#she asked because i said i cook and drive everywhere

[let-love-run-red]

Sister: what does tinder boy contribute?

Me: he works for money and looks pretty while doing it

#she asked because i said i cook and drive everywhere #but he buys the ingredients and does the dishes and cleans up after dinner so #i also get to hang out at his apartment and all i have to do in return is show him affection and cook spaghetti so it's a fair trade tbh #love chatters #loves tinder boy #off topic #personal

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

prompt 8 and 14 (shy readers first time) and moms bsf wanda

You Were Red and You Liked Me Because I Was Blue

Mom's bsf!Wanda Maximoff x shy!innocent!Romanoff!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, W calls herself Mommy, use of pet names, W fingers R

A/N: I worked on this all day while I didn't feel good and I have a killer headache at the moment so if I missed any warning I'm sorry. I can't think anymore.

The air was cold, without snow falling to distract you it felt unbearable to be waiting for your ride back home for break. Unfortunately you mom was off on a work trip until 3 days before Christmas so instead her best friend, Wanda would be picking you up.

Normally Wanda would have also been preoccupied this time of year, but since her and Vision finalized their divorce and custody of the boys, Vision would be getting them Christmas break first.

You couldn't imagine what that must be like for Wanda. Suddenly after 10 years of family tradition she was alone again and Wanda being alone was never a good thing. You'd known Wanda for a long time. After Natasha helped take down the red room she'd taken you, the youngest widow on the ship under her wing. The day you gained Natasha as a mom, you also gained an aunt Yelena. You had always heard stories of the famous Black Widow that got away and you'd seen Yelena training with others the greatest child assassin the world has ever known. Though you know her now as Auntie Lena who eats Mac and cheese straight out of the pot.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when you see the familiar red subaru ascent. Wanda pulled up with a smile as you opened up the trunk to set your luggage in before quickly getting in the passenger seat with a shiver. Wanda pulled you into her arms, your body instantly heating from her contact.

“Hi sweetheart. How was the flight in?” She asked near your ear, making your heart skip a beat as you pulled back, trying to calm your body down.

“It was fine. Better than having you drive five hours to come grab me.” You told her as you put on your seat belt.

“I wouldn't have minded a 5 hour road trip with you sweet girl.” You bit the inside of your cheek at her words, choosing to stare out the window as she pulled away from the airport.

With Wanda's help you brought your luggage into the house and headed to your room to finally lie down and stretch out. The flight was only an hour and a half and the car ride back was about a half hour. You had barley acknowledged Wanda when she said about her starting on dinner instead choosing to go shower and clean yourself up.

You'd been told that even though you're an adult your mom wanted Wanda there with you. She said it was so you could keep an eye on the other. For Wanda it was so you'd stay out of trouble and for you it was to keep Wanda company. Natasha knew what it was like for Wanda to be alone.

What you and Natasha didn't know though was Wanda had fawned over you since she met you. When Natasha first introduced you and Yelena you always hid away. A little mouse making little to no noise as you moved. Even your thoughts were quiet to Wanda. It was something she found solace in around you. She knew what had happened to you and the other widows. Though you were next step of perfecting what Drekovy wanted out of the widows, total control they had perfected and for you, the only survivor of your age group, an enhanced super soldier serum. It gave you all the same enhancements as Steve and Bucky, but you stayed small, unassuming so no one ever saw you coming.

“Y/N! Dinner's ready sweet girl!” Wanda called up as you looked over yourself in the mirror, the scars lining your arms, shoulders, chest. They were everywhere.

You took the stairs two at a time, hair still damp, but Wanda's cooking smelt too good to keep her waiting. She looked up from moving things from the counter to the dining table. Natasha always used to have these ‘family meals’ where her parents, Yelena, Wanda, Vision, and the boys would come over. They stopped happening when Wanda and Vision decided to get the divorce. A smile was on Wanda's face,

“I made your favorite. Help me move it over to the table.” You happily helped out so the two of you could eat dinner together.

As Wanda was cleaning up and insisting that you go relax on the couch and get a movie ready you watched her from the couch, forgoing a movie and putting on The Office instead. You needed the background noise because to you your thoughts felt so loud that Wanda must be able to hear you if you didn't have something distracting her.

As she finished up and sat next to you she gave no indication of hearing your thoughts which she often did to those around her. Her arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against her as if you were two magnets. You bit the corner of your lips trying to watch the show.

You knew Wanda was experienced obviously, she has twins. You on the other hand haven't even gotten the opportunity to kiss a girl or a boy or anyone because from the day you met Wanda all you ever wanted was her. You'd never tell her that though.

She was with Vision when you met her nearly 13 years ago. With everything that happened after that with Thanos and then defeating him without the loss of half the population you could just live life normally for the first time.

Wanda's hand found your thigh, rubbing gently as she watched the show, one the two of you have watched multiple times over the years. You enjoyed sitcoms like she did along with being introduced to reality TV which is just a guilty pleasure really.

“W-Wands…” your voice was barely a whisper and Wanda pretended not to hear you. Not even when you started squirming under her touch as her hand grew closer to your hot center. Her hand squeezed you as you let out a little whimper. “Wands…” you tried again, trying to be louder, but you couldn't. Once again your plea goes unacknowledged as her pinky brushes against your clit, your hands fly down to her wrist. She finally looks at you. You don't dare look at her.

“What's wrong sweet girl?” She asks so innocently as if she has no idea what she's doing.

“W-Wands…I…you…” you fumble with your words. Her other hand reaches your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“What about us sweet girl?” You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. She pulls you onto her lap, her hands resting on your hips. “Just watch the show sweet girl. Let Mommy play.” You felt like fireworks went off in your stomach. Sure you'd heard the boys call Wanda Mommy and yeah you'd heard her call herself Mommy over the years, but never in the tone she just used and never directed at you.

You felt like everything on you was burning except for Wanda's hands that were always cold and clad in rings. You did as told keeping your eyes on the screen until you felt her hand push past your waistband. Your hands once again grabbing her wrist, not because you didn't want her to, you really wanted her too. You were nervous.

“W-Wands…I've never…” Wanda moved forward, tilting her head to look at you.

“Not ever at college?” She questioned. You shook your head.

“N-not even a kiss…” you admitted. Wanda's hand leaving your shorts and moving to your face.

“These precious lips haven't kissed anyone else?” You shook your head, “So I'll be your first?” She asked pulling you closer. All you could manage as your heart pounded was a soft ‘mhmm’ before her lips touched yours.

As her lips meet yours, it's a gentle yet electrifying sensation, sending waves of warmth cascading through you. Wanda's touch is tender, guiding you through this unfamiliar territory with ease and patience. With each fleeting moment, you feel yourself melting into her embrace, the world around you fading into the background.

When Wanda pulls back, there's a brief moment of hesitation, as if time itself is holding its breath. You find yourself lost in her gaze, a mixture of emotions swirling within you – anticipation, vulnerability, and a newfound courage. Slowly, a soft smile tugs at the corners of Wanda's lips, her eyes sparkling with tenderness.

With a gentle brush of her fingers against your cheek, Wanda whispers words of reassurance, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room. And as you lean into her touch, a sense of peace settles within you.

The night carried on without Wanda trying to slip past your shorts instead she kept stealing kisses late into the night before deciding it was time for bed. It was when you moved you could feel just how wet you'd before and you freeze, your thighs smacking tightly together. Wanda stopped, a tug on your hand.

“What's wrong sweet girl?” She looked back at you, confusion etched on her face.

“It…its..icky…” you squirmed and Wanda smirked, taking two steps towards you.

“Don't worry my sweet girl,” she tilted your head up, “Mommy is going to take good care of you.” Her breath against your lip, her voice sweet and thick with her accent, the one you heard all those years ago. Your legs want to turn to jelly.

Wanda wasn't expecting you to stay quiet once her fingers slipped past your wet folds, but you did. Little breathy moans, small whimpers, tiny pleas fell past your lips as your face burned and your eyes screwed shut.

“Don't close your eyes Detka. Look at me.” You could only obey with her voice sounding the way it did. You looked at her, she smiled at you and only picked up her pace.

You squirmed and felt like you were going to burst as you whimpered and tried to get away, but she held you there. You tried closing your legs, but she held them open.

“Open your legs Detka. I wanna see you.” Her nails dug into your thigh.

“F-feels weird…” you squeaked out.

“You're gonna cum for Mommy it'll make you feel better. Go on. Let it happen.” As if your body was waiting on her word, that coil inside of you snapped. Your back arched as your eyes rolled back. “That's a good girl…Mommy’s good girl.” Her fingers slowed down before leaving you. Your eyes closed but soon enough Wanda was helping you sit up.

“Water sweet girl. Take a few sips.” You did as told, knowing Wanda always knew best. When she felt you had enough she tapped your cheek and you let go.

She helped you clean yourself up, the cool towel feeling nice against your hot skin and then into pajamas which only consisted of an old band t-shirt of Wanda's and a pair of your panties. As she got the two of you settled into your bed, holding you against her chest. Her fingers moved through your hair as your eyes began to flutter she spoke,

“We're going to have a lot of fun until your mom comes home.” You smiled against her skin. You almost hoped she wouldn't be home for Christmas if it meant more time playing like this with Wanda.

#ley speaks #ley writes #ley requests #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #mommy wanda #shy!reader #innocent!reader #fem!reader

[leaderwonim]

GREEN FLAGS YOUR BF HAS! ENHA HYUNG LINE

pairing. nonidol!enha hyung line x fem!reader

genre. teeth rotting fluff, established relationship

LEE HEESEUNG

never letting your hand touch the door handles and drives you everywhere

“What are you doing?” You say in disbelief as you watch Heeseung practically trip over his own feet to open his passenger car door for you.

“Opening the door for you,” he says breathlessly, letting you settle inside the passenger seat which was already warmed up and decorated in pink, your favorite color. “Can’t let my princess open the door by herself.”

You roll your eyes, blushing heavily even though Heeseung always said things like that.

“Thanks Hee,” you say as soon as he gets comfy in his seat, leaning over to kiss him.

“No problem baby,” he smiles. “Now, where to?”

“The movies! I wanna watch the new Mean Girls.”

Heeseung shakes his head, grinning as he pulled out from the parking lot, one hand on the steering wheel and one on your seat.

PARK JONGSEONG

always cooking and taking care of you

You woke up to the smell of pancakes, rubbing your eyes tiredly as you make your way out to your boyfriend’s apartment living room.

“Smells good Jay,” you say, placing your chin on his shoulder, slightly dozing off. “Whatcha making?”

“Soufflé pancakes and bacon.” He smiles, positioning his head a bit over so he could give your head a small peck.

“You’re the best Jay,” you mumble sleepily, and he can only laugh at your state as he finishes cooking up, letting you lay your body on his.

SIM JAEYUN

always talking and thinking about you

If Layla was a human instead of a dog, she’d probably tell Jake to shut up from how much he was talking about you.

“that’s your mom Layla,” Jake coos to the dog, pointing at you who was currently running to pick up the ball jake had thrown earlier. “and she’s your only mom, I am never dating anyone else.”

You run back to your boyfriend and his dog a few minutes later, breathing heavily. “Here you go Layla girl, here’s your ball!”

and Jake can’t help but watch with heart eyes as he watches you play with his dog, heart leaping as it falls inlove with you over and over again

PARK SUNGHOON

covers pointy edges whenever you’re near, has your picture on the back of his phone

“Hey, is that a Polaroid of Y/N?” Sunghoon’s friend, Seonwoo questions as he flips over Sunghoon’s phone.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon quickly takes his phone back from his friend. “She’s really pretty, isn’t she?”

“Mhm,” Seonwoo’s eyes drift to you, who was currently making your way over. “There she is.”

“Babe,” Sunghoon says, standing up to wrap an arm around you. His hand automatically comes to rest themselves on the pointy and sharp edge of where you were standing, which only Seonwoo notices.

He raises an eyebrow at this, but doesn’t question it because Sunghoon’s already too occupied with asking about your day. He still keeps his hand there, unconsciously making sure none of your body comes in contact with it.

How sweet, Seonwoo thinks, but how gross at the same time.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x you #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen imagines #enhypen texts #enhypen x y/n #enhypen fluff #enhypen fic #enhypen hyung line #heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #sunghoon #heeseung x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jake x reader #sim jaeyun #park jongseong

[lizzieisright]

OMG I WANNA BREED OMEGA ABS

right???? me too! I want Abby to have my kids

female alpha!reader x omega!abby

Palestine: what can you do

Tags: dead dove: do not eat. a/b/o universe (female alphas have dicks), modern AU, absolute filth, breeding kink, reader goes into rut.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

There's one thing Abby loves the most about your ruts: you absolutely lose control. Her sweet, patient, ridiculous alpha has so many restraints - you can try to hide it all you want, but Abby knows. She knows it when you grip her thighs too hard and then immediately release her, because you're scared to hurt her. She knows it when your bites are a little harsh and your growling is a lot louder. 

But no matter what Abby does, she can't break you on normal days - she might beg you when she's in heat and you will get a little rough because whatever Abby wants during heats, Abby gets, but you never show your full alpha with her. 

(“It goes against my nature.” you tell her when Abby asks you why you don't let yourself let go. 

“You're an alpha, baby, it is your nature.” Abby smirks.

“And you're my omega, so I can't hurt you. I almost had a heart attack when you fell on your skates last week, I can't handle smelling your hurt and know that I caused it.”

Understandably, Abby drops to her knees and makes you cum down her throat. You have no idea why, but talking about how much you care about her makes Abby so fucking horny.)

But then your rut comes, and every time Abby notices the change in your scent, she gets excited. And horny. 

You smell her lust and it drives you absolutely crazy when you're in pre-rut. You're more territorial and smelling how much your omega wants you makes you want to fuck her literally everywhere. You can't stop scenting her, constantly rubbing against her, and it only makes Abby hornier. So it makes you hornier. 

Ellie stays away from both of you, because you make her horny and because she and Dina still dance around each other, she can't do anything about it. Plus you start growling at her like an idiot every time she gets too close to Abby. (It makes Abby laugh, so you don't feel too bad about it)

This time your rut starts when you and Abby are cooking dinner. It hits you so hard you almost cut the meat through the board, and Abby grunts quietly when your scent gets into her nose. 

“Shit. Fuck.” You pant. Your hands are shaking, but you keep cutting. “We need to finish cooking first.” You tell Abby and she nods, suspiciously obedient. “Fuck, did I use my voice on you?”

“Yup.” Abby sighs shakily. “We need to finish this fast. No talking. If we talk, we will fuck.” 

You chuckle, but agree with Abby. Right now you can only think about how and where you want to fuck Abby, and you can smell her getting hornier - getting wetter - and if you open your mouth, you'll end up fucking her on your dinner table. Or on the counter. Or just standing, fucking her from behind-

Yup. This is exactly why Abby said no talking. 

It's amazing how fast you finish cooking. Abby sighs, relieved that you managed to do everything and not burn the kitchen down, but then there's heavy silence. She takes a sniff and looks at you. 

You're barely keeping it together: eyes red, fangs lengthened and you cock making a tent in your joggers. Abby has the sudden urge to run and she swallows. You look dangerous - like any alpha in rut, all your instincts are in overdrive, so you watch Abby like she is your prey - and it makes Abby wet. 

“Wait.” Abby tells you when you step closer, and you stop. God she fucking loves seeing you like this, half-animalistic. One day you'll sync and Abby will enjoy it thoroughly. 

And then Abby bolts out of the kitchen. You stare after her for a second, but then your instincts kick in and you run after her. You catch her before she can get inside the bedroom and press her into the door, holding her hands behind her back with one hand while you growl into her ear and grind against her ass, your other hand gripping her hair. Abby didn't think it would actually work, but your control doesn't exist anymore, and this is exactly what she wanted.

“You're not going anywhere.” Abby whimpers and presses her butt into you. “Oh, it's what you wanted, huh?” You gently bite her neck and Abby whines.

“Yes-fuck.” Your pheromones are so heavy Abby can't think, get head full of horny fog. “Breed me, alph- uh!”

You sink your teeth into Abby's shoulder so hard she thinks you fucking mated her - and the thought of it makes her cum immediately. She shakes and whines in your arm while you lick your bite and hump her ass. 

“Mine.” You growl and pull Abby closer, supporting her weight since her legs are wobbly. You let go of her hair and pinch her tit. “I'll never let you go, you're mine, no one can have you.” Abby groans and wiggles one of her arms so she can stroke your cock, making you grunt into her ear. “Love you so fucking much.” You growl and give her cunt a squeeze before opening the door and pushing Abby inside. 

You don't give her time to do anything, ripping the clothes off her, but Abby is so horny she gets absolutely stupid, mesmerised by the wet patch on your pants where your cock has been leaking. It makes you smirk: it looks like your rut makes Abby more desperate than her heat. You look into her pretty golden eyes and feel like you'll tear her apart. 

Abby claws at your clothes and gets rid of your t-shirt, happy there's no bra underneath and she can watch your pretty tits with no time wasted. She latches on one of your nipples and you grab her hair roughly, making her moan. You don't have patience for foreplay right now.

“Lie down.” Abby moans louder: she loves when you use alpha voice on her in bed. 

Abby lies down and opens her legs for you, showing her soaked cunt, and your eyes get darker. You can't wait - usually you'd at least fuck her with your tongue or fingers first, but rut makes you selfish - you hurriedly take your pants off and free your cock. Abby watches the drop of precum slide down and bites her lip, she needs you.

Abby strokes her cunt to get her hand wet and then wraps her fingers around your cock, pumping it just like you like it. You groan and pinch her nipples, making her jump - she is sensitive when she is pheromone high. 

“You're so fucking wet.” You smirk and align your cock with her soaked hole, pushing inside in one thrust. Abby whimpers and throws her head back, not ready to be stretched like this, but enjoying it so much. “Just like that, baby, take it.” You murmur as you bottom out. 

Abby tilts her hips trying to get you deeper, moaning your name, and you finally break. You pin her thighs and start thrusting into her hard, not giving her time to adjust, and Abby is in heaven - your cock feels amazing, but the way you treat her feels even better. 

You can't help your moans: Abby's pussy feels so good, so wet and hot and tight, her walls clenching on you like she doesn't want you to pull out. 

“Look at you, you're not letting me go.” You growl into Abby's ear and she clings to you, buries her nose in your scent glands, while you fuck her deep and hard. “Want my kids so bad, huh? Want me to breed you like a good omega you are?”

“Please, oh god! Yes, breed me, mark me, please!” Abby whines into your ear. “Want you to knot me so fucking bad.” 

You growl and start rubbing Abby's clit, her moans and whimpers echoes through the room. It takes two more thrusts for her to cum and you smile at her, absolutely feral as you watch her coil and shake under you, her walls trapping you inside her. 

“God, you feel it, baby? Don't worry, I'll cum inside, make you so full of me that next time when I fuck you with my tongue I'll be able to only taste myself.” 

Abby moans and her scent spikes, making you fuck her harder, bite her harder - she mewls and arches into you, submitting fully. It's the most addictive feeling in the world when you're in rut, and you can't help yourself but to wrap your hand around Abby's throat firmly, holding her in one place while you fuck her. Abby bares her throat in response and your pace stutters for a second. You're close. 

“Wanna be the mother of my children?” You grunt in Abby's ear and she whimpers, little “mm”s of agreement and you bare your fangs. “Gonna take my knot, baby?”

“Yes! Shit, please- knot me, make me yours, please-” 

You hiss and thrust especially hard, and Abby claws at your shoulders and chest, overwhelmed. She feels your knot catching on her hole and drives her crazy. 

You lean down to nuzzle into Abby's scent glands while you chase your own release and Abby wraps her legs around you, pressing you closer. She feels your fangs on her neck and shudders, desperate.

“You're so fucking big-” She whines and you thrust deeper, making her choke on her own moans. “Alpha-” 

You groan, weak to Abby calling you alpha, and smash into Abby, pushing your knot inside her and filling her up with your cum. Abby feels your cock pulsate inside her and starts rubbing clit, clenching around your knot, whining like a bitch in heat. You groan and lick her neck, collecting her pheromones on your tongue, and something in your brain explodes. 

“Cum, baby. You're gonna be so tight around me not even a drop will leak.” Abby shudders and whines more, the rumble of your voice vibrating through her. She groans loudly and cums, her whole body squeezing you: her cunt and her legs and her arms, while she bites your shoulder like a kitten. “Fuck yes, pretty girl.” 

For a few minutes you both just shake and whine as the aftershocks hit you. Abby keeps clenching around you, and your cock twitches inside her, pressing on her sensitive walls while you knot stretches her. You keep rocking your hips as much as you can, still cumming, and Abby opens her legs wider, letting you sink even deeper and you moan. It's fucking perfect. 

The pheromone stench eases up and you feel more relaxed, more clear. Abby giggles under you and brushes her soft fingers over your back. 

“Shit.” Abby sighs and you kiss her tit. You frown: you neglected her pretty tits the whole time. Unacceptable. “Already?”

“You know how horny I am during my rut.” You murmur and take her nipple into your mouth while Abby pats your head. She sighs and tilts her hips, changing the pressure on your knot, making you grunt. “And I love when you cum on my knot. Feels fucking amazing.”

“That's because you wanna knock me up, sweetheart.” Abby chuckles and moans when you bite her nipple. 

“Like you don't want it too.” You smile and snake your hand between your bodies to rub her clit. Abby sighs happily and relaxes: you're slow and gentle right now. “You know what.”

“M?”

“I'm hungry.”

Abby laughs and you both hiss when she clenches as her abs contract. You run your fingertips over her taut muscles, marvelling at her lines and curves, and Abby hums. 

“Pick me up, big strong alpha, and we can eat.”

“I hate you.” You whine when your cock twitches at her words. Abby snorts and kisses you. 

“No you don't.”

“No, I don't.” 

Abby is still shocked that you can actually pick her up, but you carry her to the kitchen with ease, holding her up by her butt as she holds a blanket over the both of you. You don't even get plates, just two forks so you can wolf down the food, sharing the pan. 

It's a miracle you manage to eat fast enough before your knot eases up and you slip out of Abby, because when you see your cum flowing down her thighs, you eat Abby instead of your dinner. 

She doesn't complain.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #omega!abby #abby anderson smut

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

summary: "We begin... with a spin."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

warnings: gonna break your heart one last time, Dream is still Dream (reluctantly affectionate)

notes: all good things come to an end : )

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Rule the World (Odyssey Version) by Take That

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?” 

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

“You are the one who wanders. You will do so until the universe ceases.”

“Why?”

“Because you have been cursed to do so. Because you chose no shackles, no roots. You wished, instead, to roam free. And now you shall.”

“Why?”

“Because all is as it is meant to be, Wanderer.”

“Why?”

“Because you wished to break your destiny. And so you did.”

.

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

Book in hand, you step around Hob, licking the dryness from your lips. Copper lingers on your tongue. “Same family.”

He perks up at your subdued comment, arms unfolding from where they rested over his chest.

“Nah, really?” He mulls it over for a moment. “Wait, that actually makes a lot of sense. He was a bit of a twat.”

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

Late evening sun streams through the blinds, bathing the dark wood office in syrupy, golden-brown light. Books and notes lay scattered everywhere you look, each inch utilised fully. Johanna leans her hands on the table, squinting at the grimoire laid open. She’s been chewing on her lip for the last five minutes. That doesn’t bode well. 

“No can do,” Hob replies, hitching his shoulders with a proud smile. “I’m here on strict business.”

Dropping the grimoire Johanna requested on the table, you shoot them both a look, “Are you two done?” Your attention swivels towards the necromancer despite your trembling hands, finding her delicate features pinched. “Can you find Jed Walker?”

She huffs, her brows folding inwards. “You’re asking me to find a needle in a haystack of seven billion, give or take. I’m not a bloody witch. I don’t just cook up locator spells. I deal with demons and the dead.”

Bracing your hand on the table to mirror her, you soften your voice, “I understand what I’m asking for.”

“I’ll need time to figure this out,” she admits tightly. 

Private displeasure colours Johanna’s voice, and you nod in defeat. It’s hard to admit any shortcoming, much less one rooted in one’s power. While Johanna may be more powerful than most mortals can comprehend, it’s not power without gaps. She’s still so young. But, as with all Constantines you’ve known, there now sparks that fiery, stubborn drive, seemingly blazing from within. This is a challenge and one she’s set to overcome. 

“What about the other?” she poses abruptly, turning several pages in the grimoire. Her index finger trails over the yellowed pages, glued to another spell. “Do you have anything of theirs? You said this one has magical protection?”

“It’s conjecture,” you clarify. “But he’s been able to skirt me for over a century, so I’m left with one conclusion.”

Hob whistles under his breath. “A century? Bloody hell, you must be eager to find him.”

Memories flutter to life, birds caught in flight. A tall man with blonde hair, a dangerous smirk, and your blurred reflection dancing across his shaded glasses. Nothing more than a twisted memory that’s all fangs and blood. To file this want under ‘eager’ would be insulting. This specific longing comes with both elation and dread. Horror at what you might discover. This ignorance is no more than a flimsy illusion. You’ve spent the last century following Corinthian’s every crime, experiencing it as if he executed them on you instead. 

“I can’t promise this will work,” Johanna continues, oblivious to your internal struggle. Your attention snags on Hob, who is watching you with deep creases denting his forehead. There’s old, shrewd awareness in how he examines your rumpled appearance. “At best, I might be able to cloak you. Again, locator spells are not my speciality. At all.”

You clear your mind, pushing away from the wooden fixture. “ What if I gave up an object? It’s old, full of history. Would I be able to form a tether?

You’ve seen such spells performed—you know they’re possible and incredibly advantageous when done right. 

Johanna glares down at the grimoire for a beat, silent. Her chin lifts suddenly, her narrow-eyed stare harsh and biting. There’s digging intensity to how she inspects your appearance from head to toe, and you bristle at the probing check. 

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly. “I don’t think you should be doing any tethering to anything.”

Your teeth gnash. “Can it be done, Constantine?”

Tension barbs through the room. Hob sighs, making you even more defensive because you can instinctively tell it’s about to become two against one. “We’re not daft, you know,” he says quietly. “It’s clear you’re unwell.” 

Your eyes flutter shut. Forcing your jaw to relax, you mull over the most palatable way you can deliver this information to them. It’s clear from their wonderfully human determination that they’re not going to let this drop until they have more context. 

“Fine.” Filling your lungs with oxygen, you hold your breath, gathering yourself. How difficult it is to draw oxygen should probably concern you. “Remember how I told you I’ve been experimenting? Well, I’ve exercised a degree of control over the curse. The travelling part, at least. I can force it to take me places I want, but it… costs me. Physically.”

Johanna folds her arms over her chest, humming in consideration. “Cost, eh? How steep?”

These damn Constantines. 

The setting sun warms your cool cheek, and some invisible restraint in you loosens your invisible cast dropping. “Internal injuries. Bleeding, tissue tears, organ failure, haemorrhaging. It heals, but slowly. Excruciatingly so. If I abuse controlled travel too often, I can pass out. Slip into a temporary coma until internal damage heals. Vomiting, mobility issues, dizziness, hallucinations—take your pick.”

You’re avoiding direct eye contact, but utter silence encompasses the office when your words sink in. 

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

Shrugging, you say, “It’s fine. I’m getting better at controlling it.”

“Which part of that is fine?” Hob’s voice is barbed with horror. “None of that is fine.”

You wish neither of them were looking at you like this. Rattled, aghast, alight with shades of sadness. It's so much easier to handle this when no one is standing there reminding you of the ugly aspects of this curse.

“Can it be done?” you bite out. 

Johanna wipes emotion from her face, stretching out her hand, palm up. “Show me this item.” 

Without a preamble, you hand her the roughened wooden figurine. Your stomach roils at the sight. Desperately your fingers clench and unclench in the folds of your coat, blunt nails biting into your palms. The urge to snatch back the figurine is bone-breaking. 

Johanna rolls the item in her hand, scanning it with eyes that see far beyond its material form. She’s digging deeper into what history—power—the object contains. “It might work,” she muses pensively. “I’ll cloak you, but the spell will have a time limit. The further away you are from me, the shorter the timer will be. Whoever it is won’t see you coming, but I can’t promise you the exact location.”

The grim determination bubbling in your gut answers: “Just get me as close as you can.”

.

Swirls of colours and shapes; loud, jarring noises, spinning, spinning, nails raking through the skin—

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

It doesn’t stop. There’s only colour—sound—sound—breaking—madness. And it doesn’t stop for a very long time.

.

A thousand reflections stare back at you. 

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

A rat scurries past your arm, disappearing into the hoary mist, and you flinch. 

No matter how loudly you plead for forgiveness, for relief, there’s only endless despair and glass cutting into your palms. 

.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace. 

A tall, pale, looming man with twin stars for eyes stands over you. 

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

But for the first time since you’ve woken up as you: hope. 

A beautiful dream. 

.

“Who did you say you were again?”

Mighty, leathery wings block out whatever light there once was, the newcomer’s pale hair shining like a halo around their fair face. 

“I am an angel, here to save you,” a benign, soothing voice coos, followed by fingers tracing over your bloodied jawline. “If only you help me.”

“By doing what?” you slur, blood and sweat trickling down your split brow. “By spying on the Endless? On Dream?”

“Do not fear. I alone can protect you. Your purpose is to merely… observe.”

Demons hiss and growl around you, and you flex your newly healed jaw. They broke it four times in succession. So much for talking back. Scorched dirt beneath your feet stains with your congealing blood, and you chuckle. The croaking sound grows in volume until your throat bleeds. 

It’s answer enough. 

Your bones quiver under the sheer power of Morningstar’s displeasure. “Take this one away. Make sure there’s nothing left.”

The demons make good on that order. 

.

Johanna pierces the world map with a letter opener, every inch cutting in with deliberate slowness. Candles flicker, settling after the spell, and you taste the magick at the back of your throat. 

“Georgia, U-S of A,” the necromancer announces, loosening a breath.

“Great,” Hob chirps, his arm brushing against yours. “That’s just brilliant. It’s across the bloody ocean, that is.”

Johnna shoots him a venomous look. “Oh, sorry. Were you hoping for a nice trip down Brighton?”

Hob stares at her blankly in the shadowed office. He turns your way slowly as if mutely asking do you believe her?

You do. You’ve dealt with enough Constantines in your lifetime to ensure their sarcastic, surly nature is no longer a shock. 

“You’re a highly unpleasant woman,” Hob concludes, though no real malice lingers in his tone or bearing. 

“Thank you, Constantine,” you cut in before they can break into another bickering session. “There’s one more thing.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. “Is there now?”

“Magdalene’s Grimoire,” you begin deliberately. Johanna freezes. “I want you to locate it and retrieve it for me.”

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

“You believe it has something to do with your curse, don’t you?” 

Ignoring Hob’s incredulous outcry, you nod towards Johanna. Pain twinges suddenly in your core, and your breaths slow until you get a grip on yourself. But it’s slow. Numbing pain laps at your senses for a debilitating minute until it clears once more. The curse wants to drag you in a thousand directions, but you don’t permit it. 

You right yourself again, swallowing over your dry tongue. Your temples throb insistently. 

“I think it’s old—older than people assume and has spells that no mortal should have access to.” You lean towards the map, examining the range letter opener has offered. You’ve been to Georgia several times previously, but long ago. “Roderick Burgess might have gotten lucky, but the mere fact there’s a spell there that can help capture an Endless… I find that curious. Unlike what your records indicate, he was not the first Magus, but he was the last. This means the grimoire has to be with his family—likely his son—or someone relating to them. I’ll pay you.”

Somehow. 

“Are you joking?” Johanna scoffs immediately. “One of the most powerful grimoires known to humanity? I’ll find it for free. Imagine what I could learn from it.”

Your stare glides to her unhurriedly, fixing on her fair complexion. She visibly falters at whatever she spies in your cool regard. “Within reason… and for the good of humanity. Scout's honour.”

Hob squints at her. “You’re not even American.”

“Shut… up,” she mutters, shooting him another nasty look. 

You tug your coat free when it catches on a chair, slotting your hands in your pockets. “Thank you, both of you. Is the spell active?”

“Yes, but it won’t hold long at this distance,” Johanna warns. 

Your attention latches on the wooden figurine on her desk. It’s wrong—it feels so wrong to have it out of your grasp, to feel nothing more than Dream’s pebble warming your hand. You try not to think about him now or your last conversation together. Instead, you focus on the thread woven around your heart, tugging you away and over the ocean. 

“I won’t be back for at least two weeks, but see what you can discover in that time,” you tell them. 

Hob balances on his heels, presenting Johanna with a charming grin. “Well, I guess I ought to help you.”

The sorceress scowls. “I don’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

Levelling them with a fond look, you wordlessly head towards the door while they verbally spar. Your hand briefly braces your chest, feeling the unsteady thud beneath your palm. You’ve been jumping too often, too far, and too rapidly for your body to recover. But just a bit more. Then you can rest. 

You’re almost at the end of a darkened hallway before an urgent voice sounds behind you, accompanied by brisk strides in your direction. 

“Wait, wait…”

You’re not even slightly surprised to hear Hob behind you or feel his fingers wrap around your bicep. Street light filtering through the window paints over his taut features, creating a pronounced tale of two sides. Light and dark. Young and older than anyone can comprehend. Quite fitting for both of you. 

“Take me with you,” Hob says, imploring edge laced beneath his lighthearted manner. It pinches your heart. “You know what they say: two immortals are better than one, eh?”

If things were less dangerous, less volatile, if it were anyone but Corinthian, you would take him up on his offer. You would love nothing more—two immortals going on an adventure. Hob has known the same horrors, similar hardships, countless failures and highs. Together you’re as effortless as breathing, as familiar as old friends meeting after years apart. You’ve felt that kinship with him from the first moment you locked eyes in that overcrowded pub, sitting there soaked and miserable. 

But this is the Corinthian. Even if Hob is the one human with nothing to fear from the nightmare, this goes much deeper. Soul deep. Perhaps deeper still. This conflict is between you, Corinthian, and Dream. It’s always been a tale of three parts, interwoven into a single, unbreakable thread. 

“Hob Gadling, you are a gem,” you say softly, placing your hand on his warm cheek. An unsure smile forms across his mouth. “And maybe one day I will. But this… this is something I must do alone.”

“You don’t, though. You realise that, right?” Hob argues softly, fiercely. “There are people who care about you.”

You think about the Dreaming and its occupants, all the mortals and other beings you’ve encountered in your many travels. Friends and companions who have told you to visit, stay, there is always a place for you here even when they knew you could do no such thing without putting them at risk. You think about the Endless—your becoming and undoing.

Your hand slips away from him, your faint smile hollow. “I do. Two weeks.”

.

The Endless are formidable individually. The raw power holding this universe together, given form and reason. Their realms are kingdoms that put others to shame. You’ve visited plenty by now to draw the unsurprising conclusion. Dealing with each sibling is an exercise in patience, tact, and subtle respect in differing shades. 

Sitting in the same room as seven of them makes you want to crawl out of your skin and run for the hills. You’ve met them individually in the past. There’ve been a handful of occasions where you encountered several simultaneously. But never all together in the same room like this. 

They’re terrible and wonderful and so suffocating in their casual existence that every instinct in your mortal body warns you of one indisputable truth:

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Death shakes her head promptly, giving you a stern glance. “Nonsense, sweetheart,” she asserts. “You’re right where you belong. Isn’t that right, Destiny?”

Destiny of the Endless sits unmoving, only his mouth visible behind his flowing, beige hood. His hand rests on the Book of Destiny, pale but relaxed. Whenever Destiny does move, the chain connecting him to the book rattles through your bones. 

He hosts these family gatherings, though all Endless have equal prominence in this universe and its continuous function. Despite it, from your angle, it appears as if he’s the one at the head of the table. Oldest and certainly the most overwhelming in his sheer aura. It took him a simple swipe of his hand for an additional chair to materialise at the table for you. For his fluttering, eerily silent attendants to lay a plate and glass on either side of you. 

“All is as it should be, sister,” Destiny replies, his voice whistling wind through dry leaves. 

Your pulse beats against the curve of your throat. If your stomach weren’t already empty, you would likely be throwing up right now. 

Death grins brightly, pleased. Her smile is no doubt meant to be reassuring when she angles back towards you. “See, that’s a yes.”

Your words form clumsily on your tongue, “I didn’t mean to impose—”

Sitting on your left, Delirium tightens her grip on you, cutting your words short. Her chair had been dragged towards yours, your arms linked despite the uncomfortable angle. The scent of leather, sweat, and burnt sugar bites into your nostrils. Today, her hair keeps flickering between bright orange, yellow, and neon green. 

“Uhm… impose?” she mutters. Her words flow so swiftly that it’s an effort to keep up. “No, no, imposing to be imposed on, and, um, imposing is impolite. What is impolite?”

“To impose would be impolite, yes.” Your words come out measured. “Like that man. You went into his home.”

“Well, he, well, he wasn’t a very good man.” Delirium’s voice thins, frustration biting into each syllable. On your other side, you sense Destruction turning in your direction. Tension blinks out from Delirium’s lovely features, her different-coloured eyes shining in the dimly lit room. “I made him see colours. Really pretty, pretty colours.”

Yes, she certainly did. You’re hopeful the man received a swift death via villagers, others having no doubt concluded him mad or consorting with devils and demons. As if to illustrate her point, Delirium lightly positions her thumb and index fingers together, forming an O. She giggles, blowing air, and much to your unspoken wonder, multicoloured bubbles float through the air. Some remain bubbles, bloated and bobbing. Others shape into animals and birds. 

“I am not an Endless,” you remind, feeling foolish for doing so. As if anyone could mistake you for one of them. Your eyes briefly skim over each sibling, shifting in your seat for the dozenth time. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be here.”

Despair, sitting opposite to you beside her twin, hoods her eyes. The metal hook on her finger digs into her chin. Blood bubbles beneath the honed metal. “Yes. Mortal.”

Her whispering, thin voice blankets you, and your insides ball up. 

Destruction chuckles on your right, deep and echoing in the dining hall, smoothing over your suddenly chilled, clammy skin. “Sister, do you meet many mortals who live over three hundred years? I see no harm in you being here, dear Wanderer.”

Desire stretches indolently in their seat, candlelight washing over their indescribable features. Scoff ripples from their chest, their chin dropping in their open palm. 

“Right, is anyone else opposed to Wanderer being here?” Desire voices, sweeping a challenging look around the table. When no one speaks, Desire shrugs, arms open at their sides. “See, sweet thing, relax. Have some fruit.”

They pointedly push the fruit basket closer towards you. The fruit does look tasty, and you hadn’t eaten in two days, but don't think you can stomach it right now. 

Dream casts an inpatient glance Destiny’s way. In extravagant robes, Dream Lord appears the most disgruntled with being summoned. “Why are we here, Destiny? You do not call upon the family without a cause.”

Destiny’s answer comes predictably vague: “You are here, brother Dream. That is all.”

Despite your unease to be dropped into their family meeting, annoyance pinpricks you at his words. Always the same ambiguity, always what the book dictates, and never what someone might feel. Destiny is not human. It would be unfair for you to hold any of the Endless to mortal standards. For you to expect them to comprehend sentiments that are so far out of their reach. 

It doesn’t take away from the sting, though. At least this time, the curse was mindful enough to drop you inside Destiny’s stronghold inside the Garden of Forking Ways. Last time, you found yourself helplessly lost inside the boundless maze for weeks. Destiny did nothing to aid you—it was as it was meant to be. You associate him most closely with that wild animal fear and sheer helplessness. You can’t help it. 

“Why the rush?” Desire calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Eager to get back to another failed relationship, sweet Dream?”

Shadows coil around Dream Lord’s feet, seated between Delirium and Death. You silently question if it’s a purposeful partition. 

“That’s enough from you, sibling,” Dream warns. 

Desire’s lovely mouth spreads into a quick, beaming smile; all teeth bared and tawny eyes aglow with sadistic amusement. A predator having scented blood. “Oh, come on now,” they coo. “We all come here to talk as a family; even lovely Wanderer is present. Yet you think yourself above everything. Your realm, your rules—we’ve heard it all before! You’re oh so dull.”

Despair slumps beside her twin, face downcast. “Dull. Yes, rather dull indeed.”

“And are you perhaps bored, my sibling?” Dream returns, a slight pinch to his imperious features. His voice remains perfectly aloof. From this outsider’s perspective, it’s easy to see why Desire views Dream as supercilious. “Did you run out of adequate ways to amuse yourself?”

Momentarily swallowing down your fear, you slant your head over to one side, “Dream.”

Dream pauses at your drawn, anxious expression. The ignited stars dim, draining away, but the hard slant of his broad shoulders doesn’t drop. 

“Oh, don’t run to his defence.” Desire’s voice is just edging on goading. Their nails tap on the wooden table when they cross their legs, leaning towards you. “This is quite characteristic. Surely you find him just as insufferable as the rest of us?”

Death’s retort is whip-sharp. “Desire. Shut up.”

Others around the table appear calmly accepting. They’ve seen this fight play out in the past a thousand times. While you’ve never demanded reasons for the bad blood between the two Endless, it’s clear it runs deep, a problem stemming from innumerable centuries long since past. And very clearly not a situation for you to get involved in. You’re not naive or arrogant enough to assume you can fix their problems for them. Neither Desire nor Dream seems particularly invested in settling anything, either. 

But inciting like this is dangerous. Desire has never attempted to spark arguments involving you in the past, no matter how spiteful the mood. 

As if mentally arriving at the same conclusion, Destruction’s rumbling words vocalise your unspoken plea: “Do not involve Wanderer in your quarrel, sibling.”

Delirium curls into herself, her legs raised on the chair and pressing into her chest. Her hold on your arm turns near painful. “Arguing, fights, it's not nice, but it… um… that’s not where Desire is supposed to be. It’s um… it’s somewhere else. It’s in Dreams.”

You’re not sure how to decode Delirium’s words. You once believed them to be mindless babbles. Then some phrases would come back to haunt you months or even years later. Whatever caused the turn in Delirium from Delight gave her foresight no other Endless seemed to possess. Save, perhaps, Destiny. 

Desire’s fingers curl beneath their pointed chin. Desire surveys you, then his older brother, with a feline's slowness. “Well, well. Aren’t you two sweet on each other?”

This time, the darkness curling beneath Dream’s chair becomes physical. Visible even to your mortal eye. 

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily. 

Desire scoffs, dropping back in their seat with a graceful, seductive stretch. Heat encompasses your being, pouring in the crevices of your skin. Desire’s effect is all but impossible to escape this close. 

“Is it not my function, oh dear brother of mine, to sow desire in the hearts of all living things, mortal and otherwise? What are they without their desires?” The Endless straightens just as swiftly, their elbows digging back into the table while they eye you, chin back in their hands. Something cruel and fragmented, endlessly amused, slides through those golden irises—an intent you’ve never seen Desire direct your way until now. “Come, my sweet, doesn’t it get dreary? All those mortals set on your suffering? Surely you have missed the sweet, loving embrace of Desire? I could make you desire anything… even a kiss.”

And then…

The world melts away, and everything once making up your being bows and folds under the power pressing into you. You’re but a child. You are atoms. And you’ve forgotten how terrible their power could be once unleashed. 

There’s only cocoon and darkness and golden, glowing eyes beckoning you, warming you, bewitching you. Your limbs are too far away to control, your will dulled into thin, worn paper—brittle to the touch. Your skin is too hot, and the air in your lungs is insufficient. It feels so good. So good, so good—

Even a kiss, even a kiss, even a kiss—

Your limbs are on strings, tugged in one direction, then another. Distantly, horror chokes you, and you scratch at the walls inside your mind, clawing for some semblance of control, but there’s only a sultry embrace of desire. 

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

“Enough.” Something inside your chest trembles at that single word’s sheer, unbridled power. Your numbed senses are clear but not enough to free you. You're trapped, caught on the verge of awareness. “You dare.”

“Now, now, dear Dream. Did I get under your skin? It’s but jest. Lighten up.”

Few stars emerge in your blackened vision, guiding you closer. They urge you forward to safety, but you’re unable to move. It feels good to be here, so good and hot. There’s no pain, only desire and pleasure—

“We do not control mortals, sister-brother. Their will is their own. Release Wanderer.”

Destiny’s tepid command shreds through the heated, desire-filled veil. You return to yourself with a choked gasp, snapping into your tiny mortal body with a painful lurch. It’s overwhelming. Every sense was smothered to such a degree, it’s as if everything is twice as heightened now. 

“Are you insane?” Death snaps. You’ve never heard her this angry until now. There’s always a smile on her face and a playful gleam in her eyes. But you’re too busy shaking to be afraid. “What was that, huh?”

Your hands convulse. Bloody indents line your palms. Your nails must have cut into your skin hard enough to draw blood. You fought. But what can a mortal do when faced with an Endless? You were erased, folded down to nothing. You are nothing. 

Voices melt into one. You’re too shaken to separate them. When some semblance of awareness settles in, you realise how awful these… seconds, minutes, or hours have truly been. 

You’re half straddling Destruction, arms half wrapped around his broad shoulders, your mouth near his neck. Horror liquefies your limbs, rooting you in your spot. Too much—it’s too much. Humiliation leaves you immobile, but Destruction rests his hand between your shoulder blades, his gaze kind and concerned beneath his bunched eyebrows.  

“Are you well?” he asks quietly over the clamour behind you.

Your chin wobbles. Shame lashes your skin. You’ve been used as no more than a puppet to be thrown at him. On him. Like some mindless whore. A witless worshipper, begging for their chosen god’s favour, not understanding what they’re inviting. How the gods are never kind. How they only use and break for their amusement. 

Even though Destruction doesn’t appear angry, you can’t stop yourself from croaking out, “I… I… I’m sorry.”

His sympathetic frown is visible even beneath his thick beard. He cradles you to him but with gentleness indicating how fragile he believes you to be at this moment. “Do not fret. It is quite alright, my friend.”

“Can you…?”

Your words splinter. The burn behind your eyes turns painfully prickly. Destruction’s handsome face creases further. He nods mutely, carefully manoeuvring your body to a standing position. His large hand presses between your shoulder blades, steading and hot through your thin robes. His fingers fold slightly, protectively. Your gratitude for his unprompted support is immeasurable. An anchor while your knees shake.

“It was a joke,” Desire calls out over his siblings. “Desire is who I am. It’s all in good fun. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

Your shoulders spasm, your back still to them. Your insides churn at the prompt, and you’re unsure if you’re about to be sick, cry, or some horrific mix of both. 

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume… 

How many times have you landed in the Threshold, thrilled to see Desire? How often have you shared jokes, laughs, and peaceful evenings and mornings in the twilight land? What other touch or embrace have you known over three centuries that didn’t end in agony but Desire’s? You’ve told them numerous times you have no preference for any sibling in their family—that you cherish Desire’s company as much as others, perhaps even more so. Because with Desire, you could remember what it’s like to be human—to want and need. 

You had foolishly believed you were friends. 

Now you see the truth. You feel the horrible, numbing heat licking across your flesh—the aftermath of this ultimate betrayal. Desire’s power shimmers on the outskirts of your mind, ready to devour you anew. Rob you of reason and choice. 

“I—you… I trusted you.” Everyone falls silent at your frayed words, scraping through the eerily quiet dining hall. When you rotate clumsily towards them, you look only at Desire. You avoid others. Your humiliation burns too brightly for anything else. “You… just made me feel like nothing. You degraded me. I’m no more than a thing for you to play with.”

Some foreign emotion spasms briefly through Desire’s face—gone in a blink. Their answering smile is so patronising a deeper crack splinters your chest. “Wanderer. Be a good sport. It was simply a bit of fun.”

A bit of fun. 

Desire can be fickle, and it can be cruel. But you’ve forgotten just how cruel they could be. To Desire, this is no more than a practical joke. You’re only a silly mortal. No wonder you don’t get the joke. You’ll get over yourself soon enough. But no one else is laughing or smiling, either. Even Despair in your peripheral remains hunched and mute, typically first to her twin’s defence. 

“Fun.” 

The word shatters something between you the second you voice it. You can see it on Desire’s face. The realisation settling in. There is no regret, no apology. Nor will there ever be. It’s clear from the dismissive curl of Desire’s mouth. They don’t see anything wrong with what just transpired. 

It makes it worse. So much worse. 

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

Destiny’s perfectly poised voice shreds whatever little composure you’ve been clinging onto. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” The accusation rips through the room like wildfire. You shake off Destructions comforting touch, your lungs filling with air and spilling out fire. “You knew Desire was going to do that. That’s the only reason why you permitted me to stay. Do I not suffer every day? Or do you enjoy making me into your little plaything? Have I not been humiliated enough for your amusement?”

Destiny says nothing. 

You shove away from the table with disgust. Your feet tangle before you command your sluggish limbs. Death rise after you immediately.

“Wanderer—”

You flinch away from her extended hand, from all of them. You don’t care what invisible line you may be overstepping. “Don’t touch me,” you spit out. “I never should have stayed.”

Your feet carry you several paces until another, more resounding voice calls, “Wanderer.”

A part of you doesn’t understand why you pause or look back. Dream’s gaze sears into you. Yet you can’t untangle a single thing you see burrowed there. He’s standing as well, his hand flat on the table. Foolishly, you hope he will come after you, say something in defence of you. But Dream is Dream. He’s likely just as clueless about why you took this so badly as others. Perhaps the fury you see glimmering in those starlit eyes is but your imagination. Another pretty lie your sentimental, human heart would be all too happy to convince yourself of. 

He doesn’t move. You pivot away, your shoulders hunching. 

Desire’s chuckle licks at your back, silky and smooth. “So tense, that one. It was only a bit of fun.” 

No one laughs. No one responds. 

Only a bit of fun.

“Take me away, take me away from here,” you sob, stumbling into a shadowed hallway.

For once, the curse listens. 

.

Rivulets of sweat drip down your back. The puddle of blood at your feet is starting to go dark. These observations float from somewhere beyond the dense fog shrouding your mind. It’s so difficult to focus. Wiping across your sweaty forehead, you lean on your arm, breathing deeply. You’ve forgotten how suffocating the humidity could be here in Georgia. 

Mercifully only heat-blurred fields surround you. The vast, open stretch of highway is all you see on either side.

Lights dance in your vision, your ears ringing. Maybe it’s the curse and not the heat. Your limbs obey no command, barely held together by sheer stubborn will to follow the tether pulsing in your chest. The spell’s power is already dimming. You have no choice but to jump. This is your only chance to get to Corinthian first. 

“Come on… come on… I don’t obey you.” Your nails scrape on the heated metal, your head hanging low. “You obey me.”

Your tongue rolls the words clumsily. No matter how much you swallow, more saliva floods your mouth, causing your stomach to cramp. Your knees beg to fold beneath you. Lay down in this tall grass and wait for the inevitable that will never arrive. It’s foolish. Death is far from the worst thing that can befall an individual. It was the very first lesson you learned. 

Digging deeper, you claw and yank on the curse’s power, squeezing it until the bleed becomes physical. Until your limbs rip from one place to another. 

When you settle back into your body, skin stinging, your knees hit the ground immediately. Blood dribbles past your lips, your sweat-covered forehead pressing into the soft dirt. You pant loudly, blood trickling past your cracked lips. Pain is coming from everywhere. Sounds mangle into each other when you attempt to raise your head. Your stomach protests viciously, leaving you dry heaving. Nothing but more blood escapes your body. 

A hotel sign. It’s the first thing you register. You’ve landed near one, practically on it. Your fingernails dig into the dirt as you stumble into a standing position. The tether Johanna’s spell has threaded pulses harder and faster in your chest. There. Corinthian has to be there. 

Cradling your sore midsection, you painstakingly make your way towards the hotel. Relentless heat melts your already nonexistent strength reserves down to nothing. 

Several people glance in your direction when you push through the reception door. In this climate, your attire certainly raises eyebrows, but you remind yourself there’s no way Corinthian can know you’re here this time.

“Can I help you?”

You stumble to a stop, breathing heavily. A man with a tiny hat and a nametag reading Fun Land sits behind a table, his annoyance palpable while he stares at you expectedly. It takes considerable effort to gather the strength required to speak. 

“No.”

You turn to go. 

“Hey, woah! This is a convention-only area. Can’t you read?”

Following the direction the man is gesturing wildly towards, you find a board reading Cereal Convention printed in large, bold letters. The rest blurs, sweat stinging your eyes. You work your jaw. 

“No,” you repeat.

The man’s petulant glare would be comical if you were in a better mood. 

“You can’t go here,” he declares stiffly. 

Your fingers curl weakly, convulsing at your sides. You didn’t come this far to be precluded from finding Corinthian by a goddamn sign. By a cereal convention. Cereal convention. Cereal. At the back of your foggy mind, something nags at you. 

Your brows dip inwards, your gaze slipping towards the man. His bravado stutters, washing away from him. He shrinks backwards the longer you stare at him, his throat working on a gulp. Your lips compress into a stiffer line. Someone brushes behind you, stepping up to the table. Fun Land exhales in audible relief, serving them, pretending he’s too busy to pay you further notice. 

Fine. You’ll find another way. 

Stalking outside, you keep to the shade, leaning into the wall for support. It doesn’t take long to track down the delivery entrance. Every hotel has one, and depending on the time of day, they’re not the best protected. Like right now, in the afternoon, after housekeeping has gone home, leaving only a handful of staff on standby.  

He’s in here somewhere. The hotel corridors melt together. Beige walls and stale, humid air. They warp, smearing together into nothing but sensation. You’re a rat caught inside yet another maze. Sickness churns inside your stomach. 

And then, impossibly, you see him. 

A pale head of golden hair illuminated by washed-out light, his back to you while he strolls ahead and away from you. 

“Corinthian.”

The raspy exhale ricochets. The nightmare stops dead in his tracks. Until this precise second, he wasn’t there, wasn’t real, but with his name, the nightmare becomes a reality. Corridor may separate you, but the spell winks out, confirming your suspicion. 

Aircon buzzes through the long, otherwise vacant corridor. Your heart thunders in your ears. 

Then, Corinthian speaks: “You shouldn’t be here.”

A sob wells in your chest at his drawling, smooth words. Nearly two hundred years you haven’t seen him. Over a century seeking him out, having to live with the ramifications of atrocities he’s been inflicting. And now, here, it’s just you and him. You’re not sure which sensation pulses in you stronger: anger or relief. 

Your mouth quivers, your tongue dragging across your dry, cracked lips. “I searched for you.”

“I know you did,” he replies listlessly, his back still facing you. It hurts, because you were right. He’s been knowingly avoiding you. As if reading your mind, Corinthian raises his hand, and your stomach shrivels when you spot your ring firm on his finger. “I have this to thank you for, but it would seem you found me out anyway. Shame.”

The ring. Of course. 

A small piece of humanity for you to hold. I told you, they’re not all bad. I hope this can help you experience it.

And experience it he did. An essential part of yourself put away in that ring must have given him a sense of your presence nearby. He used your own present against you. 

The Corinthian finally turns to face you, all but unchanged except for his modern hairstyle and refined round shades. You want to say so many things to him that your tongue refuses to work altogether. A great chasm yawns between you, and you have no idea how to bridge it.

“What are you doing?” you ask at last. 

There’s no smirk or sly grin in sight. He’s as closed off as you. Despite his seeming indifference, you read the subtle tension lining Corinthian’s broad shoulders. He can hide from others, trick and lie to them if he pleases, but never you. 

“What I was made to do,” he replies tightly. 

“No. You’re hurting them.”

Corinthian’s jaw locks. “He made me in your image, Wanderer. Now I’m making the world in mine. I thought you’d be proud.”

A disbelieving scoff rips from your chest, burning your windpipe as if acid washed down it. “Proud?” you parrot. “You’re killing them.”

Your harsh condemnation dissolves whatever neutrality remains in the space between you. Prior uncertainty dashes beneath a strain of a century dripping in the blood of innocents. 

“Did they do less to you?” Corinthian’s voice is all nightmare; honeyed, cruel, and seductive. His head tilts playfully to one side. “How often did they torture you? Shun you? Sought to eradicate you? Still you defend them as you did him.”

Your sight muddies, and it takes a shake of your head to clear it. “You can’t punish all for crimes of a few.”

A snarl twists Corinthian’s mouth, his feet carrying him towards you in a measured, prowling stalk. 

“A few? They’re all the same: greedy, selfish, and cruel. The curse reveals. I reflect. They don’t change; they only learn how to hide better.” He pauses, licking his lips as he considers you. Something seems to occur to him, a faint laugh vibrating from his chest. “Do you have any idea how many times I stopped them? Punished them for hurting you? New Orleans in ‘31. Berlin in ‘43. Vienna in ‘55. Seoul in ‘62. Moscow in ‘71. Bangkok in ‘89. New York in ‘00. Why those were all me and then some. I was there. I’ve always been there.”

Each date punctures through you like a stray bullet. Honed and whetted for the single purpose of hurting you in a different sense. A fragmented nightmare. You’ve chased a mirage while the nightmare has spent a century mirroring your steps, keeping you safe from the shadows whenever your paths crossed unbeknownst to you. 

There’ve been times—

You thought you’d caught glimpses of him in decades-long since lost. But unfailingly, you’ve only ever found empty alleyways when you pursued these figments. Eventually, you stopped chasing these mirages. The pain was too great. But it’s never been just your overreactive imagination, has it? He was real. He was there. 

He’s spent a century killing indiscriminately while also keeping you safe. You want to scream at him for the evil he’s committed and cry from sheer relief he hasn’t forgotten you. 

“Then why hide?” you croak, stumbling closer. “Why not speak with me?”

“Oh, come now.” Corinthian clicks his tongue. He turns away, nostrils flaring, then turns to face you again. “You know why. You would have asked me to come back, and for you, I would have.”

His features blur, your words barely audible, “And would that have been so terrible?”

“Come back to what? Dream’s ball and chain?” Acidic words, despite their softness. His rage deflates instantly, a huffing laugh escaping him as if he’s surprised himself with the lapse. “You think he gives a fuck about either of us? He threw you out. You left.”

Indignation flares in your chest. “Not by choice.”

“Then you should have taken me with you. But you left me. All you ever do is play by Dream’s rules. I figured out how to leave the Dreaming back during Dreamfall, but I stayed. Wonder why.”

You have no response to that. You’re left standing there, gaping. For you. Who else? He had no one else there; no other reason to stay other than your presence. 

“So that’s it,” you begin shakily, your words rasping, sniffling. “All this because you believe I chose Dream and his rules over you?”

“What did you do to yourself?”

Corinthian’s voice has gone dreadfully quiet. Fiercely unhappy. Too late, you realise you’re sniffling because blood is dripping from your nose. Clumsily, you swipe the back of your hand over your chin. Crevices in your skin crack with dried blood. 

“It was never a choice, don’t you get it?” you whisper, your words pouring out thick and wet with emotion. “It’s always been you. Always. I was terrified the journey would destroy you. Had I known, I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat.”

Corinthian closes the remaining distance between you, grasping you by the forearms. It’s such a relief to have him near again. You sag into him, trembling. You try to raise your hand to wipe beneath your nose, but your limbs are too stiff to obey. 

“What did you do, Wanderer?” He sounds furious while he examines you, as if only now realising the extent of your deterioration. “What did you do yourself?”

“I had to get to you first,” you tell him. Blood smudges the lapels of his jacket where you grasp it. “Please, you have to stop. They don’t deserve this, Cori.”

He looks disgusted at your words, but your legs fail you before he responds. Corinthian catches you before your knees hit the carpeted ground.

“It hurts.” His words come out hissing, sharp with incredulity. “Why does it hurt?”

Your chin jolts upwards, your bloodstained smile trembling around the edges. “You know why. I’m inside of you. You can’t escape that.”

Neither of you can. You’ll carry him in you until your bitter end, as he will carry you until his. 

“Shh. I got you.” Corinthian tucks you into him when a whimper of pain escapes you. His hand cradles the back of your head. “I’m going to set us both free.”

And then, through horror, darkness closes in. 

.

Motion. 

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar. 

“Oh, yes. This one is with me. Won’t you be a good girl and share that tidbit with others, so we don’t have any… complications. I appreciate it.”

“But I thought—”

Arms tighten around you possessively—the air coils, suffused with thick tension. 

“Good Doctor. No one touches this one. Or they'll have to deal with me. Personally.” 

Footsteps retreat near instantly, the atmosphere lightening in the absence. You’re resting on something velvety. You have no idea where you are, but you know you’re safe. 

“Cori…”

“Shh, I’ll be back before you know it.” Cold glass touches your lips. When your lips part, soothing water slips into your awaiting mouth. After several mouthfuls, the glass disappears. A cool hand traces your face. “Things will be different real soon, you’ll see.”

You reach blindly, seeking. “Don’t go.”

“Oh, don’t worry. After I’m done, we’ll have a Dreaming of our own.”

Then nothing. 

.

Anchor around your ankle. Plunging, bitter cold water, pressure, pressure, a hand reaching uselessly towards the shrinking light above, then nothing—

.

Ropes bite into your wrists, the pyre is tall, and the crowd jeers with open delight. They throw things at you; some hit, some miss. You don’t know if you hate them or pity them. Both, neither. Sahsin’s face is disgusted, filled with hate. She has positioned herself in front of the throbbing mob. When the fire comes, Sahsin enjoys it. When the fire comes, the agony devours all else—

.

Blank page. 

Blank page.

Blank page.

And beneath, a faint, pulsing power of Endless Destruction. 

“My lord.”

Urgent footsteps head in his direction. Morpheus raises his head, his grip on the tome in his hands white-knuckled.

Loyal Lucienne and a rather familiar figure a step behind her. 

“I apologise for leaving, Lord,” Fiddler’s Green begins, flustered but entreating. “But you must help. He’s killing them.”

.

You awake with a pained gasp. Your head swims, your fingers clumsily seeking purchase. 

An eerily silent hotel room greets you when your hiccuping gasps assuage into a steadier rhythm.  Corinthian is nowhere in sight. You wrench yourself from beneath the comfortable covers, stumbling. You grab your carelessly thrown coat on your way out, shrugging on the familiar weight. At least your vision is clearer than earlier. Pain remains undiminished by your fretful rest. 

The hotel is unnaturally quiet—your nerves prickle. Nothing good ever comes from places where there should be life, being devoid of it. Unease pools in your stomach while you stumble through winding corridors. Where did everyone go?

Outside, twilight has settled over the landscape. Your pace increases, your palms dragging across the walls to keep moving.

You find the reception empty, the convention table barren. Except…

“—a black mirror, made to reflect everything about itself that humanity will not confront. But look at you—”

Your body turns to stone mid-step. There’s no confusing that voice with anyone—the absolute power infused into every deliberate, low syllable. 

With a start, you realise your knees have bent, your coat pooling around your ankles. You’re scared. Dream wasn’t supposed to be here. Not when you’re not there to mediate. Clawing at the walls, you force your legs forward. Your bones quake in protest with each step. 

Shoving into the conference room, you find the room full. Hotel patrons sit in neat rows, their heads bowed and eyes closed. 

Dream of the Endless and the nightmare make for a lonely, contrasting sight on the stage: dark and light. 

Corinthian’s small smile is scornful. “I’m not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right,” Dream Lord concurs quietly. “This is my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

Dream’s arm lifts in the air between them. You lurch forward, stumbling up the stairs.

“No!”

You let out a dry sob, pushing past Dream to get to the nightmare. The contours of Corinthian’s face have begun dissolving, singed red at the edges, disappearing back into the sand he was fashioned from. 

Corinthian chokes out a breath, grinning widely, grasping your hand. “Hey, trouble—”

His hand in yours crumbles. A wounded, animalistic sound rips from you. There’s a futile, blind attempt to grasp onto his body as it slips between your fingers. Through your arms, and then out of your life. 

“No! No, no.”

Your knees hit the stage so hard the sound is a thunderclap through the hushed room. Sand lays in a golden pile at your feet. A tiny skull containing teeth for eyes is all that remains and—

Your ring. Corinthian’s faint warmth still lingers on the metal. Wet dots fall into the sand. Only then do you register the tears dripping down your face. Followed by speckles of blood. It seems appropriate that, in the end, he should have your blood also. 

Featherlight touch on your shoulder only registers after Dream’s voice floats through your agony: “Wanderer. I am sorry.”

Perhaps under different circumstances, you would have examined this moment closer—Dream Lord, an Endless, on his knees beside you, his voice impossibly soft. Instead, you want to disappear. 

“I know,” you sob, shaking, half leaning towards the ground. If it weren’t for Dream’s grip on you, there’s no doubt in your mind you would collapse right where Corinthian has. Something mangles inside you, far beyond physical. “I know you had to stop him. I… to me… he… to me he’s…”

Everything. 

Dragging your hands desperately through the slippery grains, you gather them in a smaller circle. 

“What are you doing?” 

Dream’s question is uncharacteristically gentle. There’s deeper awareness that a wrong question could shatter you completely. 

Past your raw vocal cords, you only manage: “I—I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him again.”

You’re not sure if you’re coherent enough for him to understand. Each word borders on a pained howl. Black is rapidly devouring your fading vision. Too much. It’s too much. You’re about to explode. Collapse like the nightmare did, utterly undone. 

Several scarlet drops drip into the sand, and Dream sucks in a deep breath beside you, his grip on you tightening. 

“You’re bleeding.”

He doesn’t get a response. Blackness devours you whole. 

.

Recovery takes three weeks. You’re unconscious for the first two. Another week crawls by until you can move again. 

The simple fact that it takes you so long to become functional only confirms that Dream brought back a broken soul into the Dreaming. You’ve survived limbs being severed. Past incidents where your skin was peeled off. But this goes beyond skin deep. 

You haven’t travelled since the incident. The mere thought induces a fresh dose of cramping terror through your system. The curse, wounded and worn, has retreated. Dormant. For now. 

“You mourn him.”

You jump in your spot. Your fingers close protectively over the ring in your hand. Dream steps into your line of sight, his coat fluttering around his lithe figure. His face is slanted away from you, observing the waterfront. You try to hide your surprise at seeing him. 

He’s been… distant these last three weeks. Not cold, but…

Sad. 

There’s no other way to delineate the forlorn stares that seem to follow you. 

“I’m not an idiot. What Corinthian was doing was horrific,” you say dully, tugging on stray blades of grass. 

Fiddler’s Green has returned, taking his post once more. It should make you happy. He apologised personally for his departure, but you understood his reasonings for leaving. Without his creator, Fiddler’s Green wanted to experience what it was like to be human. What right do you have to judge him for such a wish? Yet memory is a cruel mistress—the recollections of the one whose absence is so torturously felt are everywhere. 

“He took lives that were never his to take,” you continue. Anger bites into controlled syllables. “Not to mention his plan to have Rose become the new heart of the Dreaming. Did he realise the universe would have collapsed in on itself? He had to be stopped.”

It was what had awoken you back at the hotel. It’s only later that you learned the extent of Corinthian’s plan. Rose Walker was the vortex. Given enough time, she would have become the centre of the Dreaming, drawing dreams and nightmares to her. And collapsed this universe as a result. Dream would have killed her—it’s the only time the Endless are permitted to take mortal life, if they’re an active threat—but Rose’s grandmother had stepped in last second. A woman who should have been the vortex if it hadn’t been for Dream’s capture. If the sleeping sickness that swept through the waking world had not robbed her of life. 

“But you mourn him still.”

Unequivocal insistence. Your composed mask cracks around the edges. Lying would be pointless. 

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained. 

Dream’s fingers curl at his side, but he doesn’t look your way. “This was my oversight, Wanderer. Do not bear the guilt for those lost.”

Trees ripple and shiver in the faint breeze. Waterfall roars to your left, while to your right, the dark shores of the Dreaming reflect sunshine like the darkest obsidian. You consider the Dream Lord while he watches the beach with a stony expression. Utterly closed off—same old Dream. 

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet. 

“Their blood is on my hands, too,” you say, turning to go.

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains. 

“Are you departing once more?” he calls out, halting you in your tracks. He’s scrutinising you when you peek his way. “You are not fit for travel.”

Offering a throwaway smile, you shrug. “I’m a rubber ball. I bounce back quickly.”

“Stay until Dreamfall if the curse permits it.” Dream pauses after his brisk request, catching himself with a swallow. Awkwardness permeates the air. “It would mean a great deal to others if you celebrated with them.”

You loosen a reluctant breath, squinting at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

Something shifts between you at the forthright prompt; tightening, warming. Surprise collects in your chest at the fact you dared to ask. But you’re tired of feigning, acting as if you’re both not caught in some bizarre impasse. 

Dream’s lips part softly, his answer a mere exhale, “I would.” 

Light, tingling sensation webs through your chest. You hadn’t expected that. “Under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Answer me something, Morpheus. Truthfully.” With deliberate slowness, you step into his bubble, so close Dream’s lashes flutter as he peers at you. There’s such unbearable weight to his gaze. There’s always been a raging storm brewing there, but this is more. Heavier. “Corinthian was convinced that you made him in my image. Is it true?”

Your jaw sets stubbornly, the nightmare’s name stinging your tongue. Dream’s eyes roam over your features, seeking some unknown truth. You’re not asking about physical similarities, but you permit him this moment. Because he digs deeper, because your heart is in your throat when Dream finally settles on his truth: 

“While I did not recognise it as such at the time, I believe I did.”

You’ve known, been aware of this fact for centuries. Since Corinthian shared his hypothesis, you’ve been unable to scrub it from your mind. But to have confirmation from Dream himself paints many past events in a different light. 

“I made you poorly then… a black mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront.” Recalling Dream Lord’s words, you stagger backwards, your mind whirling with thoughts. A startled gasp pushes from your lungs, your attention snapping back to the Endless. Suddenly all the puzzle pieces slot perfectly into place. “I had it all wrong. Corinthian was a manifestation of your anger for what humanity was doing to me. He was to be your mirror, your teacher, so humanity may choose to be better. So they may learn to overcome their darkest impulses.”

Staggering backwards, words escape you in a torrent, “But it went wrong, didn’t it? You gave him too much of that anger—the fury of an Endless and reckless, unshakable defiance of a cursed mortal. You created a masterpiece by giving him too much. By making something that is so much more than just a nightmare. A perfect hybrid between an Endless and a mortal.”

Dream says nothing in response. It’s the only confirmation you need. 

In the end, you stay. But this time, you’re the one who avoids the Dream Lord. 

.

“You’re always welcome in my chambers, sweet Dream. It’s lovely to see you. Can I get you anything you desire?”

Morpheus strolls through the glossy scarlet chambers of his younger sibling’s stronghold. Desire of the Endless curls with each word spoken, stretching indolently across their seat. Loving malice lines planes of Desire’s face, enigmatic and magnetic as their name suggests. 

Dream moves closer. “I desire nothing from you, save some answers.”

Desire pouts, sitting up, their hands in their lap. “Oh? Do tell. I love a test.”

He’s never understood Desire’s love for games. Petulant slights or wish to inflict harm. To manipulate and use. Once…

He supposes it no longer matters what their relationship might have been once—too many years arc between them: too much history and bad blood. Morpheus prowls through the gallery, briefly flicking his attention towards his family’s sigils. 

“Unity Kincaid should have been the vortex of this age. But someone saw fit to take advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the vortex and I would be left with no choice but to kill it.”

A mock gasp escapes Desire’s ruby-painted lips. Their golden eyes blow wide open, startled and innocent, while they monitor Dream. 

“Are you implying I meddled with affairs of another Endless domain, dear brother?” Desire’s pout wobbles when Dream doesn't respond. The faux innocence melts away in a blink, leaving behind nothing but conniving malice, peering back through a hooded stare. “Oh, fine, was I really that obvious?” 

A brief, cool smile touches Dream’s lips, his words coming out frosty, “No. You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Desire tuts, grinning sharply. 

“What did you intend?” Dream heads towards the other Endless unhurriedly. “That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

“This time, it almost worked.” Desire’s grin stretches wider, pleased. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since my little wrangle with lovely Wanderer. How is she, by the way? Still coughing up blood?”

His younger sibling adjusts their position once again, sitting up straighter. Bracing for a fight, Morpheus realises belatedly. This is a sore spot that always elicits a reaction. But this time, Morpheus will not be giving his sibling the satisfaction. He’s observed Desire’s and Wanderer’s relationship—or what little of it remains—long enough to draw his own conclusions. 

“You do not fool me,” Morpheus begins deliberately. The corners of Desire’s mouth tilt downwards slightly. “I know your fickle heart, my sibling, and you resent the fact Wanderer forgives others but not you. But you fail to understand why that same forgiveness has not been extended your way. We of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them. If anything, they manipulate us.”

“Then perhaps I shall pay Wanderer a visit in person.” Desire drags their thumbs over the edge of their lips, sly in their wily deliberation. “I do, after all, wear your face now. But unlike you, I will endeavour to be a far more… devoted lover.”

Wrath kindles in his chest. Morpheus knows. He’s read about your and Desire’s encounter at the shores of the Dreaming while he was locked away. 

He shakes his head. “Still, you fail to see. We are their dolls, Desire. You and Despair, and even poor Delirium, will do well to remember that.”

Desire presents him with a dismissive shrug, their nose wrinkling. “Maybe I don’t understand.”

“No, perhaps you do not,” Morpheus agrees softly. Circling, he slips behind his younger sibling. Desire’s head wrenches backwards, their gulping gasp nearly lost when Morpheus twists the other Endless’ head back, peering down at the blonde coldly. “Then let me tell you something you will understand: mess with me or mine again, and I shall forget you are family. You lay a finger on Wanderer, and I will make every circle of Hell feel like kindness by comparison. Do you believe yourself to be strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

Desire forces down a gulp, their breath stuttering at the creeping wrath, “No.”

“No, indeed.” Dropping his hold, Morpheus straightens, his jaw rigid as he stalks away, adding, “Remember this next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs.”

And then he’s gone. 

.

Translucent light kisses your shoulders as you stroll towards the looming stronghold, your hands buried deep in your pockets. Your fingers have turned numb from how tightly you’re clenching them. The impressive, stone-carved statues depicting the seven Endless guide your way. Well, six. You pause by Destruction, the only one facing away, unlike his siblings.

You don’t dare to stray from the path. The likelihood of finding your way out if you get lost in the maze again is non-existent. 

The ruler of this sprawling, eerily silent domain greets you at the foot of the marble staircase. 

“I welcome thee, Wanderer, Roamer of Realms, into my stronghold.”

Even at this distance, Destiny looms so impossibly tall, some forgotten human instinct sparks in a warning.

Undeterred, you halt before the imposing figure, bowing your head. “I greet and thank you for your welcome, Destiny of the Endless.”

Only Destiny’s lower face is visible behind his billowing hood when he speaks in a crackling rasp, “You have arrived here for a single purpose.”

No ifs or buts about it—he knows better than that, the book slotted neatly under his arm. 

“And here I was, ready to ask if you’re surprised to see me,” you shoot back jokingly. Destiny does not smile or construe entertainment from your words. You sober, your attempt at levity now abandoned. “Guess we both know the answer to that. I’m here to share some theories if you have time to spare.”

To your surprise, Destiny slips past you, heading in the direction you came from, deeper into his garden. His footsteps make no sound. His cloak whispers behind him, shimmering in the dim, muted light. On equal footing, you have to crane your head to see him. The devouring dark pooling around the contours of his pallid face reveals nothing beneath the hood, even at your angle.  

“You seek to ask questions for which there are scarce few answers, Wanderer,” Destiny says resolutely. “You are far older than most mortals can comprehend, yet your heart remains stubbornly mortal.”

You set out after him at once, your invisible hackles rising. “In what way? My defiance?”

Destiny does not falter, his pace remaining as steady as lapping waves. “That is not for me to judge.”

The garden is vast and a marvel to behold, but the temperature lingers on that unnatural lukewarmness that gives away how unorthodox this place is. The light is perpetually unfading, gauzy in the corners of your eyes. It’s a confusing, strangely profound place. It’s as if Destiny’s realm contains everything all at once but also nothing. A place of futures to come, lives unlived, and wilted pasts. There’s no point in attempting to unravel it. There’s only uncanny strangeness you’ve come to accept. 

“You will spend time in the realm of each sibling—you will dream, despair, desire, destroy, delight and otherwise, and, eventually, die—but you were his from the very first page, and only he will read how your story comes out, a long time from now.”

Destiny doesn’t pause at your reiteration. There’s no indication he even heard you, but you’re a step behind him. A thousand years of trying to get answers have taught you he would not be entertaining you if this wasn’t heading somewhere. The thought of another scrap of information sets your heart thudding. Haven’t you spent the last two centuries piecing things together? Attempting to confirm your speculations before you came here to confront him with them. Your past attempts may have ended in uniform failure, but today is different. You can feel it.

“You told me that when we first met,” you continue, keeping your nonchalance. You’re no more than a child to him despite your millennia of existence—this is the only way to get him to take you seriously. “When I awoke in your garden, alone and terrified, with no clue as to who I was or what had happened to me. I’ve been thinking about those words ever since.”

Destiny slows, then stops altogether. Your heart climbs to your throat. You've paused by his statue, standing at the foot of polished, pale stone. Destiny’s cloak whispers when he hinges in your direction, anticipatory. He already knows what you will say.

“It was you. You’re the one who did this to me.” 

The clarity that clangs through you with those words shakes your knees. Sucking down more oxygen, you add, “Not directly, maybe. I was cursed by mortal power. This much I know for certain. But you made it possible. You led me to this by the hand. Why?”

And like a dozen times you’ve tried in the past, you expect dismissal, or worse, silence with which he’s punished you often. Destiny would disappear from your sight altogether. His patience and unwillingness to give you clear answers are unmatched. 

But not this time. 

“Because you broke your destiny. Tore it to shreds. Painted it red.” Destiny readjusts the heavy book under his arm. “So you were allocated a new path. One of hardship and pain, but one that may lead you to salvation. Should you tread it mindfully.”

The roar in your head is so loud you barely understand Destiny’s low, equable words. 

“You could have told me this a thousand years ago,” you choke out. 

He remains a perfectly barren canvas, but in the tension pulsing between you, there now whispers a hint of displeasure. Sweat trickles down your nape. 

“I did,” he replies flatly. “But you did not listen. You instead raged and ran, and what came of it?”

Madness and despair. 

Stumbling forward, you bite out, “Why? What did I do? What could prompt eternity of this.”

All this pain for crimes you couldn’t so much as recall. Whatever it was, have you not paid back your dues? Have you not suffered enough to make up for your past?

“Forgetting is the only kindness you’ve ever been spared. Or ever will be. Treat it as such.” Cold needles your spine, and a terrible urge to fold yourself into a ball gnaws on your bones. Destiny’s pitch does not change, nor does his bearing, but it doesn’t need to. “In your quest to break, you reformed into something else.”

Your force down saliva, near choking. “Into what?”

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

Silence envelopes the garden. There’s little to no sound in the Garden of the Forking Ways to begin with, but those words blanket everything. Not even the wind seems to stir. No blade of grass moves. This means something; it means something crucial, but you have no idea what.

“What does that mean?” you beseech. Destiny doesn’t move, nor does he answer. Your voice cracks. “Please just tell me.”

But you already know it’s a lost battle. This is all too familiar—the cold, pitiless silence, utterly unmoved. He’s given you all he’s intended to. 

“I used to think you hated me.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. Destiny won’t care. Your feet carry you past him. Briefly, you pause by Dream’s statue, then keep going. “More than anyone else in this universe. It wasn’t until Destruction left that I finally understood your position more. It is a burden to know what others don’t but be unable to speak that knowledge.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that Destiny knows where Destruction is. 

The Prodigal’s statue pierces your vision, making you squint into the hazy skies above. Your following words slip out, each lilting with breezy ease: “But it doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive you for letting Dream rot in a cage for a hundred years when you knew it was coming, when you could have warned him somehow. I know you have a duty, but he’s your brother. However, indirectly you let Dreaming decay—my home. You let humanity suffer. I figured it out, by the way, why it’s a loophole. Why my book exists in the library, but nothing in other dimensions does. Why I can sleep in the Dreaming but not anywhere else.” 

Destiny stands stock still, his bony arms close to his chest, clutching his book. He displays no outward reaction as per usual. It’s a relief to voice your thoughts. You’re utterly terrified of him, but he’s right—your heart is still stubbornly human, as brazen as the Fates accused you of being.  

“Because if my curse was the will of the Endless, if my path—whatever it is—is so tightly bound to your family, then it only makes sense, right?” You’re not looking for a response because Destiny will offer none. “The Dreaming is the only place where aspects of each Endless manifest. It’s a loophole. The curse goes dormant when I’m in the Dreaming because the only thing more powerful than the curse is the combined power of the seven Endless.”

You’ve waited to voice your conclusions for so long, it’s surreal to have spoken them aloud. You might fear Destiny, but not enough to continue as a coward. He can deny it, but you’re confident that’s the reason. It’s the only thing that makes sense. 

“My siblings have gained much from their companionship with you, Wanderer,” Destiny admits. You quell a flinch despite Destiny’s voice retaining its monotonous quality. “But you and I are antitheses of one another. My brother would not be who he is now had he not tasted that helplessness and sorrow. You are the ink and the quilt with which Dream will write his story.”

His words make little to no sense. Dream is… Dream. What could ever influence him? Much less you. He’s changed since his imprisonment, it’s true, but doubt still nestles in your heart. Had the situation with Gault not proven how those attempts to change come undone in a blink? Despite it, Dream is trying, and it’s more than enough. Change doesn’t happen overnight; not any profound version, anyway. 

You wipe across your face, schooling yourself. “I won’t stop trying to save them even if I’m punished further,” you assert. “I’ll always fight for humanity.”

Even over his hood, you feel your gazes clash, burning into one another. 

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures. 

Squaring your shoulders, you’re halfway between dimensions before a thought occurs to you. “Just one more thing before I go.”

Destiny is as grave as usual, entirely inhuman in his foreboding silence while he waits. 

“It can be broken, can’t it?” you say, scrutinising him closely. “The curse. There are weak spots in its design.”

“That is for you to discover,” he replies, much to your surprise. It’s closer to a yes than a no. “But pay heed. This path will not be forgiving should you wish to pursue it.”

Icy trepidation creeps its claws down your spine. You don’t permit it to show. 

“Nothing in my life has been forgiving,” you say curtly. “I bid you good fortune, Destiny.”

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

.

“Happy Dreamfall.”

Slanting your head, you let your chin dig into your shoulder, smiling. You hadn’t seen the Dream Lord since you snuck back into the Dreaming, seemingly no one having noticed your momentary departure. Normally, there are someone’s eyes on you. But only Dream can sense your appearance and disappearance inside the Dreaming itself. So you’ve taken advantage of his absence. You’ve had too much on your mind since your return from visiting Destiny to seek him out yet. 

“Happy Dreamfall,” you say to the Endless, who comes to a halt beside you. “May Fates smile upon you, Dream Lord. And may your realm of dreams be aplenty.”

Behind you, the castle grounds buzz with activity. At long last, things were returning to normal. This is the first cause of celebration these dreams and nightmares had in over a century. Back home, safe and in a place where they belong. You hugged and drank sweet nectars with plenty, smiling and touching hands. Or claws. But it didn’t take long to slip away and settle out here. 

Perched on the castle staircase, you must make for an odd sight, but Gatekeepers straighten back into their patrol positions with Dream’s arrival. You had left the castle to enjoy the darkening skies, the dreams swelling and blinking in the pitch-black canvas, ready for their journey. The Gatekeepers had clustered close, and you had spent a while simply chatting. You’ve missed them. It had been harrowing to witness them turn to stone while Dream was missing.  

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

Without a preamble, Dream sets out. His gait hovers on ponderous this evening. You’ve gotten used to more hurried, curt interactions between you. Invisible tension stretched tautly. Will-o'-the-wisps dance and sway through the humming evening air. Flowers in your path bloom in different colours, fairy dust sprinkled through the air. You continue on the faintly lit path cutting through the heart of the Dreaming without a word. 

“Are you well?”

Dream’s sudden question shakes you from your peaceful stupor. 

“Busy, but good,” you answer. “And you?”

Dream halts abruptly. You pass him, then do the same, gazing back at him, confused. 

Dream Lord’s pale eyes dig into you. They steal from you, and they give more than words ever could. But this once, Dream also uses his words: “I wish for us to talk as we once did.”

Anxiety pangs through your belly. You hadn’t expected him to point it out. Your lips compress into a stiff, bloodless line. It would be a bald-faced lie to insist something hasn’t broken between you. Corinthian’s unmaking has driven a wedge between you that neither can overcome. The nightmare had to be stopped, but it doesn’t take away from the grief festering in your chest. Most believe grief is an absence, but you’ve found the exact opposite is true. 

Grief is a presence that should be there but isn’t. It’s a weight of memories, of possibilities, of life unlived. Corinthian has become your phantom limb, his absence invisible to all but you as is the bleed.

“We’re getting there,” you say lastly.

His wild hair covers his eyes when his head lowers. Subconsciously, you find yourself stepping towards him, folding your hand around his. Cool and silky to the touch. A breath, and then you feel Dream’s hand curl around yours. He doesn’t move otherwise, muscles sitting in rigid mass beneath his pale skin. 

“Dream,” you call his name gently. “You’re trying. I see that. We’re finding new ways. Now tell me why we’re here.”

Because this path is familiar to you as your own hands. Just over the dark treeline lays the beach. The docks you’ve visited every night in his absence. This path had been your pilgrimage once, and now he’s returned. The fingers folded around yours tighten. Dream wordlessly tugs you with him until soft sand cushions the soles of your shoes. 

“It is a night where anything is possible,” he says knowingly. 

Your heartbeat jumps when he leads you towards the pier, wood creaking under your combined weight. “What are you doing?”

Dream draws you both to a stop halfway across the pier, something close to mischief sparking in his gaze. It’s so bizarrely unwonted you do a doubletake.

“Giving you my present.”

With that, he strides closer. Your mouth dries when he gently curls his arm around your waist. He raises your joint hands, spinning you to the side slowly. Clumsily, your legs obey, your breaths escaping uneven gulps. 

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

Dream bows his head closer to yours, his voice velvet, “We are dancing in starlight, you and I.”

It’s then you feel the tingling, reverent whisper of his power over your body. Your eyes widen when you see faint light needling the sturdy fabric, as if your coat has become no more than a window into the raw cosmos. Galaxies swirl in raging spirals across the once-dark material. Your head snaps to the side while Dream continues spinning you unhurriedly. Your coat is shrinking, reshaping to fit your body even better than it did up to this point. 

“Dream this is…”

The coat settles into actuality. Sparkling dust spills from the material when you shift. Your overcoat has shrunk to kiss just above your knees. More fitted but no less comfortable. And then there’s the way it glimmers like a precious jewel whenever moonlight hits it. 

“I had hoped to give you something more… fitting,” Dream murmurs. You look up at him, your noses almost touching. “It is only right for the one who roams the stars to wear a coat of pure starlight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily. “It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful doesn’t do it justice. The midnight material shimmers with your movement, liquid starlight captured into tangible fabric, and your throat closes up as you examine it further. Dream slips his arm from your waist. He lifts your joint hands, comfortable in his own, and lays a light kiss on your hand.

“It becomes you,” he compliments quietly, releasing you. “Now… it’s time.”

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

Was this not it? Thick emotions still coat your tongue, lodged deep in your windpipe. But Dream only devours you with quiet intensity. 

Above your head, dreams start raining down in shining beams of light.

“We begin… with a spin.”

Your heart stutters to a stop. Water roars behind Dream, wild spray flying through the air. The faint drizzle beats against your face, leaving you gaping. 

“Dream. I…”

He extends his hand your way. “There is no Dreaming without Wanderer Island. Should you wish it, I would like us to create another.”

Your features crumble, the ball in your throat robbing you of your voice. Indecision holds you captive—on the one hand, you want nothing more, but on another, you’re too afraid. What if it all ends up in the same place? You watching yet another part of you sink into those inky depths. 

But there’s something cautious, near vulnerable, to be found in Dream’s guarded features. It’s an effort for him to open up, but you can see the unsure way his hand hangs in offering between you. He’s bracing himself for rejection, for you to leave him alone on this pier. 

You grasp his proffered hand, fingers winding cautiously around his. Dream’s shoulders slump slightly from their rigid slant, relaxing at the contact. 

He guides you to an all too familiar position. You standing at the edge of the pier, him behind you, a hand on your shoulder. A disconcerting sensation of deja vu falls over you. 

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

Black, foreboding waters of the Dreaming spin in ferocious whirlpools. Dream’s elegant hand pierces your line of sight, primed for creation. 

“There’s a small island.” Your voice trembles. You haven’t forgotten anything, down to the exact words used. You conjure the Wanderer Island in your mind’s eye as it once stood; brilliant and shining. The visual blooms bold and alive in your mind. “The grass that grows there is the greenest there’s ever been. And it tastes like sour apples.”

Dream’s hand on your shoulder squeezes lightly. Same amusement, even centuries later. You’re both changed, but a familiar outline of an island starts taking shape on the horizon. 

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, and trees never shed leaves.” It’s pouring from your mouth now, an avalanche of memory. You’ve missed the island so dearly, and details from five centuries ago come readily. “The sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. And…”

Your heart bleeds, fresh wounds gushing. But you push on because it’s not about you.

“And an old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive. Because not everyone has a family, and not everyone needs a lover, but everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. Only…”

Dream’s lips tickle over the shell of your ear. “… hope.”

And then stillness. 

The water settles in a gurgling slosh. In the distance, a patch of land once again floats. There to welcome new dreamers. Wanderer Island blurs. The heel of your hand presses over your eyes, overwhelmed. 

Blindly, you tug on Dream’s coat; a mute request. Between one inhale and the next, wood underfoot is exchanged for sand. 

Everything is the same down to the last blade of grass and tree composition. Either your vision was so clear Dream could pluck every last detail from your mind or…

Or he remembered the Island with the same clarity as you. 

You sink to your knees. Sand crumbles around your digits when you dip them into the pliable sand. 

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

Grass sprouts unprompted around your hand, tiny daisies twining across your thumb. Utterly impossible, yet tonight, here, anything is possible. A choked laugh escapes you. Your cheeks ache from your beaming smile. 

“She’s missed you,” Dream reveals quietly.

Your head lifts in surprise. You stroke the miniature, perfect blooms. “I missed you too.”

With another tickle, the flowers and grass retreat, shrinking into the golden beach. Several moments pass by until you unearth the strength to stand. Dream’s profile greets you. He’s turned away, giving you privacy, but subtle uncertainty lines his features. Sensing your attention, he peers towards you, then past you. 

“Thank you,” you breathe. Despite your verbal gratitude, Dream’s attention remains fixed over your shoulder. “What?”

His low words reach you over the sound of lapping waves. “Are you not going to say hello to an old friend?”

You follow his line of sight. Behind you, at a distance with falling dreams as his backdrop, stands a tall, pale-haired figure. 

Everything inside you falls very, very quiet—all those tumultuous emotions freeze. Your head snaps back to Dream with a stifled gulp. It can’t be real. Surely it’s some mirage, a feedback loop, a ghost conjured from your love for the now-gone nightmare. 

But Dream only slants his head in a marginal, affirming nod. You dare to peek behind you once more. There he stands. The nightmare. Not a twisted joke. 

Your feet carry you towards him without conscious thought; half-running, half-walking, stumbling all the while. Corinthian stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders in a slight slouch. His nude-coloured slacks and white shirt shine like beacons in the pale moonlight. Round shades cover his eyes, his blonde strands fluttering in the light breeze. 

He's a figment. Not quite tangible until your body crashes into him, your arms scrambling to hold onto him. “Oh, God!”

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can feel it, if not hear it. A pained, whining sound bubbles up in your throat, gripping him closer.

“I… how…” You wrench yourself back, a horrible thought occurring. You search his handsome features. That infuriating smirk always curling his mouth is absent. “Do you remember me?”

Corinthian stands there, not moving, with no real emotion on display, either. Your heart sinks. Could it be that he—

Dull throb flares across your forehead. He’s flicked you—

A wide, toothy grin stretches across Corinthian’s mouth. “Gotcha.”

With a choked laugh, you punch his shoulder, hugging him close with a wide smile. “I hate you.”

A pleased hum. This time, the nightmare’s arm settles around you. “Hate you more.”

You’re not sure how long you both stand there. When you do part, reluctance keeps your hand on him. Fingertips connecting to some part of him. Remembering the Dream Lord you came here with—who gave you this, his present—you find Dream no longer on the beach. Or anywhere in sight. He’s given you privacy and time. Your heart softens further.  

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Corinthian’s subdued question tugs your attention back towards him. You almost wish he didn’t remind you. Because now you’re faced with the reality that even though he’s been returned to you, there’s much you both need to overcome and fix. That losing him did not magically wipe away the wrongs he’s done. If you hope to return to the relationship you once had, you’ll need time.

You consider him for a moment. 

“You’re always forgiven,” you tell him honestly. 

Standing in the moonglow, you pretend you don’t notice how something coiled tightly seems to loosen inside him at your reassurance. Instead, you reach for his face. Your fingertips brush over Corinthain’s glasses, and his hand snap out, wrapping around your wrist tightly. Bones making up his jaw roll beneath the skin. Tension throbs between you while seconds tick by. Through clenched teeth, Corinthian unwraps his hold finger by finger. 

You tug his shades away from his face. He’s tense as a bowstring, his head slanted at an angle. The same jagged teeth sit where most have eyeballs. They’re hooded, though. His discomfort—and anger at said discomfort—couldn’t be more perspicuous. 

His shades close as you fold arm temples one at a time. You hold his stare, staring right at those jagged teeth with a slight frown. You extend his shades back to him mutely. 

“But my trust is something you will have to earn back,” you state earnestly. 

The nightmare hesitates halfway to reaching for his glasses. Those pale fingers dance over them before he plucks them from you.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he muses absently. You expect him to put the shades back on, but instead, Corinthian hooks them on his shirt pocket. Turning to go, he calls out a honeyed, “You coming?”

He gazes at you over his shoulder, jagged teeth on full show, and you feel yourself smile.

“Always.”

.

Sun shines luminous and warm today. The Wanderer Island stretches as far as your eye can perceive, teeming with life and greenery around every corner. Flowers and trees bloom everywhere—an awe-inspiring marriage between tropical and temperate climates. The Island once again oozes a sense of magick and wonder that was once so prominent here. No place in the universe can compare.  

“Rebuilding is almost complete,” you begin conversationally. “The Dreaming is more beautiful than ever.”

The Endless keeps pace beside you, a pensive sound rumbling from him. “It was not without aid.”

A smile twitches your lips upwards. “You’re welcome.”

Two weeks have gone by since Dreamfall. Things have mended—between you individually and the atmosphere around the Dreaming. While Corinthian’s return was met with some side glances, no one discussed it further. Dreamfolk trust Dream to make the right decision. Or perhaps Gault was right; they’re wiser than to outright question.  

“The Corinthian has also been making progress,” Dream says. “I am hoping to place him under supervision and monitor his conduct. To make sure what happened is never repeated. Should the need arise, he will be allocated duties back in the waking world.”

Joy flutters in your heart. “Yeah? That’s great. Someone you trust, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And?” you probe. “Are you going to tell me who or not?”

In your peripheral, Dream inclines in your direction. “Yours.”

You nearly trip. “Dream, I—” You clear your throat, pausing. “Are you sure? It didn’t exactly work out last time.”

Dream’s intent scrutiny slides over your facial features. “It was due to no fault of yours. And this Corinthian is the same in all but one function. He will not fail again. He has a different purpose now.”

There’s a solemn sort of finality about the way he articulates those words. A tiny shiver skitters down your spine. He will not expand further upon those words. Whatever that purpose is, you imagine time will reveal it. 

You chew on your inner cheek. “Okay. I would like that.”

You smile at him. But Dream’s expression stutters, overcome by some foreign emotion. His mouth parts, then closes, his fingers folding into white-knuckled fists. 

Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, Dream speaks: “Wanderer. Stay.”

You muster up an uncertain, perplexed smile. “I’m right here.”

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair. 

“Stay however long you want,” he insists softly. “Stay forever if it should so please you.”

Shock envelops you, freezing you in your spot. You’ve told him, didn’t you? That you would stay forever by his side if only he asked. Now he’s asking. Except confusion and unease battle in your chest. Can you trust his word? Did Dream change enough? He brought back Corinthian. He freed Gault from the Darkness. He insists this is a new age. But…

“And if I wanted to leave?” you question. “If I chose never to return, what then?”

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

Dream falters, shackled by your insistence. His lashes flutter, his head lowering in near palpable struggle. You’re challenging him, but you refuse to continue with the charade. If he wants forever, you can’t live with the fear he might change his mind about it. 

“It would pain me, also. A great deal.” He hesitates again, and it’s bizarre because this degree of uncertainty is not something you associate Dream with. “But you are free. You've always been free. The Dreaming is your home. Should you wish to return, its gates will always await you.”

Doubt twists your mouth downwards. “I thought that once—”

“I swear it. No matter what the future may hold. No matter how angry I get, I shall never again take the Dreaming away from you.” Sheer power woven into those words leaves no room for doubt. It’s a vow. He will not break it. There would be a price to pay if he did. Dream’s fingertips ghost over yours, a graze leaving fire in its wake. “I read your book in the library. I did not wish to tell you sooner because I worried you would leave. Because… you were right. I could never understand the sheer devastation. Or the harm I inflicted.”

You drag your hand back, stepping away from him. Dream’s features fall subtly. You face away, giving him your back while you process. Raising the hand he was caressing seconds prior, you cradle it to your chest. Sunshine prickles your cheek, but you ignore it. 

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” you tell him, turning back to face him. “I always knew there was a chance you could read it. So, what did you think?”

He appears pained. At least now you know why he’s been so melancholy these last several weeks. “That I should wish for nothing more than for you to stay by my side.”

Those unadorned words devastated you. 

Smiling through your inflated, overjoyed heart, you mumble, “Stay forever… I can’t technically do that.”

But Dream is unruffled. If anything, you glimpse the beginnings of hope starting to take root in him. 

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows. 

“To what?” An incredulous chuckle escapes you. “Break the curse?”

Destiny’s warning jump back to the forefront of your mind, and you swallow thickly. You don’t dare to ponder freedom for longer than an indulgent moment. 

“Yes,” Dream replies. 

You stare at him. Tall and dark, sunlit and more open than you’ve ever seen him. Determined and golden. Your Dream Lord. He terrifies you. You love him. 

“You can’t interfere,” you remind him emptily. “And I might die.”

“Or you may live,” Dream argues. “Freely. And choose for yourself. Always.”

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

Sudden tension between you loosens around the edges. Once more, the susurration of the trees trickles into your mind, elevating the brewing anxiety. 

A thousand years. The curse has defined your existence and has kept you alive this long. What are you without it? There’s always been an unspoken acknowledgement that you could never break the curse without dying. Simply too much time has passed. No mortal vessel can survive over a millennium otherwise. When you asked Destiny, it was only to understand more about the nature of the curse. Not because you ever assumed you could survive breaking the curse. 

Dream’s mouth compresses as if he’s attempting not to smile. “I would never.”

“Stay by your side, huh?” you mutter, looking away while you mull over your conversation. “And what exactly would that entail?”

His response is immediate, smooth, “Whatever you wish.”

“A companion, then?” Your words pitch lower and silkier while you close the minimal distance with relaxed, unhurried steps. Dream’s eyes darken a shade. “An emissary? A consort? A queen?”

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale. 

“Those are but words,” he murmurs silkily. “For you would be all those things, and more.”

You examine his profile, those starlit irises, the doubt swimming there. Does he doubt you would stay? After such long years harbouring this affection for him? Silly, wonderful anthropomorphic personification. “I’ll stay, but only if you answer a question.”

“Even if the price were a hundred thousand questions, Wanderer, I would pay it gladly. What is this question?”

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinise him. Dream does not balk under your exigent examination, waiting patiently. Biting back a smile, you permit your features to relax. He’s unfairly fun to tease. 

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

Relish bubbles in your chest at the way Dream’s expression comes undone. As if from a thousand questions he was bracing for, nothing could have prepared him for this. Birds chirp a merry tune somewhere in the tree line, a warm breeze ruffling Dream’s dark hair while he gazes at you with utterly confused wonderment. A slight, fond smile curls his lips.  

“A thousand years,” he begins in a bewildered drawl. “And still, you ask the same question.”

You laugh faintly, shrugging. “Well, in all fairness, you never answered me the last time. Which was very rude, by the way—”

In an inhale Dream of the Endless materialises in front of you. His hands slip to hold your face, cupping it with delicate hands as he tugs you closer. His kiss falls over you like stars. Silky, gentle warmth that washes over you with such fervent passion you gasp against his mouth. Your hands grasp onto him blindly. You part only long enough for you to gulp down oxygen before your mouths meet again, and again, and again, burning with need unquenched. Heat spreads through every inch of you. A thousand years being cold, floating unearthed, but now someone is holding you. 

Dream presses another kiss to your mouth, desperate and hungry, gentle in his handling, and you return it with equal enthusiasm, equal need. Dizziness envelops you, and Dream pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. You shudder, a delicious heat licking up your senses. This closeness hurts better than anything ever has. You remind yourself to breathe, to remember this is real, he’s here, holding you, and nothing matters in this moment. Whatever the future holds, you do not fear it. Because Hob was right: there are people out there who love, and that makes all the difference. 

Dream’s thumb grazes over your bunched-up cheek. Your smile is wide enough to light your entire face. 

It continues with a gentle, rasping: “I’ll tell you one day, stardust.”

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

I set out to write nothing more than a fun little story that I expected to have maybe 3-4 parts max. Something entirely self-indulgent and fun for no one but me and maybe one or two mutuals. I never quite expected it would become as beloved as it did. I suppose here, in the end, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who read this and supported it. Be it by commenting, making edits/art for it or just sending me encouraging/funny messages. You guys are the reason this story became what it did. I'm immensely grateful for each and every single one of you. It was a rough month, but I'm glad I could offer you this conclusion at long last. Thank you for being here, thank you for being kind, and thank you again for reading.

Goodnight, and see you all in dreams, wanderers ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #sandman imagine #morpheus imagines #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #sandman fic #fanfiction #sandman netflix #sandman neil gaiman #morpheus fic #dream fic #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

[gh0stsp1d3r]

I have this Carmy request if it’s okay hehe

Carmy x fem!reader where she’s new to Chicago and desperately needs a job, she’s newly pregnant (her bf having run off the minute she told him she was pregnant), so she walks into a new upcoming restaurant for a job, The Bear. She’s rambling and apologizing as she shows Carmy her résumé because she has no experience in the food industry (she was an elementary teacher for a couple years before), but also telling him she really needs a job because she’s alone with a baby on the way. He really wants to help her, so he hires her either as a hostess or an assistant (he didn’t want her in the kitchen just for safety reasons (her being pregnant), and because she doesn’t have experience in the kitchen). Anyways, The Bear staff embrace her like she’s family, always looking out for her, Tina mothering her, Syd becoming her best friend, Marcus making sweets whenever she’s craving it, even Richie being super soft with her, but Carmy especially gets REALLY close with her, like to the point where he’s driving her to and from work (b/c she doesn’t have a car), he’s taking her to her prenatal appointments, letting her take breaks in his office (her napping on his couch), him even being there for the birth of her daughter because she doesn’t want to be alone, etc…

Also The Bear staff throwing a baby shower for Y/n🥺 Her showing up at work and being surprised to it🤧🤧 Y/n definitely crying into Carmy’s chest🤧

Anyways, they officially start dating close to the end of her pregnancy, and honestly they both fall head over heals 🤧

Y/n’s daughter’s first word being directed at Carmy… “Dada”😭 Carmy melting😭😭

ℳℴ𝓇ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔

stop this is so cute.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Your chances of finding a place to work were slim to none- you tried everywhere, the Walmart, Walgreens, even the random corner store. But because you were pregnant, they wouldn’t hurt you.

Of course your asshole of an ex boyfriend ran away the second he heard you were pregnant, while you cried and begged for him to stay. But you could get through on your own- you know you could.

You opened up the doors, a man conversing with a woman behind the counter. They both turned to the door upon hearing the bell ring.

“Hello..” you said, with a small wave, walking towards them.

“Hey, uh, sorry, but we’re actually renovating right now.. in case you missed the sign-“ the man started, but you handed him your résumé, and he stopped talking as he glanced over the words.

“I’m actually here for the job.” You said.

“Okay.. do you have any… actual cooking skills?” He said, picking up the paper and glancing at you, one hand was running through his hair.

“No. But I really need this job- any job. I’m.. pregnant, and my ex left me, and I’m about to be a single mother so-“ you said with an anxious laugh, “every other place rejected me, I swear I-“

Sydney’s eyes widened as she heard you talking, she felt bad. And so did Carmy as he nodded while listening to you, the paper on the counter.

“It says you were a teacher before..?” He pointed to the paper once you had stopped your rambling.

You nodded, “Yes. I’m very good with math, science, or anything really.”

He thought for a moment. Sydney spoke and interrupted the silence.

“Chef, can I talk to you for a second in the kitchen?” She said, he looked at her and nodded.

“Stay here, please.” He said to you, turning around and following Sydney.

“What’s up?”

“I think we should hire her.”

“I don’t wanna kick her out and leave her on the streets. But what could she be?” Carmy said.

“An assistant or something.” She shrugged.

“That could work..” he said, picturing it. He nodded and opened the doors again.

“Would you wanna be an assistant?” He asked you, your eyes lit up and you quickly nodded.

“Please.”

“You’re hired.” He said, and he felt like he did the right thing when you smiled, thanking him multiple times.

You were perfect with the rest of the family, they all loved you. Even Richie did.

Carmy had especially grown close to you and your child, so close that every day your daughter saw him, she ran up and hugged his legs with a giant smile.

He had taken you to doctor appointments, and he had made you any cravings you had when pregnant. It was close to the end when you both started dating.

He was there when you gave birth, holding your hand and helping you through it all. He loved your daughter and you more than anything else.

You smiled as you entered the bear, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as you saw him. You kissed him, getting lost in it until your daughter started babbling.

You laughed as you both pulled away, you picked her up, and handed her to Carmy.

“Hey!!” He said in that sweet baby voice that you loved, it was adorable. He looked at her with a smile and tan a hand through her hair, moving it from her face.

“Addy.” She said, and you both looked at each other for a second and back to her.

“Is she trying to say…” you started.

“I think so.”

“Who’s that, baby? Is that daddy?” You spoke to her.

“Daddy.” She said. His eyes widened, as he smiled and laughed at her. You laughed with joy as well.

“Holy…”

“Awww!” You said, he smiled and gave her a small kiss on her forehead. His heart melted when she said that, he was overjoyed.

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto blurb #carmen berzatto fic #carmy blurb #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x you #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto

[talkfastlibrary]

A Second Meeting—Jake Seresin (An Arrangement Series)

**the dress photo is simply for the outfit not how I imagine reader to be! So it’s here simply for outfit choice🙂

An Arrangement Masterlist

Follow here for all updates as I do not have a taglist

Synopsis: you meet up with Jake again to discuss The Arrangement but your questions remain unanswered. Yet, you find out a bit more about Jake.

word count: 2.2k

Feedback is always welcome!

Enjoy!

****

Three days have gone by since dinner with Jake and you’re starting to think it was an illusion or a weird dream. Reynolds has been driving you everywhere just like Jake said which was nice to save money on gas but also strange because you’re not used to this. 

On Thursday Reynolds arrived with a black legal envelope and you ask if it’s the paperwork Jake mentioned. Reynolds nodded and you left it on your counter for two more days.

A week and many debates in your mind later, you finally decided to open it just to see what’s inside. You’re surprised to find it’s only five pages long. The first couple are about him, his schooling, random information, his accomplishments both in the Navy and otherwise, his likes and dislikes. 

Then there’s lists of what you’ll have access to; his house(s), cars, private plane, vacation homes, a credit card of hers linked to his account and then any form of a physical relationship should you desire one. He lists that he’s a good cuddler and gives great massages. He says he will be an ear for her whenever she needs and that he’s as much her companion as she is his.

The last page lists what she’d need to oblige to; the Naval Aviation birthday at the end of the month, naval dinners, weddings, vacations, and family get-togethers. At the bottom is a place for the both of them to sign then a post-it note from him stating your grandmother’s medical bills and further assistance from nursing staff has been taken care of by him. 

A lump forms in your throat at that nugget of information and just to make sure you open up your emails to see the final payment notices from all of your grandmother’s expenses. The papers drop to the floor and you’re soon to follow in a crumpled heap. You start to cry but then pull  yourself together quickly because you know once you start you won’t be able to stop. 

“Keep it together,” you whisper to yourself and shuffle the papers back in order. 

Then you start to truly think of all the things he can help you with financially; you could move your grandma back home, pay off your loans and debts on credit cards you used for your grandma. You pick up the last piece of paper that has his note and there’s a phone number next to it. 

You take out your phone and type in the number followed by a quick text:

I read the paperwork. I still have questions. Can we meet again?

His response is fairly quick back:

Of course. Join me for brunch tomorrow? Reynolds will know where to take you, he’ll be there by 11:00

You simple like the response. Your heart is pounding. 

Are you actually going to agree to this?

***

Reynolds is knocking on your door at 11:00 and he smiles when you open the door. 

“Good morning, Reynolds.”

“Good morning, Miss y/n.”

“I hate to ask…but does this look okay? I don’t want to be underdressed,” you press down on your light green dress. It reminded you of Jake’s eyes. 

“You look wonderful. Mr. Seresin will agree, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you exhale and follow him to the car. “Where are we going?”

“A favorite brunch spot of his called Horizons.”

“Oh…” you chew on your lip as you climb into the backseat. You were almost hoping it would be at his home, surely he has staff to cook for him. Why would he want to cook for you anyway?

The drive is only thirty minutes and you’re tapping on the black envelope with the paperwork you pulled from your bag. You run through the questions you had so you don’t forget them. When you arrive at the restaurant you see it’s along the water, luxury cars are shining in the morning sun. 

Just like with dinner, the host walks you to the back on the deck outside where Jake is. He stands up when you appear, all smiles and so very handsome. He looks wonderful in tan chinos and a green sweater that matches your dress perfectly. 

“Good morning, y/n,” he greets. His eyes slide down to the envelope but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Morning,” you respond shyly. 

“I hope you’re hungry, they have wonderful omelets,” he pulls out your chair. 

“Do they have pancakes?”

“Yes, they have pancakes.”

After placing your order and being given your drinks, you slide the black envelope on the table but Jake covers your hand. You look up and he has a slight frown on his face. 

“We don’t have to talk about that now,” he removes his hand then proceeds to cut up his egg. “Tell me about your week, what did you do?”

You stare at him in confusion and he senses your hesitancy. He shifts his gaze from his breakfast to your puzzled expression. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m so confused and have so many questions about all of this…”

“I know, and I promise we will discuss it.”

“But you said the ball was in my court, so can’t we talk about it now?”

“That depends,” he grins.

“On?”

“By saying the ball is in your court…does that mean you agree and signed the form?”

You close your mouth then huff because you haven’t agreed to anything and definitely didn’t sign for it. You felt a bit of a kinship to the little mermaid, Ariel, signing that could mean signing your life away for all you knew. You were going to voice all your concerns. He smiles back easily because he knows he’s got you, and it’s not in a patronizing way which makes it worse.

“That’s what I thought. Now, tell me about your week. I’ve thought of you everyday.”

Your stomach flips at that comment. How does he do that? He slips in these one liners that always catches you off guard but also makes you feel fuzzy inside. 

You continue your breakfast and tell him about your week. How busy you’ve been, how late you’ve been getting home from work and the constant headache you seem to be getting. While you’re talking you realize how easy it is to talk to him. You spill everything you’ve been feeling and he really listens which is something you’re not used to. 

While he takes care of the bill you gaze out at the water watching the waves ebb and flow.

“Would you like to walk along the beach?” he asks.

“Could we?”

“Of course, I take it you didn’t bring a sweater?”

“No…”

“I came prepared,” he nods, then pulls a cream cardigan from the back of his chair as he stands. You stand up as well. 

“I’ll be okay–”

But then a breeze blows and you shiver. He gives you a knowing look then holds up the cardigan. You turn around as he helps you put it on,  his fingers brush the top of your arms and you shiver again. 

“Fits you perfectly,” he mumbles, his breath blowing in your ear. He’s standing very close to you.

“Is it yours?” you spin away from him. Being so close is making it hard for you to think. 

“No. I bought it for you.”

“What?” you squeak, eyes widening at the gesture. “You didn’t have to–”

“I wanted to,” he shrugs, placing his hands in his pockets. He rolls back and forth on the balls of his feet then jerks his head towards the water. “How about that walk?”

It’s a little steep and rocky getting down to the water, you’re grateful you decided on a nice pair of sandals and not your wedges you were debating on. There’s one more big drop and you pause staring at the distance of it. Jake hopped down no problem.

“Jump,” he holds out his arms, “I’ve got you.”

You inch forward, some pebbles tumble to the earth as you crouch down. You gauge the distance again between you and his open arms.

“Are you sure?” you chew on your lip.

“Positive. Jump, y/n,” he commands softly, his fingers motioning you forward.

You suck in a deep breath, close your eyes and push off. You gasp the short moment you’re in the air and then you’re in the sturdy arms of Jake, his hands curve around your waist and lower back while yours is locked behind his neck. 

“Why’d you close your eyes?” he asks.

“So it’d be over faster,” you exhale.

He sets you down, gently releasing you from his hold. You’re not sure if he did that to keep you at ease or if he didn’t really want to touch you.

“You have more questions, don’t you?” he moves through the sand and you follow.

“Only a hundred.”

You walk in silence for a bit and he still keeps a chaste distance between the two of you then a realization comes to your mind. 

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I have Sundays off,” he shrugs gazing out on the water.

“Oh…” 

“Would you like to sit for a while?” he motions towards a large piece of driftwood that has been flattened enough to make a decent bench. You nod and join him on the smooth wood.

You count in your head to eighty-three seconds then take that as your cue to ask your first question. You open your mouth but he speaks first. 

“Amazing how water can be so calm and then so violent the next, isn’t it?”

You stare out at the water, a few white caps rolling in and then outlines of boats in the distance. It doesn’t look too bad from here but you’ve read about riptides and how dangerous they can be under the surface of the water.

“Do you not like the water?” you ask carefully, somehow this seems like a sensitive topic for him.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs leaning on his knees. “It reminds me of you, actually. You look so calm and peaceful on the outside but on the inside, you’ve got a riptide, a true force. I saw it last week at dinner with how quick you jumped to all of those conclusions about me.”

You sit up a little straighter at the mention of riptides, it was like he was reading your mind. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, no, you have every right to think of all angles of this. I want to know your questions, y/n, I do. But I first need you to trust me that there is no recourse or trap of some kind.”

“How can I trust you when I hardly know you?” you’re staring at him as he stares at the water, the soft oceanic breeze tousles his hair. The undersides of his eyes look a little dark, like he hasn’t been sleeping. 

“You read all about me in the paperwork.”

“That’s not the same, that’s just words on a sheet but it doesn’t really show me who you are. And signing it would feel like I’m signing my life away to the devil or Ursula.”

“Ursula?” he cocks his head to the side smirking, “from the Little Mermaid?”

“Yes. Ariel lost her voice, I don’t want to lose mine.”

“That’s not going to happen. You have a wonderful voice that is very sure and profound. You might be a little closer to the devil aspect.”

“Are you the devil?”

“I’ve been referred to him once or twice,” he nods. “Does that scare you?”

You squint your eyes at him puckering your lips. You notice the way his eyes flick down to your lips and you look over the top of his head.

“Turn forward,” you instruct and he does so, “now look to the right…”

“What are you looking for?”

“Horns. I don’t see any so you must not be the devil.”

That makes him laugh, it causes his eyes to crinkle and you can see how nice his teeth are. He really does have a great smile.

“You’re sweet.”

“Can we discuss the paperwork now?” 

“Not yet, let’s enjoy the water for a bit longer.”

You sit in silence watching the waves roll and flower over the shore with seagulls swooping down low. The water looks so inviting you remove your sandals then walk to the edge of the beach. The wet sand is a little cool but the squish feels nice between your toes. You take a few paces forward and then the water rolls over your feet causing you to squeal at the coolness. You close your eyes inhaling the fresh salty air, the skirt of your dress flapping against your legs and one sleeve of your cardigan falls down your shoulder. 

Your questions are still bouncing around your head but now a new part of you is wishing Jake would come up behind you and wrap his arms around you. You want to hear his voice close to your ear again and maybe see what his smile feels like against your own lips. With a sigh, you open your eyes then turn around to see he’s already staring at you, his gaze intense and smoldering. It makes your cheeks warm and also a little sad because you can see a violent storm in his eyes, just like the one he was talking about with the water. 

What’s his violent storm?

#an arrangement #an arrangement series #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin writing

[kissvamps]

shuriri headcanons

shuri and riri headcanons for the first day of pride month!! beacuse they are my favorite gay people and im getting an immense amount of brainrot, i haven’t been sane since bpwk came out last year

• sometimes shuri will talk to herself and get mad at griot for responding💀

• riri has bonded with griot since stealing him and due to this, she gets on shuri for treating him like a dog

• ‘shuri you can’t be talking crazy to my son like that’ ‘he is not a real person, riri’ ‘how do you think hearing you say that makes him feel?’

• true to her girlflop nature, shuri can’t cook for shit

• says that she’s literally a genius so not being able to cook isn’t that important

• ‘even griot can make pasta, it’s really nothing special’

• riri and shuri made lab playlists for each other

• whenever they’re working in the lab together listening to music, riri will drop everything when usher comes on and serenade shuri

• “i’m ya number one fan, give me your autograph, sign right it here on my heart” and riri be singing down, trust!

• riri loves tupac like idk what tell you

• they love tems so bad, one time they went to one of her concerts and shuri was literally in tears

• ‘we shared a moment when she sang interference, riri, i’m so sorry you had to find out like this’

• shuri discovered hello kitty thru a brief mention of her in a conversation with riri and she’s been a bit obsessed since

• ‘what you doing wit all this paraphernalia?’ riri asked when she visited shuri and there was only a corner of her california king size bed not covered in hello kitty plushies

• riri indulges the obsession and surprised her with a hello kitty lego set

• shuri can’t tell when people are fliriting with her for the life of her so riri does a lot of damage control

• ‘your tattoo is so beautiful, what does it represent?’ ‘that she got a girl, keep it pushin’

• shuri loves getting things for riri and considering the fact that riri literally stole her ai (that will never not take me out💀), she has no qualms with it, though it does still shock her sometimes

• ‘i got you that think you’ve been talking about’ ‘my nigga, a new car?’

• they both have autism like it’s actually canon

• sometimes they bite each other, most of the time it’s random but sometimes it’s literally how they greet each other

• riri tried to make a case for okoye to drive them to pride but shuri said it should be griot instead

• ‘it would be most efficient, besides, it’s not like he has anything better to do’ ‘never a moment of rest for my son’ ‘riri, he is a mass of coding’

• also!! they went to pride wit ayo, aneka, okoye, and nakia too (the wakandan flag doubles as a pride flag omg just gay niggas everywhere)

• and m’baku!! ik it’s sum sugar in the jabari tank

• that fanart @t00thpaste33 made where little t’challa asked shuri why riri calls her babygirl is based on true events, riri laughed for several minutes straight in front of a very unamused shuri when she told her what happened

• ‘my bad, no more spitting game in front of nephew’ ‘you are not funny, riri’

• speaking of lil t’challa, shuri and riri spoil that boy like nobody’s business, nearly half of the projects they work on together are for him and the gifts always baffle nakia

• ‘we brought you something!!’ and it’s his own pair of gauntlets, they look a lot like the ones on shuri’s panther suit except all the detailing is silver

• t’challa’s eyes light up meanwhile nakia is looking and riri and shuri in disbelief

• turns out the gauntlets just blow bubbles and read stories to him (i’m so sick i love them so bad)

• shuri and riri both like horror movies but shuri likes the really bad ones from the 80s with the terrible special effects and riri likes the scary ass ‘based on a true story’ movies even tho they leave her scared shitless

• ‘see it wasn’t that bad’ ‘you refused to go to the bathroom at night without me’

• shuri gets a phone just to talk to riri and because iphone tech is archaic to her she sounds like a grandparent in text messages which typically leads to her sending voice messages explaining mistakes

• ‘um, why i get a text from you saying ‘you look like poop emoji wit the smiley face emoticon at the end’?’ ‘you look like thee shit, thee shit!! i hate this fucking iphone, i hope steve jobs died of suicide!!’

• shuri gives riri her own set of kimoyo beads after a few more text mistakes like that for her own sanity and cuz it’d be so much easier to communicate with riri

• they be blowing each other’s kimoyo beads up like i mean blowing them to pieces

• shuri customized the notifications from riri so now her kimoyo beads and griot just chant ‘pookie alert! pookie alert!’ whenever riri contacts her

• shuri will literally be in the middle of a council meeting and her kimoyo beads start chirping ‘pookie alert! pookie alert!’

• ‘i’m sorry, this is a very important call i have to take this’

• riri turns into the most annoying nigga alive after getting her kimoyo beads (real), grinning like the cat that got the canary telling everybody in wakanda about what her girlfriend made for her and shuri’s right behind her, giggling and shit (they’re so pookie im gonna be sick☹️)

•okoye is so tired of them

• ‘guess what my baby got me? ‘guess, okoye, guess!!’ ‘a muzzle, bast-willing’

• in general, they frequently antagonize okoye and she occasionally finds them funny

• shuri LOVES minecraft

• riri actually got really into crocheting when she went with shuri to haiti and picked it up from nakia so now she’s always randomly sneaking up on shuri with a measuring tape

• she’s literally the ‘what size titty are you’ meme

• shuri and riri go on roblox dates literally every week they possibly can

• shuri be hogging the fuck out the covers but it’s fine cuz riri’s the big spoon anyways

• part of why shuri hogs the covers is cuz she gets cold really easily and riri has really cold feet

• ‘bast, do you have literal ice in this bed?’ ‘those my feet and you know that’

shuri and riri actually make me physically ill i love them so bad, i wish gay people were real☹️

#kissvamps #kissvampswrites #black!writer #shuriri #shuri udaku #riri williams #i love black lesbians #i love them so bad im gonna scream #the brainrot is exponential #bpwk #shuriri headcanons #shuri headcanons #riri williams headcanons #lesbian #kissvamps cooks #be who you areeeee #for your prideeeee

[sequinsmile-x]

Succour

It's Father's Day and Emily helps Jack buy Aaron a gift, changing everything between them forever.

-x-

Hi friends!

Seeing as I wrote a Mother's Day fic it only felt right do to one for Father's Day too. I'm gifting this to @eobangingwhen, because she sent me a prompt for Father's Day that was EXACTLY what I was already thinking of writing!! Great minds think alike and all that.

This was meant to just be fluff, but it's me so some hurt/comfort snuck in. I am who I am haha

I just wanted to take a moment to say if this day is difficult for you I'm holding space for you, and hope that you are looking after yourself as best as you can <3

-x-

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Very brief, non descriptive, references to infertility

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She never saw it coming. 

Whilst Aaron’s initial distrust of her when she joined the team faded over time, disappearing completely when she attempted to quit instead of giving him up to Strauss, she never thought they’d get to the place where she considered him her best friend. 

Over time, events brought them closer. Emily looked after him as much as he would let her in the fallout of his attack from Foyet, driving him to and from appointments during his recovery, and then to and from work when he returned. She’d done whatever he needed after Haley died, helping him and Jack through that first difficult holiday season, spending Christmas with them as Aaron did his very best to make it as normal as possible for his young son. 

She knew he attempted to do the same for her, to help her, when she started to pull back from him and everyone once she knew Ian was after her. She hadn’t let him, Ian’s knowledge of him, of Jack, enough to paralyse her into keeping quiet. The last thing she wanted was for them to get hurt because of her. They had already been through too much. 

She had vague memories of Aaron visiting her in the hospital, still wearing his suit from her funeral. She’d still been in a lot of pain, enough medication in her system to make everything a little hazy, but she remembered him holding her hand, how he’d kissed her still bruised cheek as he told her he’d bring her home. 

After Paris, she wasn’t sure where she stood with him. She’d spent months thinking about what could have been, well aware that before that fateful call from Sean that they’d been walking towards something more than friendship. 

It was no secret that she had feelings for him. JJ and Penelope mocked her for it enough on girls' nights whenever she called him Aaron, the use of his first name something she had become used to during the time she spent with him and Jack. But she was at the stage now, where she didn’t want to risk her friendship with him for anything that could destroy it. 

Somewhere along the way she’d fallen in love with her best friend, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to do anything about it. 

They’d fallen back into familiar patterns not too long after she came home. The day after she’d admitted to him that she was having a bad day he had shown up at her doorstep with Jack in tow, matching wide smiles on their faces as they asked her if she wanted to go to the zoo with them. She’d of course said yes, and found herself spending most, if not all, of her spare time with them. She even spent time with Jack by herself, the 6-year-old always keen to see her, if Aaron was caught up in meetings he couldn’t avoid. 

It’s how she finds herself with him at the mall on a busy Saturday the weekend before Father’s Day. Jack had sat next to her on the couch in Aaron’s apartment just a few days prior, whilst Aaron cooked dinner for them all, and stage whispered that he needed help getting a gift. She’d responded in kind, unsure how Aaron hadn’t heard them since they were talking louder than their usual speaking voices, and promised to take him to the mall when she’d already agreed to babysit anyway. 

There’s a moment when she regrets it. Crowds of people everywhere enough to make her offer to take the young boy to his favourite diner instead before simply ordering something for Aaron online. But then Jack slips his hand into hers and squeezes, looking up at her with the smile he shares with his father, and she knows there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. 

“Remember what I said, Jack?” She says, squeezing his hand back as they start walking deeper into the mall.

“Hold your hand the whole time, and if a stranger tries to talk to me tell them you and Daddy work for the FBI.”

She chuckles, nodding as she agrees, “Exactly.”

She still thought of Katie Jacobs every time she came to the mall, the thought of what that little girl had gone through enough to make her furious even after all this time. It makes her hold Jack’s hand even tighter, fierce love and protectiveness for the little boy overtaking her in a way she can’t control. 

“So,” she says, shaking her head to rid herself of the memories, not wanting them to stain her one on one time with Jack, “Did you think about what you want to get Daddy for Father’s Day?” 

Jack sighs, and shrugs when she looks down at him, “I don’t know.”

Emily smiles as she comes to a stop, making sure they aren’t in the way of anyone walking as she crouches down to his level, “Well let's think, what are his favourite things?” 

Jack creases his brow as he thinks about it, once again looking just like Aaron in a way that makes her stomach flip, “He likes running. And when we go for breakfast,” he says, looking back at her, “And he likes spending time with you.” 

She bites the inside of her cheek in an attempt to hide her smile, the innocent words from the little boy enough to warm her from the inside out. 

“I like spending time with him too,” she says, reaching out and running her fingers through Jack’s hair, “Well, how about on Father’s Day I’ll bring over breakfast from that place you both like and then that’s breakfast sorted.”

“And time with you.” 

Emily clears her throat, sure her cheeks must be bright red with how much they were burning, “Right, and time with me,” she replies, “But you still want to get him a gift, right?” She asks, waiting for him to nod in response, “Ok, so what’s your favourite thing about him?” 

There is a moment of silence as he looks deep in thought again, “He smells nice.”

She has to actually clench her jaw to stop herself from agreeing, the mere thought of Aaron’s cologne making her skin fizz. 

She nods, smiling at Jack, “He told me he needs new cologne,” she says, recalling an off-hand comment Aaron had made to her a few days ago, “So that’s perfect.”

She’s about to stand up straight when Jack tugs at her sleeve with one hand and then digs into his pocket with the other, pulling out five $1 bills and one $5, holding it out to her. 

“What’s this, sweetie?” She asks, tilting her head curiously. 

“My allowance, I saved it,” he says, “Will it be enough?” 

She’s sure her heart will burst, somehow falling even more in love with this little boy every time she spoke to him, and she curls her hand around his fist holding the money. 

“How about, I buy this for Daddy,” she says, knowing that had been her plan all along, “And you use this to get one of those pretzels you like in the food court?” 

He furrows his brow as he considers it, but then he nods, “I’ll get you a pretzel too, Emily.” 

She hides a smile at his seriousness, never wanting him to think she was making fun of him, wanting his kindness and his view of the world to remain as long as possible. She knows she’ll talk him out of buying them snacks later, not wanting him to use his allowance on her, even if it went as far as two pretzels. She nods and stands up, reaching out for his hand again before they start to walk towards the store that sold the cologne they needed to purchase.

“That sounds perfect Jack.”

___

Aaron stretches as he walks out of his ensuite bathroom, wincing at the slight pull in his neck as he does so. 

He sighs as he looks at the date on the alarm clock on his nightstand. 

Father’s Day. 

It had never been a day he held with any particular goodwill. Growing up he hadn’t had a father he thought was worth celebrating. He’d simply buy a card he’d barely read and get Shaun to sign it alongside his name, ticking a box for another year. 

It was only when he became a father himself that it changed. That first year, when Jack was less than a year old, Haley had made a big deal out of it. A card that she’d printed Jack’s tiny palm onto with paint and presents and balloons decorating their kitchen, mirroring what Aaron had done for Mother’s Day just a couple of months prior. Even after the divorce, he and Haley made a point of still getting something from Jack for the other on the respective days. Taking their time to go to the mall to buy something they knew the other would appreciate. 

It was something he’d missed since Haley died. The reminder in his calendar to go shopping for Mother’s Day that first year a shock when it came around, the grief almost fresh again as it hit him all at once. Jessica kept up the tradition from Haley’s side, but through no fault of her own, it was less personal. Gifts that had meaning turning into ‘world’s best dad’ mugs from the card store. 

As he opens his bedroom door, ready to face the day, any thought of what the day would look like is interrupted as he hears hushed voices from the kitchen. One of them is Jack’s, his excitement making his attempt at whispering almost louder than his own voice, and the other is Emily’s. 

His confusion propels him down the hallway to the kitchen, a smile breaking out across his face as he walks in on the two of them unpacking a big box of takeout from what looked like Jack’s favourite diner. 

“What is all of this?” He asks, drawing Jack’s attention towards him, although the smile on Emily’s face lets him know she knew he was there the moment he walked into the room.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!” Jack exclaims as he barrels towards him, his embrace fierce as he wraps his arms around his waist. 

“Thanks, buddy,” he replies, chuckling as he hugs his son back. 

“Emily brought breakfast over,” he says, and both of them turn back to her, a wide smile on her face as she looks at them together. 

“I used my key,” Emily explains, answering his unasked question, “I was just about to take this to the dining table for us to eat and send Jack in to wake you up.” 

“Well,” he says, smiling at her, “No need to do that,” he stares at her for a moment, gratefulness for her doing this, for surprising him like this despite the fact they spoke on the phone last night, mixing in with the feelings he had for her that he already held back on a daily basis. He clears his throat and looks down at Jack, “Why don’t you help Emily get this all to the table and I’ll make some coffee.” 

“Already done,” Emily says, nodding towards the coffee machine, “Help yourself…sleepyhead.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head at her as he walks towards his coffee machine, “This is the one time you’ve been awake before me in the entire time we’ve known each other.”

“I know,” she replies, holding in a gasp as he slips past her, his hands on her hips briefly as he squeezes through the small space in his kitchen, “But I’m going to milk it for all it’s worth.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, their eyes meeting, and she has to bite her lower lip to stop herself from saying something she might later regret. She clears her throat and picks up the plates of pancakes and bacon.

“Come on sweetie,” she says, directing her attention back to Jack, “We should eat this before it gets cold.” 

They eat breakfast together as if they were a family, their tradition of going to the diner together transferring easily to his home like it was something they did all the time. After they’ve eaten and cleaned up, Emily tries to make an exit, explaining that it was a day for Aaron and Jack to spend together. They insist that she stays, something that doesn’t take a lot of convincing, and she ends up spending the whole day with them. She watches as Aaron opens his gift, his eyes lighting up as he briefly looks at her before he thanks Jack, before they head to the park and then the aquarium, and then for dinner. The day ends exactly where it had started - in Aaron’s apartment. She sits on his couch, a glass of wine in hand, as he puts Jack to bed, their hushed conversation travelling down the hallway from Jack’s bedroom. 

In moments like this, she allowed herself to think about what it would be like if this was her reality all of the time. If she was an official part of this family, finally able to love Aaron and Jack in the way she craved. She sighs as she takes a sip of her wine, letting the taste of it wash those thoughts away. 

She didn’t want to risk this, the friendship she had with both of them, for anything. Not when she’d already had to watch it slip away due to her decision-making once before. 

“He is out like a light,” Aaron says as he walks towards her, smiling as he joins her on the couch.

“He had a fun day,” she replies, smiling as she thinks about all of the facts he’d told her about the sharks when they were at the aquarium, “Did you?” 

Aaron smiles as he nods at her, the honesty only she could draw out of him overwhelming, “The best Father’s Day I’ve had in a long time,” he says, not missing how she blushes slightly, a tinge of pink on her cheeks that he once thought he’d never see again, “Thank you.”

“For what?” She asks, taking a sip of her wine as she looks at him intently. 

“For breakfast,” he replies, smiling at her, “For the cologne,” his smile deepens as she blushes even harder, “Jack told me all about your trip to the mall as I was putting him to bed.” 

She chuckles, placing her glass of wine down, “He asked me to help out, how was I supposed to say no,” she replies, shifting so she was slightly closer to him, her legs folded up between them, “Besides, you deserve it and more.” He chuckles humourlessly and shakes his head, and it makes her frown. She reaches out for him and places her hand on his arm, squeezing tightly, “I mean it, Aaron. You’re an incredible father. Jack is so lucky to have you.” 

There were days when he believed it. When he’d see how Jack would look at him, nothing short of love and hero worship in his eyes, and he’d know he must be doing something right. That despite his own shitty excuse for a father he’d broken the cycle. Other times he couldn’t break past his own guilt, the thought that he’d cost his son his mother enough to make him think no matter how good a father he was it would never be enough. 

“My own dad was…” he starts, drifting off as he shakes his head, knowing he doesn’t need to say anything further. They’d talked about it before, exchanging stories from their childhoods on a night not too dissimilar to this, telling each other the darkest parts they’d never told anyone else. “I’ve always been so worried I’d turn into him.”

“You’re nothing like him,” she says, squeezing his arm again, “I get feeling like that, but you’re nothing like him,” she repeats. “I always worried if I ended up having kids I’d turn out like my mom,” she says, shrugging one of her shoulders, “I guess I’ll probably never find out now.” 

He frowns at the thought of it, at the mere idea that she’d never get a chance to do something she so clearly wanted, something she’d be good at. 

“You’ll be a fantastic mother, Em,” he says, sounding so sure it makes her heart clench in her chest, treacherous hope almost crushing it, “Just look at what you’re like with Jack.” 

She smiles sadly, looking down at her lap, “Well, he’s an incredibly easy kid to love,” she says, blowing out a slow breath, “I don’t know,” she says, clearing her throat in a failed attempt to hide it’s wavering, “I can’t help but think I’ve missed my chance.” 

“Em-”

“I’m 41 this year Aaron,” she says, her eyes still fixed in her lap as she shakes her head, “And even if I met someone tomorrow who loved me enough to have kids with me it’s not that simple.”

Realisation dawns on him, threatening to choke him as he feels anger climb up his throat, “Oh sweet…Em, did Doyle…” he drifts off,  grateful when she shakes her head, relief flooding through him that he knows is more than just one friend caring about another. 

“It’s not impossible,” she says, flashing her eyes up to his, “It just won’t necessarily be easy,” she says, “And what exactly do you say? ‘Oh yeah, by the way, you know that massive scar on my abdomen? My ex, who happens to be an international terrorist, stabbed me with a table leg and it might make having kids difficult,’” She chuckles and looks up at him when he does too, his gaze comforting as their eyes meet, “I guess it’s just one of those things. Maybe I was destined to be the cool aunt,” her smile shakes as she looks at him and then she clears her throat, “Anyway, today is meant to be about you.” 

For the briefest of moments, he considers letting it go. Considers letting her bury this conversation as deeply as she clearly wants, her own needs and desires always at the bottom of her priority list. But he knows this is it, that they were once again at the crossroads they’d been at so many times before. A moment that could push them both over the line of friendship and more that they’d been walking for longer than either of them would admit. 

A moment he won’t let pass him by. 

He hooks his finger under her chin and makes her look at him, her breath catching in her throat at how close they now were. 

“Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Em.”

She swallows thickly, her breath catching in her chest as she opens her mouth, escaping in a huff that dances across his cheek. 

“Aaron-”

“My son loves you,” he says, cutting her off, “And not because you’re a cool aunt, but because you love him too. Because you make him feel safe and heard and everything he’s been missing a part of since Haley died.” A sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh escapes her as she nods, “And, unless I should quit my job as the Unit Chief of the best profiling unit in the country, I’m fairly sure you love me too.” 

She closes her eyes before she nods again, close enough to him that her forehead knocks gently against his, “Yes. I do.” 

The silence that follows last only seconds, but it feels like a lifetime to her, “I love you too, Emily,” he says, and her eyes snap open, “I’m in love with you and I don’t want to spend any more time pretending that I’m not.” 

She searches his eyes for anything that will tell her he doesn’t mean it, that he’s not just saying this because of what she’s unintentionally shared with him this evening, but before she can ask him, before she can even open her mouth, he’s talking again.

“And this isn’t some desire to save you or to make you feel better. It’s because I love you and it would be the honour of my life to be able to prove that to you every single day if you’d let me.”

This time, it’s him who worries about the silence, the slightly dumbfounded look on her face that gives way to laughter as she shakes her head and wipes tears from her cheeks. 

“Fucking hell, Aaron,” she says, his name catching on a laugh in her throat, “If you ever want a career change you should think about writing greetings cards,” she says, her heart beating wildly in her chest, “That beats some of the stuff I read when I was helping Jack pick you a card,” she smiles at him, cupping his cheek as her smile wavers, “I’m in love with you too,” she says, watching the relief flood through him, “But-”

“No buts,” he says, cutting her off as he shifts impossibly closer, her legs slipping over his lap, “Not this time.”

She sighs, “Aaron, it isn’t that simple. There’s Jack-”

“Who we have already established loves you-”

“The team,” she carries on as if he hadn’t spoken, “We’ve both been through so much.” 

“So maybe we both deserve to be happy.” 

She stares at him again, her fight against this, against what she’d wanted for months, for years, fading as he stares back. 

“It won’t be easy,” she says, her thumb stroking over his cheek. 

“Nothing involving you ever is,” he replies, laughing when her mouth drops open in outrage, any sadness that had been lingering in the room extinguished, “But it’s always worth it.” 

She shakes her head at him before resting her forehead briefly against his cheek, “Ok.” 

“Ok?” He asks, his hand on the back of her head as she pulls back to look at him, his fingers tangling in her hair. 

Her answer is a smile he only sees for a moment before she leans in to kiss him, everything other than the two of them fading away as they lose themselves in each other. 

___

Two Year Later 

Aaron yawns as he flips the pancakes in front of him, his exhaustion bone-deep as he adds them to pile on the plate to his left. He hears a familiar thundering of feet on the stairs, wincing as he hopes Jack hasn’t woken up everyone else in the house when there had been very little sleep for anyone the night before. 

“Happy Father’s Day, Dad!” Jack shouts as he runs into the kitchen, slipping along the hardwood floors in his socks. 

“Thanks, Jack,” he replies, accepting the hug from the 8-year-old who helps himself to a pancake from the pile as Aaron raises an eyebrow at him, “We’ve got to wait for Emily.” 

“I’m right here,” she says, appearing in view, looking as exhausted as he did with a tiny bundle held against her chest, “Someone couldn’t wait to wish her Daddy a Happy Father’s Day.”

Aaron smiles as he turns off the stove before he walks over, kissing his wife quickly before he turns his attention to the baby in her arms, her wide, dark eyes looking up at her father as if she wasn’t the reason her parents had barely slept the night before. 

“Is that right, Abigail?” He asks, gently pulling her into his arms, “You wanted to say Happy Father’s Day?”

“Abby is two weeks old, Daddy,” Jack says, “She can’t speak.”

Emily chuckles and pulls Jack into a hug, kissing the top of his head, “You’re right, Jack,” she says, winking at her husband over his head as if she hadn’t been the first to say it, “Why don’t you start taking the food to the dining room and we’ll be right there.”

Jack nods and picks up the plate of pancakes, walking more carefully than he had been when he walked into the kitchen. 

Emily looks at Aaron and feels the familiar swoop in her stomach that she always felt when she saw him with their daughter. The newborn was tiny, but looked impossibly smaller in his arms, his hand the same size as Abigal’s back. She walks over and rests her head on the shoulder opposite to the one he was holding their little girl against. 

“Sorry you had to make your own Father’s Day breakfast,” she says, yawning again. 

“It’s ok,” he says, turning his head to kiss her forehead, “You were up more than I was in the night,” he adds, smiling as the thinks of one of the times they had both been awake and she’d given him the card she’d made for him from Abigal, her tiny hand print emblazoned on the inside, “Plus, I think we all know it’s best you don’t cook.” 

She playfully narrows her eyes at him and pulls away, “Don’t be mean to me on our anniversary.” 

He chuckles and leans forward to kiss her, “Our anniversary is in three days, sweetheart,” he says, kissing her again, “Father’s Day was on the 19th two years ago.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, hating that she knows he’s right, “Ok, so don’t be mean to me when I still have stitches from giving birth to your daughter.” 

He clears his throat, his laughter fading when he realises he can’t argue with that, “Of course, sweetheart.” Abigal starts to cry, shifting in Aaron’s embrace, “That’s her hungry cry.”

She smiles as he takes Abigal back from him, shushing her as she presses a kiss to the top of her head, “It’s incredibly attractive to me that you know that,” she turns and heads towards the living room, “I’ll feed her and then be in, make sure Jack doesn’t eat all the pancakes.” 

“I’ll save some for you.”

She takes a moment to smile at him, shifting side to side to soothe their daughter. It was sometimes still overwhelming to think this was her life sometimes, that she’d pushed past her fear to allow herself what she’d always wanted. All in a way she could have never seen coming. 

“What?” He asks, his eyebrow raised curiously. 

She shakes her head, smiling at him, “Nothing,” she says, knowing he’d get it out of her later, that he felt the same awe she did, “Happy Father’s Day, honey.” 

-x-

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#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss #aaron x emily #hotchniss fan fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner

[ashfae]

Sorry if this is a silly question. But I thought you're the person I should ask this to. I feel like, past the teenage and college ages, I don't ever see pictures or videos or stories about friend groups or couples doing the kind of unabashedly cute, dumb stuff together like you see with teenagers and stuff. Stuff like cuddling and holding hands +other physical contact (for friends) or all descending on a convenience store together or playing silly jokes on each other or doing something stupid with household objects because you want to see how it goes/why not. Do people stop doing that because of social norms or thinking it's embarrassing or weird? Or do they still do that?

(basically am I doomed to never have some experiences because I never dated and was a loser in high school)

Ohh anon, I am a good person to ask this to and have such a positive answer. Yes, people still do that. Not all of them but yes it's out there. Yes. Have some stories/favourite memories of mine: New Year's Eve. We were all twentysomethingish and doing a small silly party at a friend's house. Friend's roommate was off with his girlfriend (both also very good friends of ours). We decided to prank him. So when midnight hit that NYE we were at the grocery store (ahh, America, where nothing ever closes ever) buying a ton of post-it notes and sparkly markers and things. We wrote really random silly messages on them and hid them EVERYWHERE in his room. Evrywhere. Under the mattress. Inside his CD cases. Inside shirt pockets. Inside his CD-ROM drive. Geek quotes, compliments, random philisophical questions, whatever. He was still finding them a year later. (side note: on one note I thought I'd put a random Bible verse. Didn't look it up, just went "Uhhh, Revelations because it's weird, 4:6 because they're random numbers, why not." It ended up on the curtains facing the window. Person looked it up and the verse said "And before them stretched a great sea of glass." I don't think my subconscious knew that) Anyway. Emigrated to Scotland at 24 to go to grad school, leaving all my friends behind. Yeowtch. Made new friends. @amuseoffyre and @arianaderalte, with whom I stayed up all night watching anime and talking about completley ridiculous things. Ariana and I pranked each other by sneaking small chocolate bars in each others' backpacks now and then. Fyre would percolate ideas and history at us until we fell off our chairs laughing (Twenty years later on she still does this and I still love it). Ariana had a small Totoro named Sauron-chan, and once when he was left at my house I took him on An Adventure with tons of photos of his hijinks before returning him to her. Oh, and more. @mywingsareonwheels held a readthrough, inviting a bunch of their friends from around the country to come and sit in a circle in a room and read King Lear. I was Cordelia. (I eventually married the person who was cast as the Duke of Albany, incidently.) I remember our Fool singing some of his lines overdramatically to the tune of Once In Royal David's City. There were other things with that group as years went on, and then group holidays, renting a mansion in the Highlands for a week and doing plays, cooking a feast for each other, lying around with half of us drunk and the other half teetotal talking about whatever, playing board games, arguing about cheese. There was a swimming pool and one night I brought a bunch of balloons with LED lights in them and we swam in the dark by their light. Readthrough weekends where we did all the Shakespeare history plays in one long weekend, or all the Jane Austen audio plays. There's been schisms in the group but my god there's been fun too. Even during lockdown, @mywingsareonwheels organized readthroughs that we did over zoom, and every weekend we watch something.

Regarding my partner formerly the Duke of Albany....I hadn't ever dated much, to be honest. I was romantic and fell in smit every ten minutes but didn't want to do anything with sex unless it was with someone who actually had a romantic interest in me and vice-versa, which no one ever did, so...just didn't do much with any of it, to be honest. So I didn't have much experience. When we started dating I was 24. We had our first kiss in a frikking train station. (sorry, train people, but it was chaste). We held hands all over the city. We laughed. We kept turning to each other and saying "This is fun. Why did no one ever tell me this could be fun? I thought it was supposed to be all serious and intense and difficult, but this is easy!" And it was and it stayed fun. We got to do all the silly smitten things I'd never gotten to do as a teen/college student and assumed I just wouldn't experience ever. I realized I loved them and it was going to work when we were in a pub where it was too loud to talk and he invented finger breakdancing, which I don't think I can describe. We got married a year later which is how I ended up living here permanently. We're still silly at each other. It's still fun. I'm in my mid-40s now. I still have friends where I can headbutt their arm in frustration and they'll pet my hair, where I can make ridiculous faces at them, who don't mind that at the drop of a hat I will burst into song. Who will sing "Oh Hamster Tree" by Clive Barker with me in four-part harmony. Yes, yes to all of it, you can find people who will do that. And honestly, fandom's not a bad place to look for them. It's full of outsiders, and outsiders already know that they're not going to fit The Mold, and sometimes we just accept that and sometimes we embrace it and sometimes we celebrate it. Long story short: yes. Look for the people you can be silly with, and who will make it safe for you to be silly with them. They're out there and my god they're the best friends you will ever have.

As for the people who are too embarassed or wedded to social norms? For the former, encourage them to feel safe if you and they can. For the latter, leave them to it. The game they're trying to win is exhausting and impossible and you're better off out of it. Look for the ones who are kind and laugh a lot. Who encourage benevolent conspiracy rather than things that are 'funny' at someone else's expense. Who protect each others' weak points and respect your boundaries. It's not too late. Yes.

#long post #I don't know how to tag this #fandom mom advice? #something? #anyway life can be so frikking sweet #and yes most of my friends are disabled/queer/neurodivergent/all of the above #sillyness is a vastly underrated thing

[choccyhearts]

Dating Argyle Headcanons

Note: These are just some random thoughts I need written lol

CW: Fluff <3 fem!reader (mainly just feminine adjacent things, so no pronouns used)

Argyle would be such a sweet boyfriend🥺

He is not ashamed to hold your purse if you leave to go the bathroom or something

Doesn't matter what color, shape or size, he's putting it on his shoulder and chilling

Would probably make a joke like, "Does this match my outfit🤨?"

If you have long nails, I just know he loves feeling them run through his hair when you're cuddling

And he's willing to do things for you when you have your nails long -- "Here, lemme open it for you, don't want you to break a nail, dude", "Aht! Aht! Here! I can roll, you just sit back and look gorgeous", "I'll hold that for you, don't even lift a finger"

He would be willing to join you at your nail or hair appointments, only giving his opinion when you ask for it

Like if you ask which color your nails should be: "Hmm, well that one compliments your eyes....but that one matches the season...."

He also likes hearing the ladies at the salon gossip:

"Tsk, tsk, tsk....Shannon, you deserve better! Next time he's late, don't even answer his calls. Show him you think about him even less than he does you!", "...And she said that to your face!?👀", "Wait...is this the sister with the knee problem or the one who moved to New York?"

Argyle definitely enjoys clothes shopping, I just know it!

Doesn't matter if it's for you to get clothes or for him:

"Alright, babe, what do you think? Is this too similar to the shirt I wore to Jonathan's birthday party?", "Wooaaah!! These pants are sick! Babe, babe! They even have your size!! We could match!", "Okay, now turn...hm, other way...and turn again...okay, yeah, I'm messin' with you, I just like looking at you. But, yeah, that dress is coming with us"

If you like cooking and/or baking he'll happily try out new recipes with you:

"Where's the tablespoon? Wait, hold on, why do we need that big of a measurement? That's not right, it's gonna be too garlicy!", "Mmm, that's the best chocolate icing I've ever tried, good job!", "You know what this would pair really well with...?"

Being cold around him is a pretty rare occurrence

He'll give you a nice big bear hug, holding you until you're warmed up

That being said, I think Argyle only likes minimal PDA

Cheek kisses, hand holding, hugs goodbye or for warmth, an arm slung over your shoulders or back of your chair, that's about as much as he does around others

Not to say he won't ask for you to step aside for a smooch

But in private, he's up for cuddle sessions that last for hours, lots of kisses everywhere, and he loooves hand holding so much

He'd hold your hand forever if he could

I think he's a "secret" romantic

And by secret, I mean that side of him is just for you

He likes to plan dates, even if it's just making pizza for you and lighting some candles

He's up for taking romantic bubble baths together and loves long car drives with you

He also loves to just sit in the back of his van with you and cuddle, just enjoying your presence

If you have long hair too, he's gonna play with it and braid it

He likes when you're in the bath together and you let him shampoo your hair

And I just know he can give you an amazing massage

Those hands just look like they'd feel amazing🤤

And trust, he's fine with listening to you rant

If you just need someone to listen to you he's always your go to because he'll offer advice if you ask but will also sit quietly

And he's always taking your side, ofc

He's loyal af

And he's def the type of boyfriend where when you say,

"Gasp! Don't look now, but-"

He moves his entire body around to look at who you're talking about, no subtly at all

He also probably puts on a "nice act" around people you both don't like and comes back to you, muttering under his breath, "Ugh, what fucking losers"

If you can't reach certain things, he'll offer to reach up and get them for you

Unless of course you want to feel independent, in which case he'll hold you up by the waist and lift you up,,, orrrr, will make your own little step stool😭

He would just be such a sweetheart, I need him so bad😭😭😭😭😭

#argyle #argyle x reader #argyle stranger things #stranger things #st4

[sugarsfics]

Making Pancakes

Sumarry: Its Stella’s 3rd birthday and she wants pancakes so Eddie being the best dad in the world wants to go big for his little star, it should work out right? What could go wrong? 

Trope dad!eddie x mom!reader ; Hellfire mom series  

Warning: like one cuss word, fluff, bad writing, kiss. 

Word count: 1.2k 

30 day challenge: Day 2 Send request <3

It was Stella 3rd birthday. She only had one request for today and that was making pancakes. Pancakes were her favorite food. Eddie suggested that we make it a pancake party with a full-on pancake bar with toppings galore. Even with money tight Eddie always wanted to do something special for his little girl. You decided to make it on Saturday at 9 just in time for the morning cartoons. You told Eddie that you and Stella were going shopping Friday before Hellfire to the store to get everything. All week leading up to the day he begged and begged you to let him miss school on Friday to spend the day with you guys. You stay strong tell him no until Thursday night he got Stella to join in on his pleading it was hard saying no to one pair of puppy dog eye but now two, he even got her to pout her lips. Needless to say, you cave, and Eddie fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you and a huge smile. 

He wasn’t too pleased to be woken up before 8 that morning. “You said that we were going shopping” “Yes, we are” “So why so early” “Because we need to be back in time for hellfire and the fresh strawberries are two towns over now so up” he groaned up eventually got up. Your next mission was Stella before Stella you and Eddie were night owls who love their sleep, so she inherited that trait from both, and it was 10 times worse. You walked her bed and gently woke her up “Baby” “Time to get up” “No” her little voice rang through your ears “Up time baby” “no” “Wakey wakey” “no”  “Come on baby we are going shopping today" silence  “ok tay” she got out of bed "there’s my baby oh crazy hair” her curls were everywhere you had to push some out her eyes “There’s my girls” Eddie walked in with his hair just as crazy has hers. 

You ate breakfast than started getting ready, Stella is at the age where she wants to just herself today’s outfit was a pink dress, her crown, blue sunglasses, with her black studded boots that Eddie made her, you and Eddie had the same pair of boots, so it was only fitting to get her a pair. Eddie loves matching with his family, so he put on his studded boots and told you to wear yours because we must match in some way. So, with your boots you put on a pair of light wash mom jeans and your Eddie’s Black Sabbath shirt, Eddie wore is usually black pair of jeans, his hellfire shirt, battle vest leather jacket combo and his studded boots. You all hopped in the van and were on your way. It was about a 30-minute drive to the store, and it was huge. “Wow” Stella said “Stay close my star you might get lose in there” Eddie said she clung on to him as you went to grab a cart, he put her in the cart then run to the door to open it “M'lady’s” he said in his DM voice with a bow Stella giggled when you bowed back “Thank you my kind sir” you answered in your best British accent. “Where to first” he asked while slipping his hand into your back pocket “Um let’s go find the pancake mix first” “Rodger that” he Saluted. The baking aisle was number 8. “Ok Stella any special one” he put on her thinking face while tapper her chin “That one” she pointed to a bright pink box mark FLUFFY PANCAKES “Nice choice my star” Eddie said while putting in it in the cart. “To the toppings next” 

After Eddie and Stella convinced you to buy 5 cans of whipped cream, those damn eyes, you were off to home. You order pizza for Hellfire since you didn’t have time to cook. “You invited everyone right” you asked Eddie “Yea um uncle Wayne and um” “You invited the Hellfire boys right” “Yea I think so” “You think so” “Yea maybe” “Maybe” “No. no I didn’t” “Eddie” “I know I know I just forgot” “Well next time I will forget to kiss you goodnight night or-” “How dare you threat me by taking away my kisses” After Hellfire you told the boys sorry for the late notice, they all understood Eddie’s mind but agreed to come.  

You were woken up by Stella jumping on the bed “Up Up its my birthday up up” “Happy Birthday baby” you said bringing her down “We get it it's your birthday, but can’t I sleep” Eddie teased “No daddy” Stella giggled he grabbed her and started tickling her “Happy Birthday brat” After so morning cuddles you got up to start the pancakes. You had everything set up nice and easy for you to start you mixed the dry ingredients first when you remember to put your hair up. When you came out of the bathroom flour was everywhere “What the f-” “She did it” Eddie pointed at Stella “No not me daddy” “What happened I walked out for 2 seconds” “We just wanted to help mommy” “Yea mommy can we please help” Eddie said “Give her the eyes” he whispered to Stella oh he is going to get it “Fine”  

Stella and Eddie’s hair match your up in a bun, “Alrighty lets’ start” you let Stella mixed to dry ingredients as you mixed to wet ingredients. Eddie came behind you to “help you” he rested his chin on your shoulder giving you a kiss “Who let her get so big” he said looking at Stella “I can’t believe it she is three already” “I know” “I want to do it again” he looked at you with a grin “Really” “Yea I-” “daddy help” “We will continue this later” he said kissing your lips. Stella went to pull up the whisk and powder went all over Eddie, she giggled “What's so funny” “you look crazy daddy” “No you do” he said grabbing some of the mixture and putting it on her face “daddy" she gasped throwing some more at him. You couldn’t help but giggle at there little fight, Eddie whipped his head toward you “Oh you want to laugh too” “No” you said in a giggle “get her” Stella said all hell broke lose in the kitchen. Powder everywhere then there was a knocks at the door you look at the time 8:50 “Shit they are here” you looked around no pancakes were done and it was a mess, you open the door to find Uncle Wayne “Hi Uncle Wayne um gives us about five minutes please we had a little accident” he looked at you clothes chuckled then nod “Thank you” you closed the door hearing the Whipped cream can go off, when you walked into the kitchen Eddie and Stella were on the counter and Eddie was pouring whipped cream into their mouth. “Eddie really” “What” “It is so good” Stella added 

Tag list: @thefreak0fhawkinshigh let me know if you want to be added <3

#dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie x mom!reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fandom #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #30 day challenge #sugarsfics

[mangoshorthand]

you said nothing in response; you felt your mind slip into humouring thoughts of the situation at hand - mulling over your options as undeniable, inevitable truths, before mentally retracting from them, in a plea of autonomy. sliding down the wall, to join five in a seated position, you stared back at him.

“i chose nothing”

“nothing?”

“if those are the only three options, then i chose nothing. im not advancing the plot any further.”

“tried that. doesn’t work.”

it was comforting, in the very small sense of the word, to see someone go through the emotions and pleas of autonomy he found himself going through upon his (at the time) newfound revelation.

“what are the options again?”

“argument and emotionally mature; argument and confession + sweaty sex; horror, and probably murder.” Five lists off, making use of his long fingers to list off each option.

“i thought it was confession and/or sex. not confession and sex”

“just trying to be succinct.”

“you just introduced an existential nightmare of having no depth, autonomy or existence - being succinct isn’t going to ease the tension”

“so you admit there’s a tension.”

“i’m getting the axe” you said, making no movement towards the hanging weapon; in exhaustion or annoyance, really either one, you closed your eyes.

“can we remove options off the table? murdering you sounds exhausting, and if something wants me dead it has to take a number with the 3 apocalypses you’ve chased.”

“i mean we don’t really get a say- but from what i’ve noticed, we’ve would’ve been introduced to the threat by now. or at least, one of us would’ve.”

“so, emotional maturity or sweaty sex.”

five kisses his teeth in agreement, taking in the room around him.

“so…” you start, five’s eyes moving towards you in vague interest.

“…your dad���s kind of a prick. wanna talk about that?”

“he was a prick. if we didn’t wash the dishes, he’d tell us we were causing a world-ending evil. he made us listen to Frued during dinner and i think he locked diego in a closet once.”

“do you feel emotionally matured?”

“no.”

“rats.”

Context Part 1

"Wait." he said, cooking his head as if scenting something on the air, "did you feel that?"

You felt it too. A prickle on the back of your neck.

"Yeah. It was like something...shifted then. I felt..."

"Another presence?" Five asked.

"Yeah."

"Like another author."

It was indeed like another author, because it was. Someone had dared to challenge My supremacy over the fates of these pathetic characters.

"Is The Other Author on our side?" you asked, pointlessly, given that I had regained control, "I feel like we were getting somewhere there. It was as if you were going to kill me with the axe for a second, but then something changed."

"I...I don't know," Five said, chewing the inside of his cheek thoughfully, "this has never happened before. Should we just have sex? See if it does anything? I carry condoms with me everywhere I go just in case. I even take them to the bathroom with me at 3am. There's no telling when She's going to put me in one of these situations. I'd guess She's got a pretty high sex drive that her partner can't keep up with so takes it all out on me."

At that moment, a ceiling tile fell down and struck him on the back of the head.

"Ow! Fuck!" he cried, though deserving the pain as a sharp reminder of his place in this scenario.

You looked up at him from your position on the floor as he rubbed the back of his head..

"Guess we know which author's in control now," you commented, rather astutely for a reader-insert character.

"That's for sure," he grumbled, "Now, are we going to fuck or what? I want out of this goddamn basement."

"No!" you said, seizing desperately upon one tiny piece of autonomy.

"Don't be an idiot," he said, businesslike as his hands dropped to the button on his waistband, "you're just going to draw it out by acting this way. She wins. She always wins."

Apparently the ceiling tile had had its effect

"I don't want to fuck you," you said, vehemently, "get that into your mind."

"Oh please," Five said, rezipping his fly indignantly, "you think I'm over here dying to fuck you? Don't flatter yourself."

"Sorry, 'don't flatter myself'? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you wouldn't exactly be my first choice of person to screw."

"Well ditto!" you almost yelled, playing precisely into My hands, "you're so up your own ass you can see out of your mouth! Your own siblings barely even like you!"

"Well I'm sorry," he said, though not sounding sorry at all, "Sorry for actually having character traits. Believe me, I wasn't looking forward to trying to get hard over someone whose only personality trait is being a blank slate!"

"Wait!" you said, now holding a hand in the air with an air of inspiration entirely inconvenient to Me, "we're arguing! It's happening! The plot's advancing. We're playing into The Author's hands by doing this! Why do we have to accept this as inevitable?"

"Why did you say my siblings don't like me?" Five replied softly, playing along and ignoring your meta comments (like the good boy he knows how to be if he can just put aside his little temper tantrums for five minutes).

"Seriously Five," you said, eyes alight with idiotic ideas, "we can break out of this."

Five shook his head, eyes pleading with you not to be foolish.

"Why did you say my siblings don't like me?" he repeated, though his eyes begging your compliance gave the lie to his words.

He knew that you risked worse than being hit by falling roof tiles if you continued this way. His compliance was wise. Would you show similar wisdom?

"What if The Other Author could help us?" you said, standing up suddenly, the enraging words tumbling out of your mouth as you did so, "we could try to trigger another shift. Maybe they'll get us out of it? Maybe They're less of a weird pervert?"

They would never get the opportunity to find out, however. Fictional characters cannot induce such shifts unless-

Five launched himself across the room and laid his hands, finally upon the axe. "I NEED TO GET OUT OF THIS!" he yelled, raising the weapon and advancing upon you with a crazed look in those pretty green eyes, "AND I'LL DO IT WITH OR WITHOUT YOU!"

#number 5 imagine #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves imagine #number five imagine #umbrella academy x reader #SHIT #YOU'RE GOING TO FUCKING REGRET THIS FIVE

[feroluce]

Some off the cuff 1k of Skirk & Tartaglia (skirtaru???) hcs before 4.2 proves me wildly wrong, they are very much a dynamic in process to be changed as we see more of them and as I think and consider them more, but I wanna see them interact so BAD.

Anyway. Tartaglia is an idiot who develops a crush, or at least something like a crush, on anyone who can give him a good fight. Obviously there are plenty of people who can just kick his ass- he's ranked at the bottom of the Harbingers. But they all suck, and there's no passion when they fight! They don't appreciate it the way Tartaglia does! So it's not a good fight and those assholes don't count!

So I think little Tartaglia was doomed the second he saw a very very pretty lady with a very very sharp sword and she immediately beat the shit out of him. Like she awakened something in him right then and there, unfortunately for the rest of the world haha

And then! Not only could she beat him one handed! But she took the time to teach him! And this! This was exactly what Tartaglia had wanted when he ran away from home with nothing but some food and his sword! He'd wanted an adventure! He'd wanted something new and different and wild!

And he can have that now, with Skirk and the Abyss! So his crush could have instantly dissolved right there, but it didn't, because Skirk was weird and interesting and Tartaglia adored that.

((Wheezing imagining Tartaglia trying to show off because he wants to impress his shifu, and she genuinely is impressed because Tartaglia progressed so fast, but then she pops his teenage boy ego with a pin and he deflates sjzjnskdkz))

He develops such an endless amount of respect and admiration for her. He's so happy and so proud of himself when he masters the Foul Legacy, because this was a goal laid by his shifu and hell yeah, he blew it out of the water!! And I'd like to think this was when Skirk said those words in his profile-

"You shall ever be the eye of the storm,"

"And the clashing of steel shall ever accompany you."

"The pitch-black memory of stepping into uttermost darkness,"

"Shall, at last, become the strength by which you will overturn this world."

-with Tartaglia knelt before her and her sword at his cheek, as though she were knighting him. And Tartaglia realizes then that oh. He likes it here. He likes being in the Abyss. He likes being with Skirk. He likes hunting and killing and surviving here in the Abyss with Skirk. Morepesok is and will always be home, but it was stagnant there. Too much of the same. No room for growth.

But the Abyss is boundless possibility to explore in every direction, and Skirk has never flinched away from him even once. Tartaglia can be as violent and bloodthirsty as he wants; Skirk is worse. She gives zero shits. She loves to fight and hunt and kill and make things bleed. Tartaglia is free to explore and revel in all of his worst inclinations and instincts and that is what the Abyss and Skirk become to him. Freedom.

And then he falls out of the Abyss just as suddenly as he had fallen into it. He didn't even get to say goodbye.

And it's not all bad or anything. Tartaglia isn't miserable. He's plenty capable of making his own happiness. He brings his own joy everywhere he goes (derogatory, unfortunate for everyone else ndkdjdjkd) and he genuinely likes being around other people. He would have missed a lot of things if he'd been permanently trapped.

But now there is an itch that he can't scratch. And it's driving him nuts. And he misses Skirk. She was fun to be around. He liked her.

He finds himself seeing things in everyday life and wishing he could show her. He pulls out ingredients in the kitchen for dinner and wants her to eat his special dish and show off how good he can cook. He reads through reports about the Abyss and he never finds what he's looking for (a swordswoman, an entrance, anything-), but he wants to ask her her opinions about them. He sees a really nice sword and wonders if she would like it. Little things.

Tartaglia decides he's going to find her. Even if it's just for a chance to thank her. Even if it takes years, decades. He just wants to see her again.

And then, it finally happens! They really do get to reunite! I have no idea what will happen in the archon quest of course, but like. I really like the idea that after things settle down, Skirk decides to stay for a while. She doesn't really want to live here or anything, but she's curious. She wants to see what Teyvat is like. She especially wants to see Snezhnaya, like Tartaglia used to talk about. And Tartaglia decides to go with her, he's an experienced traveler, a man of the world after all! He'll take her wherever she'd like to go.

And I'd love for them to say goodbye to The Traveler and Paimon and depart from Fontaine on a classic will-they-won't-they sort of vibe, where it's obvious that Tartaglia has Some Feelings about Skirk, but it's not clear how Skirk really feels about him yet. But it's the kind of thing where it's hopeful, and you want to root for the guy to get his love interest haha.

(The Traveler and Paimon bump into them a few months later and Paimon chides Tartaglia because Childe have you seriously not confessed yet the hell have you been doing all this time, which he responds to with hey, Skirk is a classy lady, give me time to do it right! and meanwhile The Traveler can see around Tartaglia to where Skirk is sitting at their campfire, manspreading on a fallen log, eating raw meat with blood on her face and dripping down her arms BNSKXJSMKDMD)

#genshin impact childe #genshin childe #genshin impact skirk #genshin impact tartaglia #skirtaru #I think I saw some post somewhere on here or twitter that said something rude about how people are going to ship them once Skirk releases #buddy I've been sailing this little ship single-handedly for a while now bold of you to assume I need to wait for canon dkxjdkkfkd #what the fuck do I even call this #i like skirtaru because tbh i never even call Tartaglia by his actual name he's always Taru to me haha #just had to get this all out of me before 4.2 drops and kills all my hcs instantly tomorrow nzksndkd #Skirk and Taru are one of those pairs that like. i think I could love them no matter what. #Romance? LOVE IT. Qpr? WONDERFUL. Found family? HELL YEAH. #tbh I don't have a lot of high hopes that we'll see them interact a ton in canon... #but I at least hope they get a good reunion that isn't just glossed over #they deserve it. taru has been searching for her for years. he's earned it. #I think as long as they care about each other I'll be happy ♡ #I'm so excited to see what Hoyo will do with them!! #genshin impact #tartaglia #skirk

[dilf-whore]

Can I get something with a protective Steve and reader as his baby mama

protective!steve

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader

genre: fluff

summary: steve keeps a close eye on you and your little nugget

A/N: thank you for requesting! i really love the ides of steve having kids😩 i’m also planning to write dad!eddie and dad!billy someday lol. let me know your thoughts on this short fic! ❤️‍🔥

requested: yes

requests are OPEN

masterlist

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You walk inside Family Video and go straight to the counter where Steve is typing on the computer, completely unaware of your presence. Robin sees you from one of the aisles she’s at and approaches you, a smile of excitement on her face. “Hi Y/N! and hello there little baby” she greets, cooing at your bump as she places her hands softly on the sides of your growing belly. Steve immediately stops when he hears your name, he looks away from the screen and sees you smiling with Robin. 

“Woah woah woah, what are you doing here? did you go here alone?” He asks warily. He rushes towards you and wraps an arm around your waist, “You forgot your lunch so I decided to bring it” you reply, lifting up his food. He takes it off your hand, the smell of his favorite chicken entering his nose as he gets a hold of the bag’s handle she’s such a great cook he thought.

 “You could’ve called me Y/N. You shouldn't be carrying this heavy bag and going to places alone. What if something happens to you and the baby?” 

You chuckle and rub his tensed shoulder, “first of all, it’s not heavy and second, I arrived in one piece didn't I?” you smirk. He shooks his head in disbelief, “but still, you don’t do anything nor go anywhere alone okay?”. You nod your head and rest your head on his shoulder, his arm never leaving your waist.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The two took a quick lunch break, Steve gave Robin some of his food and she asked you to make some for her next time. “It tastes like heaven” she said. After they clean up and pack away their food, Robin assists a customer at the counter. Steve gives her a pat, “back me up for a while, I’ll just take Y/N home” he say. Robin gives him a thumbs up and waves you goodbye. Steve intertwines his fingers to yours and go out but as you both head to the door, a customer entering bumps into your shoulder - causing you to stumble back a little. Steve immediately grabs you and places a protective hand over your bump. 

“Watch where your fucking going asshole! You almost made a pregnant lady fall” he scolds. The boy who’s probably a few years younger than you, scoffs and continue to walk away. Steve rolls his eyes, “you little shit” he tries to go after the boy but you stop him and motion him to get the door for you.

He enters the car and sighs, “what a fucking douchebag” he complains. You pull him to you by the sleeve of his uniform and place a soft peck on his cheek, “thanks for taking great care of me and the baby” you smile. Steve finally loosens up and smiles back, “You’re literally carrying a living thing inside of you and I can’t imagine how hard it is. The least I could do is protect you both from any harm, which is literally everywhere for Christ’s sake”. You giggle at his statement and he starts driving.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The boy places the movie on the counter and waits for Robin to notice him. He taps his fingers loudly against the VHS tape, “are you blind or what?” he says, already impatient. Robin takes the tape and puts it in a compartment under the counter, she puts her hands together as she leans in front of the boy. 

“I’m not blind, I actually thought you were the blind one - seeing you crash into people and all. Sorry but Family Video well specifically me, don’t serve little bitches like you who don't even apologize to people they bump into because it’ll hurt their fragile ego”

She motions at the door and waves him goodbye with a sarcastic smile.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

#stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things headcanons #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things scenarios #stranger things oneshot #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington scenarios #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington headcannons #steve harrington oneshot #joe keery #joe keery x reader

[the-type-a]

Some of my Duncney headcanons because you said you'd like to be spammed :)

- whenever they have lucky charms duncan always eats all of the marshmallows out of the box and leaves courtney with the plain cereal

-courtney doesn't like the crust on her sandwiches so duncan will eat it for her

-courtney is always the first to wake up in the morning, but sometimes duncan will turn off her alarm a day in advance just so he can spend more time with her

-in a world where total drama doesnt exist they always meet through mutual friends i dont know why but thats a rule

-He'll purposefully hide behind corners to scare her and it works 98% of the time but she grows used to it at some point

-they adopt a big threatening looking dog and name it princess and give it a pink collar or something

-when theyre teenagers shes at his house 99% of the time because it just feels so homey compared to hers

-they both wear glasses when theyre alone at home, dont ask why i just think its cute

-When they're not even that far into their relationship, he gets a tattoo of her name in cursive right above his collarbone or something because hes impulsive and she thinks its so thoughtful but also so incredibly stupid of him

-I headcanon that duncan has adhd and maybe a little bit of dyslexia so if he can't read something too well she'll read it to him

-She listens to him ramble and even if the topic changes 5 times she'll be there to add on and nod her head

-They go to the gym together and are SOOO competitive but are each other's biggest supporters at the same time

-She lets him give her a piercing at least once because he never shuts up about it

-She'll help him dye his hair

-Duncan's nose whistles while he sleeps because he has a crooked septum and Courtney complains about it at first but at some point it actually becomes really soothing and she'll wait for him to fall asleep first every night because the whistling helps her sleep

-Courtney cant cook for the life of her and she's jealous of him because he's one of the best cooks she's ever met. She'll follow a recipie to a T and it'll still turn out terrible, meanwhile he measures everything with his heart and it always turns out SO good.

-Duncan can sleep anywhere and everywhere meanwhile she'll be kept up by the littlest things. He knows this and will go to extreme measures just to make sure she's comfortable.

-Say they go to a restaurant and they get her order wrong. His first instinct is to tell off the waiter himself, but he knows she'll be pissed because she can fight her own battles, so he'll just support her in the background like "you heard the lady."

-He sleeps with socks on and it makes her SO mad

-Although he's hard to read, she can always tell when he's nervous because he twists around one of the studs in his ear.

-they both love cartoons

-They both get jealous so easily and it's a turn on for both of them when the other is jealous

-He listens to her work drama and gets soo invested. He'll say stuff like "You know I never liked that bitch" or "No I literally would've done the same thing If i were you-"

-He always thinks he's paying the bill at restaurants but she'll say she's going to the bathroom only to give them her card instead. He never finds out and takes so much pride in it.

-Duncan literally owns spiders but is terrified of something harmless like a moth or a ladybug. He instantly yells and forces Courtney to kill them instead.

-Before he leaves for work she'll kiss him and her lipstick will leave a mark on his face and she purposefully wont tell him

-He always takes pictures of her when she's not looking and sends them to their friends because he thinks she looks most beautiful when she doesn't even know it

-She tries to teach him spanish and he only picks up on the swears

-They both have terrible road rage. Like they should not be allowed to drive

-She gets addicted to something like candy crush or Hayday and he has to take her phone from her for her own safety

-Their playlists are so different but hand either one of them the aux and they always sing every word together

That's all I can think of right now 😂 but i hope atleast some of these sound in character for them

I loved every single one of these!

- tbh… I think Courtney would like that Duncan takes all the marshmallows from lucky charms. Idk they seem kinda gross and unnecessary… don’t hate me 👀

- Okay the crust one is so cute if it were Dramarama Duncney! Imagine her at lunch time and just pouting so much until Duncan asks her what’s wrong? Then he makes fun of her for “being a baby” and eats it for her. Then she vows to never let that happen again so she starts trying all the food things she hates.

- Duncan shuts Courtney’s alarm off ONE TIME and all hell breaks loose. She’s scrambling, cursing, and Duncan is just sitting there like “It’s Saturday.”

- Ah, the KB5 never fails us at setting up a Duncney meet up. Valid.

- The one where Duncan is trying to scare her constantly is so funny because I can just imagine her getting so used to it that doesn’t even phase her anymore. Like one day she’s going through the mail and he pops out and she completely ignored him and shoves a bill in his face 😅

- Oh they absolutely adopted a dog and name her princess! She’s a meany to the world but to her parents? Oh, she’s the biggest baby!

- Oh man, the one with Courtney being at Duncan’s house 24/7? YES. It makes me sad tbh, but I completely agree. Her household is just so strict that if you even sleep in past a normal waking hour her parents are hounding her for it. So going to Duncan’s is so refreshing and his family absolutely adores her so they don’t even mind. Heck, sometimes Duncan gets home and Courtney’s just chilling with his mom.

- Duncney in glasses is so CUTE. I need fanart of it asap! Courtney’s always worn them but has her contacts in almost constantly. Duncan refuses to acknowledge he needs them until the very last minute because he HATES being compared to his dad on any level. And it’s canon that his dad has glasses lmao

- Imagine Duncan sneaking into Courtney’s room like, “Sup, Babe. Check it out.” and just pulls his shirt off to show her. Meanwhile Courtney’s just sitting in her bed like how the fuck did you get into my room and why the fuck is my name on you?! Then she’s like “Awe, that’s so cute.” and Duncan’s all “I’m not cute.”

- Omfg yes! Imagine Duncan reading Courtney’s published book?! Imagine him wanting her to read whatever little mini story she has written for herself? I HC her as always writing away whenever she’s super stressed and sometimes they turn into cute little stories with an actual plot.

- Courtney loves when Duncan talks about his passions. There’s never just one, he has like a billion ideas and dreams and he never forgets to add the “And I want you along side me through it all.” She absolutely gushes about it on the inside!

- I fucking love gym Duncney! They have their own workouts but always ALWAYS scan the floor to check on each other. Whenever Courtney finds him checking her out he winks and she blushes no matter how long they’ve been together. And of course they are popping up whenever anyone comes up to the other trying to flirt. Hell no, they shut that shit down 😂

- Courtney’s had her ears pierced since she was three months old (Latinos say I) so whenever Duncan suggests more piercings she’s always like, “I already have my ears done.” So he suggests her bellybutton so much that she eventually lets him and it’s the scariest thing to hide from her parents until she moves out.

- Courtney has a little green tint to her fingertips because she’s ditched using gloves a long time ago. Duncan insists they only get in the way 🙄 So when people joke around with the, “Oh, looks like someone has a green thumb!” She looks down and is like, “Nope, just my boyfriends hair dye.”

- Courtney’s the type of person who needs complete and total silence and darkness to fall asleep. At first she’s constantly waking Duncan up or turning him the other way so she can at least fall asleep. Eventually she realizes it’s comforting because she knows he’s with her and whenever he’s at work or something she literally cannot sleep until he’s home. It’s a problem lmao

- No because the cooking one hit a little too close to home LMAO. Honestly, WHY are guys so good at cooking out of nowhere? Not fair. Anyway, yes. Courtney knows a few dishes but they never compare to her Abuela’s/Mom’s cooking. But Duncan? Oh, his Nonna practically dragged him into the kitchen to help her at such a young age that he’s a natural. That’s the one person in his life that he truly can say loves him unconditionally (besides Courtney of course).

- It literally pisses Courtney off so much at how quickly Duncan can fall asleep.

- Going to a restaurant is scary for the both of them. Not only do they have to dodge paparazzi, but there is almost always a problem. It can be the food, the people, or just something plain like the restaurant being out of the one thing both of them wanted. They’d much rather stay at home to avoid a scene lol

- Courtney WILL wait until Duncan’s knocked out to take those damn socks off.

- Goodness, YES. Duncan will never show emotion, he’s constantly with his poker face but Courtney just knows when something is up. She can tell by the tone of his voice and his body language. Then the little stud twist? Done deal. She is getting him the hell out of there and trying to calm him down.

- Duncan loves watching cartoons like family guy, American dad, etc. while Courtney just enjoys the childhood reruns like Kim Possible lmao. Sometimes Duncan will come home and catch her binge watching something cute like that.

- Before Duncney are in their mature stage of their relationship they are definitely pulling strings on each other. They get in a fight? Bet. Watch me go flirt with this girl or guy just to piss you off enough to snap. It’s toxic af but it works for them in some weird kinda way.

- Duncan absolutely hates listening and LIKING the work gossip Courtney talks about. At first he’s so annoyed and tries to change the subject but one time when Bridgette is over Courtney is telling a story and he’ll catch himself either correcting her or being like, “Don’t forget she did this too.”

- Ah Duncan. The king of never checking his monthly billing statements that would so clearly indicate he has in fact NOT paid for a date for months.

- Hm, I think duncan would lie and say he “can’t kill a lady bug because it’s so pure to the world.” or something along those lines. In reality he’s terrified.

- Hell yeah, Courtney! Tell everyone that’s YOUR man. I’m cheering her on with this one. 💅🏼

- Courtney has the GC on dnd because Geoff is always blowing it up in the middle of the night. So when she randomly checks it after a long day she’s just scrolling through like 20 pictures of herself drinking coffee or fixing her hair. Then DJ, the supportive king is always like, “Awe, those are nice.”

- Courtney teaching Duncan Spanish 🤝🏼 Duncan teaching Courtney Italian

- We all watched celebrity manhunt. Those two need their licenses suspended immediately.

- Imagine Courtney playing candy crush LMAO. She’s one of those people who are always like, “I could never get so consumed by a game like that.” Then downloads it during covid and is up ALL NIGHT and Duncan’s just like concerned 💀

- OMFG YES YES YES! Duncney’s playlist are so so different but they know each others taste and everything. If Duncan blasts some punk rock Courtney knows the chorus and even does a little air guitar when it’s time. And Duncan will never ever in a million years admit it but whenever Courtney plays her music? If he’s belting out those babies with her. And the ballads?!? Oh, it’s beautiful.

#total drama #duncney #td courtney #td duncan #total drama courtney #total drama duncan