#and then decided i could do whatever with Delirium too

[omgkalyppso]

For @designtheendless' draw it in your style giveaway! I've found that I enjoy the challenge of drawing a lot of characters together, so even in this, I also decided to be ambitious. I hope you like it! I adore seeing your art on my dash!

The Giveaway. The original piece.

[Content ID: Art of characters from Netflix's The Sandman. From left to right there is Destruction, a black man with red hair pulled back in twists and a beard wearing a beige sweater; Destiny, a nebulous entity in a brown cloak and a black opening where their face would be; Death, a black woman with loose curled hair wearing an ankh necklace and black tank top; Dream, a white man with black hair wearing a black jacket over a black shirt, his right hand is raised holding an UNO card between two fingers as he hands it to the next character; Matthew the Raven is perched on Dream's shoulder accepting the card in his beak; Despair, a white woman with long strawberry blonde hair wearing a thick bronze sweater holding at least three UNO cards towards her face; Desire, a white person with coiffed blond hair wearing an outfit of differing shades of black, red lipstick, gold eye shadow and a gold earring, holding at least one UNO card upside down; Delirium, a brown woman with red hair pulled back with a blue, green and gold scarf, wearing a pink shirt. All characters with visible faces have smiles of various intensity. They sit around a wooden table with more UNO cards in the center in front of a beige-brown wall. /End ID]

[gabessquishytum]

Pardon me if this gets weird.

Boxer!Dream is getting up in years. He isn't old enough yet to retire, but he's slowing down. He isn't as fast anymore. When Burgess pays him over five mil to throw a fight, despite being undefeated currently, he can't say no. That's life changing money at stake! All it'll cost him is his pride.

The fight doesn't go as expected. He ends up accidentally killing the guy in the ring. It was so easy. One punch across the side of his temple was all it took.

But now he's pissed off the wrong mobster. He sneaks out the back, mercifully missing most of the mobsters who came bursting into his locker room.

He can't go back to his apartment. To do so would be suicide. He can't leave town just yet as the money is with his agent. If Lucienne knew where he was, then they could take her hostage or torture her. So he waits. He books a cheap hotel and waits for the heat to die down before collecting the money.

What he doesn't know is Roderick's already sent a soldier after him. A loyal capo known only as the Immortal, since he's performed over a dozen hits and has never been caught or killed yet. His friends call him Hob.

A few days after the fight, Dream is heading down to Lucienne's office to collect the money and his box office cut. It's too much money to lose and he needs it to escape the country. But unfortunately, Hob sees him going down the street and attacks him in broad daylight. They fight pretty aggressively until they stumble into the wrong shop.

Cori is a well-known associate of Lucifer. He's the muscle of their organization and has a long-standing grudge against Hob for stealing his contracts. He only knows Dream bc he's been spying on Burgess and knows the old man will pay handsomely for his head. So he breaks up the fight at gun point and kidnaps the both of them, leaving them tied to chairs in the shops basement. He calls a few associates.

Dream doesn't know what he's in for, but Hob does. He knows whatever that sick bastard has planned for them will not be pleasant. They only have one chance at this. They have to escape together.

However, Hob knows that once he returns without Dream in a body bag, he might as well put a gun to his own head. Burgess does not suffer fools lightly. So he proposes a deal. Dream takes Hob with him.

- 🤜 anon

OHHH enemies to lovers!! Hell yeah!! Hob might be tough (he is) but Dream has been fighting underground for most of his life, and Hob almost gets his ass handed to him. So at least he knows that Dream can more than hold his own. They might just be able to escape together, if they can stop kicking each other for half a minute.

They do break out of their ropes (it's at this point that Hob starts making bondage jokes, and Dream starts rolling his eyes). Dream has his fists and Hob has a very sharp little knife that Cori didnt manage to take off him, and via a lot of pushing and shoving and standing on each others shoulders, they climb out of the skylight and start running. There's no real plan, except getting the money and getting the hell out. They mutually decide that Hob should go to Lucienne for the money and bring her back with him. Mostly because he's got a better chance of defending her, but also because if anyone is watching the office then Dream will definitely be shot on sight. He gives Hob his ruby signet ring to show Lucienne, and heads to try and find a ride out of town.

Delirium agrees to give Dream a lift, and he waits with her anxiously in a parking garage. Apparently she also owns a gun, so at least they have that. Finally Lucienne and Hob show up, and Hob is gripping his side but everyone seems to be okay! Time to get the hell out of there!

And just on time too, because Cori and his associates are chasing them down. Delirium drives like a maniac, Lucienne is leaning out and shooting their pursuers and Dream is like "Hob, can you DO something?!" And Hob is like "give me a second, I kind of got shot back at the office!"

He'll be fine. Probably. They don't call him the Immortal for nothing. And he promised Dream that they'd have another fight, preferably in a proper ring next time. So he can't die.

Especially not when Dream is starting to look so pretty.

[tonguetiedraven]

fanfic of rin oblivious to bon's feelings? I've read so many of your fics. I love them.

I'm not at all sure if this was the kind of vibe you wanted, but it's what happened, lol. It's a bit more angsty with a one sided sort of thing, though I tried to leave it open to a get together :D

I'm glad you enjoy my fics ^^ — — ♡( ‘-’* ) — —

Ryuuji’s cheeks went a bit warm as Rin reached into their shared cracker bag at the same time, and he promptly looked away as he pulled out a small handful of the rice crackers, trying to act like he was entirely caught up in his notes on Magnus’ methods of circle generation and not how warm Rin’s hand always was. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Ryuuji had, contrary to what some would say, not fallen in love with Rin when Rin jumped wildly in front of a reaper to save him from his ill timed emotional breakdown over the latest moment in a life time of cruel laughter.

No, Ryuuji had properly noticed Rin then, but he hadn’t fallen in love. He hadn’t known enough about Rin to possibly be in love.

When Rin stood between him and the Impure King and proceeded to try and make post rot castle plans and looked at Ryuuji like he hung the moon and stars and sun in the sky simply because he’d confessed the obvious fact that he trusted Rin out loud, he also hadn’t fallen in love, though that was a closer possibility. Had he not been exhausted to the point of near delirium, maybe.

Nope. Ryuuji fell in love in the entirely uncinematic moment of leaning over a railing to look at the view of Kinkaku-ji, and finding Rin staring at the water with his tail slipping out to wag because he had spotted a group of ducks. The dork was in front of what was one of the most impressive things Kyoto had to offer, and the ducks won his attention. 

He would never be able to explain what it was about that moment that did it, but it ended with Rin looking up at him with an enormous grin that sealed the deal, and Ryuuji could almost feel his heart leaving his chest to settle in Rin’s hands, and he would die if anyone ever knew that he thought that way.

It had been strangely easy to fall in love with Rin, far easier than it had been to initially get on the same page as Rin. Probably because Rin was incredible at picking moments to make Ryuuji stop and pay attention and feel like his entire world was shifting a bit to accommodate whatever Rin had made him see in a new way. Rin bolstered him on when he was losing confidence or energy, convinced him to stick to his guns and his morals when he became uncertain, and reminded him that he wasn’t in it all alone. (Strange when it had taken him so long to drive that message home to Rin.)

Today it was a pre Cram School study session and snack.  They weren’t alone — they were almost never alone, but Ryuuji didn’t mind that. He usually enjoyed his friends’ company. At least more often than not. 

Except for the fact that Ryuuji had never once in his life managed to be subtle about anything, and he certainly wasn’t subtle about the fact that Rin had captured his heart.

The blushing alone would be embarrassing, and had been embarrassing on far too many occasions. He seemed to always get noticed by Izumo when he did it, and she’d get this satisfied sort of grin on her face. He could never decide if it was satisfaction that he was embarrassed to be silently called out, or some sort of satisfaction that she was watching a supposed romance unfold.

It wasn’t one. Not the happy sort anyway. Ryuuji had never had the easy or happy sort of thing so that wasn’t surprising.

Being noticed blushing would be embarrassing enough, but he also had the horrible tendency to stare at Rin a bit too much, and it was usually Shima that caught him with that, and he’d wiggle his eyebrows in the most annoying way, and Ryuuji would blush, and Shima and Izumo would grin, and Ryuuji would usually huff and make an escape.

Konekomaru always caught him in the after moments. Usually after a lunch or race or challenge. When Rin would have just left him with a high-five or laugh or an arm around his shoulder, and Ryuuji would feel like his heart wasn’t beating properly in his chest as it tried to shoot away and join Rin.

He could already tell this would be a day when he was caught by all three. Possibly even her. Those were usually the worst days. She could always tell something was wrong, but was never quite intuitive enough to know just what. She wasn't aware enough of the situation, or situations in general, to know that she was just making it worse.

Ryuuji was in love with Rin, and he was painfully obvious about it. He didn't know any other way to be. He had never been particularly gifted at hiding his thoughts and emotions, and he'd had no experience with this to have learned how.

Ryuuji was in love with Rin, and Rin was entirely in love with someone else. What's more, Ryuuji was certain Rin had never noticed that he had Ryuuji's heart. Or, the somehow worse possibility, he might have realized it and simply pretended not to because he didn't want it.

Ryuuji could never decide which would be the worst one.

He had spent a lifetime well acquainted with wanting things he could not have. He was familiar with the ache of it, even if this one was a bit strangely sweet despite the bitterness. 

There were moments when he didn't even notice that he had something missing. Moments spent simply appreciating Rin were enough on their own. He would watch, and he would smile, and he would not notice himself doing either. He would be taken with whatever was happening and whatever Rin was doing or being. 

He had fallen in love with the boy for a reason after all. There was a lot to fall in love with, and Rin was nothing if not a show off when he was good at something.

The soft feelings would rise in Ryuuji’s chest, sometimes a bit overwhelmingly, and he would want, and long in a strange new way that could be exciting, but frightening as well.

Other times, it was far more bitter.

The difficulty of his situation aside, ignoring how negatively being gay was still looked upon by most people, he had simply fallen in love with someone who was in love with someone else. Were he to suddenly wake up with a knowledge of the words he needed to properly express himself to Rin, he would still have to contend with the fact that Rin's heart was someone else's. 

Ryuuji was never a coward, but he wasn’t an idiot. So even if the words did suddenly come to him, he’d swallow them back down. They would be bitter, but he had swallowed far bitterer things.

He had met Rin first, but it was the meeting with her that had left the impact with Rin. Ryuuji had no real idea of whether or not he would have stood a chance had he made a move before she'd come into the picture, but he hadn't and without even intending to, she had won Rin's heart.

He figured that one out fairly slowly too. He was, unfortunately, entirely inept when it came to matters of the heart. He had been slow to learn his own, but certain once he had. He was not nearly so good with anyone else's.

Though he had never been able to tell how she felt about the entire thing, once he knew to look, Rin had been the easiest kind of read. He stared every bit as much as Ryuuji did, he smiled in silly ways, he laughed almost anytime she told a joke, or something that sounded like a joke, he always tried to sit as close as he could get, chose any mission with her he could, and got this sort of wishful tone in his voice anytime she was mentioned.

That was where the bitter came in.

Ryuuji was not nearly vain enough to ever even consider telling Rin that Ryuuji was the better option. He wasn't. She was an incredible option. She was kind and funny and loyal and pretty and courageous, far more than she ever gave herself credit for. Ryuuji was the heir to a failed temple that didn't even have a temple any longer. He was loud, grumpy, glared far too much without meaning too, and not very much at all like Shiemi.

He would never point out that she obviously wasn't interested, but he was if it was Rin.

After all, he had people come up to him regularly to try and go out. He knew what it was to have your attention completely taken by one person, and it not particularly matter if it was returned or not. The feelings would go away eventually, according to everyone he knew, but until then, he couldn't see any harm in them existing. He would never push his friend, because that's what Rin was first and foremost, his friend. The pain of it when Rin would look elsewhere, but never at him, was not enough to make him break away from that. It was his own fault that he was suffering. He could not stop the emotions, and he would not give himself space from his friend.

He had fallen in love with Rin, And he didn't know what to do with the emotions aside from ignoring them. That had done nothing to dissuade them, and the more he ignored them the more he tended to blush and look too much, and ache, so he took to other methods to try and satiate the insistent feelings. He would bring snacks he knew Rin liked best for the chance to see that particular smile. He would spend extra time at the gym to have a chance to spar with his friend, because he knew how much it excited Rin for them to be able to go all out. He would find extra time to help Rin with his studies, because his friend did and seemed like he always would struggle with notes and class work. It didn't help much more than ignoring had, but it did at least leave him with more sweet than bitter moments.

It was studying today, and that meant trying to decipher Rin's ridiculous notes, and sitting too close. That was what had led to the joint hands in the bag.

Rin didn't seem to have noticed it happened. He was, probably fittingly, talking to Shiemi. Ryuuji munched on his crackers, told his face to stop being ridiculous, and looked back at the notes. He managed to decipher another line and reached for his bottle of tea.

"You transposed this," He offered quietly. He tapped the two terms as Rin's attention momentarily turned to him. The most intensely blue eyes he had ever seen glanced down at the word under Ryuuji's pencil, and narrowed as Rin tried to make them out.

"Transposed," he explained, "You switched them."

"I did?"

Ryuuji nodded and tried not to pay attention to the way Rin's tail swished and stood up a bit when he was really listening. There was enough of the bitterness already. He didn't try to purposely hurt himself more than he needed to.

"If you can keep that straight, you'll ace this."

"You think?" The wag of Rin's tail was audible now. It was thunking lightly against the bench.

"Absolutely."

Rin smiled at him, and it was the same sort of smile he'd had when he looked at the ducks. Pure and unfiltered and showing his fangs and hardly any of his eyes because his cheeks were pushing them closed, and Ryuuji's face was growing warm again as he stared much too much. He swallowed and looked back down at the notes. 

And in doing so, entirely missed the fact that Rin was still staring at him.

[dyns33]

The Ending

Last Morpheus x Hob!Reader. A bit hard to read, and with spoilers from the comics, careful. 

Y/N Y/L/N couldn't die.

Not if she didn't want to.

Lord Morpheus repeated this to himself over and over as he continued to search for her everywhere. He refused to think that his sister might have changed her mind or that his immortal lover might have decided to leave without telling him.

Something else must have happened, and though it might be horrible, Dream told himself that he would find her, that she would be alive, and that he would help her get better, for as long as necessary.

She had told him about her long life, he had seen some of her nightmares. Y/N had experienced a lot of things, she was strong, smart. Everything would end well.

Her disappearance dated back to a few days now. If he hadn't learned to control his rage, Lord Morpheus would have punished Johanna Constantine for causing all this trouble. She had come to seek the help of Y/N and Hob for a dangerous mission, thinking that it would be better to be accompanied by people who could not die.

There are fates worse than death, Dream had once told Robert. You can be injured or captured.

It had happened to him soon after, like a premonition, and now Y/N might be stuck somewhere. Maybe she was being tortured, and if he didn't move fast enough, if she lost hope, then she might call his sister to end her suffering.

But no, she couldn't die, he refused that.

Despite his best efforts, traveling the waking world and dreams, dispatching Matthew and his most loyal subjects, he was unable to find her.

The Hecate didn't give him any help, answering with riddles and mocking him. Lost, he did something he hadn't even thought of doing when he was captured : he called his family. It wasn't as helpful as he would have hoped.

As always, Destiny couldn't do anything, saying whatever was supposed to happen would happen. 

Death only reassured him, promising him that Y/N had not contacted her, and that if she did, she would take him with her to save his beloved. She looked strange, but said nothing. 

Destruction didn't answer.

 The twins were a little surprised by his request, savoring this moment, happy to see him so weak in their domains, desperate and in love.

     "We'd be willing to help you just because we pity you and you finally seem to realize you're no better than us..." Desire began.

     "... But we can't do anything for you. An ancient magic seems to have taken your lover." continued Despair. "She's too far from us. Sorry."

It was out of sheer politeness, knowing how susceptible she could be, that Dream went to Delirium. Poor Delirium, his youngest sister would probably not achieve more than the others had already done.

She jumped up when she saw him, saying that she had missed him, before saying a lot of nonsense, but listening all the same to the reason for his coming. Delirium looked serious for a moment, thinking hard, before jumping up again.

     "I dON't KnOw wheRe Y/N Is. BUt I knOw whO I CAn Ask !"

     "Come find me if your friend brings news." sighed Morpheus who wasn't really listening.

     "He'S nOt MY fRIenD, BUt OkAY !"

A few hours later, someone showed up at the gate of the realm, and Matthew flew as quickly as possible to his master to tell him that Y/N had returned.

In an instant, Dream appeared beside her, hugging her, asking her if she was hurt, wiping the tears from her cheeks, touching her bloody hands.

     "... I'm fine." she whispered without looking at him.

     "Obviously not. If those who hurt you are not dead yet, I will find them and lock them in an eternal nightmare."

     "Forget it, Morpheus. I don't want to talk about it."

     "I cannot leave unpunished those who have dared..."

     "Nobody hurt me." Y/N said more firmly, but still avoiding his gaze. "It's not my blood. I lost myself, in limbos. It was impossible to find my way, I was alone, and I was afraid of arriving in hell, or of dying without doing it on purpose. Then he... I do not want to talk about it."

     "He ? Who is he ?"

Y/N initially refused to answer, continuing to cry, before falling to her knees and beginning to ask his forgiveness, as if she had committed a crime. The pleas came next, her love saying that she would understand that he hated her, that he never wanted to see her again, but that she had no choice. She was shaking, as if she was afraid of him.

     "He asked me... He was so tired, so kind. His voice... His voice..." she sobbed, taking Morpheus's hands. "He had such a beautiful voice."

Then Dream understood. And after having focused his attention only on Y/N, he contemplated the universe and whispered the name of his son who was no longer there. That was what his sister had hidden from him. What his brother had meant.

Y/N was alive, and Orpheus was dead.

Delirium had had the idea of going to ask her nephew for help. She had never thought of it before, but he was a oracle, so he knew everything, and he didn't have to keep quiet like their big brother. She wanted to ask him where her dear other brother Destruction was, but Orpheus had smiled, saying that his uncle didn't want to be found, that there was more important matters to deal with at the moment, and that he wouldn't be here afterwards.

Using his link with the Limbos where he had lost Eurycype, he had found Y/N and he had guided her to the exit. He had, however, asked her for a favor.

     "He said he wanted to join his wife. He couldn't stay like that anymore. He was already dead, or almost. He was staying for his mother, and you, even if he was convinced that you didn't love him anymore and that you would never come back to see him. He would have wanted to see you, and at the same time, he was afraid. Afraid that you would reject him, or that you would accept his request. He knew the rules, he knew what he would happen to you if you released him, so... He asked me. I didn't want to do it. I said there had to be a solution. I didn't want you to hate me."

     "My love..."

     "He said it would be fine. That you would understand. He sang to calm me down. A lullaby you made for him. It was beautiful. Oh, Morpheus, it was beautiful. Forgive me."

Unable to speak, he took her in his arms. His son was right, he didn't hate Y/N. He would never hate her, he was glad she was back, that she wasn't hurt. Yes, Orpheus was long dead, though none of them wanted to accept it.

     "My love..." he whispered again, continuing to rock her, trying to calm her crying, as he had done with this little baby that Calliope had given him. "There is nothing to forgive. You granted his wish, you did nothing wrong. You gave my child peace, something I could never have done. I wanted him to live, I was not here for him. At least he's with his wife now. He's happy."

Y/N continued to cry and apologize for several hours, hugging him and letting him kiss her until she was too exhausted to move.

It was not necessary to warn anyone. Once his partner was calmer, although still feeling guilty despite all his reassuring words, the family came.

Morpheus was afraid that they would be violent towards Y/N, that they would insult her, curse her, try to kill her.

The meeting was very strange.

Destiny didn't speak much, only repeating that what had to happen had happened. He quickly added that the other option would have been difficult, for everyone. Death hugged his brother, then Y/N, without saying anything, because it was not necessary. Destruction did not come.

The three youngest were the most surprising. Very serious, very solemn. Despair offered her condolences. Delirium apologized if she had made a mistake. Desire remained in a corner. It wasn't time for teasing, but none of them were mad at Y/N. Their nephew had been on the borders of their domains for too long, it was good that he was free.

Calliope arrived last, calm and serene, but with tears streaming down her cheeks. By stupid reflex, Morpheus stood in front of Y/N, but the muse smiled sadly at him, before passing and taking his companion's hand.

     "Thank you." she said. "Thank you for helping my son."

Not considering that she had helped him, Y/N just nodded trying not to cry again. She couldn't, and Morpheus took her back to their room as soon as everyone had left.

Of course, there remained the dreams and nightmares, curious and worried, who wanted to check that everything was alright for their creator, but also for his lover. They all adored Y/N, they didn't like to see her so sad, but above all, they wondered if their master might not blame her for what had happened.

     "I do not understand what you mean."

     "Well... She... She killed your son, boss." muttered the raven as if he had just said an insult. "Yeah, he asked her, and she's sorry, and I understand, but… You might be upset, and angry."

     "I am not."

     "Not even a little ?"

     "I'm not saying that the loss of my son doesn't cause me any pain. But Y/N is safe and sound thanks to him, and I've only felt joy since her return." he said, stroking the hair of the immortal, who was starting to wake up. "Excuse me, Matthew, but I don't want to leave her alone during this moment. I'll join her in the Waking World, tell Lucienne to watch over the realm while I'm gone."

     "Yes, boss. I'm sorry."

     "Don't be. If anyone is responsible, it's me. I had minimized my son's suffering. If Y/N had died today... Maybe I would have gone to hell for her. My sister would have laughed at me, saying that I was selfish. I could have helped him, I didn't. My brother is right, things happened as they were supposed to , and now I have to follow my own advice. Accept that he's gone, and savor every moment with Y/N, my Y/N, that he brought back to me."

The raven refrained from answering. He wasn't really satisfied, but he couldn't do anything. It wasn't a nice ending, like in the fairy tales, but it wasn't a bad ending either. Life like stories, their master well knew, did not always have happy endings. They had endings. And if in his Y/N was at his side, that was enough.

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

@ckhalloween23 heyyyyyy bestie(s) I know I'm an entire-ass month late, BUT

HERE'S A PREVIEW OF THE ELIMETRI DARKFIC I PROMISED

Listen, y'all can't give me a "Serial Killers" prompt and the opportunity to write the dark, unhinged Demetri Alexopoulos of my dreams presented on a silver platter and NOT expect me to go a little apeshit ^^;

Or. A lot apeshit. Because boy did I let this funny little comic relief guy SNAP ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Also, funnily enough, I realized over the course of the last year or so that I'm probably autistic? For the longest time I held off on writing Hawk's POV because I hc him as autistic and I didn't think I could do him justice, but...I've unlocked this Fun Secret Collector's Item now, I guess XD Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz POV acquired!

Decided to give it a stab here, since him having NO fucking idea how to react to Crazy Demetri was just too much fun. Hawk came to me surprisingly easy once I got started, actually??? I mean I've always related to him a lot but I had no idea it was like. An autism thing. I thought it was just an ND thing akisudhlkuhyfu

Head's up to Tory and Robby stans...this may not be the fic for you. You have been warned 👀

CW for blood, violence, knife-threatening, light knifeplay, toxic relationships (although YMMV), mentions of murder, implied slut-shaming, homophobic slurs, and sexual subtext.

Fic under the cut! As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request :3

***

Hawk’s on his 30th rep when he hears the front door.

He stops mid-jab, the punching bag rattling on its chain as it sways back and forth. Scoffing, he rolls his eyes.

His mom must be home early. How fucking annoying.

He was looking forward to having the house to himself. With his father on a weekend-long business trip and his mother at her Friday night wine hangout, he was finally going to catch up on training without any interruptions.

The last thing he needs is to be outdone by Kyler Park and Robby Fucking Keene.

Hopefully his mom won’t come knocking, pestering him to watch movies or some other frivolous crap. He doesn’t have time for that anymore.

Strange. There’s a notable lack of the jingling and clattering that usually comes from 50 million things being shifted through an oversize purse. Hawk pauses, listening for any noise.

Maybe he imagined it.

“What the hell.” He takes a sip of the Red Bull on his bedside. Some sleep-deprived delirium or whatever it was wasn’t going to fuck up his focus.

Sure, he’s been averaging 5 hours a night, but who gives a shit? It’s not like anyone in high school actually gets enough sleep.

Sensei Kreese said in ‘Nam, they had to be ready to fight on a moment’s notice—geared to slaughter enemies after a mere 30 minutes’ rest in 48 hours. Hawk doesn’t strive for anything less.

The stairs creak.

His mom isn’t usually one for sneaking past his room, but perhaps she’s too tired to be chatty. He thanks the powers that be this seems to be the case, and returns to his reps.

Jab, cross, roundhouse. Jab, cross, roundhouse. Elbow. Knee to the chest.

He counts them out as he goes, power surging through him. Sensei will be sorry he started singing Keene’s praises when Hawk’s a better fighter than that piece of shit ever was.

Because throwing someone off a balcony when they had their guard down was a coward’s move. Typical Miyagi Do bullshit.

God, Hawk hates them. Hypocrites. Losers. Pussies.

He thinks of a new insult every time he lands a punch.

Miguel’s fucking insane for not appreciating what Cobra Kai did to get payback. What Hawk did to get payback.

His fists are starting to ache, fingers burning from being smashed against rubber again and again. Hawk doesn’t care.

Sensei would say the pain makes him stronger.

Jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross—

“You know, at some point, I think you’re as good as you’re going to get at punching.”

A shadow blocks the hallway light.

Dread grips him in frosty talons. His arms still, the punching bag swinging back and smacking his chest.

He gasps, stumbling back. Still, he refuses to look at the doorway.

Refuses to let Demetri see his shock.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

He presses as much venom into the words as possible. Enough intimidation, and Demetri will back down.

He knows now that Hawk is as real a threat as he ever was. And Demetri’s smart enough not to keep poking at a tiger that’s already mauled him.

“In what world would I not remember where you keep your spare keys?” Demetri sneers.

Well. Maybe that’s a bit generous.

“What do you want?”

Hawk keeps his tone steely, hoping he can kill whatever plans are swimming around his ex-best-friend’s head before they even form. In all likelihood, Demetri’s here to be a nuisance at best and a night-ruiner at worst.

Fucking Demetri. He’s always been such a distraction.

Hawk needs to get rid of those.

He thought he did. But Demetri is apparently either too stupid or too obsessed with the past to be properly scared away.

Irritating, but admittedly also interesting. It shows a kind of boldness that he wouldn’t expect Demetri, of all people, to have.

“Maybe I want to check in on my best friend.” Groaning footfalls as Demetri starts to slowly cross Hawk’s room. “I see you avoiding me at school. And you didn’t even bother to show when your little friends crashed Sam’s party. Perhaps I want to see how you are, hmmmm?”

And try as he might, Hawk can’t pick up the usual sarcastic edge to Demetri’s tone. He frowns at his far wall, confused.

There’s something odd in Demetri’s voice, and Hawk can’t for the life of him pick up what it is.

He still refuses to look at his oldest friend. He’s not going to give him the satisfaction of undivided attention.

Demetri is a pest, and should be treated as such.

“We’re not best friends,” Hawk says tightly, landing another punch on his bag. “Whatever we were? It’s done. Has been for a long time. Why can’t you get that?”

He finally graces Demetri with a look. He’s expecting the usual sullen look—scrunched brow, open mouth, widened eyes. Like he’s eternally surprised Hawk doesn’t need him anymore.

A look where maybe, if he prods it farther, Demetri will storm off. Or run off crying. Be out of Hawk’s sight.

Be somewhere where Hawk doesn’t have to think about that night at Golf N Stuff. Or how it felt to watch Demetri writhe on the floor. Or the streams of vomit that ripped from Hawk’s stomach as soon as he got home.

Or what he did to himself in the wee hours of the morning, when no one—not his mother, not Cobra Kai, not Sensei Kreese—was around to see.

But when Hawk glances over now, Demetri is smiling.

Not a contemptuous sneer, or a pained grimace. A full-on grin, splitting his cheeks and stretching much wider than the situation calls for.

Hawk inhales sharply.

Demetri shakes his head, laughing. “It’s almost endearing, you know. What a tryhard you are.”

He squares his jaw, refusing to budge as Demetri advances on him. “I thought I made it pretty clear what I think about you. You want another reminder?”

Hawk balls his fists, trying not to think about how hard the words are to force out. How hard he’s working to keep the iron shell he’s built around himself intact.

A strange smell hovers around Demetri. Acrid and metallic, like he’s spent too much time mucking around inside one of those computers he’s so besotted with.

“How revoltingly naïve.” Green eyes burn into him like acid, the glint behind them unlike anything he’s ever seen. “You thought you’d break my arm once and be done with me?

Hawk finds himself backing away.

“I’m not going to make it that easy for you, Hawk.”

Something in the way Demetri spits his new name finally gives him clarity.

“So what the fuck do you want from me?” he spits. “Why did you come here?”

“I came here because you were right. About everything.”

Any response is snatched from Hawk’s mouth.

For several seconds, all he can do is stare. Demetri smirks, apparently reveling in getting a leg up.

Hawk is so confused that he can’t even find it in himself to be angry. A strangled “what?” is all that comes out, pulling a snigger from his adversary.

“You think you’ve got it all figured out. Becoming the scariest fighter in the Valley. Making everyone quiver at the sight of you. Doing whatever you like because people aren’t brave enough to tell you no. Becoming your badass karate teacher’s little golden child. Getting rid of your weaknesses. Getting rid of me. But there’s one thing you got wrong.”

Typical Demetri. Monologuing around the point.

But Hawk is, nonetheless, finding his confusion turning to intrigue.

The mopey kicked puppy routine had gotten unbearably tedious. At least Demetri finally has the decency to give Hawk some variety.

“Oh, yeah?” He curls his lip. “What’s that?”

Demetri casually leans on Hawk’s dresser, like this is nothing more than a Friday night video game session.

“You think I avoid fights because I’m scared. But that’s not true anymore.” And there’s that grin again—that wide, unnerving grin that looks like it was pasted on from another human being’s face. The sort of manic look that would never in a thousand years belong on Demetri Alexopoulos.

“I avoid fights because I know who’s worth fighting. And who’s worth hurting.”

Well, that’s new.

Hawk narrows his eyes, trying to piece together if this is all some kind of trick.

“See, Eli, you were right that the world isn’t kind to people who get too soft.” Demetri starts sauntering over again, and that odd, metallic smell strengthens. “Or losers. Or weaklings. Or people who admit defeat. Give in too easily. Run off cowering and scared. So I’m shaking all that off. Next time I fight, I won’t lose.”

As Hawk pieces everything together, he scowls.

“So that’s what you want?” he hisses. “A rematch? Like you’d stand a chance.”

“So touchy. Do you only think of people in terms of whether you can beat them in a fight now? Boooooring.”

Demetri clicks his tongue disapprovingly. It’s a mocking gesture he’s been doing since they were little, but now something about it feels chilling.

Hawk’s back bumps his bedroom wall. Demetri’s closing in on him.

Fucking hell—he’s getting fed up with this cat-and-mouse. Why is he even entertaining this stupid nerd again?

It’s not like he gives a shit about him anymore. Then he wouldn’t snap his arm in half.

“Fuck off, Demetri!” he roars. “I fucking hate you. I don’t give a shit about anything you have to say! Get the hell out of my house, or I swear to god I’ll break your arm again.”

He fills the words with fire and force and poison, hoping something will hurt Demetri enough to make him go.

He can’t cave again. Not after he’s worked this hard to oust Demetri and everything he represents from his life.

Not after he’s severed Demetri’s bone with his own hands and smiled with his friends about it.

That should’ve been the last straw. That should’ve been what sent Demetri running for good, abandoning everything they’d once had to save himself.

But it didn’t. It fucking didn’t.

Demetri takes another step into his space, curling his lip. “You’re full of shit.”

“Fuck you.” Eli returns his stare, baring his teeth. “How are you so sure?”

“Because you hesitated.”

Hawk goes rigid.

“I begged you to stop.” Demetri’s hands slide onto the wall on either side of him, trapping him. “And you thought about it. You didn’t break my arm until all your psychotic teammates goaded you on. If you really hated me?” His voice drops to a breathy whisper. “You wouldn’t have even thought twice.”

“You don’t know shit.”

Demetri snickers.

“Poor little Eli. You’ve always sucked at arguing when you get backed into a corner.”

“I still broke it,” Hawk growls. “You know I can do it. Easily. So how are you stupid enough that you’re still fucking with me? You some kind of masochist?”

“You still care about me, Eli.” They’re inches apart now, Demetri leering over Hawk. “You never got over me not wanting to join your little club of sociopaths. Whenever there’s a rumble, you can’t stay away from me. And you want to know what I think?”

“Shut up.”

Demetri’s voice is husky in Hawk’s ear. “You wouldn’t hurt me when there’s no one to show off to.”

Hawk’s done with this.

He lunges, shoving Demetri’s chest and flying at him with an outstretched fist. He waits for that gratifying moment of shock—the familiar shift in Demetri’s features as he realizes yet again Hawk has no intention of going easy on him.

Demetri doesn’t even blink as he moves out of the way.

Hawk course-corrects, swiveling and diving for Demetri again. He throws the fastest punch he can manage straight at Demetri’s jaw.

Why the hell won’t he give up?

Demetri’s fantastic at giving up. He always has been. He gave up on standing up to bullies and he gave up on Cobra Kai and he gave up on Sensei Kreese.

So why won’t he give up on Hawk?

Demetri doesn’t dodge this time. He only swerves, allowing the fist to graze his chin.

He lets out a hiss of pain—angry, but not surprised.

Without warning, Demetri’s hands shoot up. Hawk freezes as long fingers snake across the skin of his arm.

The next second he’s screaming, Demetri’s hands twisting until his skin burns. The other boy’s grip tightens, thrusting him toward the floor.

He’s stealing my fucking moves again.

And frustratingly, he can do them fast. Hawk barely manages to use his other arm to shove Demetri off, stumbling back.

Even one moment of disorientation is too long. Demetri charges again, teeth bared like a wild animal.

One arm slams him against his bedroom wall while the other digs into his chest, squeezing the air out of him. And Hawk hates to admit it, but Demetri’s training-broadened shoulders have a terrifying amount of power behind them.

Nothing he can’t handle. Hawk’s taken on bigger opponents before.

He squirms in Demetri’s grip, his own arms loosening enough for his hands to make a grab for the taller boy’s throat. Then Demetri’s pinning hand is gone, slipping in and out of his jacket in what feels like less than a heartbeat.

Something cold and sharp presses Hawk’s throat. His hands drop, tensing against the wall.

“What the fuck…?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Eli.” Demetri tilts his head, pouting mockingly. “But you make it so damn hard to talk to you. Can’t do a thing without you coming at me like some kind of rabid coyote.”

“So you pull a…are you fucking insane?”

“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Red Hulk Rage Issues.” The pout morphs into a smirk. “Clearly, you’re not above playing dirty, using that sad little Eli voice of yours to get out of trouble. Figured it was time I caught up.”

Hawk feels something sticky dripping down his neck. His breath hitches in his throat.

He aims a hit at Demetri’s stomach. The taller boy bends with it, and the blade presses harder.

“Oh, come now.” Demetri tuts disapprovingly. “Don’t make me slit your throat.”

Hawk hardens his expression, channeling everything in him into hiding the shock.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think you’re in a great place to test that.”

And he’s right. Hawk hates it, but he’s right.

This isn’t the Demetri he knows better than the back of his hand. The Demetri he knows so uncomfortably well that he convinced himself over and over and over that it meant he was sick of the fucking geek.

This isn’t grounded, rational, sensible Demetri. Something’s snipped his threads, made him start fraying at the edges.

He’s unraveling, floating in an ether where the pragmatic and the path of least resistance that he made his life philosophy are losing their appeal. He’s…

Well, it seems he’s done some script-flipping of his own. Decided—perhaps on a whim—to overhaul everything Hawk knew and replace it with something cold and alien and completely fucking unpredictable.

Was this how Demetri felt, that day Hawk showed up at school with spiked hair and a conniving sneer? Is this some kind of payback?

He doesn’t care if this new boy with a knife to his throat killed and gutted the friend he grew up with. It doesn’t matter anymore. That relationship only ever got in the way, anyhow.

He truly could not care less. Honest.

The only emotion he feels is annoyance that this new opponent will be harder to match, with erratic moves and a quickly-thinning conscience.

This Demetri isn’t pulling any punches. One stupid or sloppy move, and Hawk will be on the floor gurgling his life out.

He’s never taken Demetri for someone impulsive, but perhaps he just had a talent for controlling his most brutal and primal urges—for his own safety, if nothing else. Perhaps he’s lost this ability.

Hawk wonders what it says about him that he isn’t bothered by this at all. If anything, he finds the whole concept exhilarating.

Fighting Demetri had gotten so boring. Now, at last, they’re on equal footing.

Regardless, there could be a trace of the Old Demetri yet. He might be able to use that.

“Put the fucking knife away or I’ll call the cops,” Hawk snarls. “Think you’ll get into Stanford with a police report on your permanent record? Or whatever fucking nerd school you’re trying to—”

“With what phone?” Demetri interrupts. “The one you left on the coffee table downstairs so it won’t distract you from wailing on your stupid bag?”

Fuck. How did Demetri even notice shit like that?

Hawk tries not to let the dismay show.

“When my mom gets home, she’ll—”

“Mommy’s not coming for you, Eli.” Demetri’s smirk widens. “Mommy’s getting drunk with all her friends to forget her unfulfilled suburban picket fence life with her nasty, violent delinquent of a son. And Mommy’s going to crash at Michelle Galinski’s house, just like she has every Friday night for the past 10 years. And oh dear…Daddy’s out of town on his top-of-the-month business trip? Looks like no one’s coming to save you.”

Fuck that. He can save himself.

Hawk makes a grab for Demetri’s wrist, other hand clawing at the arm compressing his chest. Demetri seamlessly lifts the elbow of his knife-holding arm and jabs the bony appendage into Hawk’s skin.

The knife blade doesn’t even falter, pressing more firmly into Hawk’s neck. A sting, and he feels something warm trickle toward his chest.

The scent from earlier intensifies, and Hawk realizes abruptly that it must have been blood.

“Mmmm-mmmm.” Demetri purses his lips and shakes his head, like he’s scolding a disobedient child. “It’ll make it much easier for both of us if you don’t act up. I really don’t want to cut your throat, but I will.”

As Demetri sneers down at him, Hawk realizes too late that he couldn’t cover his alarm.

“What? Don’t think I’d actually hurt you?”

The taller boy fiddles with the knife, sending little pricks of pain rippling through Hawk’s neck.

“I guess you know how it feels now,” he purrs.

Hawk spits in Demetri’s face, sudden fury overtaking him.

This pathetic nerd’s not going to make him feel bad now. Not after everything he’s done to crush the part of himself that possibly could feel bad.

“Fuck you.”

And slowly, never once breaking his gaze, Demetri licks Hawk’s saliva off his chin. The dim hallway light just catches the moisture on his face.

“Keep it in your pants, Moskowitz. We’re not there yet.”

Now Demetri’s definitely fucking with him.

It’s growing tiresome. Nonetheless, he doesn’t want that cut in his neck getting any wider.

There’s something distinctly unnerving about the way Demetri’s eyes are boring into him, sizing him up with a kind of cold contempt. Looking at him like he’s nothing more than some ugly insect to crush under his shoe.

It’s the sort of callousness that Hawk has never once—not in the entire time he’s known Demetri—been the target of.

And maybe he’ll admit it. He dislikes it for more than just the fact it throws him off.

Demetri is spiraling into someone unrecognizable, and the sheer foreignness of the whole process makes Hawk shudder.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Hawk’s voice is small and weak. Like Eli’s.

He doesn’t care.

His entire sense of reality—every absolute, irrefutable truth he’s ever attached to himself and his life and his oldest friend—is uprooting and spinning out of control, and it’s not like anything fucking matters anymore.

Demetri laughs—a sharp, hollow sound devoid of any real humor.

“Like you’re one to talk. I know what you did to Brucks.”

Hawk’s blood freezes.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Demetri’s knife slides from the cut on Hawk’s neck, beginning to tease the underside of his chin. “Mitch told us what happened. And I damn well noticed when Brucks stopped showing up to school. Nice of your war criminal sensei to help you cover that up.”

Hawk’s breath comes in quick, short gasps.

Of course Demetri put two and two together. Of course he’d gone snooping so he could find something else to hang over Hawk’s head.

And the fall of that knife might be worse than the one currently tickling his jaw.

Part of him hates it. Hates being reminded of that day and hates being reminded what he’s capable of. Hates remembering the sight of a living, breathing person crumpling to the floor, and realizing they would never get up again.

But Hawk isn’t stupid. If anyone can play Demetri’s games, it’s the person who knows him better than anyone in the world.

“Demetri.” He keeps his tone as calm and non-abrasive as he can. “Who else’s blood is on your knife?”

Because it was still wet when Demetri shoved it up against him. And Demetri’s a moron if he thinks Hawk missed that.

“Ah. And we finally get to that.” Demetri chuckles, gently tracing Hawk’s jawline with the honed edge. “You see…the difference between you and me, Eli, is that I don’t need anyone’s help to hide my bodies.”

His heart drops to his feet.

“What did you do?”

“Not any worse than you.” Demetri cocks his head. “I hurt someone who deserved it.”

“Demetri.” Hawk steels his voice. “What did you do?”

Because whatever it was, Hawk sure as hell needs to take the proper precautions to make certain he isn’t next.

“Stopped at the convenience store on the way over here.” Demetri follows the knife with his eyes as he talks, expression almost affectionate. “Ran into one of Kyler’s old buddies from the wrestling team. One of the kids who used to call us fags, remember? He thought it would be fun to shove me around. So I pretended I was running my ass away, and got him to chase me somewhere a little more…private.”

Hawk gapes at him.

“Did you really…?”

“Shanked the asshole like a pig. He was so surprised he didn’t even fight back. And let me tell you, it was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

And there’s that laugh again—the broken, disjointed chortles that feel so jarringly out-of-place. Green eyes shining with a frenetic light that makes Hawk’s hands grow slick with sweat.

Demetri leans in again, knife held steady as his lips brush Hawk’s ear.

“I know how it feels, you know. I know what it is to get so angry that you don’t even know what your body’s doing until it’s too late. Watch the life fade out of another human being’s eyes. Realize you like it. Sit there panicking about being some kind of inhuman monster and then suddenly realizing you don’t fucking care. And I suppose…I suppose that’s another reason you were right. There is a certain freedom in embracing that the world is cruel and cutthroat and unforgiving. In finally unmuzzling the wild animal thrashing around inside you and letting it hunt the way it was always meant to.”

Hawk shudders.

Sensei Kreese promised no one would ever find out about Brucks. Staged some kind of car accident or binge-drinking tragedy or drug OD or some other way stupid teenagers die all the time. Kyler was barred from the funeral, with Kreese worried (probably reasonably) that the dumbass would let something slip.

Kreese told the class that if anyone snitched, he’d be more than willing to look the other way as they met the same fate as Brucks.

Hawk hated how much he enjoyed it. He hated how after the deed was done, he couldn’t find a scrap of guilt in his psyche. It made him feel detached from himself—the abstract idea that doing that to another person was bad, but the complete lack of any emotions to back it up.

But that’s who he is now. No going back, he supposes.

Perhaps, on some level, he figured Demetri would pick up on this and leave him alone. Decide that Hawk’s path was too dark and too dangerous for his pasty basement nerd tastes, and stay huddled away with the Miyagi Dos singing kumbaya.

That would probably be best for him, anyways. Hawk still doesn’t know what other horrific shit he has it in him to do, especially when his victim pleaded so hard for mercy that would never come. When Brucks’ fruitless begging gave him an unmistakable rush.

And yet here Demetri is, claiming he was in a similar position. Claiming he lost control.

It isn’t that Demetri can’t put on an act if he needs to. But on some level, Hawk’s always been able to tell when his best friend is exaggerating or embellishing to make a story more interesting. There’s a kind of snarky undertone he uses, always giving that he isn’t completely serious. Subtle, but easy to pick up if you’re familiar with it.

There’s none of that here. If anything, this is the kind of emotional vulnerability Demetri never displays intentionally.

Until now, apparently.

Hawk bites his lip. “You’re not lying, are you?”

“You’re so cute.” The tip of the knife jabs into the underside of Hawk’s chin. “You thought I was some…what? Some sissy little do-gooder? The pinnacle of morality and mercy and all great virtues? No, no.” He giggles. “I’ve always been as fucked up as you. I only managed to keep it buried longer.”

Hawk scowls, suddenly remembering exactly who he’s talking to.

“Give me a fucking break. You joined the pussy-ass ‘defense only’ karate dojo. Your entire philosophy is about being sissy little do-gooders. Like you’d have the balls to pull even half the shit Cobra Kai—”

The knife flies back to the wound in his throat, Demetri using his arm to ram Hawk harder into the wall.

“You think I ever gave a flying fuck about Miyagi-Do?” he spits. “You think I’m some slavering pet like you, tripping over my little lapdog paws to appease my sensei’s every command? You think these asinine karate wars ever mattered to me? No.” He shoves his face into Hawk’s, blood on his breath. “You’re the one so obsessed with following orders that you can’t even remember who you were before you became some demented old man’s attack dog. You’re the one so drunk on loyalty to a fucking karate dojo that you can’t see none of this shit matters.”

Hawk bares his teeth, hoping with everything he has that Demetri won’t notice him shaking.

“Easy for you to say, when you pussied out after one punch in the face,” he sneered. “Of course you want to believe all of this is pointless when you’re on the losing team. But I’m not like you, Demetri. I’m no quitter.”

“Oh, how admirable.” The knife presses a little harder. “Tell me then, Hawk. How’s being on the same team as Kyler? As fucking Robby Keene? You excited for the chance to help them hurt Miguel again?”

Red-hot rage rips through Hawk. He lifts a leg and knees Demetri’s shin as hard as he can.

Demetri barely even winces. His other foot kicks up, ramming the side of Hawk’s knee. Hawk scrambles for balance, heart pounding as he just avoids falling into the knifepoint.

“Thought that’d hit a nerve.”

“Fuck you!” Hawk spits. “Keene was from your fucking dojo! You fought with him, too!”

“Not since he hurt Miguel.”

Demetri’s voice is frigid, rivaling the most biting winter rains. Every inch of him drips with a venomous hatred that Hawk has never seen before.

Not directed at him. Not directed at anyone.

“And now he’s in your dojo. Funny how that works.” Demetri clicks his tongue. “Guess your roaring rampage of revenge was all for naught.”

“It wasn’t.” Hawk curls his lip. “You were all responsible, and we got our paypack. It’s not our fault Miguel wasn’t grateful.”

“Ooooh, gotta love the Hawk’s impeccable logic! ‘Ah, yes, I think I will terrorize everyone in this dojo except for the person who actually almost killed my friend, who I will agree to team up with for some reason!’” Demetri returns his sneer. “Are you really such an obedient little bitch that you do whatever your precious sensei tells you? Even when you damn well know it makes no sense? You’re more pathetic than I thought.”

“Park and Keene know their place,” Hawk hisses. “They know I’m the alpha. They answer to me.”

Demetri cocks his head, looking amused.

“Even if I were to believe that. Do you like sharing a class with those assholes? Do you like knowing that if one of them were to get their ass handed to them by a Miyagi-Do or an Eagle Fang—by Miguel—that you’d be expected to rescue them?”

“I’d do it.” Hawk grits his teeth. “I wouldn’t like it, but I’d fucking do it. Sensei Kreese gave Sensei Lawrence and the others a chance to join back up with Cobra Kai, and they said no. Miguel chose his side.”

Demetri sighs, expression almost pitying.

“I guess ‘Cobra Kai for life’ trumps a Cobra’s desire to beat another Cobra into the damn ground. Kind of a shame. I think you’d enjoy hurting them.”

What Demetri said earlier circles back into his mind.

I avoid fights because I know who’s worth hurting.

Hawk straightens, keeping his composure.

“Sensei says we need all the allies we can get,” he says. “Even if we don’t like them. I’m putting up with Kyler and Robby long enough to win the tournament, and that’s it. Then I’ll find some way to weed them out.”

“I doubt it.” Demetri smiles down at him. If it weren’t for the knife, Hawk would punch his teeth in. “Contrary to how you act, I know you’re a smart guy. If you knew how to get rid of them, you would have already. No, Eli…” His voice drops to a purr. “You’re stuck with them, aren’t you?”

Hawk feels sick.

Leave it to Demetri to pinpoint his deepest fears—a karate clan filled with the worst people Hawk knew. Not a single friend to speak of, and a sensei with constantly divided attention.

Even Tory was turning out to be a fucking snake in the grass. She certainly took to the boy who nearly killed her ex with not an ounce of guilt.

And yet she believed with all of her being that Demetri deserved a broken arm for what Robby Keene did. That he was a pussy for crying out in pain. Actions didn’t matter to her—only the name branded across the merchandise you wore and the color of your gi at tournaments.

For the first time, the thought makes Hawk seethe.

All this time she’d seemed nothing but tough and fearless, but all she was was a shallow bitch who cared more about rank and status than a damn thing you actually did.

She was always going to hate Sam LaRusso for being rich and popular. She was always going to hate Miyagi Do for its association with LaRusso. But the second Keene bailed? Put on a belt with a cobra on it and showed off his snake-snatching skills?

She couldn’t wait to get on his dick. The filthy slut.

And suddenly Hawk realizes that he hates her, too. He hates so many of the people who are supposed to be his allies. But he can’t afford to think like that. And most of all, he can’t afford to let Demetri see it.

He glowers up at his ex-best-friend, keeping his gaze stony. “And why do you care? You have your posse of Miyagi losers to pal around with. Why do you give a shit what I do? Just go home to your little—”

“I left Miyagi-Do!”

The words come out in a forceful scream that practically knocks Hawk even further into the wall.

The sheer disdain in Demetri’s eyes for the group he had so cozily assimilated into sends Hawk reeling. He’d never—not in this lifetime or the next—expect Demetri to toss the whole lot of them out like garbage.

Demetri breaks into another grin, reveling in Hawk’s stunned silence.

“See, that’s another difference between you and I, Eli. I don’t need some washed-out old man telling me what to believe and how to fight. I can think for myself. And frankly, I got sick of the ‘safety in numbers’ business when it seemed ‘the numbers’ were always the ones who got to pick my enemies for me. And no one—” His eyes burn into Hawk. “No one decides that but me. I hurt who I like when I like, and I’ll fucking gut anyone who gets in my way.”

Hawk exhales slowly, keeping his scowl pulled tight.

“So…what?” Hawk sneers. “You’re going to fight Cobra Kai by yourself now? That’s so fucking stupid.”

“Not all of them. Some of your class are just brainwashed idiots who don’t know what they’re doing.” He sighs, shaking his head. “And you, Eli…well, I think you’ve lost sight of who your true enemy is. I was hoping I could help.”

“You really bounced?” Hawk narrows his eyes, still trying to make sense of everything. “After everything, you…just up and left?”

It can’t be that easy. He knows it wouldn’t be in Cobra Kai.

“Yeah.” Demetri shrugs. “And now I have way more time for important things.”

“I don’t get it.” Hawk’s frown deepens. “Why would you strike off on your own? Did something happen?”

“You happened.”

Short. Simple. Concise.

Completely baffling.

Not that that was anything new today.

Maybe it’s Hawk’s imagination, but the knife loosens a little.

“Don’t you get it?” For the first time all night, something like genuine anguish prods through Demetri’s voice. “I meant what I said. I never gave a rat’s ass about the karate wars, or the stupid dojo feuds. All I ever wanted was to be worth your fucking time again.”

All Hawk can do is stare.

It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any fucking sense.

“And sure,” Demetri concedes after a moment. “At first, I wanted to do right by Mr. LaRusso. By Sam. They were the ones who taught me. Toughened me up into something worthwhile. Worked with all the shit you thought was a lost cause. But it was always a means to an end to stay relevant to you. Then after what happened with Moon, I genuinely thought the Miyagi-Do philosophy would help you. But I learned soon enough that you were in too deep for appealing to the Old Eli to work. No, I had to speak to you in your own language.”

He licks his lips as the knife starts to slide up Hawk’s neck again, dancing over the bottom of his chin and onto the plump skin of his lips.

“Aggression. Violence. Dominance.” He chuckles. “Wasn’t my go-to, but if it got your attention, I could make it work. And I guess I did, huh? I riled you up enough that you couldn’t leave me alone.”

“You wanted to piss me off?”

“If that’s what it took to keep you coming back for more.” And there it is again—that wide, sadistic grin that feels so brutally wrong. “You can leave me, Eli. You can disown me. You can shit on everything we had and make my life a living hell. But you can’t bring yourself to just ignore me. Because you’re so weak that you can’t bear to refuse the bait when I press your buttons. Because as much as you claim to hate me, you can’t move on from me.”

“And now you ditch your team to…what? Fight me on your own?” Hawk matches Demetri’s grin with one of his own. “I’d wreck you. And deep down, you know it.”

“So presumptuous.” Demetri shakes his head, tutting. “Frankly, I came here tonight because I’m sick of fighting you.”

“Says the one with a knife to my throat.”

“That’s because you don’t fucking listen without me having to resort to extreme measures,” Demetri hisses. “I think we’re a lot closer to being on the same page than you think. And maybe if you dropped this whole tribalism bullshit, you’d see that.”

So Demetri wants a truce. Hawk should have known.

He’s not surprised. But the way they arrived here?

Now that’s a twist.

It’s still an insane concept. Like he’s supposed to let his greatest enemy off the hook. Let Demetri get away with all the ways he’s undermined him and humiliated him and put the Old Eli—the weak, pathetic nerd Eli—on blast for all the world to see.

But if Demetri really left Miyagi Do…

Hawk finds himself wondering how much of his rage against the Miyagi Dos is his own, and how much is Sensei Kreese’s. And if Demetri’s truly deserted “the enemy,” does Hawk still have to hate him?

Does he even want to?

Demetri isn’t that pathetic, sniveling dweeb anymore. He’s crushed his old self as brutally as Hawk has.

Because the Demetri Hawk has known all his life could scarcely bring himself to cook with sharp knives, let alone use one to threaten another human being’s life.

Or take one.

But despite everything, something still doesn’t add up.

“I heard about your little rousing speech,” Hawk says. “About how important it was for Miyagi Do and Eagle Fang to unite against the ‘biggest assholes in the Valley.’ And now you’ve abandoned both of them. Was that all just a load of crap, then?”

Demetri is unfazed.

“Call me naïve, but I thought if Miguel and I were on the same team, you’d finally see some damn sense. You’d hurt me, sure. I’ve known that for a while. But I never thought you’d touch the kid you went on a vengeance quest for.” He shrugs. “Color me surprised when you wrote him off as just another enemy.”

“I told you.” Hawk works his fingers against the wall again, uneasiness trickling over his skin. “Miguel chose his side.”

“Be that as it may. I figured if you were so far gone that you were ready to wail on literally every person you used to be friends with, I needed to adjust my strategy.”

“For what?”

“For getting through to you. For getting you to tell the truth.”

And Hawk doesn’t want to think for too long about what truth Demetri has in mind.

“So you pull out a fucking knife.”

“Mhm.” Demetri snickers. “That’s how you communicate, yeah? Threats and intimidation?”

Hawk clenches his jaw. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Is that so.” The arm suddenly lifts from squeezing Hawk’s chest, long fingers seizing his wrist. He’s too surprised to pry them away.

He really should be expecting this kind of insane bullshit by now.

“Your pulse is going haywire, Eli,” Demetri murmurs. “Either you’re a liar, or something else has you energized. I wonder what that could be?”

It’s then Hawk’s mind fully catches up to its surroundings.

He rips his wrist away, pivoting away from the knife and sending a knee into Demetri’s ribs. The knife tip slices his cheek, but so be it. He’s endured worse.

Demetri gasps, stumbling back. Hawk makes a grab for the knife.

The taller boy is still too quick. He holds the weapon out of reach, using his other arm to thrust Hawk’s body back.

Before Demetri can do anything else, Hawk squats down and sweeps his leg. With a grunt, his opponent stumbles to the floor.

Something seizes Hawk’s ankles as he stands. He cries out as he’s yanked backward with surprising force, landing on the floor next to Demetri.

Hawk scrambles for the bed, trying to writhe out of Demetri’s grip and hoist himself up by the covers.

It’ll be over when I have the high ground.

What a stupid reference to think about.

It reminds him of the kind of game he and Demetri might have once played. Whoever made it onto the bed would get to be Obi-Wan, and whoever stayed on the floor would have to be Anakin, drowning in lava.

The idea leaves him feeling strange.

Demetri doesn’t let go, snarling like a hyena as he tries to tug Hawk back. The knife teases his skin, an imminent threat if he makes any moves too sudden.

He’d kick the annoying asshole away from him, but he doesn’t want the sole of his foot sliced open. If he can’t walk, he can’t fight.

Suddenly, Demetri cries out, grip loosening. In Hawk’s struggles, he must’ve rammed into a sensitive spot. He yanks himself free, scrambling onto the bed and frantically trying to plan his next move.

He realizes his mistake a half-second too late.

Demetri, gleefully bluffing, rises to his full height. Smirking, he pounces like a jaguar.

He lands heavily on Hawk’s stomach, slamming him against the bed. The back of his head smacks against the headboard, filling his vision with stars.

He barely has time to let out a pained gasp before Demetri’s knees are digging into his quadriceps, pinning him again. Growling, he aims a punch at Demetri’s throat.

His fist meets its target, pulling a strangled gasp. Hawk clasps his arms around Demetri’s torso, trying to thrust him off the bed.

For a moment they struggle, yanking and shoving wildly in an attempt to gain an advantage. Then Hawk feels long arms wrap around his back, bony fingers clutching at his throat.

The tingling pain of blade against skin, and Hawk realizes Demetri kept hold of his knife.

Whenever I think he’s finally going to drop that damned thing…

The knife jabs into him, strengthening its grip until he’s pressed flat on his back. At last Demetri loosens his grip, sizing up his victim with a satisfied beam.

Hawk squirms, bed creaking as he does his best to jostle Demetri off. The other boy holds fast, gazing down at him with a pitying look.

The blade digs in again, and Hawk’s struggles weaken.

“Come now. How many times do we have to go over this?”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“I don’t believe I was finished.”

Demetri tilts his head to the side, breaking into another crazed grin that sends dread trickling straight down to Hawk’s bones.

“Shut up Demetri.”

“I see you staring at me. All this time, and all these girls you tried so hard to fuck, and everything always comes back to your stupid middle school infatuation.”

“SHUT UP!”

Hawk squeezes his eyes shut, trying to bleach Demetri’s cold, smug expression from his mind.

“Right after you had your Bar Mitzvah, you asked me to kiss you. You figured since I already had mine, we were both adults now. And adults do grown-up things like kissing.”

“STOP IT!”

And suddenly Hawk is screaming at the top of his lungs because he knows where this is going. Because they were just stupid kids, and that can’t mean anything.

“I said of course I would, because I’d always liked you, Eli.” Demetri’s voice only grows louder—more insistent. “And I go in to give you a peck, and you grab my arms and stick your entire tongue in my mouth.”

“Shut the fuck up, Demetri!”

He feels something wet dribbling down his face, and wonders if the cut on his cheek got stretched wider in his and Demetri’s scuffle. It’s certainly stinging enough for it.

Unless…

Hawk wishes he could dissolve.

“I told you I’d kiss you a thousand more times if you wanted.” Demetri’s voice has grown sharper than his blade. “And I would have. And for a long while, I thought there might be the most infinitesimal possibility that you felt something, too. Now I know I was right.”

He laughs, the sound acrid and bitter and full of flint.

“Because even after everything, you’re still obsessed with me. You watch me across the lunchroom and pretend you’re ‘monitoring the enemy,’ but I know you miss me. You miss when I made you laugh, and you miss when I talked to people so you didn’t have to. You chase me around in every battle, but when it comes right down to it, you can’t hurt me in any significant way until you’re bullied into it. You pick fights with me so you can put your hands all over my body and not have anyone look at you askance for it.”

“FUCK YOU!”

Maybe if he screams loud enough, Demetri won’t pay too much attention to the wet trails smearing the blood from his cuts.

Caustic breath is hovering inches above Hawk, misting onto his lips. Still, he refuses to open his eyes.

“It must be exhausting, you know,” Demetri whispers. “Living your life in denial like that. Wearing your entire personality like some cheap Halloween costume and convincing yourself that’s a fulfilling existence. Don’t you want to be free?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Hawk growls. “I do whatever I like. It’s not my fault you don’t like who I really am.”

“Who you really are, hmmm?” Demetri’s lips brush his earlobe, voice a barely-audible murmur. “So tell me the truth then, Eli. Do you still want me?”

The bluntness of the question almost blows a hole in his composure.

“Of course I don’t.”

“Stop fucking lying!”

All at once, Demetri’s voice is a deafening, furious scream again. The knife slices Hawk’s jaw.

Not enough to do any real harm, but enough to really hurt. Hawk freezes, held prisoner by the burst of sharp, sudden pain.

“It’s always lies, lies, lies with you,” Demetri snarls. “Fake name. Fake hair color. Fake personality. Fake interests. Fake friends who only kiss the ground you walk on because they’ve never seen you at your weakest. Fake relationships with girls you barely let know you—to the point you think they’d leave you for liking to code. And the absolute drivel you feed yourself that this goddamn farce is what you want to live in forever. You think you’re starring in some martial arts epic, and you’re so wrapped up in your stupid method acting that you never want to step offscreen. Like everyone’s on the edge of their seat about your pitiful life like it’s the fucking Truman Show. And at the end of the day? You’re still too much of a pussy to tell me the truth.”

Hawk’s skin tingles, shivers rippling through him. If his heart was pounding before, it’s thundering now.

Somehow it doesn’t feel like fear. He’s used to this new version of Demetri enough not to cower from him.

No, it’s something far worse. And Demetri knows it.

“You can’t hide from me.” The other boy’s tone drips with haughtiness, savoring the ability to confirm Hawk’s worst fears. “I see right through your bullshit. I always have. So I’ll ask you one more time. Do you want me?”

The knife slides down to Hawk’s throat again, pressing firmly.

“Lie and I’ll kill you.”

He’s probably bluffing. Maybe. Surely.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter anymore. Sprawled out on his childhood bed, underneath the only other person he frequently shared it with.

The person he used to watch sleep, wondering wistfully if the freak with the lip scar ever made it into his best friend’s dreams.

He opens his eyes and finally meets Demetri’s gaze, in all of its searing, insurmountable beauty.

“Yeah.”

He breathes it out quiet and fragile—a soft promise. A rare moment of openness that he lets free of his unbreakable shell.

Demetri drops the knife. It falls behind the bed, thumping onto the carpet below.

He swoops down, seizing Hawk’s neck and yanking him up. When their mouths meet, Hawk is nearly thrown back with the force of it.

Demetri kisses like a starved animal, lapping and nipping in a crazed frenzy. The weight of his muscle-toned body is crushing, locking Hawk firmly against the mattress.

He tastes like blood and cold steel and cruelty. Hawk shudders.

This time, he’s certain it isn’t fear. It’s a rush he only thought he could get from smashing his fists against plastic or skin, or feeling another person’s body go limp and lifeless underneath his.

And it’s ironic. The more Demetri tries to devour Hawk, the more Hawk wants to let it happen.

There’s an odd satisfaction to it, he thinks. Being completely at someone else’s mercy.

And Demetri isn’t fighting with any.

***

OKAY, time for some #authorrants because I feel like some of the choices I made in this fic are. Controversial, to say the least. Lmao.

So something that has bugged the crap out of me for a while now is people in this fandom acting like there is any world where Demetri would choose Robby over Miguel. I remember after S3 dropped, there was a lot of "dId tHeY fOrGeT tHe dEmEtRi-rObBy FrIeNdShIp" type sentiment floating around irt why Demetri didn't stay in contact with Robby the way Sam and the LaRussos did. Maybe it's because, I don't know, Robby threw the guy Demetri never actually stopped being close friends with over a balcony and almost killed him???

Like. Not that these showrunners don't ever forget things, but this absolutely is not one of them. Robby paralyzing Miguel is a BEYOND valid reason to sever ties with him, especially when you were just casual dojo bros for a couple months tops. When push came to shove, Demetri pretty unequivocally CHOSE MIGUEL. He brought him a comic book in the hospital! He was thrilled to see him back at school and picked up their friendship right where it left off! He DOES NOT VISIBLY FORGIVE ROBBY UNTIL MIGUEL DOES! Idk idk it just really riles me when people do not take Demetri and Miguel's friendship into account when discussing the Demetri-Robby relationship and why they stopped being friends when they did. Tbh I don't think it's that hot of a take to assume Demetri would have more loyalty to the guy who befriended him when he was a nobody and proceeded to be one of his closest ride-or-die friends for a whole-ass year over the guy he was casual buds with because they happened to share a karate instructor -_____- I could go on about this for several more paragraphs, but that's a rant for another day.

(As far as the LaRussos go, they were all closer to Robby and were basically his adoptive family, which is why they--particularly Sam--were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and say the Miguel thing was an accident. Demetri didn't know Robby well enough to make that call, and had no actual proof it WAS an accident except for maybe Sam's word.)

Some other things to ramble about:

I remember in some interview a while back (I think with Martin Kove?) someone asked about Hawk and Marty or whoever was being interviewed said he was "on his way to being a serial killer" or smth. And Jacob's talked a little bit about the kind of escalating delinquent shit Hawk would get up to if he was never redeemed, etc. So going with that: Bold of y'all to assume the kid simping for Hawk since episode 1 wouldn't renounce his morals and join him on the path to villainy. Sorry but I truly believe Demetri's horniness for Hawk can and would win out over any ethical qualms in the end. Also Demetri is horny for violence and evil this is canon otherwise he would in fact not have simped for S3 Hawk so PAINFULLY BADLY god bless

Also this was partly inspired by those post-S3 jokes that were like "lol what happened to Brucks??? Did Hawk kill him???"...well, what if he did, tho? O_____O

Disclaimer that I promise I do not endorse the Tory slut-shaming!!! Tbh I didn't really wanna write it, but...I think given the circumstances, Hawk WOULD be pretty furious at her for getting chummy with Robby and "betraying" Miguel. And unfortunately, since he's a teenage boy with (canonical!) misogynistic tendencies...I do think that would most likely come across as slut-shaming D: But y'all have brains y'all know I don't condone everything I write about aknhdksuyhf (Murder is probably not something you should try at home either btw)

Hopefully I didn't make Hawk too weaksauce in this ^^; My excuses are a) I suck at writing fight scenes and tend to just want to get to the psychosexual dialogue and knife-teasing, so. If I rushed anything to get there I apologize. b) Going by the school fight, Hawk is indeed thrown off when Demetri takes the offensive (especially in a super dramatic kind of way) and his confused pause is in fact enough time for Demetri to get an advantage and c) The man is thrown off his game!!! Thrown off his groove, even!!! His sissy pussy nerd ex-friend shows up acting like a disturbed maniac and he is so O_____o about it that his moves are off!!! He's sucking a little but it's not his fault 💔It's Demetri's for subverting expectations 💔

I also feel like if Demetri started McFucking Losing It and was generally less grounded in the physical and rational world, physical pain wouldn't register quite as much. Like he's in his head enough now that he's kinda lost his grip on reality and things happening in the physical world don't seem as relevant or immediate, if that makes any sense? Also idk. Maybe after the arm break his pain tolerance just went up :O Anyways that's why he recovers pretty fast when Hawk DOES land a hit. Demetri is nuts now 💙

I will die on my hill that Demetri like. Really REALLY isn't as morally upstanding as people like to think XD Like I say this with love but from the top he's been a self-interested little shit who just happens to be extremely loyal to the very small handful of people he actually likes. My dudes, he didn't join Miyagi Do because he liked their philosophy better--he joined because they were less on board with punching him in particular in the face XD This dude saw Cobra Kai being fucks and playing dirty at the AVT and he STILL up and says "I wanna come back because I like the 'safety in numbers' aspect of joining a gang" XD I always got the vibe the "well at least I'm not an asshole LIKE YOU" he throws at Eli later is more because he likes to feel self-righteous. I say all of this as his biggest fan btw. I think more people should embrace the self-interested king he is and write about him and Eli being absolute dicks together instead of to each other 💖

I guess that's what I'm here for!!!

Anyways I think Demetri and Eli have the same potential to be absolutely horrific people, and I think we're all very lucky that Demetri was too lazy to challenge his comfort zone and stick with Cobra Kai XD We're very fortunate he happened to end up using his speed and his brains to help his friends who happened to be on the Good Guy Side rather than his friends who happened to be on the Bad Guy Side.

I also think people put WAY too much stock in Demetri's ability to staunchly stick with the good guys and have enough of a moral backbone to just keep opposing Eli's douchebaggery indefinitely. My mans is NOT that much of a saint, trust. From how quickly he forgave Eli for a HUGE number of atrocities, he seemed to be like. Waiting on his ass for Eli to come back to him. And if Eli never did???

I mean. Bruh. Someone you've been deeply in love with for years throws you out like last night's trash and just progressively starts being more and more awful to you??? You think it's feasible for my boy Demetri to stay strong and sane and reasonable forever, and just keep on fighting the good fight??? HELL NO. This dude is either a) quitting karate and moving schools so he doesn't have to deal with constantly being pummeled by the dude he's in love with or b) going completely fucking insane from the cognitive dissonance of being in love with a dude who constantly beats his ass.

Listen. I have been in love. If my friend who I was in love with turned evil and joined an evil karate school and started wailing on me all the time, I would either pull an Aisha and haul ass out of there or I would simply lose my mind and become evil. Go full Jinx from Arcane. Sorry if you're a hater who doesn't think Demetri Alexopoulos has it in him to go apeshit, but you're wrong and also boring. The funny kooky comic relief guys are always one thread away from losing their shit because everyone assumes because they're funny and kooky they have no depth and no end to their bullshit tolerance. I would know because I am one of these Guys in real life. Put some respecc on my boy's name and also give him another knife 🔪

For anyone looking at me askance like "Demetri doesn't have it in him to kill!" Yes he does. I'm sending him over to your house to stab you right now 🩵

No fr tho, like there was MURDER in this man's eyes when Kyler was bullying Eli in the library. There was MURDER in this man's eyes fighting Robby at the AVT in S4. I have full confidence that if he could get away with stabbing his enemies, he would. So would Eli but I feel like this is a less contested opinion.

Also this is interesting so it's something I might go into detail about in another post, but one thing I noticed while kinda brainstorming how Demetri would snap is that Demetri is loyal to people, while Eli is loyal to concepts and ideas.

Demetri I don't think is actually that married to or slavish about MD principles tbh. Demetri isn't really averse to violence conceptually (even back in S1 it's only ever about him disliking BEING hit, not disliking hitting people!!) and doesn't actually do the defense-only thing that often. Several times we see him instigate with Hawk, or help Sam instigate with CK in general. The times we see him stick his neck out to really help Miyagi Do, he seems like he's doing so more out of loyalty to his friends (namely Sam, Chris, and Nate--also Miguel irt the dojo team-up at the end of S3) than loyalty to Miyagi Do as a dojo.

Eli, meanwhile, is way more loyal to concepts he puts a lot of stock in than the people in his life who challenge this. He sees Cobra Kai as this almighty saving grace that is for LIFE, and he doesn't think twice about ditching Demetri and Miguel when they turn their backs on it. He stays in this dojo even as his friends leave and it fills up with people he hates, and his sensei dismisses and ignores his concerns. Because this dojo saved him from his horrible, bullied life, and now he feels like he owes everything to the Cobra Kai name, despite who's actually behind the name. Also why I think Demetri uses "my karate dojo needs your help!" as the selling point to get Eli to join MD in S4. HIS motivation is probably much more that he just wants him and Eli to stay together, but he knows Eli values dojo loyalty above everything, so Dem kinda makes it more about that than friendship.

Anyways! That's all for now! The whole fic should be up on my AO3 sometime in December :3

[hebuiltfive]

Loving your stories and couldn't resist sending a prompt.

Conversationalist: character rambles in their sick state.

My absolute top trope. Gonna ask for John, but will accept whatever the muse decides.

I'm still slowly working through the last half of these prompts 😬 

Sorry for taking so long! This one is about John, it's just with Gordon as the POV. I hope that's okay! It also ended up taking a darker turn than I'd first anticipated... still, I hope you enjoy it, @sofasurf!

Conversationalist (feat. John)

The fever had taken a hold during the night and had so far refused to let him go. Long, drawn-out bouts of shivers and sweaty delirium had kept both of them from getting a good night’s rest. Gordon tried not to think about the consequences of that, pushing the worries to the recesses of his mind until he needed to give them contemplation.

Nothing about their current predicament had him holding much hope. Gordon wasn’t usually one to lose faith so easily, however having a sick brother stuck in the middle of the Outback with no way of being able to help him was apparently was the key. John wasn’t even supposed to be out there with him; it was supposed to be Virgil… God, how Gordon wished their resident medic was with them now. 

Virgil would have seen the signs. 

Virgil would have known what to do. 

Virgil wouldn’t have allowed John to get this bad.

Gordon had often sat with and tended to his brothers during moments of sickness before plenty of times, but this was different. He was alone, with a delirious John, in the middle of nowhere, with his already very limited medical kit running out of supplies fast. They’d managed to get through one night, but Gordon feared what would happen if he couldn’t get John some urgent medical assistance soon.

He took a deep breath, trying to will those fears back into the box they had escaped from once again. 

Worry later.

The call he had tried to make several times over the course of the night had been a wasted effort. It wasn’t because they were in the middle of nowhere — their comms systems operated even in the more remote parts of space — but because his radio had been damaged during the ensuing fight that had followed dinner. If Gordon hadn’t lost his temper in such an uncontrolled way when that shot was fired towards John, he may have fought better. Remembering the fight reminded him to get his ribs checked when they next had access to medical equipment; he was certain there were a few cracked, if not broken, bones. But that didn’t matter. He came out of it unscathed compared to John.

Gordon hoped Tracy Island picked up his SOS. All he could do was hope, given he had no way of receiving transmissions anymore, but given the fact that he’d already begun to lose that optimism… It wasn’t looking good.

John’s clammy hand squeezed around Gordon’s, bringing the aquanaut back to the present again. His eyes were still closed, no trace of the green Gordon longed to see, but chapped lips began to move. He didn’t dare check on the wound on his brother’s side, too scared to see the infection and thus make any of these last few hours real. Gordon knew that burying his head in the sand wouldn’t help the situation but he still couldn’t bare it. 

They’d run out of water in the early hours. Gordon had shared his rations with John, encouraging his brother to take small sips whenever he thought he was able to. It was clear by John’s hoarse voice that he was still in need of more.

“S-S-Sorry… I…. Sor-Sorry.”

“It’s alright, John.” Gordon pressed the back of his hand to John’s forehead, ignoring the hair that sweat had adhered to his skin. His brother was still too hot, but without more water the rag used to cool him down during the night was useless. “You’re going to be okay.”

“C-Can’t… Can’t do a-anything r-r-right…”

“No, no. You’re not doing anything wrong. Just… Hold tight. Help is on the way.”

The lie came easy to him. That was the worst thing, Gordon thought. He tried not to berate himself over it. What else was he supposed to say to his brother who was quite literally dying in front of him? God, he really was the wrong person for this. Words had never been Gordon’s thing, and, even if they had been, he probably would still have found himself at a loss.

“A-All…. All my fault.”

“None of this is your fault, John, okay? I promise you, none of it—”

“C-Couldn’t save… Couldn’t save… My fault…”

Gordon halted his replies, allowing John to use his hand as a squash toy because that didn’t make any sense.

“F-faster… Not f-f-fast enough… Broken n-now. F-Family b-broken… and it’s all m-m-my fault.” Tears began to leak from the corner of John’s eyes, sobs breaking through his lips. “S-Sorry… Dad, sorry…”

Gordon’s heart lurched in his chest and he felt nauseating cartwheels being performed in his stomach. If he had thought his brother had been bad with the delirium last night, that was nothing compared to this. At least John was semi-conscious then. Now, his brother was completely out of it. Was that a sign of his system getting worse? Gordon could hardly see how it was a good sign.

“Dad?” 

Those green orbs that Gordon had wished to see only moments ago were now visible, but the sight would haunt his dreams for days to come. John’s question had been spoken with such clarity that didn’t seem to match his eyes. They were glossy and unseeing. The light had dimmed in them. They weren’t as bright as they once were.

He was fading.

And Gordon still didn’t know what he could do to stop it.

“You’re okay, John. Dad’s not… Dad’s not here… Remember? It’s me, it’s Gordon.”

“D-Don’t… Don’t cry…” John continued, clearly not out of his delirious, fever-induced hallucination yet. “Don’t… Can fix it… I-I-I… Fix it…”

For the sake of his brother, Gordon tried not to tremble or let any of his fear show. Whether John was seeing Dad in his place or not, he didn’t want to risk making whatever hallucination John was dreaming up to seem anymore real to him.

“You don’t… You don’t need to fix anything, John. You just need to rest.”

John’s body lurched from some sort of pain Gordon had no way of locating let alone treating. He tried to hold his brother still, but the five inches John had on him made the task difficult. Jackets that Gordon had used as blankets to cover John were thrown across the small space as his legs spasmed out uncontrollably.

“John… John! You need to calm down! Can you hear me? John!”

“Useless… Useless… All my fault.” 

John’s self criticism continued in-between painful sobs. 

“Not your fault! John, listen to me.”

The scream that followed would remain with Gordon forever. So much anguish held in the God-awful sound, so much agony and distress. He wasn’t sure if it was from the hallucination or from the pain John had likely caused himself by thrashing his body around so violently. Gordon didn’t need to look down to know his brother had accidentally reopened his wound. The stitching wasn’t perfect by a long shot but Gordon had hoped it would have held until help reached them.

If he had the time, or the mental capacity, he would have scoffed at being so foolish.

There was no help.

This was it.

John was dying and in a painfully delusional state, and there was nothing Gordon could do about any of it.

The warm blood that had leaked onto his fingers in his attempt to hold John down, not to mention the tears born out of panic and fear that he refused to let fall in the aftermath of that scream, were a stark contrast to the silent calm that followed.

His brother, who had calmed from his tumultuous delirium, was lying so still that Gordon had thought the worst. The shallow breathes that were still being taken, the uneven rise and fall of John’s chest, had his worst nightmare subsiding for the moment. Not dead yet, just very, very sick.

Whatever had caused John to go into that mini-fit was, for the time being, over. Gordon would have breathed a sigh of relief if it wasn’t for the fact that he sensed it was just the beginning of the end. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to John’s forehead, trying to block out the wheezing in his brother’s every exhale, and stood with his comms unit in hand. Gordon may have lost hope in any help coming but that didn’t mean he had to sit down and do nothing.

As long as his brother still breathed, he wouldn’t stop, no matter how helpless the situation seemed.

For his brother, he wouldn’t give up.

So, he exited the small cavern, blinking as the morning sun, already so bright and parching, blinded him momentarily. Gordon lifted the radio unit up, whacking it twice with the heel of his palm.

“International Rescue, please, please come in!”

[cassiusonic]

might as well dump whatever i have about my scrapped exe fc. this is a long one.

This is The Stranger.

[ set in-universe, specifically during or at the aftermath of Sonic Forces.

devastation hit harder than what the tinted reassurance of salvation portrayed. the Resistance tried their absolute hardest, but they weren't the golden hand of any god. now, we focus on a certain unfortunate civilian.

if no one was coming to save them, they'll have to save themselves. such is their feeble grasp on the straw towards survival. body all soiled and stomach caved in, their eyes were blurred for anything that will dull the ache. never have they experienced delirium to this extent ; teeth grinded in their sleep as the hunger pulled onto their intestines and clawed their brain, then nothing was left but pure instinct.

sustenance. just a little fill. just a little further onto that luscious open scab.

sustenance.

what follows that decision was a blur, but they do remember a sliver of regret, then an infestation of awe. it was meat they never knew, like a forbidden fruit they'll never find themselves sharing. since then, the stranger stirred more and more towards this new diet. conveniently enough, under debri were lots and lots of supply.

and wouldn't you know, an ability that they initially viewed as a curse, finally came in handy.

[ side note ; that Tails-looking corpse? i wrote back then that Stranger had at some point made that abomination out of corpses while under the influence of lemon sundrop dandelion (if you know, you know) ; one of their "meals" being laced with it. but it's clear i'm not the slightest bit educated about the effects of said substance. you could say this was just a spur-of-the-moment idea.

[ their hunting grounds was at a made-up zone i called the Grayscale Zone. it looks exactly like it sounds. a thick monochromatic foresty area, with a quaint closed town just a trek away.

the Stranger knew each and every faces in that little town, they should know how to recognize outsiders, which they decided will be their only targets. attacking the town was practically painting a target on their face.

they were mostly known by the title Stranger by the locals of the zone ; a friendly and amiable wanderer from the depths of the foliage guiding visitors safely towards the only known sign of society in the gloomy area.

the inhabitants of Grayscale Zone are oddly in the dark when it comes to the happenings out in the world, and the world knew barely about the zone just as much. hence why they aren't suspicious of the Stranger's face.

[ i fantasized on introducing Stranger through a type of novel game, with puzzles and multiple branching routes relying heavily on every decision you make.

there, you play as a green cat named Fluke. the cat had met the Stranger by one fateful day, and he actually recognized them. Sonic the Hedgehog, but not so Sonic the Hedgehog...? wasn't he dead? Fluke is already suspicious throughout their first interaction, but he knew nothing but to be quiet.

Fluke eventually learns of the Stranger's macabre practices, and the not-so-Sonic was too calm about it when they found out in return. however, he always found himself coming back towards the lair of the cannibal. and every time, they talked rather normally about anything and everything as if they were neighbors. with the stranger's carefree attitude and almost simple lifestyle, you'd think they're really just a normal person. that is if they weren't the reason for the multiple missing individual cases recently.

the novel game will never come to fruition though, i'm too inadequate for that.

[ i've come up with four major ending routes when i still had them around.

the first was the "Tattle route" ; the Stranger used to find it amusing whenever the two mulled over Fluke's ideas about tattling, which the latter hadn't done immediately if he weren't so piqued with the cannibal. but eventually, he did.

it actually wasn't the first time Stranger was hunted down ; their missing right pinky finger is the reminder of that. but this time, it's like the entire town was out for their head. Stranger had always recognized how Fluke tethered that threat, but they believed he won't do it because they both knew what the fake hedgehog was capable of.

Stranger actually never expected him to grow a pair and tell about their transgressions, and the sudden switch in power irked them. if they survived this, rest assured they're now out for Fluke's head. curiosity kills the cat, and that cat will certainly be a special treat.

second is the "Molotov route" ; Fluke finds a way to deal with the cannibal himself. and that's by flaming them up. what drove Fluke to this decision was his accumulated fear and a wobbly sense of heroism, believing this time, he could at least do something right (as right as fighting violence with violence gets).

this might be the worst of the worst routes. because here, Stranger survives, though not without a bit of crusted patches on their skin that their shapeshifting ability barely covered up. the seething pain fuels their newfound hunger for repayment. Fluke's fate is unfortunately left unclear.

the third was a rather neutral one, the "Rock Bottom route" ; here, more insight about Fluke will be given. what i've conjured up then was that Fluke wasn't holding up mentally. (keep in mind that this is set in the circumstances of Sonic Forces)

the place they met was by a cliff, and the Stranger could immediately tell the context as to why he was standing there. hence why they were the first one to speak out and catch his attention. from there, Fluke has become more focused onto the interesting subject that is the person whom in a way both ruined and saved him.

as per usual, Fluke always comes back despite the dread that lingers. it was mixed with excitement, doubt, shame, until it all settled to confusion, which then drove his next irrational moves.

the two got along here i think, even if the Stranger knew what a mess could be happening inside the cat's head. the Stranger, despite their obviously disgusting lifestyle, is pretty aware of their wrongdoings yet just chose to be ignorant. Fluke's case wasn't gonna be anything special.

i don't think i've explored this enough, but the gist of it is that Fluke gives in to the tempting thrill, in hopes it'll pull him out of his previous inner turmoils (in turn, entering another). he followed the Stranger's complicated conduct, slowly but surely beginning to aid them in their spree. Stranger on the other hand didn't mind it.

last is perhaps the good ending out of all the routes, the "Cordial route" ; where Fluke actually befriends the cannibal and makes the effort on grounding them down, to convince them to finally abandon their harmful ways.

my ideas skipped the process, but i do remember the last bits - the novel was gonna take a more lighthearted tone in this route with the two genuinely getting along. the Stranger even actually introduced something about them - their flair in cooking. here, Fluke also managed to convince them to cook and try real and healthier food, to see if they could get the old appetite back.

at the end of the run, Stranger was to insist to start over and introduced themselves as "Sham" (though you can't be sure if they were being honest). Fluke would be the first to know the impersonator to such extent after a long, long while.

the two are still yet to deal with the lingering consequences of the Stranger's visceral history. it was still gonna end on an untied note as to how the cannibal will make up for all of that. gonna have to take whatever you can get from it.

[ miscellaneous stuff

Fluke wasn't a local of Grayscale zone, so why haven't Stranger gutted him yet? Fluke bugged them about it too at some point, the cannibal begrudgingly reasoned that "they didn't kill him because they weren't hungry" and that they don't necessarily needed to kill on sight. Fluke just happened to be lucky every time he comes back.

they have terrible memory and terrible eyesight, hence the failed imitation of Sonic. speaking of imitating Sonic, Stranger only did so to (take a guess) lure outsider prey, and to live in the skin of a young, wild and free individual. yes, they had at some point admired the blue blur.

only has 5 bundle of quills on their head, 1 bundle of quills on their back, and no tail.

Stranger hates winter, especially when they didn't stock up enough. due to the cold, there would be very little to hunt and the town is an alternative they don't wish to resort to. hunger was one of the things that really drive them mad.

they're a bit ironic and snarky.

are they actually wearing anything?

Stranger's burnt injuries was actually inspired by a certain frame from an animation "LEGACY, Sonic.EXE" by [ youtube@/kishinpain ]

during Stranger's earliest days when Exe/Faker influence was still there, they had a beast form. which i eventually scrapped because i opted on making them a little more unique than just being a blatant rip-off. well in the end, i just scrapped Stranger as a whole so welp i guess. remants of this scrapped concept is evident in the body contortions latest-Stranger makes.

uh huh. that's about all the things i've developed for this exe, however i've grown disatisfied with them especially with the design. i still wanted to share it though.

that's all now. have a blue gang :^)

04-23

[nuttersincorporated]

Tradition

Fandom: The Sandman

Summary: Once a century, for a day, Death of the Endless spends a day as a mortal. Once a century, Dream of the Endless meets the immortal human Hob Gadling. The other Endless have traditions of their own.

A The Sandman kink meme fill

Word Count: 690

AN: The original prompt asked what centennial traditions the other Endless do. Not all of these are once every hundred years but they are traditions I think would work for each of them.

Once a century for a single day, Death becomes human to experience what it’s like. Well, ‘human’ is what she becomes in the age of mankind anyway. Perhaps, it is more accurate to say that she spends a day as a mortal.

Death has become so many different sorts of beings during her Endless existence and has no doubt that she’ll become many more in the future. She is Endless and, other than her siblings, nothing else is. It is good to let a small part of herself – never all of her, her function never stops after all – live one short day as her charges do.

Every one hundred years, Dream meets with the immortal human, Hob Gadling, to discuss his experiences. They have only met seven times. It is barely a tradition for one such as he. He is Endless, six hundred and odd years should be nothing to him… and yet.

And yet, he never expected this tradition to last past their second meeting and he finds himself looking forward to their next one. He hopes (a dangerous thing) that this will become a true tradition.

These are the things we know. But what of the other Endless?

Destiny, the first and oldest of the Endless, used to have a centennial tradition too. He would close his book, unshackle himself, leave his garden of winding paths, sit down somewhere with no paths at all, turns off his omniscience and read or play whatever that age’s version of a Choose Your Own Adventure novels were.

It felt good to make choices without knowing there outcome. Destiney misses it. However, since the Prodigal left, it is an indulgence he no longer allows himself.

Desire wants and wants and wants. It is their function. It is their gift and their curse. It is wonderful and unbearable. They love themselves. They want to tear themselves apart at the seams. They crave and hope and yearn.

One of the things Desire wants is peace. It is not something they can easily have because of who and what they are. However, sometime for a short period of time, they can manage it.

It is not a tradition that Desire does on a certain date or after a certain amount of time. They simply do it when the wanting becomes too much and they feel like they are drowning.

Every now and again (more often since their relationship with Dream soured and more often still since their twin’s remaking) Desire cuts themselves off from everything. They leave their own heart and float in an empty void. There, Desire meditates. They try to simply exist in the moment and by happy.

Sometimes they even succeed. It’s the only time they feel peace and contentment. It does not last long.

Despair, as she used to be, did not have any traditions. She does now.

Since she became the current version of herself, on the anniversary of her remaking, for a day Despair becomes Depression. She feels empty inside, she feels nothing at all. It’s better? It’s worse? It’s different and it’s a contrast to reflect on when she turns back.

Sweet Delirium (who was once Delight) often thinks she should start a tradition of her own but then she forgets to remember or remembers to forget.

Once, Delirium decided that she would plant a tree and she would visit it once every ten years. She could do that, she was sure.

She did plant a tree, though she has no idea which one. Sometimes, Delirium forgets she already planted it and plants another one. Other times, she will see a tree and be sure it’s her tree. Once when that happened, she visited the same tree forty-two times in a single day. Another time, she forgot about her tradition for over three hundred years.

Trees always make Delirium smile, even when they don’t know why.

What of the Prodigal? He keeps his own council and wouldn’t tell you even if you could find him. I think he has no need of traditions any more, except maybe to secretly check in on his siblings from time to time.

[spirit-small]

It's been days since Phoenix has had a proper meal. An office building had seemed like a good place for a borrower to live, at first at least. Unlike a house or apartment building, it would be virtually deserted at night, so as long as he committed to being nocturnal he shouldn't ever be found. And after his last couple encounters with beans, that seemed to be for the best. (Ahem, Larry.)

But of course, the building was not without its share of problems. While the sheer number of people in and out every day meant that he didn't need to worry too much about how much he would take, the food selections tended to be rather... Slim. It's hard to get into a vending machine or refrigerator, after all. So aside from a few granola bar crumbs and the most unloved, stale pieces of bagel he hadn't gotten much to eat lately.

So forgive him for being a little riskier than usual. The desperation and delirium got to him. Sure, he could have waited for the bean to clear out. But that ran the risk of her taking the delicious-smelling food along with her. And her back was turned. And she seemed very distracted. Get in, get out. That was the plan. Now, granted, that’s not a very good plan, and it’s certainly not a very well-thought-out plan, but it might have worked. Maybe.

If he hadn’t been spotted.

Their eyes lock, just for a second. He drops his prize of a single french fry and darts away. To her he’s nothing but a sudden flash of pink, barely noticeable. Though, he supposes, he could stand to be a little less noticeable. A bright pink sweater? He may as well be carrying a big sign that says "BORROWER" with an arrow pointing at him.

“You can have some, if you want.” She knows he’s there. He’d hoped, through some miraculous means, she’d simply move on. But isn’t that just the problem with beans? They can’t help but let their curiosity get them into trouble. Get them entrenched in other people’s affairs. There’s a saying among borrowers, ‘Curiosity gets you killed by a cat.’ 

It’s very literal. They’re a very straightforward people.

“I could always get you something else to eat...” She’s still talking. Doesn’t seem like she’s going to let up at all. Pretending he doesn’t exist doesn’t seem like it’s going to work this time. Nowhere to go, anyway. Trapped here in the corner between a bean and a wall. The choice is clear, as if it were even a choice at all. At least, of all the beans he’d seen since moving into this building, this is the one who had to find him. She seemed nice. A defense attorney, just like Miles always wanted to be. They’re supposed to help people in need. This is who Phoenix had decided he’d reveal himself to if he ever really, desperately needed help, as a last resort.

Phoenix takes a deep breath. He calms his nerves. He has to focus, he can’t show any fear, or any doubt. He steps out into the light, looks up at her (ohnoshe’ssomuchbiggerupclose), and picks a fry up off the counter. He looks her in the eye, her calm smile barely hiding the questions burning beneath the surface. He bites into the fry and sits back against the wall to eat. They stay like that for a minute. Neither one knowing what to say or how to say it. It’s incredibly uncomfortable for the both of them.

“Well... I’ve got some work to do, if you don’t mind...” She steps back and Phoenix feels the first bit of relief since she spotted him.

“O-oh, n-not at all!” Phoenix turns away and takes another bite. The bean smiles at him and returns to her desk across the room. Phoenix continues snacking away, but finds himself looking over at her more and more. Whatever she's working on must be important. She's engrossed in her work and it seems as though her gears are turning something fierce. Phoenix can't help but want to know more.

It's been a long time since he'd dealt with the law in any capacity, but it's still something he's found fascinating. So, once he's had his fill, he makes his way through the walls to come around on the other side, dropping onto the desk next to her. She's so focused on her work, she doesn't even notice him until he speaks up.

"I think you've got enough evidence here to nail the guy." Phoenix rubs his chin and paces along the desk, looking over the papers and whatnot strewn across the desk.

The bean blinks.

She laughs a little bit.

"Is that right?" she's just humoring him. There's no way this little guy knows anything about the law, right?

"Yeah, I mean it. Like, you'd need a reliable witness and some decent testimony, but I think you've really got a case here, from what I can see. Either way, it's clear to me your client's innocent."

"Hmm, I can see why you'd think that, but it's not that simple, I'm afraid."

"Why not?" Phoenix steps onto a photo of a man. "It's obvious this guy did it."

"I know, I'm sure of that, too. But he's not gonna go down that easily. We need something a lot more definitive, little lawyer." She leans back, stretches her arms, and pushes her files off to the side. "So. You got a name, kid? I'm Mia Fey, Attorney at Law." She holds out a finger toward him.

"Uh... Phoenix Wright. Borrower at... Your office." He reaches a hand toward her finger, pausing for a moment before touching it. She puts her thumb up to grasp around his hand and shakes it gently.

"Borrower, hm?"

"Uh... Yep!"

"Well, Phoenix. You seem to know a thing or two about the law. So tell me, how do you think I should proceed on this case?"

"I'm glad you asked! I have a few ideas..."

[yoyok-era]

A Fathers Love | E. Stabler & J. Slootmaekers

Elliot Stabler & Jet Slootmaekers ♡ Law & Order: OC ♡ 0.8k ♡ Ao3

summary:

Jet, in her fever-induced delirium, reveals some truths about her past.

Elliot knew that there was something wrong with Jet the minute she had walked into the office that morning. He could see it in the way she carried herself, the way she stumbled as she walked up the stairs, the way she slumped over at her desk as soon as she sat down.

He'd made her a coffee, placed his hand on the back of her neck as he put the drink down on her desk. "You're burning up, kid."

Elliot watched as her eyes flicked to him, then away, before returning to look at the black coffee in front of her. She didn't respond to the comment, just continued to stare down at the steaming mug. After a moment's hesitation, Elliot spoke again. "Jet, are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, just tired is all. Late night." She'd brushed him off, like she did whenever anyone asked her about things that bothered her, but Elliot saw the slight tremble in her fingers, the way she gripped the edge of the table in an effort to stop herself from slouching any further into her chair.

"Let me know if you need anything, okay?" He gave her shoulder a squeeze as he walked away, leaving her to get whatever work she needed done.

He'd found her asleep at her desk by the time he got back from the lead he'd been chasing with Reyes, and his concerned tripled. Her face was flushed when he'd woken her up, the bags under her eyes a stark contrast with her pale complexion.

Even now he could feel the heat radiating from her forehead through her clothes, could hear her rapid breathing. "Are you feeling alright? You don't seem too good."

The girl looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. "I… I'm fine, Elliot," she said, voice trembling slightly as she stood up. She swayed, gripping onto his arm as she blinked the dizziness out of her eyes.

"Alright, I'm taking you home. Try not to collapse on me, okay?" She nodded, letting him lead the way as he walked them to his car.

She could barely stand up as they made it to his apartment, but when she did she immediately sank down onto his couch. Elliot pulled her shoes off her feet, set them aside, and went to check his kitchen for any medicine he might need. There was a small stash of ibuprofen, some water, and a glass of orange juice waiting for him.

"Here, take these. They're gonna help with the fever." He sat beside her as she swallowed the pill, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She let out a soft sigh as she nestled against the arm rest. Elliot smiled sadly at her. "Go ahead and lie down until your temperature goes down." His voice was soft and gentle, a comforting, familiar sound. She nodded sleepily and snuggled deeper into the couch cushions.

"I'm sorry about this," She mumbled, reaching forward to wrap the blanket tighter around herself.

That caught Elliot off guard, making him pause mid hair-stroke. "What do you mean?"

Her mouth tightened briefly, then relaxed. "My parents would get mad at me when I was sick. Cause one of them would have to stay home." She paused for a second, then spoke quietly. "My dad got really mad once, when I puked on this new carpet. Hit me across the face. My mom always said I went flying into the wall. Kinda funny, actually."

Elliot blinked the tears out of his eyes, surprised at how easily Jet opened up to him. He had never heard about her life prior to today, never knew what kind of childhood or family she'd come from. He wondered briefly if all of this was just the fever-induced delirium speaking, then decided it wasn't important at the moment. "Did he hit you a lot?"

His question made her stiffen a bit. "Me? Nah. My sister protected me, always took the most of it," She paused, her face contorted in thought, then shrugged. "She had this plan for both of us to get out. It worked for me, and when it didn't work for her, she killed herself instead. I think I was 15 when that happened."

Elliot nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke. "That's horrible, Jet. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

She shrugged, still curled up in the blankets. "It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that I moved on. I have other people now." They lapse into silence again, his fingers threading through her hair as her eyelids started to droop.

"No one's ever done this for me before." Her voice was almost inaudible.

"I'm glad I get to do it for you then."

She hummed softly, nuzzling her face deeper into the pillow. "Me too. Thanks, dad."

His chest tightened at her words, the vulnerability in them more than evident. "You're welcome, kid." His hands stroked her head gently, a silent comfort to her feverish mind.

[velveteen-leaves]

i’m obsessed with moder/no-power aus with dream of the endless because HOW do you manage to make him human and even possibly a little bit normal. it goes against everything his character is and i LOVE watching people try to work around or with it because it’s great every single time.

like, take his career, as an example. dream being a painter or a sculptor, because he crafts dreams and nightmares. dream being an author, because he is the prince of stories. dream being a monarch, or some sort of politician, because he is still the king of dreams, no?

and when it comes to making stories for the rest of the endless it only gets more interesting. where does destruction go? does he go off-grid to fuck off in the woods somewhere all on his own (which is a little bit of the manly american dream if you ask me but shh)? does he move abroad? how do you write delight becoming delirium if she is human? does she have an accident and develop some sort of head-trauma, or does she deal with mental illness? or is she just “quirky”? is despair simply extremely depressed, desire just insanely horny, etc etc? when it comes to death, i always see her as some sort of a medical personnel, and i love seeing death written as a hospice nurse because you just *know* how satisfying that must’ve been to think of for the first time, of course she’s a hospice nurse, she guides people towards their deaths and is kindly and wonderful to all her patients and treats them all like friends. 

and their names!!! what are their names!!! did time and night (if they are still called time and night, that is) name their children Dream and Death and Delight and Despair and so on and so forth like pretentious assholes (this could tie in with the “rich and famous parents” thing that i’ve seen some people write, because celebrities love to choose weird names for their kids), or are they named more normal things? what about the greek versions of their names, like Morpheus? what about the “D” theme being a set of childhood nicknames that stuck and never went away, even when they’re all well into adulthood? 

and don’t even get me started on dream’s relationships. do you keep the drama of nada’s suicide, or do you tone it down to make it more realistic for a regular human man? do you make it so she and dream were truly so awful for one another she offs herself, or does she simply leave him? how does orpheus die, if there are no gods to kill him? how long does his marriage to calliope last, if she divorces him after their sons death? assuming you make dream the age of his actor (which is the only version of human-dream i’ve ever seen, so i’m going with it), he’d have to get married fairly young in order to have a son, have the son die, and then have his wife leave him, and have all of it be that far in the past, no? why did he marry young, then? were they dumb and in love? so much to explore!

how is he friends with hob! did they meet up once a year, instead of a century? what did he grant hob as a gift/boon if not immortality, considering that’s hob’s whole thing? did they still meet up at the white horse? did death still think dream needed to get out more, and just shoved him at the first extrovert she saw? what justification does dream have for only meeting once every year/few years/whatever other denomination of time you choose if he is not trying to examine hob’s mortal perspective on immortality? why don’t they just...text, or something normal? it’s because dream isn’t normal!! he’s a freak!! but HOW is he a freak in human terms!! just a goth? a shy dude? heavily traumatized? didn’t get enough sleep last night, or maybe ever, or maybe he gets too much sleep (because he is dream, after all) and he has some sort of sleep disorder? you decide! choose-your-own-adventure, silly loser of a wet cat edition!

not to mention the elephant in the room of the whole fishbowl situation. does he get kidnapped? is it political? for money? a relationship gone wrong? revenge against his family, adjacent to how it is in the show? for some new reason entirely? if he’s human, and not endless, how does he react to being captured and then later freed? how does he cope with PTSD? considering the entire sandman comic series is at least partially centered around dream’s changing character, would he reject therapy, and help from friends and family, or would he try to heal? and given what happens with daniel– does it even matter what he does in response to his trauma if the whole daniel thing still happens anyway?

how do you write their relationships and personalities and selves if they are not endless when that’s exactly what makes them all the way they are!!?? i love it so much. i love how creative fanfic writers are. i love you all. happy new year

[rosemore]

Friendly cats. (hnkna valentine exchange).

So, here you go @malewifemammon you wanted Boris or Julius, so I decided to give you a bit of both! it's not romantic, just a bit of platonic tomfoolery, but I hope you enjoy anyway. (I hope all went well on the post this time - I'm unused to Tumblr and it's noticeable in the mistakes I'm making, lol).

Friendly cats.

Boris was by nature a friendly cat. Though he liked exploring the little known nooks and crannies of Wonderland and was a cat who was fine going his own way and in fact would have problems if anybody tried to hold him down in one place for too long, that didn't mean he was an introvert. There were many moments where he could build upon his friendly reputation, first and foremost during special (or not so special) occasions. 

He enjoyed the post work drink celebrations, or the new attraction festivities, or the old "attraction to be bulldozed" festivities. He enjoyed the charged atmosphere of the flickering lights and the cozy delirium which took one over when they had one too many drinks. He enjoyed bugging and fussing over people too.

All of this, naturally, didn't mean that other people were as much of a party animal as he was - but what Boris was also was somebody who enjoyed dragging others in situations they might not fully agree with. It was like chasing Pierce - Boris could do that forever, be satisfied with the evidence of his hunting prowess and with the feeling that the creepy mouse was pretty much helpless to resist him and he could do whatever he liked with him. 

Julius was another one of those who resigned themselves to situations they hated simply because they thought it was easier than making too much of a fuss about it. Besides, Boris had been easy on him when they'd met unexpectedly near the merry-go-round, and the man who wore too many layers had shot at Boris in his own playground.

 He could have done more than graze his cheek and his elbow with his bullets, even if the rule was "meet eachother periodically and fight" not "put your back into the fighting and take it seriously". That he hadn't obviously meant the grumpy hermit owed him entertainment. 

He was even kind enough to go get him bandages. "Hey, the doctor's office is around that corner. What do you mean 'you'll deal with it yourself?' Cmon, you don't want an infection, and it's not as if I don't need medical attention from your lucky shot either." 

And it had been a lucky shot - the bullet had pinged against a metal panel and bounced right back just when Boris had lifted his gun to start shooting back. Speckles of red rained from his hand. 

He couldn't say it wasn't unexpected to get injured during the fights that the game forced them into - meeting people when they were having a bad day automatically led to them taking the bad day out on whoever was their partner that moment - and Boris enjoyed really getting into his fights with people, and often picked them even outside of the requirements. 

That was the reason he didn't actually mind getting injured - it was just how much of a lucky shot Julius had managed to made his inner sadist stand up to attention. 

Though it might look like he was being kind, dragging the kicking and complaining deluxe clockmaker with him to be seen by one of the park's many first aid centers. (Because of course they had many, there were too many, for when their attractions derailed or went at a speed that damaged the human body. Everything was about thrill and excitement in their park, including the excitement of uncertain death or crippling). But that was just to bring Julius into a fake sense of safety. 

Boris planned to meet up with Gowland soon and with the two of them, he was sure they'd be able to pressure the man into going on one of their attractions free of charge, because they were just being "kind and thoughtful and you didn't want to spit on Gowland's hospitality, did you?" 

They'd get drinks and watch the fireworks afterwards, so long as the time period didn't move from being night and even if it did, then the fireworks would be replaced with some other kinds of festivities. The other roleholders could say one thing about the amusement park, but it wasn't that they didn't know how to party. 

Julius let out a heavy, heavy sigh, the type that involved his entire body, shoulders slumping, rocking forwards. No matter how much "no, stop, I'm not going to do that" or how authoritatively he tried to sound, Boris was one of those people who could really play deaf to the hilt and he was led into a cart for a rollercoaster. 

On one end Gowland was jabbering:  "This is one of my latest builds! Look at that streamlined, silver track which gleams in the light! Some people have complained that when the sun hits them just right they'd end up blinded, but it's dusk right now so that's not something you need to worry about-" while on his other side there was a cat muffling his snickering and meeting his eyes for a second with a mischievous light in their golden depths. 

Julius' injuries itched underneath the bandages the cat had cajoled him into, and he'd just wanted to get this meeting over with so he'd eventually accepted getting help with them. 

(Besides, it meant he didn't have to tie them at home, freeing him up for more efficient work. Besides, no blood in the delicate gears was always a plus - otherwise he'd probably not even do anything about them, just leave them open as a reprimand to himself about letting the Cheshire Cat get the best of him.) 

The cart tipped over the incline, speeding down the track as people let out excited screams, while Julius himself held onto the railing with a white knuckled fist. At least he was aware that Gowland wouldn't want to kill a "guest" or he'd be worried about going into any rollercoasters he and his freeloader suggested, even with their company. 

Boris was skillful at making sure he always landed on his feet, and Gowland's muscles probably meant he'd end up with less broken bones, compared to his own, which were far more fragile as somebody who didn't exactly eat right and spent most of his time indoors working on clocks.  

Despite how this was supposedly an apology for shooting him twice, this felt like a punishment for shooting the cat once. 

Boris tried to make up for it afterwards. "Come on, I'll show you all the best snack stalls. You like coffee… don't you? There is a cafe not very far away that does really good ones!"

Though the cat's tail had twitched in a way that showed he was hunting while they were going on the attractions, it was now simply confidently tracing the air while its owner moved through the crowds, looking back at Gowland and him now and then to assure himself they were following.

"You know, you might think he's bullying, but that's really how he shows his love," Gowland stated, amused at the wariness and confusion warring on Julius' face. 

He scoffed. Julius was aware of how people avoided him, and while he didn't take injuries from forced fights as personally as he could, that didn't mean he trusted friendly gestures more. 

But somehow, he had a feeling as Boris turned a toothy grin his way at the counter of the café, and asked for his favorite drink - now that the cat had him in his sights, and knew what a pushover he was, he wouldn't easily let him be. 

Fin.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

maybe im being a little self indulgent, maybe its the delirium from having my wisdom teeth removed, but rmmr charles grey and his artist boyf hcs i asked a while back??? well,,,, 👉👈 if u dont mind, maybe hcs or scenario where artist boyf is invited to the queen’s ball (shes probably in on this whole ordeal, watching grey run around in circles lol). instead of socializing with possible suitors as his mother requested, he decides to ask the queen if he could just paint the dance scene (u know how some ppl hire artists for weddings to paint and stuff??) and she agrees bc???? idk he’s pretty and so is his art so it’s a win win??? grey brings it upon himself to stand watch over him and starts chatting, maybe even making him laugh a little??? sorry if this is too long

oh heck yeah getting to write these two is always a treat!

someone in the back seeing Grey set his sights on one single person: BUT HE’S A WHORE????? 😂😂😂

Well, obviously the only chivalrous thing to do here is to stand watch over the artist! The man is probably physically delicate, so, Grey himself would be a perfect choice should something… er… exciting happen. Besides, he and Phipps are both on duty, so they ought to have at least two different vantage points for protection, right? Phipps is on the other side of the room doing something or other, meaning positioned next to (Name) is the perfect place for Grey to be.

He was never really one for the arts in general until he caught interest in this man; he prefers action, battle, sports. If it were any other artist Her Majesty had chosen to paint the scene, Grey would go behind their back to other friends and laugh about how boring a job it has to be. Because it’s (Name), however, he suddenly finds some magical interest in it that he didn’t see before. Even better that he sees that the man had to ask the Queen’s permission. That indicates he was invited, not hired, and painting really is what he truly enjoys. There are two boxes checked off, in that case ― noble enough to be sent an invitation, and passionate enough to ignore all the socialite business in favor of just doing what he wants. Being who he is, Charles Grey is a big proponent for just doing whatever the hell one wishes.

Oh, he pretends he’s doing something kind by ‘guarding’ (Name) from any potential danger or nosy people, but it’s almost for certain that the other man knows the truth. And that’s just how he wants it, right? Surely letting Grey give a bit of chase after him and allowing himself to be charmed is a better dance than a waltz. Plus, he really would rather not mingle, because Grey is pretty much the only one he’s interested in. Best not give other people false hope.

For that matter, Grey certainly doesn’t want to dance with anyone else. He’d rather dance with (Name) all night… unfortunately, he may still indulge a young lady or two here and there, if only to keep up his appearance as a polite gentleman. Polite gentlemen don’t rudely decline dance offers, after all! Still, he keeps it short if he must dance with anyone else, returning to the artist’s side after only one song.

The whole time, Grey makes sure to snag a glass of champagne or a few pastries from whoever happens to be passing by offering them every so often. He singlehandedly prevents (Name) from going hungry or thirsty… even though he also eats at least half of what he takes himself. Of course, the suggestion from the other man that the two of them split a glass or a snack is met with delight. And perhaps a little confusion. Maybe some flustered blinking. He doesn’t turn it down, though.

What makes (Name) laugh more than anything is how all up in everyone’s business Grey seems to be. He has gossip about every person that the artist points out. Some of it is quite mundane like someone accidentally wearing the wrong fashions, but some of it is as serious as the plague… you know, like who’s sleeping with whose husband and things like that. Is it in poor taste that he prattles about it to (Name)? Perhaps a bit. He words it in such a way that one can’t help laughing, though, and at least he doesn’t say these things to people’s faces!

Toward the end of the night when people have gotten somewhat drunk and aren’t paying much attention, Grey leans down behind (Name)’s canvas under the guise of saying something else to the man… and very quickly gives him a peck on the cheek. It could be dismissed by those who are drunk as a gesture of affection between friends ― however, it is very much not that, and (Name) is well aware of that fact. Adding to it is that Grey lets his hand linger on the other man’s during the kiss, and for a few seconds after, he’s rather slow in pulling away. Although he isn’t nearly as bold as he might like to be, he still thinks he’s as bold as is possible. The act is certainly appreciated, at any rate.

The Queen is most definitely in on it. After several years of watching Grey refuse to settle down and then seeing his attention pulled in by this one man, she’s going to see to it that he tries to get cozy with someone. (Not at all related is the fact that she’s tired as hell of one of her butlers being accused of being a whore. SETTLE WITH SOMEONE, GREY!!!)

[notwhatshesaid]

Marvel - Loki - Knight In Frost Giant Armour

word count: 1056

summary: you’re in danger, it’s almost assured that you’ll die. until your beloved comes to save you.

My feet clamoured loudly against the floor, heart racing, mind running. My breathing was shallow and I tried to remember where the corridor I was running down took me.

Despite being around the castle more than the average person, I could hardly remember where the twists, turns, and many corridors led me. I knew where the banquet hall was, obviously, but I doubted that would come of anything so I had avoided going down there. I was pretty sure I was going to the throne room, or at least the gardens but I could have sworn that I had already been past that door at least twice. I must be going round in circles. Maybe the banquet hall is my best bet, I can get my bearings there.

Trusting I would form a plan, I did a hard right and willed my body onwards - praying I would reach salvation before a sharp blade could pierce my skin and claim my soul.

Wait, Frigga has a Midgardian girl here. Perhaps if I find her, I'll be ok, right?

Once I reached the banquet hall, I slammed the door shut, threw a chair against the handle to prevent it opening again, and pulled out my weapon; I hate violence but it seemed it would be the only way to get rid of the dark elf chasing me. My legs were stinging and aching, and I felt like I would drop to the floor, never to breathe again. I even almost believed the tricks my eyes were playing on me. They showing me things that weren' there - Frigga was laid, dead or dying, with blood spilling from her back. If there weren't any blood, I would think she was merely sleeping or a sudden illness had befallen her and she had simply fallen into a peaceful coma.

Adding onto my delirium, I began hearing the dark elf through the door, he wasn't speaking in any tongue I could recognise - apart from the occasional word. Asgardians speak all tongue, we can understand any language, so why couldn't I understand him? But, no, it sounded like he was speaking to me, trying to tell me something. "Run... hide... monster... kill..." Whatever it meant, it was incoherent and confusing, was he trying to tell me that I was a monster and he was going to kill me, or was he saying he was a monster I could run but couldn't hide from - perhaps a mix of the two.

Suddenly, I was pushed away, my arm outstretched pathetically with my knife primed to attack whatever had just thrusted themself into the giant golden doors - it sounded too heavy to be a dark elf against the door. Heeding caution, I moved to the back of the room, towards the large window that stretched the length and allowed a magnificent view of Asgard. If I needed to, I'd jump.

Fortunately, I heard Loki, his voice was calm, she spoke slowly and carefully, asking me to open the door. Deciding to not blindly trust whoever is on the other side of the doors, I walked over and spoke to them, "is that really you, Loki?"

"Yes of course it is, darling. Are you okay?"

"How do I know it's you and not someone playing tricks on me?"

There was silence for a moment, then their voice graced my ears again, "I'm the only one who plays tricks on you. Perhaps if I share a story from our childhood..." He took my silence as a yes, "you and I were running through the palace gardens. It was not long after I stabbed Thor for the fun of it, you were watching. I was worried about what you were going to say, but you couldn't stop laughing at him. We reached the flowers planted in honour of the soldiers lost during Asgards many wars, you knelt and picked one. You were so gentle with it, like you thought it would snap and turn to dust in your hands. Then you turned to me, still knelt, and you asked if possibly one day we would marry and be together until the end of the world. You wanted me to promise that I'd be there forever and that we would protect each other till our dying breaths. I got nervous and embarrassed and transformed into a snake. You chased after me as I slithered off, completely unfazed. That's when I knew I wanted - needed - to accept your promise, and proposal."

As I moved the chair, I talked to her through the door, "I still have that flower. I kept it alive. It's missing a petal or two but who's counting."

I opened the door for him and saw the beautiful blue skin he always hides. I'll admit, when I had first seen them like that I was startled and confused but I quickly grew to love the real her. They hardly ever show this side of them, they don't like it. She's managed to convince herself that it's ugly and that people will only perceive them as a monster. I see beauty when I look at him. I see the person I love, the exterior having changed means nothing to me. But they don't understand that.

"You look marvellous, my darling." I looked up at them, "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

His form changed as he moved to grab my face. "Did it hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine. I was just frightened." My eyes flicked to the dark elf's ugly carcass, "thanks for helping me." I held up my knife, "I doubt this would have done much."

"That's what I'm here for. Remember?"

I smiled up at them as we exited the room, but a singular thought was plaguing my mind, "how did you get out?"

"That's a secret reserved for my spouse."

"You aren't married."

"Perhaps you'd like to help me change that."

"Perhaps. How did you know where I was?"

He stopped and turned to me, "where else would you be?"

I felt a sudden pain in my back, then I remembered. "Is your mother okay?"

"I believe so." Their face turned pale, "the girl, the aether. You don't think..."

With that, he took down the corridor, I followed behind him, possibly about find the Queen - and Loki's mother - dead or dying.

[whichwtch]

did you hear that SYBILL TRELAWNEY will be attending the black ball during the coming weekend? they recently arrived in london for the social season and we will be excited to see if they make a splash this year. i heard that they are currently working as a WAITRESS and that they have been quite successful. they always reminded me of FADED TAROT CARDS, COLORFUL HANDKNIT GLOVES, HALF LIES HIDDEN WITHIN HALF TRUTHS and i heard that they can be CLEVER + FANCIFUL but also PRIDEFUL + SELFISH. rumor has it that they are WORKING AGAINST tom riddle, but you know that you can’t believe everything you hear. as far as i know, they are a model member of pureblood society

FULL NAME: sybill cassandra trelawney

NICKNAMES: libby, lib, that weirdo over there

AGE: 23 years old

GENDER: cis woman

PRONOUNS: she/her

SEXUALITY: bisexual

SUN SIGN: pisces

FORMER HOUSE: ravenclaw

pinterest

THE FOOL - in tarot, the fool card can be numbered either as 0 (the first) or XXII (the last), representing its unlimited potential for better or for worse. it depicts a young man on the edge of a cliff, carefully looking at the sky and unaware that he is about to fall into the unknown. the fool is associated with folly, mania, extravagance, delirium and frenzy, but when reversed it becomes a symbol for absence, carelessness, apathy, and vanity.

in mythology, the gift of sight is inextricably linked to tragedy. cassandra, cursed with the knowledge of future doom while no one believed her. laocoon, strangled and killed by giant serpents when his foresight displeased the gods. even cassandra trelawney, the most famous seer of the wizarding world, tried to run away from her destiny only to find it in a great fire if the legends are to be believed.

sybill’s story didn’t begin with tragedy. in fact, she was a perfectly normal kid. she talked a bit oddly, sure, and always seemed to know what her mother was making for lunch hours in advance, and was never able to make any friends her actual age... still, those were perfectly acceptable childhood quirks she would grow out of (or grown into). she was raised in muggle england, in a small country house near london where her mother would bake homemade pies and sing old folk songs. this is one of the only memories sybill still has of her mom, with the blonde hair shining in the sun.

amelia trelawney left the country house when sybill was barely five years old, and died a couple of years after. her husband never kept any bitterness, though sybill would occasionally catch him staring out into the darkness in their front porch, clutching a bottle of whisky. she sometimes wondered if he had seen amelia left even before the woman decided to.

hogwarts was not exactly a dream for sybill. she always felt a bit too strange to be a normal witch. she also felt a bit too normal to be a proper seer, in the way the legendary cassandra trelawney had been. she had very few friends, and the bad habit of either keeping them too close or pushing them away entirely. her grades were always perfect, but also meaningless. in the end, sybill clutched to her oddities like a lifeline. the future was much easier to deal with when they only included badly written zodiac predictions and tarot cards she could just ignore. it gave her far fewer nightmares.

as soon as she left hogwarts, sybill was left directionless, especially after her father died just a few weeks before her graduation. she was a seer with no foresight, and certainly no job offerings. she started doing little jobs on diagon alley, and even worked in a muggle psychic store for a while, twisting tarot cards and gut feelings into tales that left her clients happy and her pockets full.

sybill is against tom riddle’s politics not out of some sense of justice, but because it would be counter intuitive for a half blood from a disgraced family to support him. that being said, her moral compass is completely broken and based on 1. vibes and 2. whatever would benefit her most at the moment, so you never know. 

libby currently works as a waitress in the leaky tap and as a mostly fake but occasionally true psychic. if you want an absolutely unhinged tarot read she’s your girl.

all in all she’s my poor little meow meow, she’s sooo pathetic, she’s literally insane, she has visions of man-made horrors beyond our comprehension, her moral compass is based on vibes alone and she WILL lie for fun and for profit.

[unrooms]

More specific questions than Moya's comment:

What was your inspiration for this story?

Tell us more about the walls, the ceiling, and everything within them.

Wellll... What was my inspiration? That's kinda hard to pin down. For one thing, though, the interactive webcomics Blood is Mine and My Delirium Alcazar are big favorites of mine and definitely influenced me a fair amount! I recommend both of them- BiM is finished and MDA is unfortunately on hiatus but you should still get invested in it lol

I really started this- not on a whim, but with very little prep time. As you know, it was meant to (well, and did) span exactly one month, and I decided I was going to do it, I believe, two days before the month started? So I didn't have a very detailed idea of what the story was going to be or anything going in. A lot of it I improvised on the fly. I think most of the puzzles I invented while writing the update for the hour they were first observed lol. Not sure exactly where I was going with this but whatever

As for the walls, the floors, the ceilings, and everything within them, I think I've been fascinated for a long time by the idea of like... well it's hard to sum up? (btw dorfird, I know you know this about me, but I'm answering for everyone)

I guess there's just something about like... a space that is a puzzle, like an escape room maybe, and there's dire consequences if you can't figure it out? I don't know, it's hard to put into words, and that's maybe only one genre of this idea I've got in my head. But I think of things like Danganronpa, Portal, the Hunger Games even. So one of the things I knew from the start was that I was gonna explore that whole concept. The thing I like about the walls, the floors, the ceilings, and everything within them is that it is not only a building but an entity itself, and it has control over its whole structure... I could have played around more with it changing, like a shifting maze, but I guess I didn't really think of that.

A thing which I didn't ever state explicitly is that the walls, the floors, the ceilings, and everything within them has a kind of connection to Tyler's universe. It's seen glimpses of that universe, and modelled itself around what it saw. Thus why it has architecture that's recognizable, and how the flesh can speak english and the walls etc can write it.

I don't think the walls, the floors, the ceilings, and everything within them is really malicious, rather it just doesn't really have a sense of empathy. It's a person because it has the element of flesh in it, but it's more stone than flesh and it understands stone more than it does flesh. However, I did have it in mind that an alternate solution to the story could be to convince it to let you go.

There's more I could say, but I already wrote a lot and I'm kind of sick and tired today, so I'll leave it at that for this post. (that doesn't mean I won't say anything else today, necessarily, just not right now)

I hope you find this interesting and not too rambly lol :)