, like grains of sand in an hourglass. Dream could see it on the boy's face– long since a man now. The years had not been kind to Alex Burgess; he looked far too much like his father in some lights, especially when he would make his monthly trip down to the basement to once again plead for mercy in exchange for freedom. They always ended the same, yet like clockwork, he would return for more inevitable disappointment.

His wife had often told Dream that he could be a petty being; for once, he would have to agree with her on the fact. Perhaps if she were still there waiting for him after all this time, he would finally admit that she was right.

Dream could feel it the moment the circle that kept him bound and powerless had broken. The knowing look Paul had given him as he wheeled his aged partner away for the last time. The remnants of power returned to him like a breath of fresh air on a hot day. The hollow feeling that had settled into the Dream Lord's soul decades ago disappeared, leaving only his need for revenge.

As quickly as his power returned to him, Dream acted, starting with the oaf of a guard who was assigned to watch him. It was easy, painfully so, to infiltrate the man's mind. Lulling him into anything but a peaceful sleep. A true puppet master pulling the strings, Dream manipulated the man, starting with giving him his greatest desire– mortal men were so easily seduced. It took nothing to trick the half-conscious man into pulling the trigger of his weapon, shattering the glass of Morpheus’s prison.

Dream was eager to return home to the dreaming– to his Queen, who owed him nothing and had every reason to leave the dreaming behind, but there was still business he had to attend to before that. What was a few minutes in the grand scheme of a century? He could spend the rest of this century and the next atoning for his absence, but first there was a debt in need of settling.

Alex Burgess was slumbering above him at this very moment.

There were many punishments that the Lord of Dreams could inflict on the Burgess boy. Between longing for his wife and mourning his raven, Dream had spent much of his imprisonment deciding what to do to his captors– only one truly felt like a fitting punishment. From now until the end of time, Alex Burgess would receive the very gift that his father had demanded. Eternal life. Trapped within his dreams, unable to reach the world beyond. It would continue on without him, the same as it had for Dream.

It was time to return home, and for the first time in over a century, the Lord of Dreams returned to his realm.

His realm was not how he had left it. Change had been expected– without him, the waking world had been plagued with both too much and not enough sleep, and the dreaming would reflect that. Still, it was troubling to see just how much his kingdom had crumbled.

Lucienne had been the first to find him, face down in the rubble of his realm, weak and a shell of the king he once was. Despite that, she was a sight most welcome.

“Lucienne.” His voice is hoarse and his throat dry from years of remaining silent. “I am home.”

“You are home.” She repeats, helping the dream lord to his feet. Relief is not a strong enough word to describe how Lucienne felt at this moment. Steadfast in her faith, she never doubted Dream would return, but the years had been difficult on those who had been left behind.

After such a prolonged absence, being back in the dreaming was an odd feeling. Even here on the outskirts of his realm, Morpheus could feel just how much it had changed, and the cold emptiness that chance left in its wake. The dreaming had always been a vibrant place where dreamers could both live out their wildest dreams or confront their darkest nightmares. Now, even he was unaware of what had become of it.

Each step closer to the grand gates that encompassed his kingdom was a stark reminder of just how far the dreaming had crumbled without him here. The air was stale and suffocating, burning his lungs with every breath, leaving the forlorn king lightheaded as he trudged forward.

As Morpheus finally reached the gates of his kingdom, the breath fled his lungs in a single, silent exhale, leaving behind a hollow ache in his chest that made the King of Dreams feel faint. Years ago, he had rebuilt these very gates as a gift—an anniversary offering to mark a thousand years of joyful union. Etched deep into the stone were carvings of him and (Name), husband and wife, surrounded by stars as they stood watch over their people.

Slowly—almost reverently—Morpheus reached out, as though a single careless touch might turn the carving to dust. His long, slender fingers traced the image of the woman he had once worshipped, trying to recapture every detail that time and sorrow had blurred.

He remembered the wildfire-like glint in her hair under the morning sun, the soft roundness of her cheeks that always flushed the faintest pink when flustered by his heartfelt words. He followed the curve of her lips, recalling how her smile could light up any room—radiant and unmatched, even by the wonders of the Dreaming itself.

Would his wife be waiting for him beyond these gates? Did he even have the right to hope for such a thing after all these years? After everything he had done?

“Forgive me, sir, but-” It's Lucienne’s voice that pulls Dream from his trance. It's a pitiful sight to behold for the librarian watching her lord tear his gaze away from the ornate carving of the one he wished to see most of all. “The realm, the palace– they are not as you left them.”

“And what of (Name)?” The Dream Lord is quick to ask, his gaze returning back to the golden gates. He's not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

“My lady did her best to rule in your absence, but-”

“But?”

“But she is not Dream of the Endless.” Lucienne continued. Carefully she places her hand next to Dreams on the metal gate, pushing it open to reveal the full extent of her lord's absence.

Someone had once said that out of the seven siblings, Dreams' realm was the most beautiful, rivalling even Faerie in terms of beauty. From the very gates they stood before to the lush green fields of Fiddlers Green, every detail of his realm had been carefully curated for the dreamers who wandered in and out as they slept.

Now it was a desolate wasteland, laid to ruin by his absence.

What had once been an infinite possibility now felt brittle beneath his feet. The sky, which had once been painted the perfect shade of blue had long since soured. The clouds hung low and unsteady in the sky, nearly crashing into the far off mountains. Rivers no longer remembered where they began, and fields of flowers had dreamed themselves into weeds

Morpheus felt it in his chest: the quiet ache of a kingdom that had suffered in silence. And as he looked upon what remained of his creation, a deeper pain bloomed beneath his ribs—not for the ruin, but for the knowledge that it had endured without him, wounded but loyal, clinging to fragments of his memory like dying stars.

“You are the dreaming. The dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were, the realm began to decay, and crumble. My lady could only do so much to keep the realm in check. Many of the residents grew restless, and soon after– they left.”

“What do you mean left?” He knew the answer, could feel the absence of each and every one of his creations permeating his very being. Still, it was hard to believe that his creations, those he nurtured as if they were his own children, had turned their backs on him

“Some went looking for you and others thought that perhaps you had grown weary of your duties and-”

The heart Morpheus thought was broken beyond repair seemed to crack further as he asked, “And what? That I abandoned them? Have they so little faith in me? Do my own subjects not know me?”

“If I may sir,” Having borne witness to the Dream Lords ire on multiple occasions, Lucienne was painfully aware that what she was about to say was a sensitive topic that easily could put her on the receiving end. The truth however, is often painful. “It would not be the first time one of the Endless-”

“Enough.” Dejected and abandoned, Morpheus couldn't bear to hear anymore.

It had been quite some time now since Destruction had left the family- abandoning his realm without so much as a second thought. It was funny, one hundred years had felt like an eternity yet three thousand years had passed in the blink of an eye. Even so, the reminder of his brother's absence reopened a wound that had never truly closed.

“If my wife wishes to leave the Dreaming, then I will not chase her. But I will not allow rogue dreams and nightmares to pray on the waking world.”

“Forgive me my lord but you misunderstand me. My Lady has remained here in the Dreaming, awaiting your return.” Lucienne clarified, readjusting her glasses as she spoke.

Hope, relief, Dream couldn't quite place the feeling that flooded his body and left him feeling weak in the knees. Runaway dreams could wait. There was no vacancy for them in his mind at the moment, not when all Morpheus could focus on was holding his wife in his arms again after being deprived of her touch for so long

“She remained here? After everything?”

“Yes, my Lord. She knew that one day you would return to us.”

“Take me to her, Lucienne. I have much to atone for.”

Much like the rest of the dreaming, the castle that would have once been a seat of power stood derelict in the fleeting sunlight. The exterior walls were in various states of decay, some sections having fully crumbled to dust while long-dead vines of ivy had entirely overtaken others. The wind whistled through the gaps, whispering in Morpheus's ear of what had transpired.

The castle towers, which had once reached high enough into the sky to kiss the clouds, were now caving in on themselves; one strong breeze, and they would collapse entirely. The castle gardens– what had once been the most beautiful place in all the Dreaming was now full of broken statues, shattered fountains and cracked cobblestone.

This was no place fit for a queen.

As Dream stepped into the throne room, he was caught off guard by something rushing toward him. It crashed into his chest, knocking him backward into Lucienne, who had already raised her arms to steady him. A blur of black and red fabric streaked past his vision, accompanied by the faint scent of vanilla—sharp and distinct against the stale, dusty air. Then, a pair of arms wrapped tightly around him in a sudden embrace.

“You came home.” A voice, far sweeter than any dream Morpheus could conjure, whispered into the material of his shirt. For the last hundred years, he had dreamed of hearing her voice again and pondered over what he would say if he ever got the chance to talk to his wife again. Now here she was, and Morpheus’s mind was blank and his knees weak.

“I am home, my love.” He states, his voice nearly cracking as he swallows down the lump in his throat. One arm snaking around his lover's waist, holding her against his chest, while the other slowly combed through her hair with a gentle touch. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

She pulls her head back to look up at him with a slight pout on her lips. Dream gazes down at her with such forlorn longing. The years of his absence and ruling in his stead had affected her greatly. The bright glint in his wife's eyes had dulled, now sunken deep into her skull and marked by dark bags beneath them. Her complexion had paled from lack of sun while sand and dust weaved itself into her hair. Still, she was the most gorgeous being he had ever laid eyes on.

“I have much to apologize for.”

The grip around Morpheus’s waist vanished as a hand cupped his cheek– fingers soft as they caressed the skin of his cheek.

“There is nothing you need to apologize for, my love. All is forgiven now that you are here in my arms once again.”

Dream can't help but chuckle lightly at the woman before him. The last time the pair had spoken was mere hours before he had gone to the waking world in search of his failed nightmare– the Corinthian, and wound up trapped by Rodrick Burgess. She had begged him not to go, saying she sensed something was not right. Like a fool, he had brushed her off with a sour comment. Telling her that if she had so little faith in his return, she might as well leave and return to her family's realm.

The last thing she had said to him in response was for him not to expect that she would be here waiting for him.

It kills him to pull away from her. “I have had much time to think upon my actions. How I have hurt you, what I would say to you if I were granted a second chance. ”

He takes her hand, kissing her knuckles before continuing. “I know I have not been the best husband. I have taken you for granted many a times in the past, and I will spend the rest of my existence repenting for my actions. I do not deserve you. I do not deserve your forgiveness, and yet I am asking for it. If you’ll still have me, I swear I will be a being worthy of you.”

“Morpheus.” He catches the tear in her eye before it has a chance to fall. “As I said before, there is nothing you need to apologize for.”

Dream did the one thing he had been longing to do for a century.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was a collision— of grief, of love, of time and fury and unbearable tenderness. His hands found her face, her neck, committing every detail of her to memory. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer, closer still, close enough that one could not tell where she ended and he began

Mouths opened against each other, desperate, searching— not for pleasure, but for proof. That they were here. That this was real. That the century of separation hadn't torn them apart

She tasted of stormlight and memory. He kissed like a man drowning.

The world roared around them, wind sweeping through broken stone and shattered windows, but neither moved. Time, that cruel god, bowed its head for them now— just for a moment—as they clung to each other, breathless and dizzy.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, eyes closed.

“Ahem.” Like two teenagers caught by a parent, the lovers jumped apart, both a blushing mess, unable to make eye contact with the woman whose presence they had forgotten. Despite the rather passionate display of affection she had just witnessed, the loyal librarian remained as poised and composed as ever.

“Apologies, Lucienne.” (Name) muttered, hiding flushed face in her husband's coat.

“I do hate to interrupt your reunion, but there is much to catch Lord Morpheus up on.”

With a heavy sigh, she pulled away from her husband, leaving room for a cold chill to take root in her absence. Shivering, Morpheus chased her warmth, desperate to reclaim her touch.

“I suppose Lucienne is correct,” Relief came in the form of intertwined fingers as Morpheus’s wife gently pulled him deeper into the derelict remains of his once magnificent palace. “Come, my love, we have much to discuss.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Hours later, long into the night, did Morpheus and his wife get a small reprieve from the mountain of work that waited for them. There was not much that could be done at the moment, with Dreams symbols of powers stolen and scattered to the wind, the rebuilding of the dreaming would have to wait. Still the moment they had stolen for just the two of them was peaceful, undefined by duty.

Much of the castle had disappeared, entire rooms having vanished overnight or shifted into empty husks of their former glory. Amongst the hallways full of doors that led to nowhere, Morpheus was surprised to see that his chambers had remained untouched even one hundred years later. While the rest of the palace whispered of its former glory, these four walls remained.

A fire had been lit some time ago, the dying embers casting the room in an orange hue. Neither Morpheus nor (Name) had any intention of adding another log to the flame– far too consumed by the others' presence. The crackle of the dying fire drowned out by the steady breathing of the lovers, wrapped tightly in each other's embrace.

Curled into each other atop the bed that had never actually been used for its intended purpose. Neither truly needed to sleep, the grandiose frame and lavish sheets had remained as nothing more than decorations. However, on nights like this it served a purpose.

“You look troubled, my love.” Morpheus whispered, his warm breath fanning over his lover's face. Absent-mindedly his knuckles ghosting over the apples of her cheeks. (Name) leaning deeper into his touch.

“I fear I have a confession to make.” She admitted after a moment of silence, a deep frown settling on her lips. “I fear you will think less of me if I tell you.

“There is nothing you could say that would make me think such a thing.”

With a heavy sigh, she continued. “I admit there was a brief moment where I believed you had no intention of returning. That you had grown tired of your duties, of the dreaming, and of me.”

Too ashamed to look her husband in the eye, (Name) picked at the satin sheets, hoping that would be enough to distract her from the silence.

At least until Morpheus broke the silence. “There were days I feared you would not be here waiting for me. That you had come to realize you deserved better than me, and I could not blame you if you had.”

“I would never leave you Dream.”

“And I would never leave you my love.”

There were few sounds the King of Dreams loved more than the sound of his wife's laughter. Gazing intently into her eyes with a love-struck look upon his face, (Name) couldnt help but laugh- light and airy like a butterflies kiss. “It would seem we are both fools.”

“Yes, it would seem so.”

As the fire burned down to nothing but embers, Dream pulled his wife closer until she was flush against his chest. With a tender kiss to her temple he muttered, “I am your fool.”

Lucienne would find them when day broke, still wrapped tightly in each other's embrace and sleeping soundly. While there was much work to be done, the librarian could not find it in her heart to disturb the pair. Silently, she exited the room, the door closing softly behind her. Work could wait, her Lord and Lady needed this.

In the meantime, perhaps she could find Lord Morpheus a new Raven.

[without-ado]

Webb captures the Rings of Giant Planets

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Migraine pains

Summary: Bob helps you while you have a migraine.

A/N: I personally suffer from migraines and honestly I think I've written a migraine fic about every character I write for.

Bob left you in bed early in the morning for training, in the midst of it he texted you a quick good morning message. Towards the end of his session, he got a message from you responding to his good morning and alerting him that you woke up with a migraine...again. This is the third day of you having a migraine and Bob was really starting to get concerned. He felt a weight settle in his chest knowing you were currently hurting. He stopped by the kitchen to grab one of your reusable ice packs that you keep for days like this. He wrapped the ice pack in a towel before rushing to his room.

Opening the door as quietly as possible he tiptoed into the room, more aware of his footing now more than ever. The air stinged from how cold it was, it nearly knocked the breath out of him. Walking further into his bedroom he took note of the curtains being drawn close, the playlist he made to help you sleep was playing very softly in the background and his eyes fell onto the lump in the middle of his bed. "Angel?" He called out softly and felt his heartbreak at the groan that left you in response.

"Oh baby." He whispers and closes the door behind him softly. These flare ups have been happening more and more, and it kills him each time he witnesses one knowing there isn't much he can do to help. He strips off his clothes until he is standing in his boxers and crawls into bed with you. He lays the ice pack on your forehead and softly places a kiss on it.

He feels you mumble against his chest explaining how you've done everything you needed to do to try and get rid of it, but nothing has worked. He nods agreeing, he knows that you've been doing what you needed to help the pain, and he knows that you've been trying to work through this migraine, but honestly, he thinks that is what's been making it stick with you.

Bob texted Yelena to let her know that whatever was planned for the two of you had to be canceled today. He plans to just hold you today, if you won't relax for your own wellbeing then he'll make you stay still and relax. All he can do is try and remind you that everything will be end up being okay and hope that after napping for a while you will finally begin to feel better. If the nap doesn't help, he'll get up and make you a good meal and get you a water with the electrolytes that you use. You two might have to just wait this pain out but he refuses to let you suffer alone.

If you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3

I have started a taglist for Bob lmk if you'd like to be added <3

Tagging: @itsjustisa

[sugarladytum]

[aikkyuu]

CANON CANON HE LIKES TO SHOW US THINGS

[jinhsisstuff]

If you're an author of a fanfic (no matter if it's on-going or not) and writing on platforms such as AO3, tumblr, wattpad, etc. please know that there are readers who actively put fanfiction writings into ChatGPT

These people usually AI-generate new chapters for awaiting fanfictions, their impatience causes authors get their work stolen and fed to AI which actively harms people and their creative writing

Here is a post on Twitter on how to protect your fanfiction on AO3, to prevent someone from feeding it to ChatGPT

IF you are someone who does this and say that you "appreciate the story and a huge fan of a certain author's work" know that the author and the whole writing community hates you, congratulations! Because of your actions, not only have you harmed the environment but also harmed an author's writing. Stop.using.ai.

[theconcealedweapon]

[bunnysmoon]

Baldwin IV X Dimension traveler!Reader

Baldwin thought you were an angel at first until his mind could wrap around the fact that you came from the ‘future’, and not from heaven, to give him a chance to live some more. It was not exactly time traveling, you just jumped from your original dimension to his, avoiding messing up your timeline.

Content rating: Teen And Up Audiences | Words: 2154 | English is not my first language | Sorry if there is any mistake.

Baldwin wouldn't believe his eyes when he saw you for the first time. Coming from nowhere, a white glow around your body as you started to appear in front of him. A time traveler. He thought you were an angel at first until his mind could wrap around the fact that you came from the ‘future’, and not from heaven, to give him a chance to live some more. It was not exactly time traveling, you just jumped from your original dimension to his, avoiding messing up your timeline.

You gave him medications, and Baldwin could feel his body healing day after day due to your advanced medicine. The king kept you around in secret, away from everyone’s eyes. You asked him for that, it was better that way. Even when you walked around the castle, you kept yourself hidden with your technology. Both of you knew they would ask too many question about the mysterious person who just appeared from nowhere, and you would be accused of witchcraft. You were surprised that Baldwin believed that you weren’t a demon or a witch, he was a smart man after all.

And as you laid down by his side on the bed, spending time together, he looked at you with a smile on his lips. You can’t really fix his face, but it didn’t matter to you, he was healthier now. Reconstruction was difficult, and you didn’t want to try and make it somehow worse. You did what you could to his hand, nothing close to perfection, yet still good enough for him.

“What are you thinking about?’’ You asked, running your fingers through his blonde hair, watching as he closed his eyes, savoring your touch.

“You, love.’’ Baldwin opened his eyes to meet your gaze, chuckling at the sight of your flushed cheeks.

“Stop calling me that. Is not that inappropriate?’’ You rolled to lay down on your stomach, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

The king started to give you pet names some days ago, making you feel all sorts of things. Of course, you were there because you felt a lot of things for him, except that you didn’t expect him to be like that towards you. You were expecting gratitude, maybe, not… That. 

“Why would it be inappropriate? I do love you.’’ He leaned closer, his hot breath on your ear as he spoke. “The love I feel for you is pure. Why would it be inappropriate? Am I making you feel like that?’’

“Hm… No, that is not it, my king.’’ You turned your head to meet his gaze. He was so close, you wouldn't think straight like that, not when he looked at you intensely. 

“So?’’ Baldwin touched your cheek with his fingertips, still smiling at you. He was getting touchy, too.

“Is it not a sin or whatever? I thought you…’’ You looked away, feeling embarrassed at the way he was looking at you. “I thought you would think like that.’’

“Why would it be a sin? I told you, my love is pure.’’ He laughed, a gentle sound hitting your ear, making you smile, too. “Now, look at me.’’

Sighing in frustration, you looked at him again. Baldwin touched your chin with two fingers, bringing your face even closer now. Your cheeks flushed immediately, and your heart started to beat faster. What was he doing now?

“You are adorable when you are flustered, love.” The king caressed your cheek with his knuckles, admiring your face. “If you didn’t love me back, you would've left me already… Am I wrong?”

“No, of course. I can just go back home and leave you here alone.” You gave him a cocky smile, chuckling shortly after. “I like you. That is why I am here.”

“Like? Is that the word you use in your era instead of ‘love’?” Baldwin raised an eyebrow, pinching your cheek a little.

“You can be annoying sometimes.” You whispered, a shy smile on your lips as you gently pushed his hand away. He knew you weren't mad at him, but he didn’t understand why you were denying it.

“Please…” The king sat up, looking at you with a serious expression. You've never seen him looking at you like that. “If you don't love me back, I need to know.”

You sat up quickly, shaking your head. Of course, you loved him, a lot. You didn't understand why you were denying it, maybe because you felt a little unworthy of his love, but you didn’t want to make him feel sad because of how you were dealing with your own feelings.

“What? No, no! I am sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel like that.” You came a little closer, trying to reassure him. Your hand stopped mid-action when he laughed. You looked confused. Why was him laughing? 

“I am just…” Baldwin smiled at you, leaning closer to your face to whisper. “Messing with you.”

“Huh!” You laid down on the bed again, crossing your arms. Good, now he was teasing you. 

When you first arrived, you didn’t know how he would actually be, his personality was mostly a mystery. The researches did talk about Baldwin’s personality, though it was more like a generic vision of his interactions with nobles and knights. Interactions between him and normal people weren't documented, and there was no research about him being a lover… Or whatever Baldwin considered himself to be for you.

“Now…” His expression softened, looking at you with curiosity. “Why don’t you just admit that you love me?”

You sighed softly, smiling at him. Baldwin knew about your feelings since the day you arrived, the king just wanted to hear you say it. You weren’t used to all that romanticism, and he was barely doing something. He laid down by your side again, facing you, waiting for you to say it.

“Yes, I think I do love you.” You whispered, feeling your cheeks burning as you finally confessed to him.

“Oh, you are not sure?” Baldwin gave you a playful smile, messing with you again. His hand found your cheek, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“When did you start to be such a smart ass?”

“Probably when it got easier to walk and breath. It is difficult to be funny when your body is rotting.” He shrugged, still smiling. It was funny to see that he started to joke about his illness now that it didn’t affect him that much.

“I guess you are right.” You came a little closer, resting your head on his chest. You would hear his heart beating a little faster, even if he looked so calm.

His arms, so comfortable. Baldwin’s caresses your back, and hid your face in his chest, his scent changed a lot since he stopped those old medications on him skin, it was good to feel something more ‘him’. 

“That feels good.” The king wrapped his arms around you, caressing your back gently. He smelled your hair, holding you tightly against him. “I still want to know why you were denying your feelings for me, though.”

“I feel like I can end up making you sin.” You said after thinking a little. The thoughts and desires you had weren’t so pure, and you were afraid you would end up making him do something that his faith doesn't approve of. “Or that you would end up hating me.”

“Good to know you think so highly of yourself.” Baldwin laughed, and that made you chuckle. “How are you going to make me sin? And why would I end up hating you?”

You hesitated, pressing your lips together nervously. Should you say that? Was it okay to speak about those things around him? Part of you thought you weren’t capable of actually tempting him that much. Still, saying it out loud made your heart beat faster.

“It is just that I have those thoughts and feelings, things that are not pure at all. I feel like you would be disgusted by it, and then I feel unworthy of your love.” You hid your face on his chest.

Baldwin loosened his grip, leaning back a little to look into your eyes. He caressed your cheeks again, a soft and loving touch. He would never hate you for your ‘impure thoughts’. Everybody has those thoughts, it is normal, and Baldwin knew that. He never thought that there was a single person on earth that didn’t have a sinful thought. 

“I would never hate you for such a reason. You have some… Impure thoughts about me, and that is not the end of the world. That is human nature, for most, at least.” Baldwin kissed your forehead, bringing your body as close as possible. You felt his lips against your ear, he was smiling. “I would love to hear about those thoughts of yours.”

You leaned back, looking at you with your eyes widened open. Was he messing with you again? Baldwin looked at you with curiosity, caressing your jawline, waiting for you to say something. You knew he wouldn't force you to say it if you didn't want to, but you did want to tell him the things you wanted to do to him. You wondered if he would let you do half of the things you wanted, or if he just wanted to know what was going on inside your mind.

“So? Aren't you going to tell me? It is alright, I will never hate you.” Baldwin reassured you, looking at you with a serious expression. He would never make you uncomfortable. “If you don't want to talk about it, I will understand.”

You hesitate, thinking about what you should say first. It was better to start with something simple, about how much you wanted to kiss him, deeply and passionately. You thought it alone sounded dirty enough for that era. The way you imagined it, how his hands would feel around your body, if he would try to explore your curves or not.

“Well, sometimes I wonder how it is to kiss you.” You looked at him, trying to see his reaction, and Baldwin was not impressed. It sounded sweet, of course he didn’t look impressed. 

“You can do better than that. A kiss is not something sinful, it is lovely.” Baldwin brushed his thumb against your lips, smiling at you. “I can give you one right now, if you want.”

He leaned a little closer, not breaking eye-contact, to make sure you wanted this. Two finger under your chin, bringing you close to him. You closed your eyes, feeling your body getting warm. It was just a kiss, probably just a gentle, soft kiss. Nevertheless, even if it was just a simple kiss, it was from him, and that was enough to make your heart start to beat fast again, you could hear it in your ears.

“You are adorable, love.” Baldwin whispered, sending shivers down your spine. So close, but not enough. 

His lips met yours, and it was just like you imagined. Soft, slow. He cupped your cheek, moving his lips gently against yours. As expected, you didn’t feel his tongue asking for a deeper kiss. You didn’t mind it at all, thinking at the moment that you should be the one deepening the kiss then, however the sweetness felt delightful, and it would feel like a shame to interrupt it like that. When he leaned back, you could see the blush on his cheeks. It was something new, you didn’t see him blushing much. You admired his appearance, you wished you would take a picture and keep it forever. His lips were parted a little, and his breath was heavy. Handsome, the most handsome man. 

“Good?” Baldwin asked, putting that smirk back on his face quickly after a deep breath. 

“I was imagining something else.” You whispered, giving him a smile. The man raised an eyebrow, almost disappointed. “Gladly, it was better than what I was imagining. It was wonderful.”

He couldn’t help but sigh in relief, making you chuckle softly. You put two fingers under his chin just like he did some seconds ago, coming closer to brush your lips against his.

“I was just…” You whispered, trying to not laugh. “Messing with you.”

“Look who is being funny now.” Baldwin pinched your cheek, making annoyance at your attitude.

Putting yourself closer, you hid your face into his neck again. Now you didn’t know how you should tell him that you should go back to your own dimension now. Of course, you would come back at any moment, it was his reaction that worried you. You didn’t left his side since you arrived some weeks ago, and you knew that it would make him feel all sorts of things.

Baldwin’s fingers massaged your scalp, and his lips touched your forehead. You closed your eyes, it was better to talk about it some other time.

[dudududubadwriting]

Sebastian: Yeah, we're just friends but I would shag you if you asked.

MC: (looking up from her essay) Pardon?

Sebastian: (blushing) What?

Ominis: He said he'd shag you if you asked.

[tamayula-hl]

The three are suddenly locked in a very small and mysterious storage room…

I wonder what the Slytherins will do after this 🙈

[stellerfly]

"ai is making it so everyone can make art" Everyone can make art dipshit it came free with your fucking humanity

[pizzaronipasta]

Oh gee, you're right! Why didn't the people who can't even move their arms think of just making a painting? /s

And before anyone starts spouting some "art is more than just painting" spiel, you don't know what kind of art someone might need to make in order to express their vision. An artist may have a very specific idea in mind to create the perfect piece of graphic art, and using music, performance, etc. just won't cut it for them. AI is a tool that can help the disabled in so many ways. Not even just with art. Get off your high horse and accept that disabled people have different needs and, guess what, ABILITIES than you do. Fuck you, asshole.

[stellerfly]

you are a tar pit.

[pizzaronipasta]

and you are ableist.

[stellerfly]

[pizzaronipasta]

you're fighting against a tool that makes art more accessible, and actively dismissing the notion that it could even possibly be doing that. this IS ableist. YOU are the tar pit in this situation.

[stellerfly]

L+Ratio+It doesn't+i slept w your mom

[cripple-woe]

Hi I’m disabled I’m crippled I have a disorder that makes my fingers suddenly dislocate while I’m holding my pencil I have a spinal issue that makes it hard for me to bend over a desk half of the time I have leg issues that make it difficult for me to get around etc etc etc. I also have a bunch of other issues I don’t want to tell you about.

I’m also in art college. And even if I wasn’t, I’ve been doing art for almost a decade now. I’ve been disabled the whole bloody time.

AI, isn’t art.

There are many disabled artists and we have adapted our own ways of dealing with how we create. Fuck you, we have been doing this forever.

Vincent Van Gogh had temporal lobe epilepsy; Henri Matisse became a wheelchair user after surgery for cancer; Michelangelo had osteoarthritis, limiting mobility and causing pain in his hands and feet.

Paul Smith had a severe case of cerebral palsy and created art using typewriters.

Peter Longstaff has no arms due to Thalidomide, and paints with his feet.

Frida Kahlo not only had polio that disabled her as a child, but of course as we all know was injured in a bus accident at the age of 18, which caused her lifelong pain and medical problems.

Fuck, you want a personal annecdote? I knew a girl (we have lost touch since) who was paralysed from the neck down and she painted with her mouth and there are other artists who do so too! And with eye tracking technology I’m sure disabled artists will be getting more and more tools as the years pass. But we do NOT condone AI art. All that does is put us, real disabled artists, who exist and need support, out of jobs and commissions.

Fuck you.

[solstice-snakes]

hi, another disabled person here for more personal anecdotes! here is an art piece i made entirely with my non dominant hand 1 week before my most recent shoulder surgery on that same arm. i also wear splint rings to keep my fingers from dislocating while painting (or playing bass guitar cause i do that too). i make most of my income off hand painted art despite having hand tremors, frequent wrist dislocations/subluxations, and migraines.

my friend and her wife also make their incomes off wig making, leatherwork, and digital collage prints. both have chronic pain as well.

our lines arent perfect because we have shaky hands but thats ok, make it a feature not a flaw in your art. fuck AI.

[punk-jaskier]

Anyone who thinks physically disabled people need to use art stealing AI to make our own art is the ableist, actually.

Mine isn't as drastic (yet) but I've been having to wear wrist braces and finger splints since childhood off and on because using my hands in a repetitive motions causes them to be in pretty excruciating pain.

What is my art medium of choice? Knitting. You know, that thing where you have to do a repetitive motion over and over again. I hold my needles a bit strange, I knit through the pain, I sometimes have to give up working on it for weeks at a time. But I will not stop because it's what makes my heart sing.

Disabled artists don't need your pity, we've been getting by, doing what makes us happy despite the pain and hardships for thousands of years, probably longer, I bet there were neolithic disabled artists.

No actual real artist wants or uses AI, including disabled artists. AI is for losers who are scared of the extremely important phase in art where you suck and want to skip it by stealing and not even in a cool "I'm emulating your style because I wanna learn from it" way.

Go suck at art for a couple years like the rest of us and stop talking over disabled artists.

[icemankazansky]

Can I just add

Chuck Close

Chuck Close was a painter and photographer who specialized in ENORMOUS portraiture. If you've never been in the same room as one of his works, try to remedy that if you can, because it is an awesome experience. Close had a number of mental and physical conditions as a child, but in 1988, in his 40s and already a celebrated artist, he suffered a blood clot that left him paralyzed from the neck down. After intensive physical therapy, he was able to regain enough control to move his arms (more his upper arms than forearms), enabling him to paint with a brush strapped to his wrist. He adapted his painting style for his disability... and he continued painting enormous, hyper realistic portraits.

Close with self-portraits before (left) and after (right) his paralysis:

[the-official-publix-deactivated]

yeah top guy who said ai art is ‘accessible’ fuck you.

Humans adapt, as we have for years. Theft will not stop humanity.

[the-haiku-bot]

Humans adapt, as

we have for years. Theft will not

stop humanity.

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

[lyricwritesprose]

There's also, like. Humans helping other humans.

There's a glass artist out there name of Chihuly who lost an eye. Not having depth perception is kind of a big problem when working with what is basically slightly domesticated lava. So he uses sketches and storyboard kind of things to lay out what glass pieces he needs—other people make these—and then assembles them into large art installations that kind of look like what Great Cthulhu's cottage garden would look like, if Great Cthulhu was not in the business of driving people mad and just devoted to spreading a sort of alien beauty.

You should go to a Chihuly exhibit if one comes by your town and you have the spoons to get there.

You should also remember that there is a pretty large team behind him, because art is not Just One Dude, it is a shared endeavor.