#Vintage night lamb

[kitapkokansevgili]

[thefugitivesaint]

Elizabeth Shippen Green (1871-1954), ‘A Midsummer Night's Dream’, ''Tales from Shakespeare'' by Charles Lamb, 1922 Source

[ancaxbre]

Illustration for 'Tales from Shakespeare

Author: Charles and Mary Lamb

Illustrator: Elena Boariu/Chinschi

1969

[lullaebies]

HII your jaehaera x aegon iii has taken over my brain like OMGGG him & jaehaera >>>> but my request (if your still taking them) is how team green and black see how Aegon iii is infatuated/fixated/in love with Jaehaera. it's moments like Aegon talking to his brothers until he suddenly goes silent, his eyes tracking Jaehaera who's passing by. Or Jaehaera dancing with another man and his jealousy. No matter the situation the way he looks at her is the same. Gentle and tender but intense. Like I need this man to be a devout simp 😩🫡

a/n: thank you so much love!! they have genuinely took over my brain i'm so happy i'm not alone in this lmaoo. now i didn't really have time to write the past few days sadly (which is why other reqs are still pending - sorry guys!), but for this request i actually had something in my drafts that fit to it. i am writing a chaptered fic au for jaehaegon (...and jaehaerys/viserys ii lol) and i've been testing writing interactions for them to get the vibe i want... it changed a lot since then, but this was one of the test fics. i hope you will enjoy it! this is viserys ii pov, but there are lots of mentions to other characters.

It is deep into the night’s feast when he notices Aegon playing with the ruby ring upon his pinky. 

Well. Viserys supposes the more proper word is fiddle, though his brother is hardly a restless man. He is far more fitting into the description of rigid, filling the black of his doublets with broad shoulders of deliberate posture and a sense of responsibility.

Or at least so he had been, until their estranged family had come for a visit. Their uncle and aunt had come out of the woodworks that had been Oldtown to request to build a Keep to the west of it. That had been for their son, who had nothing to inherit, as it stands. Viserys’s mother had allowed them to make their case, his father had allowed them to see his smirks, but nothing yet had been set in stone.

It is an art, to convince those who never planned on being convinced. While Prince Aegon the Elder and Princess Helaena had been mostly unsuccessful in their endeavours, their daughter Jaehaera, had entered the court with prideful flare to her step and an ever-determined gaze. One could not say she had charmed his mother and father, but Viserys thinks they had hardly been the ones she had her mind on setting her claws in.

Instead, his own brother, usually so clear-headed and mindful, had his dark purple gaze almost unwaveringly on her. A genuine fool, he thinks. Viserys does not know what the witch has done to make him so dim-witted, but gods be good, she had known her plays. 

While her twin and younger brother had sat nearby him at the table for the better of the event, Jaehaera had entered the feast late, much after everyone’s introductions. The announcement of her arrival had music forced to a stop, setting the majority of eyes to the entrance. 

A lady pleasing on the eyes would steal a man’s thought, that is evident with his own brother, but a lady with strong enough wit would steal a man’s mind. And as music restarted with the appearance of her smile, and men flocked by her for a dance,  Aegon could not be more obvious he had not been at peace, drinking vintage he had prior declared abhorrent.

In truth, Aegon the Younger paralleled Aegon the Elder with the sudden swallow of drinks. And while his brother had been staunchly, unabashedly, moronically staring at Jaehaera, her father had been dead on Aegon the Younger himself, looking just about ready to toss his goblet at him. 

The atmosphere from her brothers hadn’t been much better. Sitting between Jaehaerys and Aegon the Younger, Viserys had felt a proper wall of separation. The man beside him may have known he needed to keep quiet if he wanted to get his damned Keep, but he had been looking at his brother with intense scrutiny for days now.

Little Maelor on the other hand had the gall to laugh while remaining within his mask of an innocent lamb. And when he next does, it is at the same time Viserys wishes to sink into his chair and disappear into it from embarrassment. 

Some golden-haired man had invited Jaehaera to a dance. Not an unexpected occurrence; dancing does happen in feasts. But while his brother had attempted to busy himself with playing with his food like a child, he lifted his head again when the dance ended - only to see said man holding onto Jaehaera’s gem earrings while speaking to her in proximity that is questionable — and there, his brother had to stand. Literally.

Jaehaera looked towards Aegon in the eye then, as everyone else did, but within capturing her gaze, his mouth had become voiceless despite it being opened ajar.

And he stood there uncomfortably, unable to even cuss the man whose offense he stood up against to begin with. As if he’s going to make a fucking toast, or something. I cannot believe this. Baela had told him and Jace alike that she thinks they may be ought to bind their brother to some post to prevent him from acting up. Jace, kind crown-prince he is, completely dismissed it, but now looking at him, he thinks he too just realized their sister had been right. 

Meanwhile mother looked properly frazzled herself, sharing a look with his father that had been so pointed, even King Consort Daemon himself realized he had to give a damn. “Continue the music,” his mother had told the musicians not far away from them, while father had gestured to Aegon to come his way, and now.

Whatever point words their father had decided to rebuke Aegon with, his brother had received them with properly flushed cheeks, should it be from the embarrassment, or the drinking, of whatever blood that didn’t manage to make it to his brain.

Aegon had soon left the table for the grand floor, finding himself some girl to dance with instead. A daughter of one of their loyal courtiers, he believes. Viserys releases a sigh of relief when he sees that. Perhaps now his blood pressure can calm. 

His cousin — Jaehaerys, that is — seems to release a lousy scoff. 

Viserys turns to him with a frown. “You have something to say?” 

Viserys will admit; he is defensive of his brother, as foolish as he may have acted these days. He would not hear giggles or scoffs at him. Jaehaerys, on his part, is unfazed, staring yet still on the floor, and at the dance that has partners swapping left and right. 

“There is little to say in this situation, no?” Jaehaerys answers. “Even little that can be done, or prevented, don’t you agree?”

Viserys doesn’t bother acting the fool, but his cousin better not either. “On your side, mayhaps,” he answers. “Your sister will lose you your Keep if this continues, you know this?” 

Jaehaerys eyes grow daggered, and he lowers his voice. “There isn’t going to be any damn Keep given from your parents, even if my own ones’ grovel,” he says cutthroat. Viserys stares at him. He knows well enough, huh? “Don’t assume me stupid. Nor should you assume my sister stupid. This had been a losing game since arrival, for the lot of my family… but she’ll cut her losses even in the most futile of dances.” 

When Viserys looks back at the dance floor, their siblings are dancing together. Viserys licks his lips. There is something there that can’t be prevented, perhaps, but also something that won’t quite be approved by all of their parents. What would it do, in the long run? Nothing. 

“And throwing herself at my brother would be cutting her losses?” he asks back, more sincere than he even planned on sounding. He even tries to pick his words carefully. “It would not do her good either, to end up seeming a… seductress.” 

Jaehaerys tsks. “No need to dance around it. I’ll say it as it is, fully and wholly — she has no plans on being your brother’s whore,” he brings a hand forward; the one with six fingers, and lays above the back of Viserys’s hand on the table. His fingers fill the spaces between his, the little extra pinky standing up purposefully. Viserys freezes for a moment, and nearly takes his hand back when Jaehaerys opens his mouth again. “It only takes one extra step to make honey from enticing, to trapping.” 

The extra finger curls against Viserys’s palm as Jaehaerys intertwined their fingers, squeezing lightly with a smile. Viserys swallows and only manages to remember to snatch away his hand when Jaehaerys’s chuckle comes along with the brush of his thumb against the side of his palm. 

What the fuck. He rises himself from his chair, needing some damn distance. Whatever the fuck his cousins have in mind, they live in their own world, as do their father and their mother. 

By the time he manages to absolve himself from the almost scorching feeling of Jaehaerys’s hand on his, the feast is over, and they all go their own ways, Viserys himself remaining rushing to his room.

The morning after, when he sees Jaehaerys’s face again, he has a look in his eye that is ever-knowing. And for a moment, he thinks in mortification it is all about him — but it is not.  It is only then, that he starts understanding what her brother truly meant the night prior.

Jaehaera is standing by her twin, smiling absentmindedly and fiddling with a ruby ring on her bony thumb, and his brother, his dear, foolish brother, stares at her with his bare fingers and doting eyes, ready only to give more.

[keeksandgigz]

thinking of eddie helping you braid your hair when you’re getting ready to spend the night

made this about eddie and witchy because i cannot stop thinking about them- this is also for the anon who said they can't stop reading it (thank u hehehe)

fluffy fluff below the cut, witchy being jealous and thinking of hexing his exes <3

He had to drag you into his apartment.

In a hilarious turn of events, due to some kind of San Francisco strike, all metro routes were suspended and there was no way you were going to walk in heeled boots all the way to Twin Peaks.

"Why call an Uber, baby? You can literally come upstairs at mine" Eddie says, watching you huff as you read over the e-mail about the strike.

"No Eddie you don't understand. I need to be home. I have a whole ritual! And silk pillowcases! Why can't you just drive me?" you whine, hoping he'll fold to your requests like he always does.

He grabs you by the shoulders, giving you a tender look.

"Because, my lovely witchy, metro routes being down means there will be absolute pandemonium in the streets. And I'm not trying to stay fifteen minutes stuck in downhill traffic" he laughs as you follow him around the store.

He's still working, you got off an hour before and after walking around the vintage stores for an hour there wasn't much else to do. It's just him in the record shop, working the closing shift. You follow him around trying to convince him to drive you back as he puts back the vinyls in the milk crates, folds band t- shirts, and rearranges patches in the display case.

"C'mon, witchy, just go up. I have Chinese takeout from last night or spaghetti if you wanna cook, I'll stop by the hair place across the block to get you a silk pillowcase. Promise" he says, leaning over the counter to kiss your forehead he opens up the cash till.

"But Ed-" you whine, you've never slept outside of your apartment before.

"No buts, I'm sorry witchy. Now get your cute butt out of here, I've got money out" he says, puckering his lips, ready for a kiss.

You lean over the counter and give him a quick kiss before he hands you the keys to his apartment.

"Don't forget to call Lorraine to get her to feed Circe!" he exclaims before you're out the door. You roll your eyes, of course you'll call Lorraine, your neighbor, if Lorraine existed.

But he doesn't have to know you can feed Circe with a snap of your finger whenever you forget to leave food out in the morning.

So you groan and you go through the backdoor of the store to reach the small, dingy courtyard of his apartment. Second floor, apartment 5C.

This building is so old it doesn't even have an elevator. You reach the door and open it, the rattle of keys falling over the counter is the only sound that can be heard, along with the clack of the short heels of your boots.

You take your shoes off and go through his fridge. Day- old Chinese takeout, a carton of eggs and milk. Three cans of Sierra Nevada, a half- drunk bottle of Coke Zero. You open his freezer.

Honey walnut shrimp and fried rice from Trader Joe's, a bottle of vodka, and a tub of ice cream from the last time you were craving it.

You roll your eyes and pick up the phone.

"Hey Ed, you have jack shit in your fridge. Can you stop by the Greek place down the block? I’ll have a gyro with chicken and falafel on the side” you request, hearing his groan at another chore he has to do post closing.

“Baby the Chinese food in the fridge is pretty good, it’s from the place we always go to” he’s not very convincing, but he’s tired and now lost count of the cash he was counting.

“‘kay i’ll put an online order for it so you just have to go pick it up, sound good?” you ignore him.

“Ugh fine but I better get, like, the biggest kiss in return.“ he groans, but it’s true. He is a weak, weak man when it comes to you. “Get me the pita wrap with lamb and fries, and lemme also get seasoned fries on the side. Thank you witchy, love you gotta go” he says, hanging up the phone.

So you order the food and then sneak in Eddie's bedroom to change into something comfortable. Getting rid of that fine line when clothes felt too much like clothes, the stitching pressing into your skin, the cuffs of your sweater feeling a bit too tight against your wrists, your jeans too tight on your legs.

So you venture in his closet and steal a pair of sweats and a ratty black t- shirt. One of his many. You go to the bathroom and notice there's no mirror. This dude.

So you tie your hair away from your face and use the nice face wash you got him- which you're sure he rarely uses- and wipe the makeup off your face. You go look for a clean towel, 'cause God knows you will not be wiping your face with the hand towel sitting on the rod on the wall.

After your face is clean you plop yourself on the couch and watch TV to pass the time.

Thirty- odd minutes later a rattling of keys startles you. Eddie walks through the door with his arms full of plastic bags. He places them on the counter.

"Hey witchy, I see you've made yourself at home?" he says, as you walk towards him and bury yourself in his arms. At least he smelled nice.

"Hmmm missed you, Ed" you mutter against the fabric of his t- shirt.

"You missed me?" you give a little nod, followed by a hum. His heart beats a bit faster, it's nice knowing you think of him when he's away.

"Aw, witchy. I missed you too, are you hungry?" he says, giving you a sweet kiss on the head as he detaches from your grip and reaches for the bag with the food, taking out the boxes.

"Also stopped by the hair place, got you that silk pillowcase and some shampoo and conditioner to keep here. Doubt you'll wanna use my three in one shit" he snickers, and you blush timidly. He's not sweet in the way that he'll kiss you in the middle of the street, but he is for sure sweet in the way he thinks about you an embarrassing amount of times a day.

"Thanks Ed, you didn't have to do that" you say, and he blushes, the boy tinges himself pink because you appreciate him.

"Y'know, anything for you" he says, giving you a kiss on the forehead as he brings the takeout boxes to the coffee table.

You follow him and plop down on the couch "I was watching 'Sex and the City' while you were gone" you explain, biting into your gyro.

"Was Samantha being her usual crazy self?" he doesn't even know who Samantha is, but he thinks it's funny to ask you every time. You giggle as he puts on a random show for you to watch.

After an episode Eddie stands up and stretches.

"I'm beat, I think it's time for bed" he says "c'mon, witchy"

You rise from the couch and follow him into the master bathroom.

“I have a toothbrush here for you, I kinda uh-“ from his tone you can tell he’s embarrassed “I got one for here the first time you came over, in case you ever, y’know, wanted to sleep over” he says sheepishly, while you wrap your arms around him.

He offers it to you, it’s pink. Your favorite color.

“Aw, Ed. You’re so sweet, thank you” you say and you swear you can see him blush as you place a delicate kiss on his warming cheek.

This slice of domesticity taken away from the mystic vibe of your apartment really makes you wonder. It makes you think about a normal life, with him.

The way he washes his face like a madman (without face wash), letting the water wet his bangs instead of pulling his hair back, the way he ties his hair up before brushing his teeth.

You take the toothbrush out of your mouth "Ah shtill don' undestand why you don' have a mirrah" you sputter, mouth full as you spit the toothpaste in the sink.

"Why I don't have a mirror? Previous tenant broke it and my asshole landlord still won't fix it" he says, taking off his shirt. Your eyes linger on the lines of his back a little too long, bordering the line between looking and staring.

So you turn around and you try to braid your hair without a mirror, but to no avail, every strand seems to be three different sizes.

You groan in frustration as Eddie approaches you.

"Lemme help, witchy" he says, standing behind you and tending an arm out for a hair tie.

He divides the hair into three strands. Your hair is so soft between his fingers.

He wishes he could stall so that he could caress it for longer, but an impatient yawn escapes your mouth as his hands deftly get to work. Over, under, over, under-

"Where did you learn to braid hair?" you ask, feeling the way he softly holds each strand, making sure he's not pulling at your scalp. You don't see him, but a smile forms around his tongue, peeking out of his lips in concentration. Over, under.

"I had girlfriends before you, witchy. They taught me to braid my own hair" he chuckles, as you try to tune out the word girlfriends. Under, over, under.

He can see a pout form on your lips, he smiles.

"Why'd you need to braid your hair?" you huff, thinking of going on a spiraling rampage and hexing every one of his exes. Over.

"Well" he begins "one time, an ex braided my hair and it came out super curly, so I wanted to try it myself. Turns out it needs to stay in the braid for a while for that to happen" he shrugs.

Under, over, tie.

"All done," he announces, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Thanks, Ed" you examine the braid, flinging it over your shoulder "looks really nice" you say, and give him a small kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He gets himself into bed. His bed is oddly comfortable and his sheets smell of laundry detergent.

"I might have been washing my sheets every other day in case you wanted to sleep over" he confesses, blushing, as he lifts his arm, opening the warmth of his chest to you.

"You" you give him a kiss "are literally" another kiss "the sweetest guy" another kiss "in the history of always" last kiss.

He gets flustered when you call him sweet, because under the hardening exterior of black chains and shirts with exploding heads and hooded skeletal figures, there's just a sweet guy who loves you and wants you to like him for being himself.

"Just want you to, you know, have a good experience with me" he says, caressing your head.

"You get an 11/10 Yelp rating, can't recommend to anyone, though. You seem to be preoccupied with a really cool girl, and it seems it's going to go on forever" you giggle, as he smiles and gives you a kiss.

"Go to sleep, cool girl. Goodnight, love you" he says, before turning off his lights.

"Goodnight, Ed" you say, turning over so he can spoon you.

"You have to say it back" he whispers in the quiet of the dark room.

"Right, sorry. I love you too, Ed" you correct yourself and close your eyes, falling into one of the best sleeps you've ever had in your life.

The morning after, Eddie wakes up to his landlord bringing in a new mirror, his hair extra curled and all his exes blocked on his social media. But he doesn't have to know about that last one.

[charlottecutepie]

about me | masterlist

hi my name is Liz, you can call me Lizzy/Beth, she/her, infp 4w5. I’m over 18 and this blog contains sexual themes, so if you’re minor don’t interact

this blog contains smut, angst, fluff, gore, violence and hurt/comfort fics. i mostly write for fnaf, although i love other fandoms too

rules: no homophobia, transphobia, racism or anything like that, otherwise you’ll be blocked. let’s be nice to each other. dont copy and translate my works and this master list too, don’t post them on any other sites, I put a lot of effort into them so it’s disrespectful. im open to blurbs and i write for fem reader. also comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

some things I adore: night sky, writing, drawing, dancing, cinematography, dilfs, history, astrology and astronomy, spirituality, forests, unicorns, summer, chocolate, purple and blue colours, ballet, lambs, lavender, rain and rainbow, dark red lipstick, memes, poetry, deers, bubble baths, herbal tea, dogs, meadows

artists that inspire me a lot: melanie martinez, lana del rey, the neighbourhood, pastel ghost, grimes, tame impala, tv girl, marina, cults, arctic monkeys, crystal castles, cigarettes after sex, mitski, princess chelsea, mars argo, billie eilish, sidewalks and skeletons, allie x

aesthetic I love: coquette (all sort of), vintage americana, dreamcore, cottagecore, fairycore, balletcore, old money

MASTERLIST

⊹ ‧₊˚ 🐇 WILLIAM AFTON / STEVE RAGLAN

nsfw alphabet | deal | his princess | teacher’s pet | picnic date | strawberry jam | Valentine’s Day blurb | married!William headcanons

William Afton audio | audio 2 | audio 3 | audio 4 | audio 5 | audio 6 | audio 7 | audio 8 | audio 9

🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆ MICHAEL AFTON

his least favourite colour | bully | nsfw alphabet

☥ Bunny meat (William Afton x fem!reader x Michael Afton) ☥

1 chapter | 2 chapter | 3 chapter | 4 chapter | 5 chapter

🎞˚ :♡· ˚₊˚ HENRY EMILY

Henry Emily audio

✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮ MIKE SCHMIDT

nothing yet. . .

[angelbaby-fics]

Daddy's Protector

Pairing: CG!Bucky x Little!Reader (gender neutral!)

Word Count: 720

A/N: This was inspired by my love for vintage toys/stuffies!! This is kind of short, but I'm already kind of thinking about a part 2 🤔 Hope you guys enjoy 💕😁

You sat on the edge of your bed, sulking as Bucky packed your overnight bag. What was planned to be a fun sleepover at Peter’s house had turned into an epic standoff between you and your daddy. To say you were clingy would be an understatement, not that Bucky typically minded that, but he knew it would be good for you to branch out. You’d been excited at first, begging Bucky to let you spend the night at your best friend’s house and excitedly thinking up all the trouble the two of you would get into, but as the fateful day drew nearer, you started to second guess yourself. You’d never spent a night away from Bucky, and in the excitement of the sleepover plans, you had completely forgotten that this was an obstacle you’d have to face. Bucky held up a different patterned onesie in each hand.

“Which one, pumpkin?” He asked, but you just glared. “Come on, baby, you gotta help me out here.”

“Not goin’.” You mumbled, barely loud enough for anyone other than a supersoldier to hear. 

“I’ll pack both.” Bucky replied, ignoring your statement. He was the only person who could match your stubbornness. He stuffed both onesies into your backpack, followed by a pair of overalls. 

You stayed silent, arms crossed over your chest, and your face in a scowl that started as an intimidation tactic but was now the only thing keeping you from bursting into tears. Watching Bucky pack your things just reminded you that you’d be leaving his side in just a few minutes. You didn’t even like to leave his side when he got up to get a snack or use the bathroom, let alone for a whole entire 24 hours. Now suddenly you had to learn how to have dinner, watch cartoons, get ready for bed, wake up, have breakfast, and play pretend without your daddy. Most terrifyingly, however, you’d have to make it all the way through the night. You had your own room with your own big bed, and Bucky had his, but no matter which room it was in, you were incapable of falling asleep anywhere other than in his arms. 

Bucky turned around from your dresser to face you.

“Now, what pajamas do you want?” He asked.

You said nothing.

“Come one, button, I think I know which ones.” He tried again, setting your bag down and approaching your side. “You wanna come to daddy’s room and pick out a shirt to wear for bed?”

You still didn’t reply, but you let yourself be picked up by Bucky. He carried you into his bedroom and tried to set you down on his bed, but you held tight onto his tshirt. Bucky shifted you onto his hip so he could use his free hand to poke around his own dresser drawers. Suddenly he stopped as an idea suddenly hit him.

“Hey pumpkin, I know it's scary to leave, isn’t it.”

You nodded against Bucky’s shoulder, feeling tears prick the edges of your eyes.

“Well, I think such a brave little one deserves a special present, don’t you?”

You picked your head up, meeting Bucky’s eyes with your teary ones for the first time that afternoon.

“You know how daddy always protects you, right?”

You nodded eagerly.

“Well this-” Bucky returned to the drawer and pulled something out “-is who protects daddy.”

He handed it to you, a little white stuffed lamb. You’d never seen a stuffy like this before, it was stiff and faded, with little glass eyes. You turned it over in your hands, and it was obvious that the little guy had been loved for many years prior.

“This is my Lamby.” Bucky said quietly, admiring the way you handled the stuffy with such care. “I’ve had him ever since I was born, and he always kept me safe when I had sleepovers with Steve. Now he can keep you safe at Peter’s house, until tomorrow when I come get you. And after that, we get to spend the whole day together, just you and me.”“And Lamby.” You whispered.

“You and me and Lamby, that's right.” Bucky smiled, kissing you on the cheek. You giggled, feeling his scruffy chin against your face. “Now which shirt do you wanna wear to bed tonight, angel?”

[little-pup-pip]

Just curious, what requests do you have in your queue/to do currently? If you're ok with saying it that is :]

Oh boy, that's a bigger question than last time someone asked! I have over 200 waiting requests at this point!! Because of that this got very very long, so I put the rest under the cut! Like last time, this is in order of how recently I received the request, and doesn't mean I'm too busy to take new requests!!

Ibara saegusa (enstars)

Monochrome oranges cats and angels

Gloomy bear

Another rockruff (maybe)

Cult of the lamb (specifically the lamb)

Llewellyn Watts (Murdoch Mysteries)

Jake (trailer park warlock)

Cult of the lamb (pet dreaming themed)

Bear therian

Selkie

Ice bear (we bare bears)

Tubbo (maybe)

Snow leopard

Pink

Australian shepherd (pupre)

Cassie (fnaf: ruin)

Draik (neopets)

The rainbow fish

Black kitten + space

Pumpkin head (maybe, needs more research)

Alice in wonderland

Sheep

Someone's OC Avery & siblings

Gothic

Star catcher (MLP)

Masc version of my druid board

Scrooge CG (2009 film)

Beetlejuice

Superstar daycare (fnaf)

1950s + ocean

Pandas + light purple and black

Dandelions

Willy wonka CG (recent movie)

Maki Harukawa (Danganronpa)

Kidcore Halloween + pumpkin puppy Webkinz

Fruit bat

Mermaid

Pastel purple + pandas

Robocar Poli

Brown, lime green and forest green puppy

Weird Barbie CG

Shiny Vaporeon

Where the wild things are

Squid

Dylan (the magic roundabout)

Conner CG (Detroit become human)

Mitsuri kanroji (demon slayer)

Minecraft mooshrooms

Sharks or wolves (haven't decided)

Hot Wheels

Miffy

Fox

Sharks

Zombies

Vincent (dead plate)

Vintage kitty dreaming

Deadpool

Shane CG (stardew valley)

Wolf pup

Celestia and Luna (MLP)

Soft blue and yellow

Pascal (animal crossing)

Pastel blue and pink

Batman CG

Ram

Osamu dazai (bungo stray dogs)

Dylan (the quarry)

Rain/nature + white rabbits

Ox

Penguin + dinosaur

Noah (total drama island)

Vision CG (marvel)

Light blue

Bumble bees + lavender

Yellow + ducks

Bearded vulture

Barn owl

Queen barb (trolls world tour)

Oliver (vocaloid)

Light green light brown and beige

Mind (Chonny Jash/CCCC)

Cinnamoroll + emu otori (project sekai)

Yellow+ chicks and puppy stuffies

Seam CG (deltarune)

Plants vs zombies

Viktor (arcane)

Queen of trash CG (Elmo goes to grouch land)

John Constantine (Justice League Dark)

Aziraphale (good omens)

Scenecore

Musa (winx club)

Leap frog

Hyper feminine puppy

Crow + black cat

Totodile + bodies of water

Bees

Sackboy (Little Big Planet) and or My Melody

Baby crocodile

Animal crossing

Pastel kitten

Doki doki literature club

Keralis (Hermitcraft, maybe)

90s grunge

Tula tones (novi stars)

Eevee + dragons

Kitten + stars

Ratchet (rescue bot academy)

Pastel shark

Mikan Tsumiki (Danganronpa)

Mushrooms

Grey + Ross federman youtooz

Sparkly dragon

Blue and purple + puppies

Ducks + alt/Gothic lean

Cinnamoroll

Shadow (sonic)

Jellyfish

Boyfriend.xml (Friday night funkin')

Puppet (fnaf)

Golden retriever + yellow and blue

Bernese mountain dog

Strawberries

Genshin impact

Len or Miku

Toothless (httyd)

Eddworld

Donnie (rise of the tmnt)

The princess and the grilled cheese sandwich

Pastel goth princess

SpongeBob

Karako Pierot (hiveswap)

Young Michael Afton

Soft fox

Great pyrenees + farm

Ike eveland

Invader Zim + neon green

Julius Caesar (Octavian, night at the museum, waiting until March for this one)

Scorpion

Vampire squid

Golden retriever (again, lol)

Cats + playing outside

Border Collie

Tiger

Argos CG (World of Mr. Plant) 

Pochacco

Mortal Kombat

marble cross fox/forest/fantasy (I'm figuring this one out still)

Puppy + SpongeBob

characters from Project Sekai, Hoshino Ichika, Mochizuki Honami, Akiyama Mizuki and Kusanagi Nene.

Baby vulture

Frog with more fem themes

Rain world/slugcat

Dark academia/cottagecore

Border Collie

Modded smash hit rooms

Crying child (fnaf)

Agent Smith CG (the matrix)

Katamari

Enjolras (les miserable)

Rolfe DeWolfe CG (Rockafire Explosion)

Bugbo

Slime rancher

Puppet (fnaf)

CosMc's

Parado (Kamen Rider)

Tally hall

Gordon (all engines go)

Spinel (Steven universe)

Cater diamond (twisted wonderland)

Rockabilly (probably)

Felix Lee

Jing yuan CG (Hsr)

Charles Xavier CG (X-Men)

Toki wartooth (metalocalypse)

Naoto Shirogane (persona 4)

Kitoto (I don't know what he's from)

17th century dutch

Sirena von boo (monster high)

Jake (miss peregrines home for peculiar children)

Minecraft

Sees behind trees

Allay (Minecraft, I think)

Spinosaurus screenshots or products

Tecchou (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Barbara (genshin impact)

Tasmanian devil

Spamton CG (deltarune)

Spinosaurus

Grunge + lop eared bunnies

Yume-Nikki

Daxter (jak and daxter)

Madness combat for puppies

James Sunderland (silent Hill)

Shirokuma (Danganronpa)

Leo (IDW comic)

[the-soul-of-a-morningstar]

Can I request a match up? My name is Alexis, I work night shift but when I’m not in uniform I dress almost exclusively vintage (think anything Victorian to about 1960s) I sew most of my clothes. I’m a pet person I have three cats and two dogs.i have a preference towards swing music, specifically Cab Calloway and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. I’m straight and a girl. I’m in my mid 20s. I like sewing,crochet, and art, I’ll also sit down and read a good book, I’m currently rereading Silence of the Lambs. As for character preference my favorite character is Husk.

a/n: Hey Alexis! I decided to pair you with…

Husker

Husk was never really much of an artistic kinda guy, but he does praise and admire you’re personal creativity. He thinks it’s pretty neat that you make most of your clothes, even if it’s only in smaller ways.

Husk also wouldn’t be apposed to reading to you, he actually finds it quite relaxing, cuddled up to you in bed, your face snuggled into his fur as you listen to his heart beat softly and the vibration off of his low voice as he mutters to you the words written on the delicate pages.

Husk really thrives on spending time with you while in a relationship, he works most of the day, and you work night shifts — so sometimes it can be hard to schedule correct times to see and spend time with one another, so when you DO, he really tries to just take it in.

Runner-Ups: Alastor, Lucifer, Sir Pentious

@the-soul-of-a-morningstar : please do not copy, repost or translate onto any other platform.

[eclipian]

🎼 Moderator 🎹

pt: 🎼 Moderator 🎹

Hello! I am totally not the anon who uses the exact same emojis, totally nooooooot, anywho. Hi, I'm from [REDACTED] system (currently not wanting to disclose what system) I am a traumagenic system who is interested in Willo related stuff and I wish to help others discover their systems and expand their others!

My Pronouns are He/Xe/Ix! I may use We/Us to refer to myself once in a while.

Things I'll Do:

Headmates (singles or multiples) Sisasystems Sentispace (I can include Dissomei terms as well as ficto religions If asked!)

Bellow the Cut is my Person White list, Grey list, and Black list!

Personal White List: (bold is main)

Five Nights at Freddy's Bendy and the Ink Machinen The Binding of Issac Cult of the Lamb Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss Bonnies Bakery Berrywitched We Happy Few FAITH the Unholy Trinity Ib (the game) Mad Father Vintage 8 Dandy's Wold (Roblox) Doors (Roblox) Rainbow Friends (Roblox) My Friendly Neighborhood Garten of BanBan (It's a comfort source don't ask) Cookie Run (kingdom and ovenbreak) Flavor Frenzy (Roblox) My Little Pony G4 Minecraft Slime Rancher My Singing Monster Bugsnax Palworld Pokémon Digimon

Personal Grey List:

Dream SMP (Characters, not Content Creators) Other Cookie Run Games The Glass Scientists Crush Crush + Blush Blush Analog Horror Series Witches House Ado (music videos) Alien Stage

Personal Black List:

Undertale + Deltarune (just personal reasons) Sans-Shipverse / Sans-verse / Sans AUs Harry Potter

[rezcowgirl]

I'm looking through old photos again. I still have 7 years to trudge through. But wtf! I was so cute!!!! Let me be egotistical for a sec because why did I hate myself so much? This was before being RXd and extensive therapy and meds and committing my best to being a better person so that was probably a factor lmao.

I had so many cool clothes and I have no idea why I got rid of them. I don't have a single piece left from any of these photos. Not that they would probably fit anymore, but damn.

Like that Mercibocoup, lamb jacket? I got rid of that? That perfect red coat?? The vintage floral dresses? I just like, threw them in a donation bin? WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING.

(I am well aware these are painfully twee. I was a 21-22 year old ndn nerd whose favourite book was Weetzie Bat. I could quote most of Viola's lines from Twelfth Night and collected books about faeries. I still collect books about faeries. Bite me.)

[rhetoricandlogic]

Issue 97 – October 2014

9880 words, novelette, REPRINT

A Rich, Full Week

by K.J. Parker

AUDIO VERSION

He looked at me the way they all do. “You’re him, then.”

“Yes,” I said.

“This way.”

Across the square. A cart, tied up to a hitching-post. One thin horse. Not so very long ago, he’d used the cart for shifting dung. I sat next to him, my bag on my knees, tucking my feet in close, and laid a bet with myself as to what he’d say next.

“You don’t look like a wizard,” he said.

I owed myself two nomismata. “I’m not a wizard,” I said.

I always say that.

“But we sent to the Fathers for a—”

”I’m not a wizard,” I repeated, “I’m a philosopher. There’s no such thing as wizards.”

He frowned. “We sent to the Fathers for a wizard,” he said.

I have this little speech. I can say it with my eyes shut, or thinking about something else. It comes out better if I’m not thinking about what I’m saying. I tell them, we’re not wizards, we don’t do magic, there’s no such thing as magic. Rather, we’re students of natural philosophy, specializing in mental energies, telepathy, telekinesis, indirect vision. Not magic; just science where we haven’t quite figured out how it works yet. I looked at him. His hood and coat were homespun, that open, rather scratchy weave you get with moorland wool. The patches were a slightly different color; I guessed they’d been salvaged from an even older coat that had finally reached the point where there was nothing left to sew onto. The boots had a military look. There had been battles in these parts, thirty years ago, in the civil war. The boots looked to be about that sort of vintage. Waste not, want not.

“I’m kidding,” I said. “I’m a wizard.”

He looked at me, then back at the road. I hadn’t risen in his estimation, but I hadn’t sunk any lower, probably because that wasn’t possible. I waited for him to broach the subject.

By my estimation, three miles out of town; I said; “So, tell me what’s been happening.”

He had big hands; too big for his wrists, which looked like bones painted color “The Brother wrote you a letter,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied brightly. “But I want you to tell me.”

The silence that followed was thought rather than rudeness or sulking. Then he said, “No good asking me. I don’t know about that stuff.”

They never want to talk to me. I have to conclude that it’s my fault. I’ve tried all sorts of different approaches. I’ve tried being friendly, which gets you nowhere. I’ve tried keeping my face shut until someone volunteers information, which gets you peace and quiet. I’ve read books about agriculture, so I can talk intelligently about the state of the crops, milk yields, prices at market and the weather. When I do that, of course, I end up talking to myself. Actually, I have no problem about talking to myself. In the country, it’s the only way I ever get an intelligent conversation.

“The dead man,” I prompted him. I never say the deceased.

He shrugged. “Died about three months ago. Never had any bother till just after lambing.”

“I see. And then?”

“It was sheep to begin with,” he said. “The old ram, with its neck broke, and then four ewes. They all reckoned it was wolves, but I said to them, wolves don’t break necks, it was something with hands did that.”

I nodded. I knew all this. “And then?”

“More sheep,” he said, “and the dog, and then an old man, used to go round all the farms selling stuff, buttons and needles and things he made out of old bones; and when we found him, we reckoned we’d best tell the boss up at the grange, and he sent down two of his men to look out at night, and then the same thing happened to them. I said, that’s no wolf. Knew all along, see. Seen it before.”

That hadn’t been in the letter. “Is that right?” I said.

“When I was a kid,” the man said (and now I knew the problem would be getting him to shut up.) “Same thing exactly; sheep, then travelers, then three of the duke’s men. My granddad, he knew what it was, but they wouldn’t listen. He knew a lot of stuff, granddad.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Him and me and my cousin from out over, we got a couple of shovels and a pick and an axe, and we went and dug up this old boy who’d died. And he was all swelled up, like he’d got the gout all over, and he was purple, like a grape. So we cut off his head and shoveled all the dirt back, and we dropped the head down an old well, and that was the end of that. No more bother. Didn’t say what we’d done, mind. The Brother wouldn’t have liked it. Funny bugger, he was.”

Well, I thought. “You did the right thing,” he said. “Your grandfather was a clever man, obviously.”

“That’s right,” he said. “He knew a lot of stuff.”

I was doing my mental arithmetic. When I was a kid; so, anything from fifty-five to sixty years ago. Rather a long interval, but not unheard of. I was about to ask if anything like it had happened before then, but I figured it out just in time. If wise old Grandfather had known exactly what to do, it stood to reason he’d learned it the old-fashioned way, watching or helping; quite possibly more than once.

“The man who died,” I said.

“Him.” A cartload of significance crammed into that word. “Offcomer,” he explained.

“Ah,” I said.

“Schoolteacher, he called himself,” he went on. “Dunno about that. Him and the Brother, they tried to get a school going, to teach the boys their letters and figuring and all, but I told them, waste of time in these parts, you can’t spare a boy in summer, and winter, it’s too dark and cold to be walking five miles there and five miles back, just to learn stuff out of a book. And they wanted paying, two pence twice a year. People round here can’t afford that for a parcel of old nonsense.”

I thought of my own childhood, and said nothing. “Where did he come from?”

“Down south.” Well, of course he did. “I said to him, you’re a long way from home. He didn’t deny it. Said it was his calling, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

It was dark by the time we reached the farm. It was exactly what I’d been expecting; long and low, with turf eaves a foot off the ground, turf walls over a light timber frame. No trees this high up, so lumber had to come up the coast on a big shallow-draught freighter as far as Holy Trinity, then road haulage the rest of the way. I spent the first fifteen years of my life sleeping under turf, and I still get nightmares.

Mercifully, the Brother was there waiting for me. He was younger than I’d anticipated—you always think of village Brothers as craggy old fat men, or thin and brittle, like dried twigs with papery bark. Brother Stauracius couldn’t have been much over thirty; a tall, broad-shouldered man with an almost perfectly square head, hair cropped short like winter pasture and pale blue eyes. Even without the habit, nobody could have taken him for a farmer.

“I’m so glad you could come,” he said, town voice, educated, rather high for such a big man. He sounded like he meant it. “Such a very long way. I hope the journey wasn’t too dreadful.”

I wondered what he’d done wrong, to have ended up here. “Thank you for your letter,” I said.

He nodded, genuinely pleased. “I was worried, I didn’t know what to put in and leave out. I’m afraid I’ve had no experience with this sort of thing, none at all. I’m sure there must be a great deal more you need to know.”

I shook my head. “It sounds like a textbook case,” I said.

“Really.” He nodded several times, quickly. “I looked it up in Statutes and Procedures, naturally, but the information was very sparse, very sparse indeed. Well, of course. Obviously, this sort of thing has to be left to the experts. Further detail would only encourage the ignorant to meddle.”

I thought about Grandfather; two shovels and an axe, job done. But not quite, or else I wouldn’t be here. “Quite,” I said. “Now, you’re sure there were no other deaths within six months of the first attack.”

“Quite sure,” he said, as though his life depended on it. “Nobody but poor Anthemius.”

Nobody had asked me to sit down, let alone take my wet boots off. The hell with it. I sat down on the end of a bench. “You didn’t say what he died of.”

“Exposure.” Brother Stauracius looked very sad. “He was caught out in a snowstorm and froze to death, poor man.”

“Near here?”

“Actually, no.” A slight frown, like a crack in a wall. “We found him about two miles from here, as it happens, on the big pasture between the mountains and the river. A long way from anywhere, so presumably he lost his way in the snow and wandered about aimlessly until the cold got to him.”

I thought about that. “On his way back home, then.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

I needed a map. You almost always need a map, and there never is one. If ever I’m Emperor, I’ll have the entire country surveyed and mapped, and copies of each parish hung up in the temple vestries. “I don’t suppose it matters,” I lied. “You’ll take me to see the grave.”

A faint glow of alarm in those watered-down eyes. “In the morning.”

“Of course in the morning,” I said.

He relaxed just a little. “You’ll stay here tonight, of course. I’m afraid the arrangements are a bit—”

”I was brought up on a farm,” I said.

Unlike him. “That’s all right, then,” he said. “Now I suppose we should join our hosts. The evening meal is served rather early in these parts.”

“Good,” I said.

Sleeping under turf is like being in your grave. Of course, there’s rafters. That’s what you see when you look up, lying wide awake in the dark. Your eyes get the hang of it quite soon, diluting the black into gray into a palette of pale grays; you see rafters, not the underside of turf. And the smoke hardens it off, so it doesn’t crumble. You don’t get worms dropping on your face. But it’s unavoidable, no matter how long you do it, no matter how used you are to it. You lie there, and the thought crosses your mind as you stare at the underside of grass; is this what it’ll be like?

The answer is, of course, no. First, the roof will be considerably lower; it’ll be the lid of a box, if you’re lucky enough to have one, or else no roof at all, just dirt chucked on your face. Second, you won’t be able to see it because you’ll be dead.

But you can’t help wondering. For a start, there’s temperature. Turf is a wonderful insulator; keeps out the cold in winter and the heat in summer. What it doesn’t keep out is the damp. It occurs to you as you lie on your back there; so long as they bury me in a thick shirt, won’t have to worry about being cold, or too hot in summer, but the damp could be a problem. Gets into your bones. A man could catch his death.

It’s while you’re lying there—everybody else is fast asleep; no imagination, no curiosity, or they’ve been working so hard all day they just sleep, no matter what—that you start hearing the noises. Actually, turf’s pretty quiet. Doesn’t creak like wood, gradually settling, and you don’t get drips from leaks. What you get is the thumping noises over your head. Clump, clump, clump, then a pause, then clump, clump, clump.

They tell you, when you’re a kid and you ask, that it’s the sound of dead men riding the roof-tree. They tell you that dead men get up out of the ground, climb up on the roof, sit astride the peak and jiggle about, walloping their heels into the turf like a man kicking on a horse. You believe them; I never was quite sure whether they believed it themselves. When you’re older, of course, and you’ve left the farm and gone somewhere civilized, where it doesn’t happen, you finally figure it out; what you hear is sheep, hopping up onto the roof in the night, wandering about grazing the fine sweet grass that grows there, picking out the wild leeks, of which they’re particularly fond. Sheep, for crying out loud, not dead men at all. I guess they knew really, all along, and the stuff about dead men was to keep you indoors at night, keep you from wandering out under the stars (though why you should want to I couldn’t begin to imagine). Or at least, at some point, way back in the dim past, some smartarse with a particularly warped imagination made up the story about dead men, to scare his kids; and the kids believed, and never figured it was sheep, and they told their kids, and so on down the generations. Maybe you never figure it out unless you leave the farm, which nobody ever does, except me.

As a matter of fact, I was just beginning to drift off into a doze when the thumping started. Clump, clump, clump; pause; clump, clump, clump. I was not amused. I was bone tired and I really wanted to get some sleep, and here were these fucking sheep walking about over my head. The hell with that, I thought, and got up.

I opened the door as quietly as I could, not wanting to wake up the household, and I stood in the doorway for a little while, letting my eyes get used to the dark. Someone had left a stick leaning against the doorframe. I picked it up, on the off chance that there might be a sheep close enough to hit.

Something was moving about again. I walked away from the house until I could see up top.

It wasn’t sheep. It was a dead man.

He was sitting astride the roof, his legs drooping down either side, like a farmer on his way back from market. His hands were on his hips and he was looking away to the east. He was just a dark shape against the sky, but there was something about the way he sat there; peaceful. I didn’t think he’d seen me, and I felt no great inclination to advertise my presence. If I say I wasn’t scared, I wouldn’t expect to be believed: but fear wasn’t uppermost in my mind. Mostly, I was interested.

No idea how long I stood and he sat. It occurred to me that I was just assuming he was a dead man. Looked at logically, far more likely that he was alive, and had reasons of his own for climbing up on a roof in the middle of the night. Well; there’s a time and a place for logic.

He turned his head, looking down the line of the roof-tree, and lifted his heels, and dug them into the turf three times; clump, clump, clump. (And at that point, I realized the flaw in my earlier rationalization. Three clumps; always three, ever since I was a kid. How many three-legged sheep do you see?) At that moment, the moon came out from behind the clouds, and suddenly we were looking at each other; me and him.

My host had been right; he was purple, like a grape. Or a bruise; the whole body one enormous bruise. Swollen, he’d said; either that, or he was an enormous man, arms and legs twice as thick as normal. His eyes were white; no pupils.

“Hello,” I said.

He leaned forward just a little and cupped his hand behind his left ear. “You’ll have to speak up,” he said.

Words from a dead man; a purple, swollen man sitting astride a roof. “Tell me,” I said, raising my voice. “Why do you do that?”

He looked at me, or a little bit past me. I couldn’t tell if his mouth moved, but there was a deep, gurgling noise which could only have been laughter. “Do what?”

“Ride on the roof like it’s a horse,” I said.

His shoulders lifted; a slow, exaggerated shrug, like he didn’t know what a shrug was, but was copying one he’d seen many years ago. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I feel the urge to do it, so I do it.”

Well, I thought. One of the great abiding mysteries of my childhood not quite cleared up. “Are you Anthemius?” I asked. “The schoolmaster?”

Again the laugh. “That’s a very good question,” he said. “Tell you what,” he went on, “come up here and sit with me, so we can talk without yelling.”

In the moonlight I could make out the huge hands, with their monstrous overripe fingers. How tight the skin would have to be, with all that pressure against it from the inside. Breaking a neck would be like snapping a pear off a tree.

“Let me rephrase that,” I said. “Were you Anthemius? When you were—”

”Yes,” he said, speaking quickly to cut off a word he didn’t want to hear. “I think I was. Thank you,” he added. “I’ve been trying to remember. It’s been on the tip of my tongue, but somehow I can’t seem to think of any names.”

The approved procedure for coping with the restless dead is, essentially, what Grandfather did; though of course we make rather more of a fuss about it. The approved procedure should, of course, be carried out in daylight; noon is recommended. Should you chance to encounter a specimen during the night, there are two courses of action, both recommended rather than approved. One, you draw your sword and cut its head off. Two, you challenge it to the riddle-game and keep it talking all night, until dawn comes up unexpectedly and strands it like a beached whale in the cruel light.

Commentary on that. I am not a man of action. I don’t vault onto roofs, I don’t carry weapons. One of the reasons I left the farm in the first place was, I have trouble lifting even moderate loads. So much for option one; and as for option two—

Also, I was curious. Interested.

“What happened to you?” I said.

“You know, I’m really not sure,” he replied; and the voice was starting to sound like a man’s voice, my ears were getting the hang of it, the way my eyes had got used to the dark. “I know I was out in the snow and I’d lost my way. I got terribly cold, so that every bit of me hurt. Then the pain started to ease up, and I sort of fell asleep.”

“You died,” I said.

He didn’t like me saying that, but I guess he forgave me. “I remember waking up,” he said, “and it was pitch dark and terribly quiet, and I couldn’t move. I was very scared. And then it occurred to me, I wasn’t breathing. I don’t mean I was holding my breath. I wasn’t breathing at all, and it didn’t matter. So then I knew.”

I waited; but I hadn’t got all night. “And then?”

He turned his head away. No hair, just a bulging purple scalp. A head like a plum. “I was terrified,” he said. “I mean, I had no way of knowing.” He paused, and I have no idea what was passing through his mind. “After a long time, I found I could move after all. I got my hands up against the lid, and I pushed, and I could feel the wood burst apart. That scared me even more, I thought the roof, I mean all the earth on top of me, I thought it’d cave in and bury me.” He paused again. “I was always frightened of tight places,” he said. “You know.”

I nodded. Me too, as it happens.

“I guess I panicked,” he went on, “because I kept pushing, and I somehow knew that I was incredibly strong, much stronger than I’d ever been before, so I thought, if I push hard enough. I wasn’t thinking straight, of course.”

“And then?” I asked.

“Pushed right up through the dirt and into the moonlight,” he said. “Amazing feeling. The first thing I wanted to do was run to the nearest farm and tell them, Look, I’m not dead after all.” He stopped; he’d said the word without thinking. “But then I thought about it; and I still wasn’t breathing, and I couldn’t actually feel anything. I could move my hands and feet, I could stand upright and balance, all that, but—you know when you’ve been sitting a long time and your feet go numb. It was like that, all over. It felt so strange.”

“Go on,” I said.

He didn’t, not for a long time. “I think I sat down,” he said. “I don’t know why I’d have done that, standing up didn’t make me tired or anything. I don’t feel tired, ever. But I was so confused, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. It all felt wrong.” He lifted his heels slowly and let them drop; clump, clump, clump. “And while I was there the sun started to come up, and the light just sort of flooded into my head and bleached everything away, so I couldn’t think at all. I guess you could say I passed out. Anyway, when I opened my eyes I was back where I’d started from, lying in the dark.”

I frowned. “How did you get back there?”

“I just don’t know,” he said. “Still don’t. It always happens, that’s all I know. When the sun comes up, my mind washes away. If I’ve gone any distance, I know I have to get back. I run. I can run really fast. I know I’ve got to be back—home,” he said, with a sort of breaking-up laugh, “before the sun comes up. I’ve learned to be careful, to give myself plenty of time.”

He was still and quiet for a while. I asked, “Why do you kill things?”

“No idea.” He sounded distressed. “If something comes close enough, I grab it and twist it till it’s dead. Like a cat lashing out at a bit of string. Reflex. I just know it’s something I have to do.”

I nodded. “Do you go looking—?”

“Yes.” He mumbled the word, like a kid admitting a crime. “Yes, I do. I do my best to keep away from where there might be people. It’s all the same to me; sheep, foxes, men. I’d go a long way away, into the mountains, if I could. But I have to stay close, so I can get back in time.”

I’d been debating with myself, and I knew I had to ask. “What were you?” I said. “What did you do?”

He didn’t answer. I repeated the question.

“Like you said,” he replied. “I was a schoolteacher.”

“Before that.”

When he answered, it was against his will. The words came out slow, flat; he spoke because he had to. “I was a Brother,” he said. “When I was thirty, they said I should apply to the Order, they thought I had the gift, and the brains, and the application and the self-discipline. I passed the exam and I was at the Studium for five years. Like you,” he added.

I let that go. “You joined the Order.”

“No.” The flat voice had gone; there was a flare of anger. “No, I failed matriculation. I retook it the next year, but I failed again. They sent me back to my parish, but by then they’d got someone else. So I ended up wandering about, looking for teaching work, letter-writing, anything I could do to earn a living. There’s not a lot you can do, of course.”

Suddenly I felt bitter cold, right through. Took me a moment to realize it was fear. “So you came here,” I said, just to keep him talking.

“Eventually. A lot of other places first, but here’s where I ended up.” He lifted his head abruptly. “They sent you here to deal with me, am I right?”

I didn’t reply.

“Of course they did,” he said. “Of course. I’m a nuisance, a pest, a menace to agriculture. You came here to dig me up and cut my head off.”

This time, I was the one who had to speak against my will. “Yes.”

“Of course,” he said. “But I can’t let you do that. It’s my—”

He’d been about to say life. Presumably he tried to find another way of phrasing it, then gave up. We both knew what he meant.

“You passed the exams, then,” he said.

“Barely,” I replied. “Two hundred seventh out of two hundred twenty.”

“Which is why you’re here.”

His white eyes in the ash-white moonlight. “That’s right,” I said. “They don’t give out research posts if you come two hundred seventh.”

He nodded gravely. “Commercial work,” he said.

“When I can get it,” I replied. “Which isn’t often. Others far more qualified than me.”

He grunted. It could have been sympathy. “Public service work.”

“Afraid so,” I replied.

“Which is why you’re here.” He lifted his head and rolled it round on his shoulders, like someone waking up after sleeping in a chair. “Because—well, because you aren’t much good. Well?”

I resented that, even though it was true. “It’s not that I’m not good,” I said. “It’s just that everyone in my year was better than me.”

“Of course.” He leaned forward, his hands braced on his knees. “The question is,” he said, “do I still have the gift, after what happened to me. If I’ve still got it, your job is going to be difficult.”

“If not,” I said.

“Well,” he replied, “I suppose we’re about to find out.”

“Indeed,” I said. “There could be a paper for the journals in this.”

“Your chance to escape from obscurity,” he said solemnly. “Under different circumstances, I’d wish you well. Unfortunately, I really don’t want you cutting off my head. It’s a miserable existence, but—”

I could see his point. His voice was quite human now; if I’d known him before, I’d have recognized him. He had his back to the moon, so I couldn’t see the features of his face.

“What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to do it,” he said. “Go away. Go home. Nobody knows you came out here tonight. I promise I’ll stay away until you’ve gone. If I don’t show up, you can report that there was no direct evidence of an infestation, and therefore you didn’t feel justified in desecrating what was probably an innocent grave.”

“But you’ll be back,” I said.

“Yes, and no doubt they’ll send someone else,” he said. “But it won’t be you.”

I was tempted. Of course I was tempted. For one thing, he was a rational creature; with my eyes shut, if I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he was a natural man with a heavy cold. And what if the gift did survive death? He’d kill me. I had to admit it to myself; the thought that I could get killed doing this job hadn’t occurred to me. I’d anticipated a quick, grisly hour’s work in broad daylight; no risk.

I’m not a coward, but I appreciate the value of fear, the way I appreciate the value of money. I’m most definitely not brave.

I saw something in the moonlight, and said (trying not to talk quickly or raise my voice); “I could go back to bed, and then come back in the morning and dig you up.”

“You could,” he said.

“You don’t think I would.”

“Not if we’d made an agreement.”

“You could be right,” I said. “But what about the farmers? You’ve got to admit—”

At which moment, the Brother (who’d come out of the back door, crawled up on the roof behind him and edged down the roof-tree towards him until he was close enough to reach his neck with the axe he’d brought with him) raised his arms high and swung. No sound at all; but at the last moment, the dead man leaned his head to one side, just enough, and the axe blade swept past, cutting air. I heard the Brother grunt, shocked and panicky; I saw the dead man—eyes still fixed on me—reach behind him with his left hand and catch the swinging axe just below the head, and hold it perfectly still. The Brother gasped, but didn’t let go; he was pulling with all his strength, like a little dog tugging on a belt. All his efforts couldn’t move the dead man’s arm the thickness of a fingernail.

“Now,” the dead man said. “Let’s see.”

The delay on my part was unforgivable, completely unprofessional. I knew I had to do something, but my mind had gone completely blank. I couldn’t remember any procedures, let alone any words. Think, a tiny voice was yelling inside me head, but I couldn’t. I heard the Brother whimper, as he applied every scrap of strength in a tendon-ripping, joint-tearing last desperate jerk on the axe handle that had no effect whatsoever. The dead man was looking straight at me. His lips began to move.

Pro nobis peccatoribus; not the obvious choice, not even on the same page of the book, but it was the only procedure I could think of. Unfortunately, it’s one I’ve always had real difficulties with. You reach out with your hand that is not a hand, extend the fingers that aren’t fingers; I’m all right as far as that, and then I tend to come unstuck.

(What I was thinking was: So he failed the exam, and I passed. Yes, but maybe the reason he failed was, he didn’t read the questions through properly, or he spent so long on Part 1 that he didn’t leave himself enough time for two and three. Maybe he’s really good, just unlucky in exams.)

I was mumbling; Sol invicte, ora pro nobis peccatoribus in die periculi. Of course, there’s a school of thought that says the magic words have no real effect whatsoever, they’re just a way of concentrating the mind. I tend to agree. Why should an archaic prayer in a dead language to a god nobody’s believed in for six hundred years have any effect on anything at all? Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, I repeated urgently, nobis peccatoribus in die periculi.

It worked, It can’t have been the words, of course, but it felt like it was the words. I was in, I was through. I was inside his head.

There was nothing there.

Believe me, it’s true. Nothing at all; like walking into a house where someone’s died, and the family have been in and cleared out all the furniture. Nothing there, because I was inside the head of a dead man; albeit a dead man who was looking at me reproachfully out of blank white eyes while holding an axe absolutely still.

Fine; all the easier, if it’s empty. I looked for the controls. You have to visualize them, of course. I see them as the handwheels of a lathe. It’s because I had a holiday job in a foundry in Second Year. I don’t know how to use a lathe. What I mostly did was sweep up piles of swarf off the floor.

Here is the handwheel that controls the arms. I reached out with the hand that is not a hand, grabbed it and tried to turn it. Stuck. I tried harder. Stuck. I tried really hard, and the bloody thing came away in my hand.

It’s not supposed to do that.

I re-visualized. I saw the controls as the reins of a cart, the footbrake under my boot that was not a boot. I stamped on the brake and hauled back hard on the reins.

I haven’t got round to writing that paper for the journals, so here it is for the first time anywhere. The gift does not survive death. Nothing survives. The room was empty. And the handwheel only broke off because I’m clumsy and cack-handed, the sort of person who trips over cats and breaks the nibs of pens by pressing too hard.

I heard the Brother gasp, as he jerked the axe out of the dead man’s grip. The dead man didn’t move. His eyes were still fixed on mine, right up to the moment when the axe shore through his neck and his head wobbled and fell, bounced off his knee and tumbled off the roof into the short grass below. The body didn’t move.

I know why. It took ten of us, with an improvised crane made of twelve-foot three-inch fir poles, to get the body down off the roof. It must’ve weighed half a ton. The head alone was two hundredweight. Two men couldn’t lift it; they had to use levers to roll it along the ground. There was no blood, but the neck started to ooze a milky white juice that smelt worse than anything you could possibly imagine.

We burned the body. We drenched it in pine-pitch, and it caught quite easily and burnt down to nothing; not even any recognizable bits of bone. The white juice flared up like oil. They rolled the head over to the slurry-pond and pitched it in. It went down with a gurgle and a burp.

“I heard you talking to it,” the Brother told me. For some reason, the word it offended me. “I guessed you were using a variation on the riddle game, to keep it distracted till the sun came up.”

“Something like that,” I said.

He nodded. “I shouldn’t have interfered, I’m sorry,” he said. “You had the situation under control, and I could have ruined everything.”

“That’s all right,” I said.

He smiled; as if to say, it wasn’t all right, but thanks for forgiving me. “I guess I panicked,” he said. Then he frowned. “No, I didn’t. I saw a chance of getting in on the act. It was stupid and selfish of me. You’ll have to write to the prebendary.”

“I don’t see why,” I said mildly. “The way I see it, your actions were open to several different interpretations. I choose to interpret them as courage and resourcefulness. I could put that in a letter, if you like.”

“Would you?” In his face, I saw all the desperation and cruelty of sudden, unexpected hope. “I mean, seriously?”

“Of course,” I said.

“That’d be—” He stopped. He couldn’t think of a big enough word. “You’ve got no idea what it’s like,” he said; all in a rush, like diarrhea. “Being stuck here, in this miserable place with these appalling people. If I can’t get back to a town, I swear I’ll go mad. And it’s so cold in winter. I hate the cold.”

You can sleep in the coach, Father Prior said, when I tried to make a fuss about the timetable. I didn’t say to him; have you ever been on a provincial mailcoach, on country roads, at this time of year? A dead man couldn’t sleep on a mailcoach.

I slept, nearly all the way; on account, I guess, of not having had much sleep the night before. Woke up just as we were crossing the Fulvens bridge; I looked out of the window, and all I could see was water, moonlight reflected on water. Couldn’t get back to sleep after that. Too dark to read the case notes, which I’d neglected to do back at the farm. But I remembered the basic facts from the briefing. These jobs are all the same, anyhow. Piece of cake.

The coach threw me out just after dawn, at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere up on the moors; I’m a valley boy myself. We had cousins up on the moor. I hated it when they came to visit. The old man was deaf as a post, and the three boys (mid to late thirties, but they were always the boys) just sat there, not saying a word. The mother died young, and I can’t say I blame her.

They were supposed to be meeting the coach, but there was no one there. I stood for a while, then I sat on my bag, then I sat on the ground, which was damp. I heard an owl, and a fox, or at least I hope it was a fox. If not, it was something we never got around to covering in Third Year, and I’m very glad I didn’t see it.

They arrived eventually, in a little dog-cart thing; an old man driving, a younger man and the Brother. One small pony, furry like a bear.

The Brother did the talking, for which I was quite grateful. He was one of the better sort of country Brothers; short man, somewhere between fifty and sixty, a distinct burr to his voice but he spoke clearly and used proper words. The boy was the younger man’s son, the older man’s grandson. He’d been fooling about in a big oak tree, slipped, fell; broken arm and a hideous bash on the head. He hadn’t come round, and it had been a week now. They had to prise his mouth open with the back of a horn spoon to get food and water in; he swallowed all right, but that was all he did. You could stick a needle in his foot half an inch and he wouldn’t even twitch. The swelling on the back of his head had gone down—the Brother disclaimed any medical knowledge, but he was lying—and they’d set the arm and splinted it, for what that was worth.

I thought; better than killing the restless dead. One of my best subjects at the Studium, though of course we did all our practicals on conscious minds, with a Father sitting a few feet away, watching like a hawk. I’d done one about eighteen months earlier, and it went off just fine; in, found her, straight out again. She followed me like a dog. I’d been relieved when Father Prior told me; it could’ve been something awkward and fiddly, like auspices, or horrible and scary, like a possession. Just in case, I’d brought the book. I’d meant to mug up the relevant chapter, either at the farm or on the coach, but I hadn’t got round to it. Anyway, it had to be better than that empty place.

It was quite a big house, for a hill-farm; sitting in the well of a valley, with a dense copper-beech hedge on all four sides, as a windbrake. Just the five of them in the house, the Brother said; grandfather, father, mother, the boy and a hired man who slept in the hayloft. The boy was nine years old. The Brother told me his name, but I’m hopeless with names.

They asked me, did I want to rest after the journey; wash and brush up, something to eat? The correct answer was, of course, No, so I gave it.

“He’s in here,” the Brother said.

Big for a hill-farm, but still oppressively small. Downstairs, the big kitchen, with a huge table, fireplace, two hams swinging like dead men on gibbets. A parlor, tiny and dusty and cold. Dairy, scullery, store; doorway through to the cowstalls. Upstairs, one big room and a sort of oversized cupboard, where the boy was. I could just about kneel beside the bed, if I didn’t mind the window-sill digging in the small of my back.

The hell with that, I thought; I’m a qualified man, a professional, a Father; a wizard. I shouldn’t have to work in conditions you wouldn’t keep pigs in. “Take him downstairs,” I said. “Put him on the kitchen table.”

They had a job. The stairs in that house were like a bell-tower, tightly coiled and cramped. Father and grandfather did the heavy lifting, while I watched. It’s an odd thing about me. Sometimes, the more compassion is called for, the less capable I am of feeling it. I offer no explanation or excuse.

“He shouldn’t have been moved,” the Brother hissed in my ear, just loud enough so that everyone could hear. “In his condition—”

”Yes, thank you,” I said, in my best arrogant-city-bastard voice. I couldn’t say why I was behaving like this. Sometimes I do. “Now, if you’ll all stay well back, I’ll see what I can do.”

I looked at the boy, and I could remember the theory perfectly, every last detail, every last lecture note. His eyes were closed; he had a stupid face, fat girly lips, fat cheeks. If he lived, he’d grow up tall, solid, double-chinned, gormless; the son of the farm. Pork fat and home-brewed beer; he’d be spherical by the time he was forty, strong enough to wrestle a bullock to its knees, slow and tireless, infuriatingly calm, a man of few words; respected at market, shrewd and fat, his bald patch hidden under a hat that would never come off, probably not even in bed. A solid, productive life, which it was my duty to save. Lucky me.

Theory; theory is your lifeline, they used to tell me, your driftwood in a shipwreck. I reminded myself of the basic propositions.

To recover a lost mind, first make an entrance. This is usually done by visualizing yourself as a penetrating object; a drill bit, a woodpecker’s beak, a maggot. The drill bit works for me, though for some reason I tend to be a carpenter’s auger, wound in with a brace. I go in through the spiral flakes of waste bone thrown clear by the wide grooves of the cutter. I assume it’s from some childhood memory, watching Granddad at work in the barn. You’re not really supposed to use personal memories, but it’s easier, for someone with my limited imagination.

Once you’re in; first ward, immediately, because you never know what might be waiting for you in there. I raised first ward as soon as I felt myself go through. I use scutum fidei, visualize a shield. Mine’s round, with a hole in it at twelve o’clock so I can see what’s going on.

I peered through the hole. No nasty creatures with dripping fangs crouched to pounce, which was nice. Count to ten and lower the shield slowly.

I looked around. This is the crucial bit, and you mustn’t rush. How long it takes depends on the strength of your gift, so naturally I take ages. The light gradually increases. First things first; get your bearings. Orientate yourself, taking special care to get a fix on the point you came in by. Well, obviously. If you lose your entry-point, you’re stuck; in someone else’s head forever. You really don’t want that.

I lined up on the corners of a ceiling, drawing diagonal lines and fixing on their point of origin, measuring the angles with my imaginary protractor (it’s brass, with numbers in gothic-italic) One-oh-five, seventy-five; repeat the numbers four times out loud, to make sure they’re loaded into memory. Fine. Now I know where I am and how to get out again. One-oh-five, seventy-five. Now, then. Let the dog see the rabbit.

I was in a room. It’s nearly always an interior; with kids, practically guaranteed it’s their bedroom, or the room they sleep in, depending on social class and domestic arrangements. In all relevant essentials, it was the room upstairs I had him carried down from. Excellent; nice and small, not many places to hide anything. So much easier when you’re dealing with a subject of limited intelligence.

I visualized a body for myself. I tend not to be me. With children, it’s usually best to be a nice lady; the kid’s mother, if possible. I’m not good enough to do specific people, and I have real problems being women. So I was a nice old man instead.

Hello, I said. Where are you?

Don’t worry if they don’t answer. Sometimes, they do, sometimes they don’t. I walked round the bed, knelt down, looked under it. There was a cupboard; one of those triangular jobs, wedged in a corner. I opened that. For some reason, it was full of the skins and bones of dead animals. None of my business; I closed it. I pulled the covers off the bed, and lifted the pillow.

Odd, I thought, and touched base with theory. The boy must still be alive, or else there would be no room. If he’s alive, he must be in here somewhere. He can’t be invisible, not inside his own head. He can, of course, be anything he likes, so long as it’s animate and alive. A cockroach, for example, or a flea. I sighed. I get all the rotten jobs.

I adjusted the scale, making the room five times bigger. Go up in easy stages. If he was being a cockroach, he’d now be a rat-sized cockroach. If he was being a rat, of course, he’d be cat-sized and capable of giving me a nasty bite. I used lorica, just in case. I looked under the bed again.

I visualized a clock, in the middle of the wall opposite the door. It told me I’d been inside for ten minutes. The recommended maximum is thirty. Really first-rate practitioners have been known to stay in for an hour and still come out more or less in one piece; that’s material for a leading article in the journals. I searched again, this time paying more attention to the contents of the cupboard. Dried, desiccated animal skins; squirrels, rabbits, rats. No fleas, mites or ticks. So much for that theory.

I visualized a glass jug, to represent my energy level. You can use yourself up surprisingly quickly and not know it. Just as well I did. My jug was a third empty. You want to save at least a fifth just to get out again. I visualized calibrations, so as to be sure.

Quick think. The recommended course of action would be to visualize a tracking agent (spaniel, terrier, ferret) but that takes a fair chunk of your resources; also, it burns energy while it’s in use, and getting rid of it takes energy, too. I drew a distinct red line on my measuring-jug, and a blue line just above it. The alternative to a tracker is to increase the scale still further; twenty times, say, in which case your cockroach will be a wolf-sized monster that could jump you and bite your head off. I was still running lorica, but any effective ward burns energy. If I found myself with a fight on my hands, I could dip below that essential red line in a fraction of a second. No, the hell with that.

I visualized a terrier. I’m not a dog person, so my terrier was a bit odd; very short, stumpy legs and a rectangular head. Still, it went at it with great enthusiasm, wagging its imaginary tail and making little yapping noises. All round the room, nose into everything. Then it sat on the floor and looked at me, as if to say, Well?

Not looking good. My jug was half empty, I’d used up my repertoire of approved techniques, and found nothing. Just my luck to get a special case, a real collector’s item. Senior research fellows would be fighting each other for the chance of a go at this one, but I just wanted to get the job done and clear out. Wasted on me, you might say.

I vanished the dog. Quick think. There had to be something else I could try, but nothing occurred to me. Didn’t make sense; he had to be in here somewhere, or there’d be no room. He couldn’t be invisible. He could only turn himself into something he could imagine—and it had to be real; no fantasy creatures the size of a pin-head. At five times magnification, a red mite would be plainly visible; also, the dog would’ve found it. Tracking agents, even inferior ones visualized by me, smell life. If he was in here, the dog would’ve found him.

So—

As required by procedure, I considered abandoning the attempt and getting out. This would, of course, mean the boy would die; you can’t go back in twice, that’s an absolute. I’d be within my rights, faced with an enigma on this scale. The failure would be noted on my record, of course, but there’d be an annotation, no blame attaches, and it wouldn’t be the first time, not by a long way. The kid would die; not my problem. I’d have done my best, and that’s all you have to do.

Or I could think of something. Such as what?

They tell you; be wise, don’t improvise. If in doubt, get out. Making stuff up as you go along is mightily frowned on, in much the same way as you’re not encouraged to fry eggs in a fireworks factory. There’s no knowing what you might invent, and outside controlled conditions, invention could lead to the Cartographic Commission having to redraw the maps for a whole county. Or you could make a hole in a wall, which is the worst thing anybody can do. At the very least, I’d be sure to end up in front of a Board, facing charges of unauthorized innovation and divergence. Saving the life of some farm kid would be an excuse, but not a very good one.

I could think of something. Such as—

There’s no such thing as magic. Instead, there’s the science we don’t properly understand, not yet. There are effects that work, and we have no idea why. One of these is spes aeternitatis, a wretchedly inconsistent, entirely inexplicable conjuring trick that no self-respecting Father would condescend to use. That’s because they can’t get it to work reliably.

I can.

Spes aeternitatis is an appearances-adjuster. You can use it to find hidden objects, or translate lies, or tell if a slice of cake or a glass of wine’s got poison in it. I do it by visualizing everything that’s wrong in light blue. It’s a tiny little scrap of talent that I’ve got and practically everybody else hasn’t; it’s like being double-jointed, or wiggling your nostrils like a rabbit.

I closed my eyes and opened them again, and saw a light blue room. Everything light blue. Everything false.

Oh, I thought; then, one-oh-five, seventy five, and I started lining up diagonals for my escape. But that wasn’t to be, unfortunately. The room blurred and reappeared, and it was all different. It was my room; the room I slept in until I was fifteen years old.

He was sitting on the end of the bed; a slight man, almost completely bald, with a small nose and a soft chin, small hands, short, thin legs. I’d put him at about fifty years old. His skin was purple, like a grape.

“You were wrong,” he said, looking up at me. “The talent survives death.”

“That’s interesting,” I said. “How did you get in here?”

He smiled. “You practically invited me in,” he said. “When I heard that fool behind me, with the axe, I looked at you. You felt sorry for me. You thought; is he not a man and a Brother, or words to that effect. I used Stilicho’s transport, and here I am.”

I nodded. “I should’ve put up wards.”

“You should. Careless. Attention to detail isn’t your strongest suit.”

“The boy,” I said.

He shrugged. “In there somewhere, I dare say. But we aren’t in his head, we’re in yours. I’ve made myself at home, as you can see.”

I looked round quickly. The apple-box with the bottom knocked out, where I used to keep my books; it was where it should be, but the books were different. They were new and beautifully bound in tooled calf, and the alphabet their titles were written in was strange to me.

“My memories,” I said.

He waved his hand. “Well rid of them,” he said. “Misery and failure, a life wasted, a talent dissipated. You’ll be better off.”

I nodded. “With yours.”

“Quite. Oh, they’re not pleasant reading,” he said, with a scowl. “Bitter, angry; memories of bigotry and spite, relentless bad luck, a life of constant setbacks and reverses, a talent misunderstood. You’ll see that I failed the exam the second time because, sitting there in Great School, I suddenly hit on a much better way of achieving unam sanctam; quicker, safer, ruthlessly efficient. I tried it out as soon as the exam was over, and it worked. But I got no marks, so they failed me. I ask you, where’s the sense in that?”

“You failed the retake,” I said. “What about the first time?”

He laughed. “I had the flu,” he said. “I was practically delirious, could barely remember my name. Would they listen? No. Rules. You see what I mean. Bad luck and spite at every turn.”

I nodded. “What happens to me?”

He looked at me. “You’ll be better off,” he repeated.

“I’ll stop existing. I’ll be dead.”

“Not physically,” he said mildly. “Your body, my mind. Your fully qualified licensed-practitioner’s body, and a mind that saw how to improve unam sanctam in a half-second flash of intuition.”

It says a lot about my self-esteem that I actually considered it, though not for very long. Half a second, maybe. “What happens now?” I asked. “Do we fight, or—?”

He shrugged.”If you like,” he said, and extended his arm. It was ten feet long, thick as a gatepost. He gripped my throat like a man holding a mouse, and crushed me.

I guess I was about seventy percent dead when I remembered; I know what to do. I drew a rather shaky second ward; he closed his fingers on thin air, and I was standing behind him.

He swung round, roaring like a bull. He had bull’s horns sticking out of his forehead. I tried second ward again, but he got there before I did, grabbed my head and smashed my face into the wall.

Just in time, I remembered; there is no pain. I used Small Mercies, softening the wall into felt, and slipped through his fingers. I was smoke. I hung above him in a cloud. He laughed, and fetched me back with vis mentis. The back of my head hit the floor, which gave way like a mattress. I became a spear, and buried myself in his chest. He used second ward and was the other side of the room.

“You fight like a first-year,” he said.

Which was true. I clenched my mind like a fist; the walls closed in on him, squashing him like a spider under a boot. I felt him, like a nail right through the sole. Back to first ward, and we stood glowering at each other, in opposite corners of the room.

“You can’t beat me,” he said. “I’ll wear you down and you’ll simply fade away. Face it, what the hell have you got to live for?”

Valid point. “All right, then,” I said.

His eyes opened wide. “I win?”

“You win,” I said.

He was pleased; very pleased. He grinned at me and raised his hand, just as I got my fingers round the handle of the door and twisted as hard as I could.

He saw that and opened his mouth to scream. But the door flew open, knocking me back. I closed my eyes. The door was, of course, the intersection of two lines drawn diagonally across the room, at 105 and 75 degrees precisely.

I opened my eyes. He’d gone. I was in the boy’s room, the room upstairs. The boy was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, hands under his chin. He looked up at me.

“Well, come on,” I snapped at him. “I haven’t got all day.”

They were pathetically grateful. Mother in floods of tears, father clinging to my arm, how can we ever thank you, it’s a miracle, you’re a miracle-worker. I wasn’t in the mood. The boy, lying on the kitchen table under a pile of blankets, looked up at me and frowned, as though something about me wasn’t quite right. A quiet, analytical stare; it bothered the hell out of me. I refused food and drink and made father get out the pony and trap and take me out to the crossroads. But the mail won’t be arriving for six hours, he objected; it’s cold and dark, you’ll catch your death.

I didn’t feel cold.

At the crossroads, huddling under the smelly old hat father insisted on giving me, I tried to search my mind, to see if he’d really gone. There was, of course, no way he could have survived. I’d opened the door (Rule One; never open the door) and he’d been sucked out of my head out into the open, where there was no talented mind to receive him. Even if he was as strong as he’d claimed to be, there was no way he could have lasted more than three seconds before he broke up and dissipated into the air. There was absolutely nothing he could have done, no way he could have survived.

The coach arrived. I got on it, and slept all the way. At the inn, I got a lamp and a mirror, and examined myself all over. Just when I thought I was all clear, I found a patch of purple skin, about the size of a crab apple, on the calf of my left leg. I told myself it was just a bruise.

(That was a year ago. It’s still there.)

The rest of the round was just straightforward stuff; a possession, a small rift, a couple of incursions, which I sealed with a strong closure and duly reported when I got back. Since then, I’ve volunteered for a screening, been to see a couple of counselors, bought a pair of full-length mirrors. And I’ve been promoted; field officer, superior grade. They’re quite pleased with me, and no wonder. I seem to be getting better at the job all the time. And I’m writing a paper, would you believe; modifications to unam sanctam. Quicker, safer, much more efficient. So blindingly obvious, I’m surprised no one’s ever thought of it before.

Father Prior is surprised but pleased. I don’t know what’s got into you, he said.

Originally published in Swords & Dark Magic: The New Sword and Sorcery, edited by Jonathan Strahan and Lou Anders.

[prismaluv]

Here is a S/andman fanfic I wrote a few years back. It’s based on the comic.

I was really hoping S/andman would start feeding in the snz community so after some reservation I’m trying to do my part to get the ball rolling. Im also really confused by how Tumblr works despite being here for 3 or so years so really I just hope this inspires others to write more of the same content! Feedback is always appreciated!

Catch your death.

The family had not met in many years. How many is inconsequential. Suffice to say that I merely quantify the amount of years for the benefit of the reader, as to the Endless, the idea of "many years" would be beyond your comprehension. Sometimes these meetings were for family business and sometimes, albeit rarely, they were purely social. This was one of those unique times.

It was in fact Death who had called this gathering. The arrangements were made in the usual mundane way of standing in the gallery and holding a family member’s sigil The all too familiar incantation this time to act as an invitation for a future event. Before long the day had come! Death did all the important cleaning up and making sure her place looked suitable. She didn’t need any jokes about her lack of tidiness from Destruction like last time! Once she was satisfied all looked presentable she headed toward the dining area and waited.

The first to arrive was Dream. It was of no surprise as he was always precisely on time. Next followed Destiny and then Destruction, Despair next and Second last was Delirium. Last but not least was of course Desire who was never on time for anything they felt was beneath them.

Death relished her role as the hostess and made sure there were edible delights for everyone. She took time and care in choosing each and every single bit of cuisine, Making sure to match it to the personal tastes of each of her relations.

The menu was as follows:

Dream - Turkey Breast with an almond and walnut crust. A side of white rice. A tart cherry juice for a complimentary beverage. Dessert would be an intriguing combination of kiwi and banana. Chamomile tea to follow. These culinary sleep aids have been factual proven to give anyone a good nights rest

Destruction - Greek style Lamb roasted in palm oil. A side of soy beans and corn. For dessert a sugary confection including chocolate and coconut. The cumulative effect of so many of these ingredients was factually known for their insurmountable damage to the planet.

Destiny - A nondescript dish of fish and a simple salad of beans and onions sprinkled with cheese in a light olive oil dressing. To drink: wine. A fortune cookie for dessert with Tea. ( heavy on the leaves). Most of these foods were used as tools in the art of ancient Greek divination.

Despair - Hamburger with french fries lots of ketchup. A tall cold glass of soda. To finish of this meal a large bowl of your favourite ice cream which has been discontinued crowned with candy sprinkles, gummies and butterscotch sauce.

Desire - A generous portion of raw oysters. Served with a side of lemon, Tabasco sauce and chalet vinaigrette. To sip a glass of vintage Dom Pérignon. Dessert was a heart shaped box of chocolates.

Delirum - Shoelace spaghetti with rectangular sauce. Juice of tentacle and a peanut butter and jealous sandwich cake for dessert. Obviously fresh mango juice to drink served in a glass that looked like a pill container

Death - Fugu or Puffer fish. One of the most deadliest foods known in the universe! Après dinner was Hemlock tea.

They made pleasantries to fill in the awkward silences. And it was Destruction who first broke the ice. " How is my favourite lass?" He directed the question at Delirium. Desire's golden eyes narrowed.

Delirium, who was engrossed with using her spaghetti as a lasso looked up. " Ohh! Its so really. Great. And look did you see this. I can be one of those. Um....what do you call them ? again?"

"Cowgirls?" Destruction offered helpfully.

"no. Um....." Delirium seemed to be deep in thought. "Cowgirls!" She beamed proudly as if she had arrived to this conclusion on her own.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Destruction said humouring her.

" Because? ... umm .....?" Delirium's thoughts trailed off fading as though remnants in the end of a song.

"Silly sister." Desire said with a sharp saccharine smile." Destruction was just humouring you much like the rest of us with your silly prattling." Desire was vexed at the thought that someone would have the gall to declare anyone was their favourite in their presence. Unless of course it was Desire themselves.

Destruction didn't miss a beat. "You mean the way we humour you, Desire?"

"Funny, I don't recall asking for anything of the sort." they looked at him with dark amusement. "But I'm delighted to see you care." The descriptor was used with deliberate incidence.

Destruction knew verbally sparing with Desire was a fools game. Instead he turned the conversation to Despair. Hesitantly she looked to Desire before answering any of his questions as though for permission. She confessed it was good to see him and soon they fell into familiar dialogue. All was going very well as the relations all talked amongst themselves. That is all but Desire. They were bored and idly swirled their drink around in the crystal flute.

"So Dream." Desire paused dramatically until they were sure they had his full attention. " Seeing anyone these days?"

" I am in fact, yes." Dream said a bit to stately for anyone but Desire to notice.

"Anyone I know?" They purred.

" It is no one of your acquaintance " Dream bristled

" I'd love to meet them. I'd be able to tell them ever so much about you. Ohh, all good things of course." They mocked,

"Don't you ever tire of meddling in the affairs of others? " He countered

"Why Dream" Desire pretended to look deeply offended, placing their hand over their heart. " I don't meddle. I merely help things arrive to their natural conclusion. May I offer you some advice? Perhaps you should pay attention to this one. Instead of ignoring her for days on end. Leaving her to question every last encounter the two of you had. Driving her to her quarters to cry pathetically into her pillow deep into the night. Maybe you should try not being an asshole for once." Desire looked around the room. All eyes focused on them as each one of the endless stopped what they had been doing. It seemed as though the room was dipped in inhospitable silence.

"What?" Laughed Desire. "Did I say too much?"

It was then that Death spoke out.

"Desire! Stop, just stop!. I invited everyone here to have a nice time and I am not going to have you ruin it!"

Dream spoke next

"Sister I feel I am perfectly capable of handling this myself"

" Is that a fact? Because from what I have seen our incompetent ninny of a brother is completely incapable of handling anything." Desire was smug.

It is known that Death is merciful and compassionate. let us say at this time she was neither one of those things.

" This is my place Desire and you can bet your bottom dollar I'm not going to stand here and let you insult me or the rest of our family. Now get your ass over here!" She commanded.

Desire had every intention of ignoring her demands until they saw the utterly scary look in Death's eyes. Languidly Desire began to rise from the table

And if words could roll their eyes. "Sigh, If I must"

"NOW!"

Despite themselves Desire jumped a little.

Death turned on her heel with the understanding that her brother/sister was to follow.

Now in the hallway Death turned to face her sibling.

"OK" Desire said hands on hips. "Have at it. But first let me just light my..." One look told them that might not be the best idea.

"After tonight, not to mention all these years, consider yourself lucky this is all you're going to get!"

" And prey tell what might that be? You can't kill me. We are bound by rules remember?"

" Trust me Desire after I'm done with you, you'll wish you were dead."

"And Just what is that supposed to mean? " Desire was as ever defiant.

And then it happened.

Desire sneezed.

Nothing to you or I of course but as an Endless that just wasn't a common occurrence. In fact it wasn't an occurrence at all. Desire was about to find out just exactly what Death meant.

It is a little known fact that while Death is barred from harming the rest of the Endless there are small liberties she might take. One of which is based off the phrase "To catch your death of cold."

It happened again. Desire sneezed for the second time in it's life. They stood there dazed, slack jawed.

"What did you do to me?"

Death smiled her cheery smile " Oh? Do you have a bit of a sniffle?"

Not wanting to give Death a modicum of satisfaction they looked her square in the face and said: "Nice try." It wasn't convincing.

Desire's head immediately began to throb. They pinched their eyes shut and took a deep breath and in a guise of nonchalance, they fished in their pocket for the cigarette they had attempted to light only minutes before. With their head held high Desire gathered every scrap of dignity they had and walked back into the dinning area to face the rest of The Endless.

Always wanting the last word, it was Desire's intention to save face and retreat to their realm before anyone was the wiser.

The grand entrance they aspired to was promptly ruined as they inhaled dramatically on their cigarette making a great show of it only to end up choking on the smoke. Tawny eyes now watering with the effort they feebly tried to compose themselves only for it to backfire. For now they were caught in a coughing spell and Desire was the centre of attention. At last the spell subsided and Despair approached her sibling with a glass of water. Tentatively they took a sip and set it down.

"Well!" Their words came out as a throaty rasp much to their chagrin." What are you all staring at?" Desire felt hot. And all at once the world was spinning. They grabbed the table for stability. Vainly Desire tried still hiding their vulnerability.

"This party is boring and I have better things to do than spend a night with beings as dull as you."

To Desire's absolute horror their nose began to run only just slightly. Sniffling back what they now recognized as a sneeze they continued with quivering breath.

"I refuse to waste another minute of my precious time." More sniffling ensued as a delicate hand was brought to their nose instinctively in hopes of quelling the urge to sneeze.

Unfortunately the fight was lost.

And as Desire exited the remaining Endless heard an echo of sneezes trailing behind them.

Retreating to the Threshold they made their way to the main place of residence: The heart. As they slowly trudged through they noticed the temperature surrounding them heighten. This was unusual because the climate needed no regulation, as it was consistently in tune with Desires preferences. The Threshold, being a gargantuan flesh and blood statue of Desire itself, it was intrinsically linked. There were some other odd internal irregularities such as small leaks and slight shaking and these weird looking purple blobs encased in a gelatinous membrane which scientifically were known as macrophage a type of phagocyte,responsible for destroying bacteria, fungi and parasites. Essentially the Threshold was acting as though it too was under the attack of a virus mimicking Desire's own body.

Finally when Desire reached its chambers they felt dreadful. Not only were they reeling from the embarrassing scene but physically they felt worse and worse by the minute. Usually they would shake off any sort of threats the family made to them and start plotting revenge but at this moment all they could focus on was the pounding in their head and increasing sore throat.

'what is happening to me?'

Desire had never been sick a day in their life. And while some people throw around that expression I doubt it seems as ostentatiously impressive as someone who has lived about four and half billion years or so years.

Feeling unpleasantly hot they changed from their suit into that of a loose flowing robe.

Of course they knew what being sick was. But it was something that happened to humans as they were pathetic.

Desire searched for solace in the left ventricle. A wave of exhaustion swept over them. They lay down feeling particularity sorry for themselves and thats when Despair appeared.

Before this moment it was almost impossible to find Desire in repose without them appearing glamorous and luxurious. They were usually draped upon some fainting couch or just sprawled out looking more alluring then any model could aspire.

Despair found them in a fetal position, their knees tucked in and arms hugging their legs in close. They were shaking.

She pondered the sight and reflected on the handful of times she had been called to her brother/sister's realm without being summoned at the gallery.

Desire felt the looming presence of someone and looked up to instantly regret it as their head starting swimming once more.

"You're here."

They said said simply, their voice mimicking that of the very twin that stood hovering over them, gravel personified. They sneezed again in spite of themselves feeling all the weaker at being watched. Rising from their position they winced at the pain they felt in their head. It felt heavy and clouded.

" I came to see how you are."

Desire looked at their twin with watery eyes. Their nose was rimmed with traces of pink,their cheeks were flushed,and their already pallor complexion was paler then Despair thought possible.

" You didn't call with your sigil. I must be worse off than I thought." Desire said ruefully " It has been an age since your duties brought you to me. I feel like shit if you must know."

"I talked to Death after you left." Despair was undeterred by her siblings brash attitude. Being twins they had an understanding and connection the other Endless did not.

"What the fuck did she do to me?"

"It's a cold."

"I know what it is sister, but I just want to know how?"

Despair had questioned Death on the same thing. She was not entirely detailed with her answer but mentioned that it had something to do with the power humans gave phrases and since The Endless existed by people's belief, by proxy death could harness that.

Death also had another message for Desire.

"The ball is in my court?" Desire was incredulous. "Whatever is that supposed to mean?!"

" I am only relaying the information that our sister gave." Despair was stoic as usual.

Frustration burned through them much like their ever present fever. They conjured a cigarette and and in an instant a silver heart shaped lighter appeared in their hand. It was lit and Desire proceeded to smoke just to retain some semblance of normalcy.

They got about two puffs in before they again started coughing.

"Ugh! I can't even smoke!" Desire was furious.

"Perhaps, my twin, it would be to your benefit to forget about your addiction for now."

"Fine!"

Arms crossed and folded they appeared as petulant child. The temperature in the atmosphere rose then, a clear indication that the virus was indeed circulating through Desires humble abode. And then the place seemed to be vibrating."

"Did you feel that? " Despair asked and it was almost warning as Desire themselves began to shiver violently.

"I'm s - s- suddenly so c - c - cold!" They began so rub their arms frantically in an attempt to generate heat.

"Go and lie down." Despair instructed. "I will bring a blanket for you."

Desire did as was told, and by the time Despair came back with a blanket for their sibling was trembling uncontrollably. Despair maternally placed it over them and tucked it into their sides. She also procured a pillow. Desire wanted to say 'thank you' but as they opened their mouth to speak they sneezed instead. Luckily it was caught in the comforter. An expensive silk handkerchief was produced out of thin air and handed to them and Desire would have taken the time to appreciate the fitting choice were it not for the desperate sneezing fit that took hold. One after the other the sneezes ricocheted through their being until they were left out of breath and dizzy. Their head fell back miserably on the pillow. Letting out a wretched moan they clutched fiercely at the duvet, an instinctively vulnerable act.

Desire's twin looked on approvingly.

"What does it feel like?" Despair asked darkly.

"It's as though someone is banging a drum in my brain. Like my veins are filled with ice one minute and molten lava the next. My nose is exploding beyond my control and leaking. My muscles are as sore as if I've spend a dozen consecutive nights in the throes of passion.And my throat feels as if it's engulfed in fire. Most of all it feels mortal."

Even speaking felt labours.

"It's not fun." Desire finished with a pout. And seeing her twin's eye widen in interest added. "Well maybe it would be for you. You would probably have a ball."

They snuggled down deeper into their makeshift bed atop cardiac muscle. " I don't like this." Desire complained pitifully.

" I am not sure what to do for you." Despair said. "It is odd, in all the years through my countless mirrors, I have observed many human customs and yet I have never had the opportunity to put them into practice."

"Mortals are boring." Desire said congested.

"Don't move." Despair ordered. " Rest. I will be back shortly."

Despair ventured out into the further reaches of the left ventricle in search of a mirror. Along the way there was more earthquake like shakes and at a one point convulsions that caused her to loose her footing. It was assumed that was Desire once more either sneezing or shivering. Despair didn't have to wonder far to find what she was looking for and when she come upon the mirror. Despair peered into it. She yanked her hook like ring across her naked bloated belly. The scene unfolded before her, A fancy restaurant : A women was there waiting. She was crying and trying hard not to. It was the place her and her husband always went to on their anniversary before he died.This was the first time she was there to celebrate alone. She felt her walls begin to dissolve and the sadness was overwhelming she knew any moment she would being wailing and make a scene. She needed to get out of there. Fast! She got up with grace and walked out, mere moments before she had her complete breakdown. Back at the restaurant the waiter returned to the table to bring the appetizer: Duck soup. For one. The waiter left and Despair went through the mirror and snatched it up and quickly returned to Desire's Threshold. Despair looked in cautiously and entered their siblings quarters..

"What took you so long?" Desire asked in a cranky tone.

Slowly and extra carefully whilst carrying the soup. Despair approached Desire's bedside. She saw the beads of perspiration on her twins face and their febrile dazed eyes and a small part of her just wanted to watch and observe. The misery that hung about Desire like a storm cloud made Despair feel closer to her sibling than she had felt in a long time.

"I have some soup for you Desire."

"It better not be chicken soup. I'm not taking any disgusting human medicine."

"It's not chicken soup. It's duck soup. It is from a gourmet restaurant."

Desire scoffed. "Now, this should be interesting." They said sarcastically.

Despair stood by their quasi patient's bedside and began to feed them spoonfuls of rich broth. To their credit Desire was obedient and devoured the liquid hungrily.

"Ok. I'm done." Desire pushed the empty bowl toward her. "Satisfied?"

"I am. I think I have done all that I can do here. Except..................." Despair paused. " Here." She handed her elder sibling a stuffed toy rat. " It is often customary for mortals to provide the ailing with tools to provide comfort."

"Ohh you shouldn't have." Desire was only slightly mocking. "Is it based off one of yours sweet sister?"

Despair with absolutely no humour and in total seriousness said. " Henry."

Desire was then left alone.

Feeling weak and exhausted they lay back down. It was maddening being ill. Desire was used to being in control. Not only of themselves but others. They pondered this set of circumstances. It was easy to blame Dream. Their feud had been long established but he never did anything about it. Sure there were threats. 'Empty as his head'. They chuckled at that out loud which resulted in some harsh coughs and they winced at the pain that seized their tender throat. But this horrible situation they were now in wasn't about Dream. Not really. It was their eldest sister who had the proverbial balls to actual enact some sort of attack. 'I didn't even do anything to her.' Desire mused to themselves defensively. And then it was back to 'This is all Dream's fault'. ' If he wasn't such a lawnmower. Yeah! Why was he always using his laser beam cats to comb the eels?' Desire began to perspire. The temperature in the Threshold was increasing at an alarming rate. Desire moaned and placed their hand to their temple. It was blistering hot. The beads of sweat began to glide. The room appeared to be melting around them.

And that's when Delirium appeared. Looking around the room curiously she tip toed in an exaggerated fashion up to where Desire lay and was now feverishly tossing about. Their cropped hair matted to their damp cheek in angry stands. She crept closer.

"Sistery - brothery?" Delirium intoned into their available ear.

Desire Immediately jolted forward to find their youngest sister preached on their bed staring at them. Desire's eyes squinted and narrowed at altering degrees. "Delirium?" They managed to croak out through parched lips.

"Yup! It's me!" Delirium cried happily " Were you expecting another something? Like a puddle. Because those things are never where you leave them. And this one time it actually was where I left it and I was very confused because it wouldn't say why."

"Oh great!" Just what I need. How many more of you are going to visit me without an invite?" Desire was not in the mood to cater to her littlest sister's whims.

"Go away! I don't feel good." Sneezing in triplicate served to prove their point. The threshold shook with the aftershocks.

"Weeee" Squealed Delirium. "It's like a rollercoster!" She then pointed at Desire and scrunched up her face. " You're dripping. Are you broken?"

Desire took out their pocket silk and dabbed gingerly at their nose.

"No, I'm not broken. I'm sick! I suppose, though, it's the same thing." They answered dejectedly.

"That's why I'm here I guess." Delirium looked at the floor sadly. "Poor Desire. You must feel pretty crumbly. I almost never get to come to your place. Especially not for busyness."

"Don't be a nuisance Del."

"But I love new scents. Have you ever smelt jamboree and tourniquet. Maybe I can make things more fun. Do you want to sneeze sparkles? I could do that?? If you want." She looked ever hopeful.

Desire shuddered at the thought. "No. I don't want that." They said dully. The absence of cheek was a clear indication that their fight had indeed been knocked out. The furnace inside them seemed to be working overtime. Blanket's kicked off they longed for even the unpleasant sensation of chills. Everything seemed too hot. They wanted nothing to touch their scorching skin. The pillow by their head only served to aggravate. The stuffed rat that had been gifted to them seemed blistering hot. Desire grabbed it with the intention of hurling across it the room when it came to life and bit them. Desire dropped it in shock.

"What the fuck?!"

"It's not really. Real, really." Delirium said. This wasn't her fault. " I'm sorry. I can't help it." Delirium said woefully. " I wanted to do the sparkles." This was the part of her job she hated. What made it worse was this was a member of her own family.

Desire thrashed against the bed. Confused and scared at the things they saw. They could no longer distinguish reality.

"Please go away." They begged and it wasn't clear if they meant Delirium or something else entirely.

And then weakened by exhaustion and fever Desire passed out.

Desire fell into a sea of blackness and in the space of the unconscious their fever dream began.

They found themselves walking. It was in a forest and it was day. The sun beat down and filtered through the foliage causing it to intermittently cast it's rays and forcing them to shield their golden eyes. They shivered with chill despite the warmth in the air.

'I'm dreaming' Desire ascertained and sneezed suddenly against their wrist. 'And I'm still ... sick' And even in their own head it was painful to admit. 'Well of course I am'. Desire continued narrating to themselves. 'I'm in my brother's realm after all, and when has he been in the habit of doing me a kindness?"

"When have you ever given me reason to."

Desire turned around and there stood Morpheus.

"This is indeed a rare event my brother." Desire said clearing their throat. "It isn't like you to intertwine yourself in family affairs. That's usually my job."

"If I am not mistaken, it is you who came to I."

" Believe me It wasn't a choice." Desire answered annoyance dipping from every syllable.

"So I am aware. I heard of your ailment." Dream was careful. "I must admit I was curious to see how you were affected."

As if on cure the familiar and feathery tickle returned to Desire's nose. If there was a more embarrassing time for sternutation Desire could not think of one. They gave their nose a vigorous rub, trying not to sniffle.

"I'b fide." Desire said, so obviously not 'fine'. The tell tale signs of fever displayed on their cheeks were a dead give away as was their cold converted speech. Their breath became hitched , mouth slack and eyes closed. It was evident that Desire was about to sneeze and was doing everything in their power not to. Their head reared back and with an audible gasp of air they let out a viciously loud sneeze that propelled them forward and almost in half with the force. They groaned wearily.

"God bless." Dream said " You do look rather awful." It was meant as an observation but the insult to his sibling suited him.

Dream handed them a square of cotton. Desire begrudgingly thanked him and turned around humiliated to quietly blow their nose.

"I'm sure this is entertaining for you." Desire retorted shrinking inside themselves with how horrid they still sounded.

"I will admit. It is very intriguing. Clinically speaking."

"I'm glad I amuse." Desire managed through a few coughs." So what am I even doing here Dream? Am I just here for you to gawk at like some animal in a zoo?!" Desire could feel their temper begin to flare.

The night king was infuriatingly calm. " It is your dream, you tell me."

The scene changed. They were transported to a room furnished and decorated in elaborate wealth. There was an impossibly large bed in the centre. Desire was so fatigued and fragile at this point they blunderingly made their way over to it and lay down.

Desire's eyes closed naturally. They felt a cool hand rest on their forehead. Desire sighed contented and leaned into the cool touch.

"You are very warm sister-brother." Dream sounded concerned.

Desire had almost forgot themselves, now fully remembering they feebly swatted Dream's hand away. Lacking in co - ordination and strength the attempt was futile.

They moaned in protest unable to do much else.

"Hush sibling." Morpheus admonished gently. He dipped a cloth in the water filled basin that sat beside him. He proceeded to gently stroke Desire's heated forehead and cheeks.

"Why are you doing this?" Desire asked huskily

"Is it not what big brothers would do for their siblings?"

"Not you. Not us."

"I suppose you're lucky it's a dream then. I have a cup of tea for you. Can you sit up?" Dream's voice was both soothing and encouraging in tone, the likes of which Desire had never heard.

Placing the weight of themselves on their arms and using their hands Desire was able to manoeuvre in an upright position.

They took the steaming mug from Dream and tried sniffing it but were too stuffed up to smell anything.

"It's rose hip and chocolate." Dream answered their siblings silent question.

Desire drank the tea and as much as they hated to admit, it was much better than they had anticipated. Dream being nice was something very similar. They weren't quite expecting to like it and they would never let on that they did. Their contradictory feelings caused Desire a feeling of underlying anxiety as they were forced to endure this perplexing scenario. Surfacing again the ubiquitous tickle made its presence known, only this time in their throat and their coughing interrupted this internal dialogue. Desire urgently put down the mug before the attack began. The coughs sounded deep and very painful. Desire tried to inhale as best they could in between each convulsion but it seemed as if they sincerely couldn't stop. Watching their sibling is such distress Dream began to rub their back in small circles. When Desire finally did stop they were left wheezing and short of breath, tears streaming down their face. Desire clasped their throat and winced in pain.

"Ow." They whined.

"Poor thing." Dream sighed.

It was the second time that night Desire had heard such similar phrasing but from her older brother it had the complete opposite effect.

"I don't need your pity." Pouted Desire.

"Excellent. I'll not waste any. Instead I might offer you my compassion." Dream was reasonable.

"I don't want that either. I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me, Dream!" Mustering all the bravado they could was difficult but Desire was acting in self defence. They wished they could just wake up. This dream was getting intensely too surreal for their liking.

Dream looked fondly at his sibling and said. "It is a true shame, as it is often the ones most in need of sympathy, that are loathe to accept it." Dream tenderly brushed away a stand of stray hair from Desires forehead and and as if making room placed an affectionate kiss in that exact spot. .

"Rest well, my sister - brother."

And before Desire could take much more they awoke.

Upon consciousness Desire's mind ventured over the events that had just transpired in their brothers realm. It left them confused and the more they thought about it, it made them furious. 'Why was Dream being so kind?', 'What has he to gain?', 'How am I to act the next time we meet?'. It was a never ending cycle of question after question. Their relationship was clear previously. They both understood the parts they would play and now Dream had ruined that! If he had been the cold and unfeeling dream king as was usual, then there would be no cause for concern. But he was NICE!

While Desire sat in bed still nursing their malady and pondering this new revelation both Dream and Death were conversing through their gallery's, much like old friends on the phone.

"I need full details!" Death squealed giddily to her brother.

Dream went over the events. He was sure to include how unsightly Desire looked, the handkerchief he provided, soothing their fever, the tea, aiding their fit of coughing and lastly, the one that had death in peels of laughter, the kiss on the forehead.

" I bet Desire loved that." She said sarcastically. "So they looked awful too, huh? Death prompted, hungry for all the details.

"They not only looked frightful, my sister, but they sounded almost as ghastly as well. If not more so."

" I wish I could have been there to witness everything!"

"It was very fascinating. I told them as much. As I stated before, It was was one of the main reasons why I agreed to this arrangement with you." Dream replied thoughtfully.

"Bullshit!" Death blurted out. "You just wanted to see Desire suffer. Admit it Dream." Death smiled broadly. She found this excuse as amusing as it was transparent.

"I do not deny that it was a motivating factor to see our sibling in dire straits however it became apparent to me that I rather liked doting on Desire and in truth this may have been an experience I had been otherwise lacking. Perhaps Desire was not the preferred candidate, yet were it not for them, I might not have arrived at this epiphany."

"Watch it there, lil brother or someone might accuse you of getting soft."

"That is unlikely as the only others who know about this are you and our aforementioned sibling and I am quite confident that Desire will not be so keen to boast as it appeared to make them quite uncomfortable." Retrospectively this was the source for most of his amusement and in reality, had more to do with Dream's enjoyment than he would have liked to admit.

"How so?" Death probed. She was so glad she had asked Dream to do this. It almost just as enjoyable hearing about it.

" It seemed as though the more kindly I behaved toward Desire the more I incurred their anger."

"That's perfect!!" Death said giggling picturing it.

"Well I think their lesson was learned. On multiple fronts." Dream said wisely.

"Lesson? Nah! " Death waved her hand in a dismissive fashion. "I think they learned a whole curriculum!"

They two said goodbyes through their galleries and parted ways on either side of their realms.

The next day in Desire's own realm they were consumed by yet another dreadful sneezing fit. This one seemed to be the worst yet. It was so bad, and caused such chaos and commotion within the Threshold, that Desire themselves was tossed off the bed and onto the floor due to all of the resulting turbulence.

They lay there like a rejected doll at first, and then when they tried to get up, they stumbled, as the area was still somewhat unstable.

The sneezing continued. The tremors due to the sneezing continued. And Desires intolerance due to both of those things continued.

"I can't take anymore of this!" Desire shrieked out loud.

Driven by pure frustration and fury they were determined to confront Death and end this misery once and for all. Feeling chilled they grabbed the blanket off the bed and draped it cape like over their shoulders and headed to their gallery.

Still sneezing along the way made for a treacherous path. After each the pericardium of the heart shook keeping desire almost perpetually off balance.

When they arrived at the gallery they were worse for wear. Nose running , eyes streaming, they were a mess.

They plucked their sisters sigil from the wall and held it.

"Sister, Ahatischoo! I sdand in your gallery ....Haitsshchoo! *sniff* I hold your sigil. Will you talk to be? Ahhtichoo!!" Desire could barely get the words out for all the sneezing.

Death appeared and took one look at Desire and had to swallow a laugh.

"I was wondering how long it would take you." Death said pleasantly " You look tired. Have you not been sleeping well?" She smirked.

Desire clutched the blanket tighter and honestly Death was almost beginning to feel sorry for their sister - brother. Dream had said they were in bad shape but she could have never expected this.

" I give ub! Ok?" Desire sneezed a double and groaned. "Jusd kill be." They pleaded miserably.

"You see! I told you I would have you begging for death!". This time Death did laugh. "Obviously I'm not going to kill you silly! And I'll reverse the effects, on one condition."

"Adything. Dame it."

"I think Dream deserves an apology. And I hope you will think long and hard before you try messing around with anyone in the family again." Death was stern but could see Desire had suffered enough.

Desire wiped their hand across their nose and then held it up. "I swear by the fist circle."

Immediately they could suddenly breathe. The pressure in their head and sinuses vanished. Their nose was left in peace and they felt like their body was no longer shaking with chills. They were well in a flash. They dropped their blanket dramatically to the floor. And struck a pose.

"I suppose I have a call to make." Desire said, honouring their promise.

" Well." Death said with finality "I suppose you will never forget what it's like."

"what, what is like?" Desire arched an elegant eyebrow

" A taste of your own medicine."

[mdronebarger]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage ANRI 1978 Christmas plate Leading The Way of 4000.

[micro-expressions]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Frye Vanessa 6" Shearling Leather Cozy Ankle Boots.

[pyssball]

PYƧƧBΛLL’Ƨ ΛBӨЦƬ MΣ ⛧

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ΛƧHΣЯ | PЯӨПӨЦПƧ: they/she | BIЯƬΉDΛY: april 5th | LӨVΣ LΛПGЦΛGΣ: physical touch—words of affirmation—gifts

QЦICK FΛCƬƧ—

𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐚(𝐧) . . . aries ; intp-t ; slytherin ; history/racing/nature nerd ; fanfic reader/writer ; silly lil american obssesed with europe

𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 . . . read ; listen to music ; walk in nature ; paint ; bake ; swim ; collect trinkets ; build legos ; rewatch seb vettel interviews over and over

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 . . . formula one ; rain sounds ; the 80s ; photography ; elephants ; vintage cars ; candlelight ; halloween ; aquariums ; sunsets ; older home design ; war history ; witchcraft ; 50s hollywood fashion ; old burlesque costumes ; art museums ; funny t-shirts

MY FΛVƧ—

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭) . . . max verstappen ; oscar piastri ; daniel ricciardo ; fernando alonso ; valterri bottas

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝) . . . sebastian vettel ; jenson button ; kimi raikkonen ; david coulthard ; michael schumacher ; niki lauda

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 . . . garfield ; betty boop ; squidward ; spencer (i-carly) ; sam (i-carly) ; pompompurin ; hangyodon ; jake the dog ; ice king ; hades (hercules) ; woody (toy story) ; lego batman ; mickey (shameless)

𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐬 . . . death becomes her ; halloween (1978) ; horton hears a who ; ford v ferarri ; beetlejuice ; talladega nights ; maxium overdrive ; dazed and confused ; the rocky horror picture show ; ghostbusters (1984) ; the breakfast club ; gentlmen prefer blondes ; american psycho ; grey gardens ; silence of the lambs ; addams family values ; girl, interrupted ; fight club ; coraline ; labyrinth ; over the hedge ; jennifer’s body ; the cars series ; heathers ; hocus pocus ; corpse bride ; chicago ; the truman show ; rango

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐬 . . . amazing world of gumball ; regular show ; smiling friends ; spongebob squarepants ; bob’s burgers ; chowder ; apple & onion ; steven universe ; rick and morty ; adventure time ; bojack horseman ; breaking bad ; the goldbergs ; the golden girls ; house ; shameless ; rupaul’s drag race (us & uk) ; night court ; how i met your mother ; killing eve ; the office ; two in a half men

𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 . . . good omens ; 1984 ; lolita ; the bell jar ; my year of rest and relaxation ; slaugtherhouse five ; pride and prejudice ; the stranger ; les miserables ; notes from underground ; the idiot ; a certain hunger ; just kids ; the picture of dorian gray ; the secret history ; the goldfinch ; this is where it ends ; a little life ; ariel ; love is a dog from hell ; the virgin suicides ; the catcher in the rye ; wuthering heights ; gone girl ; nausea ; brave new world ; selected tales ; woman eating ; death in her hands ; crime and punishment

𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 . . . motley crue ; alice cooper ; the beatles ; michael jackson ; rammstein ; the smiths ; bette midler ; sublime ; radiohead ; weezer ; abba ; billy joel ; prince ; jimi hendrix ; nirvana ; megadeath ; van halen ; fleetwood mac ; johnny cash ; elvis presley ; metallica ; frank sinatra ; the cure ; mac demarco ; cher ; tv girl ; elton john ; queen ; the who ; david bowie ; ozzy osbourne ; the rolling stones ; foo fighters ; deftones ; red hot chili peppers ; rob zombie ; korn ; system of a down