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kaleldobrev · 5 months

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Hauled Up

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sam recruits you to try and convince Dean to stop hauling up in his room

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing (1x), Mutual pining & Fluff

Authors Note: Takes place in season 14 | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

As you were watching some Netflix, there was a hefty knock on your bedroom door. You had hoped that it was Dean who was knocking as you hadn't seen him in pretty much a few weeks since he had gotten back, but you knew that was a long shot. "Come in!" You called out, pausing the program that you were watching.

About two seconds later, Sam appeared, and he looked insanely drained and tired; something that's been pretty much normal for him over the last few weeks. Between helping the hunters who had come from the Apocalypse World and trying to find any information on where Dean/Michael could have been. Thankfully with Dean back, the only thing really draining him now was making sure the "newbies" knew how to handle certain cases on their own or through team-ups.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" Sam asked, his voice sounding a little hesitant.

"Sure, what is it?" You asked. It could be a numerous amount of things as while Dean was gone, you had became Sam's right hand, assisting him with the other hunters. You were either helping to find cases, going on team-ups, cooking giant meals for everyone that could last days, or bandaging people up when they came back from a hunt.

"I need you to try and get Dean out from his room. He's been hauled up there for weeks. It's not good for him," Sam said, sighing a little.

"I think he just wants to be alone Sam. I mean, I don't really blame him. He was gone for weeks, and then when he came back, he came back to a place full of people that he doesn't know, not just us," you stated. You couldn't imagine what Dean went through while Michael was possessing him doing God Know's What. As much as you didn't mind having the other hunter's here, you knew that with these other hunters here, Dean couldn't really be himself even if he wanted to be. "Why can't you try and get him out?"

"I think you're the only person that might be able to," Sam stated.

"And why do you think I'd be able to convince him?" You questioned, raising a brow.

Sam looked at you, giving you one of those 'you know exactly why' look. It wasn't a secret that you and Dean had feelings for each other, and have had these feelings for each other for the past couple of years. It was one of those things that even though neither one of you had directly said to each other that you have these feelings; it was kind of a known fact how the two of you felt about each other.

You sighed. "I can try."

Walking into the kitchen, you had decided that one of the things that you were going to do in order to try and convince Dean to come out of his room was bring apple pie as a kind of offering to him.

As you gathered the ingredients, one of the hunters from the Apocalypse World walked into the kitchen with a big smile on their face. "You making apple pie Y/N?" He asked, rubbing his hands together.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm making a pie for Dean," you said, starting to chop up the apples.

The man sat down at the counter, and even though you didn't directly look up at him, you could have sworn that he rolled his eyes at your response. As much as you had wanted to comment, you decided to ignore it. "Anything that I can help you with?" You asked.

"Hoping you can make this pie for me instead of Dean," he stated. Instead of the eyeroll like he had done before it was a wink; and it took all you could not to roll your own eyes.

"I remember you saying how much you hated apple pie," you stated, putting the apples into a bowl of cinnamon sugar.

"But I've never had your apple pie Sweetheart," he said, winking again.

This time, you had decided to say something, as you did not like when someone other than Dean had called you Sweetheart. "It's Y/N, not Sweetheart."

"It's just a nickname Y/N," he said. "Lighten up."

Before you could comment any further, you heard someone clear their throat in the doorway; and when the two of you looked up, looking into that direction, it was Sam with a clipboard in his hand. "Jones, shouldn't you be getting ready for your wendigo hunt with Xander?"

Jones looked at Sam for a moment, before looking at you. "Can't wait to eat this when I get back," he winked, getting up from his spot at the counter and making his way out of the kitchen.

As soon as Jones was out of the earshot, Sam sat down on the same stool that Jones was sitting at a few seconds before. "I could have handled that myself you know," you stated, giving the piecrust a gentle coating of butter to make sure that it didn't completely burn in the oven.

"I know, I'm sorry," Sam said, slightly sighing. "Gonna try bribery?" He asked, pointing to the pie.

"I call it motivation," you shrugged.

With the pie finally done, you placed it onto a tray along with two forks and a pint of vanilla ice cream. You doubted you'd be able to convince Dean to come out of his room, but maybe you can convince him to at least share some of the apple pie that you had made for him with you so he could at least have some kind of social interaction.

Lifting up the tray, you took a deep breath and made your way out of the kitchen, heading to Dean's room.

Upon coming up to his door, it was shut like it has been the last several weeks, the sounds of his television blasting as he watched a horror movie (which sounded remotely like the All Saint's Day series to you, as you thought you could vaguely hear Hatchet Man's voice).

Knocking on the door, you heard Dean sigh loudly and pause the television. "Fuck off," he said, his voice annoyed.

"I don't really want to eat this apple pie by myself," you said, your voice a little low.

You heard Dean get up from his bed, slightly sighing. A few seconds later, his door opened and he looked down at you as you held the tray in your hands. "Sam put you up to this?" He asked.

"He asked me to try and convince you to come out of your room. But, I know I wouldn't be able to convince you, so, I decided to make some apple pie for us to share together instead," you smiled.

Dean eyed you and the pie for a moment before stepping to the side. "I'm watching All Saint's Day two," he said.

"Perfect," you said, stepping inside his room.

"Thanks for trying not to convince me," Dean said, between bites. "You're the only one I feel like gets it." He knew that you were the only person to get it, as you and him always seemed to be on similar wavelengths.

"I might not necessarily know what you went through but...I just know for me, if I came back to a Bunker full of strangers, I'd want to haul up in my room too," you said, wiping your mouth.

"You outdid yourself this time with the pie," he commented.

"It's how I always make it," you said.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know tastes...better than usual."

"Probably because you haven't had it in a while," you stated.

"Probably," he agreed.

"I hope you enjoyed your pie," you smiled, grabbing the tray; no more pie or ice cream in sight.

"I did, thanks," Dean said, sitting on the edge of the bed as he watched you make your way to his bedroom door. "You didn't have to make it for me by the way. I know you've been busy with all the other hunters."

"Dean, I wanted to," you began, walking back to the bed where he was and placed the tray of empty dishes next to him. "Besides, I'll never be too busy for you," you stated, taking his hand in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You mean a lot to me Dean, you know that," you added.

The feeling of your hand in his was one that he longed for these past couple of weeks, but he didn't necessarily know how to ask for it. "You mean a lot to me too," he stated. More than you'll ever realize, he wanted to add. He took your other hand in his as he stood up from his spot on the bed gently looking down at you.

"Want to help me with the dishes and then we can come back in here and do something?" You asked him. "We can either watch something or just go to sleep; up to you," you softly smiled.

"I'd like for us to take a drive together. Feel like Baby's been neglected these past few months I've been away," he grinned; a brief chuckle leaving his lips.

"I'd like that," you smiled.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @octoberclidan @kidwhofixates @crystal555 @hannahisthebanana @seamlessepiphany @madzzz0797 @livingordeadwhoknows @writinginfear @Roskar16 @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @deans-daydream @midorimachisenpaii @rachiem4-blog @taraswifes @zepskies @jackles010378 @mrsjenniferwinchester @globetrotter28 @deans-spinster-witch @mrlonelycat @frozenhuntress67 @coldspoons @androah If you'd like to be added to a tag list please follow this link

#Dean Winchester x you #Dean Winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #dean x reader #dean x you #reader insert #female reader

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dahliadew · 1 year

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Danny phantom wants a Netflix crime documentary (dp fanfic prompt)

Since the portal accident, Danny has felt listless and is uncertain about how he fits into the world. That is because it doesn't have the one thing every other ghost has in a Netflix crime documentary; even Johnny 13 has one. I mean, come on. And he understands that his case isn't the norm, but damn it, he still wants one. So after expressing himself to his friends, they and the rest of the town set out to make Danny the best damn documentary they can. Because at this point, the rest of the Amity is fully aware of the identity of there long time hero, and it's really the least they can do for him, expressly for all the help he's given to the town over the years…….. and for maybe sicking ghost hunters on him occasionally.

And so far, everything has been going great the town is creating its own mysterious ghost story with red herrings and suspects coming out from every corner. All played and created by the town's residents, and they've made this into a town-wide event encouraging all of the residents to participate. It's not often the town can hold events like this anyways, the last major event the town tried to hold was the Circus Gothica incident, and everyone knows how that ended up.

But everything so far has been going great filming is on schedule, all of the residents are seen to be enjoying themselves, and Danny finally looks content for the first time in a while. That is until people from out of town start to hear about the documentary being made and what it is about. That was a fourteen-year-old boy who vanished with little information on what happened. And they start to come into town to investigate themselves, thinking that because of the town's tourist trap reputation, they won't give the victim the respect he deserves or that the town and its residence may be involved in a cover-up.

And it's at this point where the story could remain stand along with new characters coming in or make it into a crossover with something like criminal minds or even the justice league and DCU, and I think either would work or be cool. Along with that, this might be fun to pair with the Danny phantom corpse au, where after the accident, Danny is left with his own body that he ends up burying or stashing somewhere within the town.

I also thought it might be funny that once the outsiders come to town and start their investigation, they begin to think they are being haunted by the murdered or missing kid because they keep seeing his ghost around town.

#danny phantom #danny phantom crossover #danny little shit fenton #criminal minds #dp crossover #dp dc crossover #corpse au #dp prompt #dp fanfic #dc x dp #amity park #criminal minds crossover

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sgiandubh · 9 months

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Jottings: Season 7, episode 8. Just fucking try me

By TPTB's Sovereign Decree, this season is - as we all know - split in two, which proved to be at the same time abysmally disrespectful to ***'s subscribers, frustrating - to say the least- to Netflixers, but involuntarily prescient, given the current SAG-AFTRA stalemate. The protracted strike scenario (still a possibility) would have truly flunked OL, drowning it in a sea of irrelevance and effectively making all promo impossible. So, let us count our blessings and bide our time: it ain't over till the fat lady sings. For the time being, we are still haunted by Sinéad's moving huskiness. For the sake of speculation only, I wonder if they are going to stick with this option until the official end of Season 7, as an homage of sorts. Or promote somebody else, while time and space are still available to do so.

You are definitely going to need tissues for this one. And any random type of your favorite comfort food. It is intense. It is almost impeccable. SS & RR sketches are tolerably short. S is supercalifragilistic. C is giving it her all and she is just perfect. And all the rest are flawless. So, pardon the sarcasm deficit and perhaps also my less fluid quill: you surely know, by now, my struggle with encomium is real.

The bonnie wee swordsman moment immediately brought to this book outsider's mind the exceptional fanfic author on AO3. So, if you still missed Flood My Mornings, by some obscure glitch in the Matrix, do give it a try. It is one of my top 3 , with #1 being @zeya-zg's TRS (it packs a punch, takes great risks and does so with grace). And yes - blasphemy ensues - the swordsman's fic is simply better than Herself in so, so many ways. A good starting point for a Droughtlander of undetermined amplitude (what in the name of hoo-ha is 'the story continues next year' supposed to mean?), for example. But I digress.

With Saratoga 2.0 in plain, inevitable sight, I incorrectly presumed we would see the blue light mojo - is it in Bees...? more plausibly so - and I am glad C saved JAMMF's finger. My sick mind did try to imagine a mutilated limb at some point in time, failed to do so and had to reboot entirely. I am grateful to the writer for having spared me a potential ordeal, in this respect. I am, however, less grateful to the same writer for butchering up to the point of no return the very delicate scene between Rachel Hunter and Young Ian, who initially fail to get their (impossibly to reach) bearings. It feels contrived at first, reads as injudicious as trying to become proficient in Thai after spending three hours on Duolinguo and jumps on the storyline's windshield out of virtually nowhere. The main weak point of this season (spare SS/RR's endless death row sojourn) has to be the blatant injustice done by the writers to characters I wanted to see and hear more of: the Hunter siblings, Buck Mackenzie and yes, William himself.

Speaking of William, there is an epic but fleeting moment outside Simon Fraser's tent, just after Jamie gives him his tricorn hat, that made me wonder out loud. Who are you, first and foremost, Ellesmere: a courtier? a soldier? a son? All three avatars briefly cross his face and if that is not prowess, I don't know what is. Enthusiastic kudos, again.

Cynical, lunatic, despicable me ugly cried three times in a row. Laudanum. Simon Fraser. The Scottish shores. That is a lot for one single intake.

Spoiler: I must have eaten something that disagreed with me. For such an inconsistent character, Simon Fraser saved his soul with this intense, dignified and subdued moment. There is something akin to a Roman deathbed scene one could perhaps find in Tacitus' Histories, essentially thanks to S's perfectly mastered gravitas. So yes, you can cry for the sudden demise of a secondary character you had no sympathy for and on top of that be surprised by your own tears.

A death that proves instrumental for their return to Scotland. And maybe it is time we acknowledge the simple fact that Scotland never really was just a trope of all this intricate narrative scaffolding, but a character in its own right. It is alive and it prompts the kind of raw, irrational emotions able to make your tears well up all the same in Bilbao, in Vancouver, in Seattle, in Athens or in Cairo. And it doesn't matter if you could not place Inverness on a map before finding out that well, people do disappear all the time, or if you were haunted since forever by majestic visions of glens & lochs. You will fall and you will fall hard, despite all the misgivings and the shortcomings, of which there are many.

We leave them teary-eyed on a boat sailing near the Scottish shores. It is a carefully chosen and very effective parting moment. Overall, this was an excellent half-season, if you chose to ignore Mordor's endless, reckless and soulless bitching. I sometimes wish for all these people to suddenly develop an interest for origami or find another obsessable rookie duo or simply try to be happy on their own. Nothing more, but nothing less.

This Droughtlander will be a massive pain in the rear. Mark me. And I am finally allowed to hope for better sleep patterns. But hey, no regrets: it was worth it, always is. They are worth it. A lot.

Gif choice could only involve a ship. Credit given to @avasetocallmyown. Very elegant :)

#jottings

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lewkwoodnco · 6 months

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Hii I wanted to request Anthony Lockwood×fem!reader with the song London Boy. Where the reader is from Europe, and she just moved to London to become a better ghost hunter, but she gets rejected at Fittes and other agencies. Then she finds out about Lockwood&Co. and goes to a job interview and gets hired. Since she's from Europe, she has an accent, and like she doesn't always pronounce words right, Lockwood loves it and finds it adorable. As she lives with all of them, they start becoming closer. She and Lucy become like best friends. And from the whole start, when she met Anthony, she was crushing on him and he would often call her darling and love, because for him it's normal, but she would literally be running laps in her head. Lucy notices all of this and teases them about it. Happy ending with them confessing and kissing? As always, you can change it so it suits the song more, I really love your writing, and it never disappoints!!

Lockwood x Reader - London Boy

A/N: While I was researching possible words to mispronounce whyy did I find out that I was pronouncing one of them wrong this wholeee time AHHH also why was it so hard to find a gif where he's smiling. Netflix pls renew the series to give him more screentime where he doesn't look like he wants to dies plzzz. also this starts with a letter written by the reader to her sister a week after moving to London, 3.1k, enjoy!!

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope things are fine over there. London is...interesting. It's very cold and wet, for one. I always feel like I'm one gust of wind away from catching a cold, but a friend took me shopping a few days back, and I've got a much warmer coat now. You'd love Lucy, she's got your sense of humour and everything.

Things didn't work out so well at Fittes. Or Rotwell. Or any of the other agencies I had shortlisted. I'm at a small independent, Lockwood & Co. There's only four of us and Mr. Lockwood's only a year older than me (a misnomer if I ever saw one, I thought he'd be closer to eighty than eighteen), but they get by just fine and I'm learning loads.

Part of me still wonders if I made the right choice by leaving. I wish I was home; warm, dry and safe. I miss the fields, the bonfires, the cheap juice boxes... miss you and mum to bits. Give her all my love.

"Writing a letter?"

She slammed a hand over her postcard with an aggressiveness that shocked her as much as him. She was sitting at the kitchen table, opting for a change of scenery while she drafter her note. It was morning, and from the shuffling sounds outside, George and Lucy seemed to also be awake, but only Lockwood was in the kitchen with her. And the thing about Lockwood was - well, he made her a little skittish.

She panicked at his slightly taken aback expression, rushing to make amends. "No! I mean, yes, I am writing a letter. It's for my sister, Elizabeth."

"I'm sorry I startled you, I don't mean to pry."

"You weren't." God, did she completely forget how to hold a normal conversation? It was mind-numbingly difficult to generate coherent words or even thoughts with his buttery smooth posh accent washing over her. "I just - we keep odd hours and with the time zone difference I haven't had the time to talk to them on the phone."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

She looked down into her tea, suddenly shy. Keeping eye contact with him was difficult enough when they were all in the room, but his undivided attention was simply unbearable. There was something so intentional in his gaze that made her too nervous to think too much about it. So that just left a knot in her chest that would throb and set her ablaze any time he got too close. That, coupled with their extremely embarrassing first meeting, made her especially prone to stuttering or leaving the room whenever Lockwood was around.

Ironically, he was away handling a mild Type One case in Sidcup, for which the prestigious clientele warranted the inconvenient travel, during her interview. Which was just as well, because she was sure she wouldn't have been able to force anything out with him watching her as closely as George had. She had seen the newspaper clippings on the wall, but the dates had been cut off, so it hadn't been immediately obvious to her that he was a teenager like the rest of them. Besides, who had heard of an agency run by three teenagers and no adults?

Which was why she nearly fell out of her armchair the following morning when the front door opened to the sound of unfamiliar yet boyish laughter. The briefcase carelessly left by the entry way to the living room caught her eye first, followed by his crisp suit, his straight tie, and finally, the man himself.

She wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, but as he grinned with his dimples mischievously winking at her, she felt that if anyone could change her mind, it just might be him. She felt the palms resting on her book grow clammy as her heart thudded dangerously, And this was all before he had even spoken or looked at her. As soon he opened his mouth, she was a goner.

"You guys have to read this: 'Lockwood & Co. - the answer to the Problem? For an independent agency with less resources yet arguably more success than the big two, could they be the key to ridding our world of visitors? Read more on pa-' Page six? So much of that trouble, all for a page six?"

"Now look what you've done, Lockwood. You've scared our newest member mute with that demented laugh of yours."

"How could I forget? Y/N L/N, the one agent with enough talent to, and I quote, 'somewhat-kind-of satisfy' George Karim. I was positively racing home to meet you. Forgive my, hmm, associates. I hope they didn’t give you too rough of a time."

"You make it sound like we're degenerates!"

"They can be quite bothersome when they want to be. I'm Anthony Lockwood, of Lockwood & Co."

He stuck out a hand, and she blinked at him. She felt a bubble of nervous laughter lodged in her throat, almost half-inclined to believe that this was all a bit; he really was that ridiculously attractive. His dazzling smile faltered, morphing into one of concern, until Lucy knocked enough sense back into her to respond. She shook his hand, embarrassed, mumbling a greeting. He walked away, loosening his tie, and she buried her nose deeper into the paper, wishing it would just swallow her whole.

They had been terribly busy the past week, and during the day she would mostly tag along with Lucy, so their paths rarely crossed. There was this one time when he had just been coming down the stairs as she and Lucy were returning from their shopping trip. She froze halfway in the motion of taking her coat off, then shrugged it back on. He looked mildly confused. She was desperately confused. She didn't appreciate Lucy's snicker.

"New coat."

"Yeah. It's real warm."

"I can see that." Her coat looked not all that much bulkier than Lucy's, but she could still hear the smile in his voice as she pulled her gloves off. Somehow, she managed to coordinate her limbs enough to take the coat off and hang it like a normal person, before briskly walking up to the attic, the side of her face burning from when she passed Lockwood.

"It's real warm." Lucy wasted no time teasing her as soon as they were in the attic. She groaned.

"What else was I supposed to say?"

"You were really excited about the pockets at the shop."

"They're-"

"Faux fur-lined, yes, you've told me a thousand times." She gave a knowing half-smile. "Couldn't manage telling him once?"

"He'd think they were stupid. He'd think I was stupid." Even more stupid that he already thinks, she wanted to say. But who could blame him? For all he knew, she didn't have enough brain cells to string three coherent words together.

Their cases were tiring, but the routine was still so new that more often than not, she would be too wired to peacefully knock out in the attic with Lucy after their cases. She'd open the door to the attic just a crack, and listen to the soothing sounds of paperwork rustling in the library, watching the barely visible soft shadows of Lockwood moving about. She could glean that they were a little burdened by the absence of a pair of hands, and she had tried to offer her help, but all she got was distracted pats on the forehead as her words went in one ear and out the other. She couldn't blame them; they really did look stretched thin, which made her especially thankful for Lucy's company even at their busiest.

Still, that didn't stop her from carrying her blankets down to the door to the attic in the dead of the night, leaning her head against the banister. If she were lucky, she'd catch a faint strain of Lockwood humming. As cheery and disarming as he was, picturing him humming felt too intimate. The little that she could hear reverberated through her skull, the notes knocking into her other drifting thoughts about him, his British smile and his stormy London eyes. But the Lockwood she curiously dreamt of at night never reconciled with the Lockwood she saw walking and talking during the day, and so their relationship had come to a sort of standstill, where he would smile at her and she would take the first socially-acceptable chance to flee the room. Only, it was a bit harder to escape early in the morning when they were the only ones in the kitchen.

Fortunately, the others soon came, and the tension eased. Lucy came in, sleepily trying to scrounge up some tea while George went off on Lockwood about his sleep schedule, or lack thereof, while Lockwood tried to stuff his face and busy himself in gathering his documents to keep from answering. She took advantage of the bustle to discreetly sift through the drawers. Lucy had mentioned that they had a postage drawer somewhere, but she didn't want to be too much of a burden by asking again.

"George, lay off me, I've got to get to DEPRAC. Luce and I will meet you at the Archives and - oh, darling, we keep the stamps here." Lockwood paused his hunt for some brown, non-descript envelope to pull open a drawer between the two of them. She could feel her face starting to warm, but only because of the embarrassment, not the nickname. "Mailman should be coming around soon, so you might want to hurry. Luce, yesterday's client should be coming around near 5 and you promised Holly you'd do the invoices while she was away. Oh, what now George?" She ducked her head, muttering some thanks that went unheard as George tried to force out how many hours Lockwood had slept, practically chasing him out of the house. Lucy raised her eyebrows suggestively, which she pointedly ignored.

That day was the most dull one yet, where she rolled around the house like a lost penny, trying to occupy herself. A letter arrived some time in the late morning, and she took the liberty of starting its case report file. Lockwood was the first one free, arriving home a little after lunch. She told him as soon as she saw him, while he was still taking his coat off, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve.

"We got a new case while you were gone. I started its file."

"Wonderful. Thanks, love." He rolled up his sleeves, putting on the kettle, while she surreptitiously leaned against the wall for support, trying not to think about how effortlessly pet names dripped off his tongue, like honey, before she got too shaky in the knees. She pressed on.

"It was from a Lew-tenant Smith."

"Who?"

"Lew-tenant Smi..." her voice trailed off. No, that didn't sound right. She couldn't imagine any of them saying it like that. Lockwood briefly leaned over her shoulder, a faint smell of soap lingering around him, before his eyebrows unfurrowed and he returned to his tea.

"Oh, I see. We pronounce it as 'left-tenant.' Now, where's he staying?"

Oh dear. She wasn't entirely sure. "Erm, Ald-wykh?"

"Ald-wich, we call it."

"Ah." Some part of her wanted to apologise, but he was looking at her with a strange twist to his lips and a certain fondness was shining in her eyes that, once again, she was rendered speechless. A silence followed, and for once, she willed herself to bear it.

"You haven't been stuck at home all day, have you? Have you been outside during the day any time this week?"

"I, er-"

"Luce, what kind of a friend are you?" Lockwood spun around to accost Lucy, who had wandered into the living room to see the commotion, bleary-eyed from whatever lair she had retired to to iron out the paperwork. "Y/N must be feeling cooped up. We should make a day trip of it. We'll get a break one of these days, and we'll take you around London, do all of it: high tea, the West End, go to a pub, watch some rugby- how are you with heights? Interested in the London Eye?"

Lucy groaned, stealing Lockwood's tea. "I don't know how Holly does it."

"Well, for one, I don't think she lets it pile up like you do."

Lucy shot Lockwood a dirty look, taking his biscuit too before turning back apologetically. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but how about next week?"

She laughed, pulling a weak smile from Lucy. "Don't sweat it. Hopefully, I'll still be around then." Lucy waved goodbye, retiring to her mountains of paperwork.

"Well, there goes my tea. Would you like some...?"

"Tea? Oh, um, sure."

"Brilliant. See you outside in five minutes." With that, he left the kitchen. Once she had caught up to what had just happened, she slipped her coat on, joining him outside just as he hailed a cab.

Surprisingly, he hadn't been exaggerating: Lockwood was fully prepared to take her to each and every one of those attractions, no matter how long it took. In the end, they narrowed it down to a rainy cab ride to a play at the West End, with high tea afterwards, though they did get around to the rest in the coming weeks. Oddly enough, they never planned it beforehand. The occasional lull in cases would sneak up on them, Lockwood would wander into the living room where she would be fused to an armchair, and suddenly it would be time for yet another trip around London.

But now they were at high tea, tucking in to the fading sunlight and excitedly discussing the play. A wind blew through one of the open windows, and she shivered.

"Everything okay, love?"

"I'm fine. It's just a little draughty, don't you think?"

"A little what?"

"Dra - erm, like, it's windy?"

"Drafty."

"Oh, come now, that sounds nothing like how it's spelt. How was I supposed to know that?" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, as he polished off his food. But she was feeling bold enough to not let it drop this time.

"You keep doing that! You smile and turn away or you laugh and it makes me feel like I've put my foot in something - "

"No, no, dear god, no." There he was, laughing again. She hoped he would choke; but not too hard, just enough to shock some sense into him. "You don't - it's not your fault; believe me, I'm just an awful person. It's just...you really try your very best at...everything, really." His eyes fixed on hers and she found herself wanting to never look away. "It's...endearing."

"I’m sorry. I know my accent isn’t the clearest-"

“No, it’s fine. I like it. It’s very unique, and…beautiful. I’d pick your voice out of a crowd.” She felt this warmth wash over, and then chills run down her spine. He made her all nervous and giggly on the inside in a way that made her want to lounge around London, indulging herself in useless thoughts of ridiculous London boys with addictive smiles and silver tongues.

But like all good things, their excursion came to an end. She found herself dragging her feet to the front door with a boy with whom she was too scared to be alone with just 12 hours ago.

"I hope you had fun today. Not feeling too homesick, are you?"

She thought back to the green meadows and lightning bugs that she had dreamed about in the early hours of that morning. That life still seemed so precious, so sacred, but now it was oddly distant, no longer something she yearned for.

"I don't think so. You know what they say, 'home is where the heart is,'" she looked up at him, unable to resist the smile tugging at her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But I think the English aren't half-bad either."

"Not half-bad?" They were so close now, she could feel his breath tickling her forehead. Her heart stuttered. "I took you out to the West End, and you call it 'not half-bad.'"

"Well, there are certain exceptions."

"Like what?"

Her stomach threatened to explode with giddiness. She was having a hard time regulating her breathing and looking at him at the same time. God, she was never beating the 'stupid' allegations. "I don't know," she fibbed in a flimsy attempt to seem cool. "Like...like you."

In the end, it was his eyes that pulled her in, pulled her under, because one moment she was teetering on the precipice of something new and terrifying, and the next there was soft skin brushing her frozen face, warm lips on her chapped ones. He tasted like summer in this cold, dead winter, breathing life and wonder back into her. It was dizzying, exhilarating, heart-palpitations-inducing...it was Lockwood, surrounding and consuming all her senses.

He pulled away, and all she stared at him blankly, as if he had stolen the words at the tip of her tongue. He gave a half-smile, and she grinned at him. He opened the door for her, murmuring in her ear in a way that filled her brain with pleasant static. "After you, darling." She rolled her eyes reflexively as a defense mechanism, but still her heart fluttered. They walked in to find George sorting the mail, mildly peeved, mildly concerned.

"Ah, so you two finally decide to show up. You could've been dead in a ditch for all we know. Your dinner's gone cold, you know."

Lucy had skipped down the stairs once the front door opened, a little too immediately for her liking and now her eyes narrowed teasingly. All of a sudden, she had the embarrassing realisation how visible the front porch was from the attic. There was colour in Lucy's cheeks, which probably meant that she had somehow managed to work through all that paperwork. Drat. "I dunno. I think Mr. and Mrs. 'Darling' are- "

"Luce! Have I...told you about my coat pockets?"

Lucy rolled her eyes, heading back to the attic, while George shook his head and handed her a postcard. Lockwood's fingers lingered briefly on her wrist as he walked away, leaving her and her mind all topsy-turvy. With a start, she pulled herself away from delicious thoughts of Lockwood to the postcard in her hand. She scanned it eagerly, lips twitching as she reached the end of it. Her sister could be just as ridiculous and delusional as her sometimes, and she wasn't even in the same country.

Y/N -

Can't say much, haven't got the time. All's well here and we miss you dearly too. The house is just too quiet, but mum seems to be adjusting. We saw a picture of your boss in the paper the other day.

London boys truly are a different breed, aren't they?

Love, Lizzie.

#fanfiction #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #fanfic #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x y/n #taylor swift #london boy #lover

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fafnir19 · 29 days

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Bunny Hunt

As Lenny trudged through the woods, his hunting gear slung over his shoulder, he muttered to himself, "Maybe I should've just stayed home and watched Netflix."

The young man was well aware of his lack of luck with women, his shyness often getting the best of him in social settings. So, instead of facing potential rejection at parties, he found solace in the quiet solitude of the forest. Finally, after hours of stalking silently, he spotted his target - a plump brown rabbit nibbling on some clover. With shaky hands, he lifted his gun, aimed, and fired. *BANG!* The rabbit fell with a soft thud, and Lenny approached it slowly. But as he knelt down to collect his kill, his eyes widened in astonishment. Beneath the unfortunate bunny lay a massive pile of colorful eggs, like a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered. "What in the world?" he gasped, scratching his head in confusion. "Did this rabbit rob the Easter Bunny or something?" Shrugging it off, Lenny retrieved the rabbit and decided to make the best of the situation.

Back in his cozy apartment, he set to work preparing the rabbit, humming a tune to himself. The aroma of the simmering rabbit ragout filled the room, making his stomach growl in anticipation.

With a satisfied grin, Lenny sat down at the table, ready to indulge in his meal. As he savored each bite, his mind couldn't help but wander back to the strange discovery in the woods. Rabbit and eggs - a bizarre combination indeed. Scoffing at his own thoughts, he shook his head. "Well, at least this rabbit gave me a memorable meal. Maybe I have stumbled upon the secret recipe for an Easter feast!"

Later that evening a peculiar sensation overcame him. His scalp prickled with an unbearable itch, causing him to scratch furiously. Much to his horror, he felt two long furry ears sprouting at his head.

In a panic, Lenny realized he was transforming into something...more hare-like. The compulsion to hide eggs tugged at his mind, a strange urge he couldn't resist. Without a second thought, he dashed out of his home, scattering eggs throughout the neighborhood under the moonlit sky. The realization dawned on him like a thunderclap - he had devoured the Easter Bunny, and now he bore the burden of taking over its mantle.

After a night of frenzied egg-hiding, Lenny found himself drained and weary, longing for the familiarity of his own bed. In his exhausted state, he encountered a striking young woman on her way home, her eyes alight with curiosity as she beheld Lenny's rabbit ears. "Those ears are simply adorable! Can I touch them?" she asked with a coy smile. As her hand caressed his velvety ears, a primal instinct stirred within Lenny, flooding him with overwhelming desire. The urge to mate, to cover, to take her like a hare buck consumed his thoughts. In a whirl of confusion and arousal, Lenny found himself giving in to his newfound rabbit instincts, guided by the young woman's willing acceptance of his advances. Their lustful encounter under the watchful moon left Lenny breathless and bewildered, his world forever changed.

After a restless night filled with strange dreams of eggs and rabbits, Lenny awoke on Easter Sunday with a jolt, unsure of how he had returned to his apartment. His rabbit ears had vanished, leaving him feeling strangely incomplete. Deciding to take a stroll through the forest to clear his mind, Lenny wandered along the familiar paths, the fresh scent of spring filling his lungs. It wasn't long before a figure approached him, an older woman of ethereal beauty and a sly smile on her lips.

"There's my Easter bunny," she cooed, her gaze holding a mysterious gleam. Lenny blinked in confusion. "I beg your pardon?" The woman chuckled softly, her voice like silk. "I am a witch, dear boy, and you, my unsuspecting rabbit hunter, hold a debt to repay." Lenny's blue eyes widened in shock. "A witch? Debt? What are you talking about?" The witch's laughter danced through the air, carrying a hint of mischief. "You see, dear Lenny, in your haste to hunt, you unwittingly crossed paths with the Easter Bunny himself. By shooting and devouring him, you have inherited his duties." Lenny's jaw dropped in disbelief. "But that's...that's impossible!" "Ah, but the whims of fate are as fickle as they come," the witch purred. "Now, as penance for your transgression, you must fulfill the Easter Bunny's role. And not just any role, my dear Lenny."

A shiver ran down Lenny's spine as he realized the gravity of his situation. "You mean...I have to be the Easter Bunny?" The witch's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Not just any Bunny. You, my dear, have the instincts of a buck bestowed upon you as well." Lenny's cheeks flushed crimson as he grasped the implications. "Instincts of a buck? What does that mean?" With a sly grin, the witch leaned in closer, her scent a heady mix of exotic spices and forbidden allure. "It means, dear Lenny, that any woman who shows interest in you will awaken desires within you that you cannot control. You will mate with her, as a bunny buck does with a bunny doe in heat, driven by primal impulses." A wave of panic washed over Lenny as he struggled to comprehend the witch's words. "But...but I can't just...I don't want to..." Before he could protest further, the witch's soft hand caressed his cheek, sending a jolt of forbidden pleasure down his spine. The familiar surge of rabbit instincts mingled with newfound urges, overwhelming his senses. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, the witch whispered, "Submit to your nature, Lenny. Embrace the wild within." As if in a daze, Lenny found himself unable to resist. The air crackled with tension as desire and confusion warred within him, until finally, he succumbed to the irresistible pull. Their bodies entwined in a dance as old as time, passion igniting like a blazing fire between them. Lenny's newfound buck instincts took over, driving him to mate with the witch in a frenzy of lust and longing. As they collapsed in a tangle of limbs and heavy breaths, the witch's laughter echoed through the forest, a haunting melody of amusement. "Well done, my adorable buck," she purred, her eyes dancing with mischief. "You have begun to embrace your fate."

Lenny lay panting, his mind reeling from the whirlwind of sensations that had overtaken him. Confusion and desire churned within him, mingling with a newfound sense of resignation. As the witch vanished into the shadows, leaving Lenny alone with the weight of his newfound destiny, a single thought echoed in his mind: Easter would never be the same again.

#male tf #male transformation #personality change #mind corruption

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year

Text

Something

Dean Winchester x plus size reader

Not marriage, not kids but something

Warnings: no use of y/n, a little bit of Dean’s insecurity and John’s crap parenting, no dialogue, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, implied smut, mentions of death of a parent

WC: 1k

Minors DNI

Settling down wasn’t in the cards for hunters. There was too much risk, to both themselves and their families. Dean had accepted this a long time ago, pretty much as soon as John first laid a gun in his small hands and told him what lurked in the dark.

He had tried once before but it never worked out. So, he stuck to random hookups with women that would never see his face again. Every once in a while, Sam would attempt to get his older brother to at least entertain the idea of what could be, what should have been, but he was shut down every time.

Dean was fine with his bachelor lifestyle, actually, he was more than fine with it, but there were moments in the middle of the night when he would turn over in his sleep and reach for someone who wasn’t there. He would watch families interact in those shitty roadside diners, all smiles and laughter like it was a 5 star restaurant. He felt a lurching in his chest, a deep ache that not even his best whiskey could soothe.

But then, you came home.

You were another hunter’s kid from years ago. Similar story, one parent taken out, the other driven mad with the need for revenge. You were a regular fixture in Bobby’s house and thus, in the Winchesters’ lives. The last time Dean had seen you was a month before Sam ran away to Stanford. You were freshly 19 and being forced to leave.

Your mother was taking you to France, apparently the werewolf pack that had killed her partner fled there. She gave you no choice in the matter, just like every other hunting parent. Dean can vividly recall the way you clung to him as you sobbed and begged him not to forget about you. He had held you close, laying a kiss to your hair like it was the last time while he promised it wouldn’t be.

And in a way, he was right. He did see you again and he did get to wrap his arms around your now thicker waist in a hug that was almost 20 years overdue. Sure you were covered in blood and ghoul guts but if it wasn’t the best damn hug Dean ever had.

You were quickly stolen away from your stolen minivan that you had been living out of and forced into one of the empty rooms in the bunker (one that was conveniently close to number 11). There was the compulsory catch up and then scolding on your end for all the stupid things the boys had done, but once the smacking over the head and general berating was complete, everything was strangely normal.

It was nice to have an extra set of hands for research, someone else that Sam could bore with his weird true crime fetish, a person that was actually willing to help Castiel learn to be human, another like minded hunter that could binge watch Netflix and pig out with Dean on the couch.

Dean was happy to actually have a friend, a good one at that. But there was something deep inside him that dared to wonder.

You were beautiful, intelligent and a hell of a hunter. He had been dreaming of you for 15 years, his teenage hormones evolved into a bone deep lust that blinded him whenever he saw even a sliver of your skin. He longed to feel your generous curves under his palms, your lips pressed against his own. But more than that, he wanted to wake up next to you every day. Have you sit next to him in Baby, singing old rock songs as he drove. Dean wanted you, through and through.

He knew he didn’t deserve you, not after the things he’s done. But you disagreed.

It happened so quickly, Dean didn’t see it coming. Suddenly, it was you and not Sam that was patching him up. You were the one going on runs with him. It was you that would sit up with him, glass of whiskey in hand as the ancient record player crooned in the corner.

He only realised what was going on one night in September. The Bunker had been freezing, the weather unseasonably cold. Dean had retired to his room with a couple beers and his Scooby-Doo box set, determined to wait out the cold in comfort as his little brother tried his hand at fixing the boiler.

It was about 1 and a half seasons in when there came a knock on his door. He was going to ignore it, thinking it was Sam telling him that he also failed at repairing the heating but instead, your voice softly called out to him.

You shuffled in after a moment, and Dean couldn’t help but smile. You must’ve been wearing at least five layers of clothes (including one of his henleys) and a large blanket wrapped around your shoulders. His stomach lurched at the sight of your shy smile and chattering teeth. With no hesitation, he lifted the covers and you dove in, snuggling against his chest as he wrapped an arm around your back.

Your hand came to rest softly on his chest, right above his heart and Dean could only pray that you didn’t feel the frantic beat of his pulse. You did.

You said his name so softly he almost didn’t hear it. He looked down at you and his breath caught in his throat. Before he could react, your lips were on his. He froze for only a second, his brain not comprehending that this was actually happening and it wasn’t some dream.

But then your hands were in his hair and his own had traveled down to your thick thighs, pulling you up to straddle his lap. The cold, the fear, the insecurities were forgotten; washed away in your embrace and your lips.

He held you close as you took each other apart piece by piece, unwilling to let you go even for a single second now that he had you, as he did every night after. You saved him and kept him afloat. He lived for you, for your smile, for your touch.

It wasn’t exactly marriage and it wasn’t kids but it was something, and for a hunter like Dean, it was more than enough.

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magicxc · 29 days

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Movie Genres

Pairings: Survey Coprs - their fave movie genres

Word Count: 835

Warnings: netflix and chill? hulu subscription? binge watching disney?

A/N: I LOVE a good movie okay!! Put me in front of a juicy plot and I'm SAT. Here are the genres that I think the boys would enjoy most!! Tell me yours 🍿🎥🎬

Eren - Action/Thriller

Eren def strikes me as the type to enjoy loud movies that’s fast paced and chocked full of fighting scenes. Even though he has a special appreciation for the martial arts he can still get down with some good ole hand to hand combat. Anything that elicits excitement and anticipation does it for him.

Levi - Western Film

Walk with me here. I’ve seen Kenny reference and even dress cowboyish. I think he’d be all for the genre and considering his influence on Levi, it’s safe to say our short king would too. While the culture may be different from his own, it adds to his amusement all the more. Featuring cowboys, gunslingers, and bounty hunters it’d feel like a dramatisation of his old life underground; and while he no longer affiliates himself with that lifestyle, he does find the genre interesting.

Erwin - Historical Drama

Fight me. Erwin strikes me as boring lowkey lmfao. I genuinely believe he’s only watching things that stimulate his mind or shows that he can take away from. He doesn’t mind the messiness too much as long as the movie in question is thought provoking or at the very least holds some truth to it. And honestly, the Commander might be onto something here cause historical drama pieces fucking slap. Movies/series like The Crown, Apollo 13, Hotel Rwanda, etc is what he’s tuning into if he wants to watch tv.

Throwing in National Geographic or shows like The Most Extreme for when he wants some background noise.

Connie - Animation/Musical

Connie is such a vibe and while he is comedic relief he’s also super sweet. It's said that he’s basically a runner up to Armin on the emotional scale in regard to how deeply he feels. Our boy started out super naive and trusting and although it shaped him into someone a little more serious; he’s still that sweetie pie at heart. And so I believe animation is his thing and can bring a deep sense of nostalgia from time to time; allowing him a chance to cater to the child within. And the plots genuinely be plotting. That early 2000’s Disney and Pixar was un-fuck-witable. Musicals are just as fun for Connie btw, anything with a happy ending he’s down for.

Jean - Drama

Jean is literally so messy he can't help it. The call is coming from inside the house with this one. Even though Jean is a realist, he can also be an asshole with little regard to how what he says may affect Eren people. That doesn’t mean our boi is heartless, noooo, there has been lots of maturation over the seasons. But he LOVES a good conflict chile. Movies/series like RHOA, anything Tyler Perry, Moonlight, etc is his go to.

Onyankopon - Crime/Mystery

Similarly to Erwin, Onyankopon prefers films that are stimulating. He doesn’t mind indulging in the occasional reality show, but that's usually if he just so happens to be walking past his girl and a good scene comes on. Other than that, Ony is all for the suspense. He loves trying to stay one step ahead of the character but finds it's equally as fun to pick up some cool trivia along the way as movies like these tend to touch on a wide range of topics.

Reiner - Comedy

After almost losing his mind and his life, Reiner is cool on the movies that bring about intense emotions. He wants to laugh and not regularly either, but full on knee slapping laugh when he decides to indulge in a film. You know the kind where you have to beg your friend to stfu so you can catch your breath? The kind of laugh that feels like you just did a ab workout? That's what he wants. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t watch other genres, but they’re certainly not his first choice.

Armin - RomCom

It's self explanatory with this one. Our munchkin still views the world and its people with big doe eyes of hope, even against all odds. He is a little more realistic in his hopes but he’s still hopeful nonetheless. And he’s much the same when it comes to movies. He wants to see the film where the guy gets the girl, against all odds, and they kiss in the rain; and he’ll love it even better if you slide a joke or two in the mix.

Floch - Slasher

I genuinely feel like if Floch had a Tumblr, he’d be like one of the slasher girlies with their ghost face fics, only he’s posting ghost face thirst traps hahaha. He gets a thrill from the gore, the screams, the plot, and the kills. I think Floch is just all for the scare, even if he's on the receiving end of it. Anything to get his adrenaline pumping while keeping him on the edge of his seat will do. Thankfully though he’s able to separate fiction from reality and we can only hope he doesn’t get any cute ideas.

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gglitch1dd · 9 days

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Where do you get your inspiration from for your writings? Like do you have so many ideas that you have to write them down or do they just pop into your head or suggestions from your fans? I always wonder where people get their ideas and confidence from to post their work. I hope your doing amazing and your work always put such a big smile on my face that it hurts!! Your truly an amazing wonderful person and writer!!!!

-💫

HEY STAR!!!

Thats an excellent question.

They literally just pop into my head. I don't know how or why. Sometimes it comes from random things that I see in a day or from a movie or series I've watched or something I'm interested in. I actually only started taking requests seriously this year, most of the time, I just write what comes to mind. I have a very active imagination.

For example. I watched a new Netflix documentary on WW2 and the bombs of Hiroshima and creation of Nuclear warfare and how that led to the current day Russian and Ukraine tensions (I love documentaries and politics). And then I had an idea.

War time Izuku? Army Izuku?

Men in uniform? SIgn me up!! So I started watching YouTube videos on times back then and it's honestly so much of a better mindset when it comes to courting and dating, and values than today's world.

And that's how I came up with "Well... aren't you a pretty doll?"

And from then it's kind of how I create my stories. Sometimes its based off of other people's works that they might have abandoned and I change it up myself. I once found an amazing Katsuki x Reader that was based off of sort of Hunter Gatherer like civilisation, however it was not going to get updated and I really liked the concept.

So I changed it up a bit and that's how we got to that snippet of Izuku x Reader hunter gatherers how Katsuki was supposed to marry reader but shrugged off that responsibility to lovely Izu.

I hope that answers your question<3

-Glitch1d

#glitch1d questions

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theatrum-tenebrarum · 2 years

Text

'The Oldest Game' - the myth and folklore of the battle between Morpheus and Lucifer in 'The Sandman' on Netflix (a folklorist chimes in)

Lucifer and Morpheus in a 'wizard's duel', 'The Sandman' episode 4 'A Hope in Hell'

The memorable, grandiose scene in which Dream and the Morning Star face-off in a battle of cosmic scale is no mere magic of visual effects – it is a shamanic, shape-shifting dance of transformation which has its roots in myth and folklore.

It is a continuous chase in which its participants take on different shapes with one goal in mind: to overpower one another. In this form the mythical chase found its expression in the so-called 'wizard's duel', which we find in various European fairy tales and now before our eyes - as the Morning Star once again takes on the skin of the Serpent, poisoning the hunter-donning Morpheus in a visually stunning cosmic play.

Where does the transformation chase come from?

The Carmina Gadelica, a compendium of folkloric texts gathered in Scotland by the folklorist Alexander Carmichael in the 19th century, mentions a magical spell, or rather an occult power by the name of 'fith-fath' which can make one transform into something else or render them invisible. It is said that these transformations might have even occurred involuntarily. The Carmina Gadelica accentuates the importance of these spells to hunters, travelers and warriors, so that they could stay invisible and unrecognizable to animals and possible enemies.

The Mabinogion, a compilation of the earliest Celtic tales (first published in 1840), tells the story of Ceridwen, an enchantress of Welsh myth who had made a 'Cauldron of Inspiration'. The reason for making this magical cauldron is to help her disfigured son Morfran (Morvran ab Tegid) gain knowledge of the mysteries and the things to come. In this way, Ceridwen thought she could give her son a chance to prove himself to the world. As the year-long process of brewing a magical brew in the cauldron had begun, she employed a youth by the name of Gwion Bach to keep watch of the brew and to stir it as needed. One day, three drops of the brew fell out of the cauldron and found themselves on Gwion's finger. Feeling drawn to the liquid's power, he licked them off and instantly absorbed the mystical knowledge of all there is to come. Therefore, he knew this one thing as well – he must run, run from the wrath of Ceridwen, as this power was not his to have.

The sorceress sees him and begins the chase. Gwion, now having the power of transformation, turned into a hare trying to evade her. Ceridwen is now a lithe greyhound and there is no way for the hare to escape. Gwion runs towards a river and turning into a fish, escapes into the quick waters. A hungry and angry otter is the next form of Ceridwen, as she is hunting the fish. Gwion, swimming for his life, dons the wings of a bird in order to fly out of the water. The sorceress keeps up and turns herself into a hawk, a deadly bird of prey, ready to finish the shamanic, deadly chase. However, Gwion manages to outsmart her by becoming a grain of wheat on the floor of a barn, blending into the surroundings and becoming unnoticable. That is when Ceridwen becomes a black hen and finding the grains, eats Gwion in the process. It is this Gwion, now imbued with the magical powers of the Cauldron of Inspiration, who later gets 'born again' and becomes the mythical poet Taliesin.

One whose knowledge transgresses time and space, as this knowledge is beyond them both. Shapeshifting is a primordial memory, an ancient form of magic so deeply ingrained into our cultural muscle that it is continually expressing itself. Masked dances of old, ritual plays, the theatre and the movies – all a part of the same magical urge to transform, to move to another state of existence.

- Heidi (@theatrum-tenebrarum)

„I am a serpent. Horse-biting, poison-toothed.“ (Lucifer as a serpent in the transformation chase)

"I am a bird of prey. Snake-devouring, talons-ripping.“ (Morpheus as a bird of prey in the transformation chase, outsmarting Lucifer)

„I am a universe. All things encompassing, all life embracing.“ (Morpheus as a universe in the transformation chase)

„I am anti-life. The Beast of Judgement. The dark at the end of everything.“ (Lucifer, whose grand shadow looms in the background, is now anti-life, extinguishing the Life of a Universe)

Heidi (@theatrum-tenebrarum)

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