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bunniekittiee · 7 months

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Shattered Ice- Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

This is my first Bi-Han fic (besides headcanons) I promised you all, and I tried to get his characterization correct in the way I wanted it to be. Credits to @magic-schoolbusdropout ‘s post and their ideas! I did not base it solely on their idea but I incorporated it into the fic. I wanted to give it a shot.

It is not exactly proof-read so there may be errors!

CW: a lot of angst, bi-han going crazy, yea this is not the usual fluff stuff guys im sorry :(, also this is extremely long so like beware.

“Where are your brothers, Bi-Han?” she asked so quietly, her voice barely reaching his ears. Like a little mouse squeaking.

“They have forsaken our clan.” He rasped back. “They do not want the Lin Kuei to succeed. They want us to be at the hands of Liu Kang.”

Her heart dropped. Memories of the faces of the two brothers echoed in her head. Never to be seen again. “You have… abandoned them?”

Jaw clenched, Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed at his wife. “Abandoned them? They have abandoned our clan. They made that decision when they did not follow me.”

“Bi-Han, they are your brothers-”

“They believe we should be shackled by Liu Kang’s rule.” He interrupted her. “The Lin Kuei deserve much more than we receive, and the only way to accomplish that is by removing ourselves as Earthrealm’s protectors. Kuai Liang and Tomas have departed from us, they are banned from coming into our land.”

Her eyes watered. “Bi-Han… this is not right. You have forsaken your brothers.”

“Do not talk back to me in that tone.” He said harshly. “You are my wife. Know your place.”

“Abandoned your brothers for complete rule? Your father would be so devastated Bi-Han!” She fought back against him. “The Lin Kuei are supposed to be Earthrealm’s protectors.”

He rolled his eyes. “My father was a foolish old man, he did not know how to truly rule the clan. Sektor has been advising the development of the Cyber Initiative with me. We will flourish.” He was certainly proud of his decision, which made her feel worse.

“I do not know who you are anymore, Bi-Han.” She said, tears falling from her eyes as her wide (e/c) locking with his brown eyes. Eyes that were once soft to look at now held frigidness and irritation.

“I am still your husband.”

“Hardly.” She choked out as she got up from her seat. “You are someone else, a stranger.” She stormed away from him, his eyes still stuck onto her figure. His heart ached. In the worst ways possible. But he could not waste his time on making her understand. He had a lot to do, and he needed to work.

The couple’s home was silent for many months. She avoided him at what chance she could, hardly interacting with Bi-Han when he came into their room. He did not make an effort to talk to her either. Bi-Han felt lonely in their large bed as her body was on the opposite side of him. She stopped cuddling with him like she used to. She stopped giving him her sleepy kisses that warmed his cold heart. It was as if she hated him. It hurt in ways Bi-Han thought it would not hurt, but he could not let his pain show. It was weak, and he was angry at himself for being so bothered.

She struggled sleeping. It was difficult to rest when her husband, an entirely different man, was so cruel. Leaving his brothers behind. The faces she loved like her own brothers, now gone due to Bi-Han’s thirst for something more for the Lin Kuei that costed him his family. How much was it all worth? That, she did not know.

Dearly missing the brothers, she conspired. She loved Bi-Han very much. It was obvious as many commented on her look of infatuation and adoration when looking at him, but she was lonely. And deep inside of her, there was an intense feeling of terror building up as Bi-Han’s personality began to change drastically. He was much more agitated and withdrawn. When their eyes met, he would quickly turn away from her. Sometimes, if he stared at her for too long, his once comforting brown eyes would shift to a blue hue. It ached deeply. She wanted the old Bi-Han to return back to her once more, but she was not so sure if that would ever be possible.

Bi-Han was always busy with Lin Kuei matters that he never discussed with her. Before, he would make time to come back and rest with her, or at least sleep with her during the nights. However, he was slowly stopping that. So she decided that it was the perfect time to try and find Bi-Han’s brothers. It was a matter of slinking past the guards and others that roamed the grounds, but it was something she could manage.

She quickly packed a few things just in case she decided to stay with them for a few days. As much as she did not want to be with a tyrannical clan, she could not leave forever. And she could not leave Bi-Han, for he was her husband. They were tied together for the rest of their lives.

Bi-Han was not in bed by the time she decided to leave, so she carefully descended down the stairs of the palace and avoided the guards. He had taught her a few tricks to not be seen by others and she never thought she would need it, but here she was now. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as her adrenaline rushed. She was terrified of being found by Bi-Han or even Sektor. Bi-Han had never raised a hand to her, but with his personality changes, she was not too sure anymore.

It was incredibly dark outside, the wind swaying the trees to a slight rustling. This enhanced her paranoia as she snuck in the shadows, hiding from more guards. The Lin Kuei were much more guarded now due to Bi-Han breaking away from Liu Kang. Whether it was due to the fact the Shirai Ryu were beginning to rise up or Bi-Han was trying to increase numbers, the areas were guarded heavily. It made her escape difficult.

After some time of slinking past the darkest parts of the Arctika, she let out a small breath as she quickly padded in the direction of the horses’ stable. She knew that her journey would hardly be accomplished on foot, so having a way of transportation would grant her enough time to get away before Bi-Han realized she was missing. Whether it was the Gods’ way of helping her, the stables were not guarded. Luck must have been on her side tonight.

Quickly getting the gear on her horse, she frantically looked around to make sure no one would walk in on her. She could not be found out now. As she led her horse out of the stable, she looked around once more before lifting herself up onto her horse. She tried her best at being silent as she left, and the stables were on the outskirts of the Arctika. Once she hit the main pathway out, she looked down at the map she had stolen from Bi-Han of where the Shirai Ryu could possibly be at. It was in preparation for her trip. Her anxieties lessened as she increased her distance from the Lin Kuei, but guilt chewed her insides up. Bi-Han was going to be ravenous with revenge and fury.

Exhaustion hounded him like a starving stray dog. He had hardly slept for a while, the dark circles under his eyes darkening as he continued his bad habits. He craved the touch of his wife and her voice. Bi-Han missed her dearly. She had not taken the news of his new ruling well, and Bi-Han suspected that she was beginning to loathe him. But he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Firefly,” he whispered as he creaked their bedroom door open. “I have missed you so.” He entered the room, eyebrows scrunching at the sight of an empty bed. His mind wracked where she could possibly be at during this hour of the night. Jaw clenched, he turned away from the room and began to stomp around their home, asking his soldiers if they had seen her. They had not.

Panic ensued within him, however he did the best he could to compose himself in front of his clan. If they had not seen her, maybe Sektor had. He hunted him down rather quickly.

“No, I have not seen her.” He replied back to the Grandmaster as he studied one of the cybers on the table. He looked up at Bi-Han. “You don’t think she left, do you?”

“I do not know.” Bi-Han snapped. He was extremely worried. His brain was running a million miles per hour thinking about where she could have went.

Sektor ignored his tone and thought over what could possibly be the reason why the Grandmaster’s wife had disappeared.

“Unless… you don’t think the Shirai Ryu could have possibly taken her?” Sektor suggested.

Bi-Han’s blood froze. He felt the room spin as his eyes widened and he thought deeply about Sektor’s suggestion. It made sense. But how did they sneak inside so easily? Bi-Han had it heavily overseen with troops. They were on lock down practically, but he did not put it past them to kidnap his one and only weakness.

His brown eyes began to slightly shift in color, beginning to turn blue as energy surged through him. “We have to infiltrate their base immediately.” He said gruffly. “We cannot let them hurt her.”

She studied the map more as her horse carried her further away from her home. It had been at least eight hours with a few breaks in between for her horse and herself. At a galloping speed, she was able to get across more distance. She was cold, shivering from the wind. It reminded her of Bi-Han’s cold body when he changed his body temperature. Sometimes if she had hot flashes or extreme high temperatures, he would simmer his own in order to give her relief. He would cuddle her close to him as he did so, making sure to not overdo it. Her heart hurt as she thought about their memories together. After his betrayal, he was not the same.

Glancing around at her surroundings, she heard rustling in the trees around her. Her paranoia had risen once more and her horse had heard the noises as well, ears standing on end. She swiveled her head to see if it was an animal or a person. The rustling quickened, and she dug her heels into the side of her companion to run. But she was not so lucky, as they were both caught in a net. Her horse stopped dead in his tracks, squealing angrily as they were both thrown to the ground by the force of the net. Surrounded by unknown soldiers who had wrapped rope around her horse, she screamed. Adrenaline coursed through her body as her fear made her nauseated. Bi-Han was not around to save her, and she had led herself straight into the jaws of death.

As she attempted to get up, she was tackled back down to the ground once more. Her forehead was painfully wounded as she struggled against her captor who was much stronger than she was. Blood blurring her vision, she could not see very well. The soldiers had tied her extremities and picked her off the ground, silently making their way back to where they came from before. She continued to scream and thrash her body around, until another solider roughly tied a gag around her mouth to shut her up. Tears ran down her face and she could not help but sob. Her heart felt like it was going to come out of her throat as she knew she was meeting her demise. Without ever saying good-bye to Bi-Han.

She saw the dirt ground turn into a pathway, but soon after she had seen a glimpse of it, her head was obscured by a burlap sack by the same soldier that gagged her. They must not want prisoners to know the layout of their land. That made sense to her, she had seen the Lin Kuei practice the same method. For a moment, a fleeting thought passed through her brain. Maybe this was the Shirai Ryu clan. That meant she was near Tomas and Kuai Liang.

But then again, she was not so sure. That made the anxiety in her stomach twist. If she was wrong, it meant it would cost her her life. After some time of walking, she assumed she was where she needed to be when she was tossed to the ground like a rag doll. Her body ached tremendously from the cold, as well as the rough state her body was in.

“Unmask her.” A familiar voice rang out, but it was muffled by the burlap sack and her stinging head wound that made her lightheaded and dizzy. The sack was violently torn off of her head as her eyes adjusted to the light that the torches gave off.

Looking up, her vision was blurry as she could barely make out the two figures that sat near her. “By the Gods! Untie her immediately!” said one as he approached her fast. “Now now!”

“Y/N…” said the other who came near her form. “Is it really you?”

Kuai Liang and Tomas engulfed her in a hug as she began to cry. From pain and relief. She found them…

“I have been searching for you both.” she said, her words wavering. “I am so grateful to have found you.”

“We need to take you to the medics, little sister.” Kuai Liang said as Tomas gently picked her up off the ground. “That is a nasty head wound they gave you.”

“My horse…”

“They will take care of him.” Tomas said as Kuai ordered them to free her horse and put him in the stables. That was if they could avoid getting kicked in the face.

Reaching the medics, Tomas set her down on the bed as they began to work on her scrapes and wound. “If we had known it was you, we would have not allowed them to hurt you like that.”

She sighed quietly. “It is okay, Tomas. I was in your territory, a stranger. They were only doing what they were ordered to do.”

“How did you escape the Arctika?” Kuai asked. “I thought Bi-Han would have everything guarded heavily.”

“Well, he does. I was able to sneak past the guards and get to the stables. They do not exactly have soldiers patrolling the stables, and since it is on the outskirts of the Arctika, it is easy to escape.” She explained.

Tomas grabbed your hand gently. “If you have escaped, Bi-Han will not be that far behind you. He will go to the ends of the earth to find you.”

Looking down, she frowned. “I just… missed you both very much. Bi-Han is not the man he once was. He is much more aggressive and distant. He is searching for the Shirai Ryu. I have barely interacted with him since his betrayal, and I cannot bring myself to stay in a place that does not bring me joy.”

“Do not twist my words, I still love Bi-Han very much, but what he is doing is not what your father would have wanted. He has corrupted the Lin Kuei.”

Kuai Liang furrowed his eyebrows. “I heard that he was following through with the Cyber Initiative. That is what Shang Tsung had promised him. I cannot believe that he is doing all of this.”

“Neither can I. I wish he was easier to reason with, but he is very relentless on this matter. He believes you both have betrayed him, not the other way around.” She explained while gripping Tomas’ hand. “He is blinded by his own anger.”

“Bi-Han was never one to master his own anger, that was always an issue he has struggled with.” Kuai Liang replied. “I do not see him having mercy, especially now that you are with us.”

“But do not fret,” Tomas interjected. “We are happy to have you here until you recover. That is, if Bi-Han does not find you until then.” He exchanged a worried look with Kuai Liang who only nodded his head. “He will not take it lightly that we have his wife.”

She understood. She knew how much they were risking letting her stay with them. Bi-Han’s rage was not one to be in the crossfire of. She had hoped he would not find her just yet, she had barely reunited with the brothers and wanted to spend more time with them.

After cleaning her wounds up and bandaging her, the brothers led her out of the infirmary to walk to the temple. They talked about old memories of being together, the adventures they would go on. Tomas had asked how Jia was, which Jia was a little sad since the brothers were exiled. They were a part of her life since she was a kitten, it was not a surprise she carried melancholy since they had left. Many of their conversations were reminiscing as they did not want to talk about the present. It was saddening to know that they would never have the same bond they once did with Bi-Han, he would always crave for bloodshed. He already spilled Kuai Liang’s blood when he gave him that scar on his eye, he would continue his journey to spill more. Bi-Han did not see them as brothers anymore, they were enemies. Kuai Liang and Tomas understood that.

The brothers made sure she was fed and had a comfortable space to sleep. She was exhausted. She quickly fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, forgetting the events of her day in the dream state she entered.

However, Kuai Liang and Tomas were not so easily able to do the same as her. They stayed up, their anxieties chewing away at them.

“If Bi-Han finds her here, he will assume we took her.” Kuai Liang said while he brushed his hair. “He is not one for reasoning while he is angry.”

“Believe me,” Tomas replied. “I know he will be wrathful. There will be no way of explaining anything to him. He will ignore it.”

Kuai sighed. “As much as I am happy she is here, it also created a disaster in the long run. I just hope that Bi-Han will not be able to find her, at least for some time.”

“But if he already had a map developed of where we are at, then he will not take long.” said Tomas. “Once he is on a mission, he will never get side tracked.”

“You are right, brother.”

The glaring sun bore through the window near her bed, making her shift her body and scrunch her face up. She was not used to this as the Arctika did not have much sunlight coming through in the mornings. But where the Shirai Ryu were, there were lots of lighting. Eventually, it woke her up.

Blinking slowly, she remembered her journey that she had taken to get here. Her breathing increased when she remembered Bi-Han, and how he was going to eventually find her. It scared her. She did not know what he would do once he found her with his brothers. Maybe he would kill her? Keep her prisoner? Leave her to stay with the Shirai Ryu? The possibilities were endless, and Bi-Han was not exactly predictable like he used to be.

She crawled out of bed and made her way outside to enjoy the sunshine. The Arctika did not have sunshine with this amount of intensity, so she decided to embrace it as much as she could before she would have to leave. She sat down in a spot with direct sunlight, sighing with such peace as she closed her eyes. The sun felt good on her skin as the morning dew created a refreshing feeling.

Hearing the crunching of footsteps, she opened her eyes and saw the brothers approaching her. She smiled at them. “Good morning, brothers.”

They nodded their heads. “Good morning, sister.” They both said as they sat down next to her.

“It is a beautiful morning.” She said with a small smile on her lips. “Much better than the ones at home.”

Kuai Liang chuckled. “Definitely. The sun feels great out here.”

“I can see why Syzoth enjoys it, although he is a reptile, so it makes sense.” Tomas said. “It makes you feel good.”

They sat in a comfortable silence. However, they all had the same thoughts in the back of their mind. It always lead back up to Bi-Han no matter what. The worries of him arriving soon had nagged at Tomas and Kuai Liang. They could not abandon Bi-Han’s wife, as she was like a sister to them, and they knew they had to take care of her. But they knew they had to prepare for war. Bi-Han could arrive at any time, and they knew that.

“We came to greet you, but we must be on our way. Sorry, little sister.” Kuai Liang said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “We have to prepare for war as a precaution. I hope you understand.”

Smiling sadly, she nodded solemnly. “I understand. I am very sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry, we are glad we found you. We hate to let you go so soon.” Tomas frowned. “We wish you could stay here forever, but your life is with Bi-Han. He…”

“He would not know what to do without you. It is better if you are with him, even if he is corrupt.” Kuai Liang finished Tomas’ thought. “But we will not throw you out, of course.”

Nodding once again, she said her goodbyes to the brothers so they could tend to their duties and prepare for Bi-Han’s arrival. She felt her eyes water, but she blinked her tears away. She could not allow herself to cry, not yet. She had nothing to cry over, until it was time.

Eyes ablaze with rage and distress, Bi-Han lead his army to where he speculated the Shirai Ryu were at. He did take notice of the map missing from his study, he had almost believed that his wife may have taken it, but he did not think so. Why would she scheme against him? His trustworthiness for her was beginning to diminish, but he could not let it go too far. He could be wrong.

After planning with Sektor and Cyrax, they gathered what they had of the cyber Lin Kuei and combined it with their human counterparts. They could overpower the Shirai Ryu. At least, that is what Sektor had promised him. All three of them were riding their horses in front of their army, the only sounds echoing around them being synchronized footsteps and the click-clack of the horses’ hooves.

It was now sometime in the late afternoon to evening, and they had hardly taken any breaks. Cyrax was looking down at the map they had, thankful that Bi-Han had more than one map of the possible location of the Shirai Ryu. As he did this, Sektor was beginning to converse with Bi-Han.

“Grandmaster, I do not want to worry you, but-” he started.

“What is it, Sektor?” Bi-Han snapped as he was led out of his own thoughts.

Sektor raised his head a little higher and bit back his retaliation. “When I went to get our horses from their stables, your wife’s horse was gone.”

Bi-Han glowered. “There is no way of her horse walking out on its own, were any of the stable doors open.”

Sektor shook his head. “Not at all, Grandmaster. In fact, some of the gear was missing as well. I do not want to assume she may have left on her own, but it would explain why her horse was missing.” He carefully chose his words.

Bi-Han tightened his grip on his horse’s reins. “Why would she leave me like that? She has nowhere else to go. Besides the Shirai Ryu.”

“Either way, it is still a positive sign to continue our journey.” Sektor replied.

Sektor’s information did not ease Bi-Han’s heart. He felt like it was going to shatter. Why would she betray him like this? It was bad enough that his own brothers did the same, but she? His own wife, the love of his life? His heart was beginning to harden after everything he had known. Why show her mercy if she was disloyal to him and the Lin Kuei?

“Halt!” Cyrax called out loud. “There is something on the ground.”

Bi-Han rolled his eyes. “Why are we stopping over something that pathetic?”

Cyrax hopped down from his horse as he approached the spot on the ground, studying it carefully. “Grandmaster, it is blood.”

Narrowing his eyes, he let himself down from his horse as he approached him. “Blood you say? Is there a chance it could be hers?”

Sektor had decided to leave his horse as well and study different parts of the area to find more clues.

“I am not too sure, Grandmaster. It could be an animal’s but there is also a chance it could be hers. But this is not near the assumed location on the map.”

Sektor was studying some sharp branches closely. There was something off about them. Almost as if-

“Grandmaster. Cyrax. I have found another clue!” He said as he pointed at the clothing. Bi-Han quickly approached him. “Look at the branches. There is clothing caught on them.”

“That is the colors of the Lin Kuei.” Cyrax said in slight awe. “You have great eyesight, Sektor.” Bi-Han reached forward and grabbed the cloth. He rubbed it between his fingers. It felt just like the clothing she wore. His eyes darkened as he glanced back at the blood and the clothing that was now pointing them into the right direction.

“They hurt her. They are where the cloth will take us, in that direction.” Bi-Han said as he pointed. “We must act fast before they cause more harm again.”

Kuai Liang was meditating, taking a small break from the large amounts of preparing he and Tomas were doing. They had to get their soldiers ready for any threat, as well as their land guarded at every point possible. They had to stay on high alert of the Lin Kuei showing up. Kuai Liang knew it was coming no matter what.

His eyes widened as the hair on his arms stood on end. He had a sense of impending doom, a feeling all too familiar to him. From experience, his senses were hardly ever wrong. Getting up rather fast, he had to warn Tomas. Bi-Han was here and he was ready for warfare.

Bi-Han’s lovely wife was resting due to her head wound causing her to feel dizzy. Tomas and Kuai Liang did not pressure her to leave her bed. They were already busy as it was due to her staying with them. It was only a matter of time before Bi-Han arrived like a bat out of hell. Eyes closed, she drifted off to an in between state of sleep and alertness. That was, until a solider of theirs stormed into her room. “Grandmaster Bi-Han’s wife,” he said. “We need to put you into hiding, they are here.”

Her heart sank. She nodded, getting up from the bed and following the soldier to a spot underneath the floor where should could possibly be safe at. That was if Bi-Han did not find her. He was a very thorough man, there was a good chance he would.

Encased in mostly darkness, she sat on the dirt floor and pulled her knees to her chest. She could hear the footsteps of the Shirai Ryu overhead, and the approaching sounds of their rivals. It was only a matter of time before they were murdering each other. All because she left. She realized how much trouble she had caused for Kuai Liang and Tomas just by arriving at their home. She shouldn’t be hiding underneath the floor, she should be trying to reason with Bi-Han.

“Where is she, Kuai Liang?” Bi-Han spat while placing a hand on the handle of his sword. “Give me back my wife that you took from me!”

“Brother, I did not do such a thing.” Kuai Liang said, eyebrows scrunched. “She came here looking for us. We did not tread on your land.”

Bi-Han did not want to believe them. Why would his own wife betray him like that? “You defile her name, you speak lies, snake. Why have you hurt her? There is blood on the ground.”

Tomas internally cursed and looked sullen. “Bi-Han, it was an accident. They did not know who wandered into our territory.”

Gritting his teeth, Bi-Han’s eyes glimmered with anger as he began to pull his sword out of its sheath. “Incompetent. I do not expect anything less from either of you. Give her back to me, now. Before I rip apart your home.”

Tomas and Kuai exchanged a look before averting their eyes back to Bi-Han. “Only if you stop your mission to kill us. And you will leave her alone.”

Bi-Han signaled his soldiers to attack, not wanting to hear more out of his enemies. Kuai and Tomas knew it was going to come to this, so they wasted no time in lunging at Bi-Han to calm him down. Despite all he had done, they did not want to hurt their brother. But he was starting a war that neither side could not afford.

Curling into a ball, she felt terrified and lonely. She wondered when it would all be over, but then, their faces appeared in her head. Bi-Han had the chance to kill his brothers if he wanted to, all because she made the choice to leave. To find them. It was unfair, and she knew that. As she gained courage, she rummaged around the small space, trying to find anything she could to break out of the confinements. She had to reason with Bi-Han. It was the only way to get him to stop this.

She wrapped her hands around the handle of what she assumed was a broom and began to slam it into the trapdoor. Over and over. Continuously, until the floor began to somewhat break. She used her hands to strike at it as it was weak, and it eventually gave away. Pulling herself up, she squinted her eyes as she adjusted to the lighting. She could hear the yells of the soldiers much more clearer. With adrenaline rushing, she sprinted out one of the doors and whipped her head around. In her attempts to find Kuai Liang and Bi-Han. Back farther into the forest, she saw glimpses of smoke, fire, and ice. They must have taken their fight away from the Shirai Ryu Temple.

Avoiding as much as the bloodshed as possible, as well as the soldiers fighting to the death, she ran in the general direction she had seen the men’s powers. The soldiers were too occupied with one another to see her. Otherwise, the Lin Kuei would have immediately attacked her. The sight of the cybers increased her fear. That is what Bi-Han and Sektor were developing. It was horrifying.

As she got closer to where the brothers and her husband were at, the smell of blood stung her nostrils. Her worries almost came out of her mouth as bile, but she could not let herself be so weak in this moment. She needed to help them.

“Surrender, and I will call off the Lin Kuei.” Bi-Han rasped as he stared down Kuai Liang.

“Now you lie, brother.” Kuai replied as they paced around. “You will never call them off.”

Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “Obey your Grandmaster and heed my orders!”

“You are not my Grandmaster no longer, brother.” said Kuai as his emotions were written on his face. Sadness, betrayal, and grief. “You are not who you once were.”

“And you are not my brother, a mere stranger to me.” Bi-Han lunged forward at Kuai as their swords clashed together. Bi-Han stepped back once again.

“Bi-Han,” said that sweet voice, one that brought him comfort, love, and warmth. “Bi-Han, you need to stop this!”

“Little sister!” Tomas said as he went to her side. “You are not supposed to be here!”

“Get away from her you fool!” Bi-Han yelled at Tomas as he began to walk forward. Kuai pointed his sword out at Bi-Han to stop.

“You will not touch her,” Kuai growled. “You leave her out of this, Bi-Han.”

“I want my wife back, the one that was wrongfully taken from me!”

“Bi-Han, I made the decision to leave.” She blurted. “I left to find them. They did not take me away from you.”

Another blow to his heart. His beloved, his most cherished human being in his life, left him. To find the Shirai Ryu. Sektor was correct in his theory. “You betrayed me!”

“You betrayed them first, Bi-Han.” She argued back. “You made that mistake.”

“You have forsaken all the Lin Kuei principles!” His voice increased in loudness and raspiness. “What have you done to me? You were supposed to rule beside me!”

“I missed them, Bi-Han! You cannot blame me for my sadness, you brought it upon me and I had no other option but to accept it. You are not the same man you once were, and it shows. I wanted to see them again, Bi-Han.”

Jaw clenched, his eyes moved from his wife, to Kuai, to Tomas, and back to her again. “All three of you have abandoned the Lin Kuei. For your own selfish purposes. You all could have ruled beside me and witnessed us flourishing. Instead, you have betrayed me.” His eyes began to shift in color, his arms beginning to turn icy and the nature around them as well. His feet created ice underneath them.

Kuai Liang took a step back as Bi-Han’s rage was focused on him, his now blue eyes staring into his soul. Raising his hands, Bi-Han shot ice out of his hands, enough to give Kuai injuries and more. But, it did not hit Kuai Liang.

Body thudding the ground, her face paled quickly as the ice began to seep into her body and penetrate her blood. Bi-Han’s eyes slowly moved down to her small form laying on the ground. It did not register in him that he hurt his own wife. The woman he promised to never hurt and always protect. Yet here she was, lying on the ground as her limbs encapsulated themselves in ice.

“Bi-Han…”

“What have you done?” Tomas said as he kneeled down next to her. “Kuai, we need your fire now.”

“Unhand her now!” Bi-Han said as he ripped her body away from Tomas. “You… will not touch her again.”

“Bi-Han, she needs immediate attention! She is going to die.” Kuai said as he stepped towards Bi-Han.

His eyes began to glow which did not settle right with Tomas and Kuai. They had never seen him do this before. “I do not need your help. Leave it to me, now.”

“Brother-”

“Silence!” He screamed, breathing unevenly and placing his hands gently on her pale face.

"Bi-Han, she will die if she does not-"

Their vision was immediately obscured by white, ears ringing as the whistling of the winds began to pick up. They were surrounded by snow and snowflakes. They squinted their eyes at attempts to find Bi-Han and his wife, but they could not see very much.

"Kuai Liang!" Tomas yelled over the whistling wind. "I think he created a blizzard!"

"I did not know he was capable of doing so!" he replied as he grabbed onto Tomas. "He will be easily angered in this form, I do not see him reasoning with us."

"We need to help her! If she does not get the help she needs, she will die!" Tomas yelled again. The look of defeat crossed their faces. They were not going to have much power to reason with Bi-Han to accept their help.

Bi-Han felt his word shatter as he stared at her limp form. Her heart beat was still there but it was rather faint. Her lips were beginning to turn blue from being surrounded by cold and ice. Bi-Han's eyes were still glowing as the winds increased more, as well as the snow fall. Picking them both off the ground, Bi-Han began to walk in the general direction he assumed where the Shirai Ryu were at. He had to leave now. They had to make it back to the Arctika before she gave up on them. He could not rely on the Shirai Ryu to help, as they would only use it as leverage. And Bi-Han knew that he could not bite his pride back and let them help her.

The blizzard Bi-Han created followed the Lin Kuei all the way back home to the Arctika. They had difficulty navigating back because of how heavy the snowfall and winds were. It only seemed to get worse as they approached their home. Bi-Han attempted to keep his wife warm with many blankets as possible as Sektor kept track of her heart rate, but her condition did not improve much. Bi-Han felt hopeless, his moods taking a turn for the worst. He was distraught as he felt many emotions he did not think he could feel. He was hurt. His heart hurt so much. How could she do this to him? How much did she tell Kuai and Tomas? He was not sure, and he almost did not want to ask. He felt like he could not trust the only person who he loved so much, for she had taken his trust and ran with it.

But Bi-Han loved her. He loved her so much and he knew he could not stop loving her no matter what. Could he stop trusting her? Yes, yes he could, but stop loving her? That was impossible as much as he wished he did not turn soft. For many hours of their trip, Bi-Han continued to monitor her closely as they were far from their home. Any moment Sektor's facial expression somewhat changed when he listened to her heart rate was another stab into his heart.

After many grueling hours, the Lin Kuei and their Grandmaster made it home. The blizzard was at its peak, but the soldiers hurried inside the confinements of their home. Sektor and Cyrax instantly began to prepare the infirmary for the Grandmaster's wife. Bi-Han was relieved to be home, but his anxiety was not at ease. It made him nauseated. He felt out of control, it was not normal for Bi-Han.

He waited impatiently, pacing and rubbing his face constantly as Cyrax and Sektor began to work on her hypothermia. No matter how much warmth they used, she did not improve. They knew it would take time, but telling the Grandmaster that was as if they were telling him she was going to die. Cyrax and Sektor exchanged small, concerned glances as they continued their work. Bi-Han was not acting normal, in fact, it seemed as if his defenses were down.

"Grandmaster, we can give you a moment alone if you want." Cyrax said to him, noticing how pained he looked. Bi-Han did not reply as he got up which signaled to them to leave. Closing the door on the way out, Bi-Han sat next to his wife, gently cradling her freezing hand between his own. If anyone had seen Bi-Han, it would look as if he was in mourning. His dark circles were extremely dark, his eyes bloodshot and containing no glimmer of hope. His lips were pulled into a tight line, whether it was to prevent himself from showing any other emotions or another reason, it was unknown.

"Firefly," he said softly. "Never underestimate how much I love you. You have to be strong, you are Lin Kuei. Lin Kuei fight their battles well, no matter if it is in physical battle or in health. Do not give up." He did not know if she could hear him, but a small part of him wished she did. His eyes scanned her face while his grip began to slowly increase. She was alive, a fact that put his certain worries at ease, but she was lying on her death bed. That he put her on. It was his fault, he had lost control and was not disciplined enough to master his own powers apparently. That was evident to Bi-Han.

Lowering his head, he continued to hold her hand as he closed his eyes. All the fighting and long nights were beginning to hit him all at once. He could not help but feel himself drift off to sleep. It was not peaceful, that was something he could not argue against.

Drowsily opening her eyes, her teeth chattered immensely at the freezing cold that pricked at her body. She was covered in multiple blankets and had some sort of heaters around her, but it was not able to fight against the cold that made her body convulse. She looked over and her mouth opened agape. Bi-Han was sitting next to her with his eyes closed, holding her hand in his large one. She felt her fear consume her, as she began to move away from Bi-Han’s figure. She could hardly move her limbs, it was as if they were frozen.

Bi-Han heard her struggles and awoke fast. He got up on his feet, now awake and registering his own wife moving away from him. He placed a hand onto her. “Firefly-”

“Get away from me!” She croaked. Bi-Han retreated his hand, as if he had touched a red, hot knife. “Stay away from me, Bi-Han.”

“You should know I never meant to hurt you.” He replied solemnly. “It was meant for Kuai Liang.”

She felt herself tear up. “Hurting me or your brothers will not help your cause. Get away from me, Bi-Han.” She tried to say this sternly but she could not help the few cracks in her voice. “You frighten me.”

It anguished him to hear her sharp words. The pit of his stomach fizzled with nausea and bile, his chest felt that broken, horrifyingly warm feeling as his vision blurred and his ears began to ring. His breathing increased. “My beloved, you do not understand.”

“Understand what? That you are a monster?”

He gritted his teeth. “It was you that left me. Had you not left me, this would have never happened.”

“Well, it happened, didn’t it? All for what? So you could get the upper hand against the Shirai Ryu?” She spat back, bringing her knees to her chest as she cuddled against the blankets. “You were going to hurt your brothers.”

“They are not my brothers no more. You of all people should know that.” His irritation was beginning to increase. “You have betrayed me. I cannot trust you.”

“I can’t trust you either. Now I am going to be fearful if you will hurt me again or cover me in ice.” She replied with venom dripping off her words. “You are a cruel man, Bi-Han. Leave me alone. I cannot bear to be around you.”

With her last words, Bi-Han stormed out of the room. He did not spare her a passing glance. She let herself cry, sobs wracking her body as she pulled the blankets closer to her and tried to warm herself up. But she could not. She craved Bi-Han’s warmth and touch, but she could not be held by him. He was corrupted.

Sektor and Cyrax recommended lots of bed rest, warm foods, and extra warmth to help her condition. She was eventually moved from the infirmary to the comfort of her and Bi-Han’s bedroom. Servants gave her what she needed, and they gave her warm baths in order to ease the aching cold. But it was hardly improving much. It was as if Bi-Han had given her a deadly frost bite.

Ever since their last argument, Bi-Han had avoided her like she was an illness. She had not seen him since. But little did she know, Bi-Han did see her. He was check in on her when she was asleep to see if she was still breathing. She was just as beautiful as the day he married her. He wanted to crawl into bed with her and hold her close to him. Give her warmth. But he had to listen to her orders to stay away. It was for her own good. He could not bear to hurt her again like he did. She was even lucky to still be alive.

He occupied himself with work and overworked himself in large amounts. He had to oversee the production of the Cyber Initiative as he had taken some to battle the Shirai Ryu. They found out their weaknesses and made the cybers stronger. Soon, they would be unstoppable.

Yet his achievements did not make him feel any better. He missed his wife dearly. He wanted to hear from her how proud she was of him, and how the Lin Kuei would never have to be servants again. Instead, he felt like a monster living within human flesh. The blizzards hardly faltered since that day she had gotten hurt. The weather conditions were horrible on the Arctika due to this. Bi-Han did not know he was capable of such a powerful weapon, but he had concluded that he could only do so when he was agonized.

In dire need of seeing his wife once again, Bi-Han had risen from his chair and decided to take a stroll and find her in their room. That was where she mainly stayed at due to medical orders. Cyrax made sure she did not disobey these orders, as she had already broken Bi-Han’s trust.

His feet carried him to their room while he was deep in thought. It felt as if he had teleported his way to their sanctuary. His hand turning the door knob quietly, he peered inside and was taken aback. She was not asleep like usual, she was awake. Her head swiveled to him, their eyes locking together as they stared at one another. Bi-Han entered the room and she began to flinch away from him. She moved her body further away, and it tugged at Bi-Han’s heartstrings. She was afraid.

“What do you want?” She asked him, still looking at him.

“I came to see you.” He breathed quietly. “I always do when you are asleep.”

She felt her heart beat faster at his words. Despite how much they were hurting, he still came to see her. It warmed her heart, but she could not bring herself to forgive him just yet.

“I know I hurt you.” He said with his arms crossed. “I am truly sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“It is hard to believe you. With your behavior changes and what you have done.” She frowned at him and felt herself begin to tear up.

Bi-Han started to approach her but she scooted back quickly. “Please stay away, Bi-Han.”

He stopped where he stood and put his arms behind his back. “I am sorry, my beloved. I never wanted this to happen.”

As much as she craved his touch, she could not trust him. Just as he could not trust her. “We both need time, Bi-Han. It is too soon.”

He nodded his head. “Understood. We both do.”

Many months had passed since her accident. Bi-Han tried to keep his distance away from her, but here and there she warmed up to his advances. They had not made love for almost a year, although Bi-Han was not a fiend for such an act, he still wished they could divulge in it with her. He missed being so close to her and her body. But he knew she needed time to trust him, just as he needed time to trust her once again.

“Bi-Han,” she spoke softly.

He raised his head up. “Yes, my firefly?”

She stepped closer to him. “Please hold me, Bi-Han.”

This was a huge step for them, but Bi-Han did not want this opportunity to slip from his hands. He gently wrapped his arms around her waist as he brought her closer to him. He felt her arms wrap around his body. He breathed in her scent deeply. She smelled wonderful. It was comforting to Bi-Han.

He wondered if their relationship would recover fully from what had happened. It felt that these wounds were partially healed, but Bi-Han did not want them to re-open. His brown eyes started to tear up as he held her close to him, but he blinked them away. He wanted to stay like this forever.

“I love you, Bi-Han.” She said as she closed her eyes.

“I love you much more, my sweet firefly.”

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk sub zero #mk smoke #mk scorpion #mk bi han #mk kuai liang #mk tomas vrbada #bi han #kuai liang #tomas vrbada #sub zero #sub zero x reader #bi han x reader #bi han sub zero

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n3rdy247 · 6 months

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HELLOO!!

can i just get a john dory x female reader! headcanons!

john dory met while crashing the wedding and immediately started to flirt with dispite just meeting her. 🫣

THANK YOU!!

HIYAAA!! CAN YOU??? 🤔🤔🤔

girl be so fr OF COURSE YOU CAN!!!

ALL ABOAAAARD THE JOHN DORY X FEM!READER HCS!!!!! WOOOOOOOOO

Okay, so, you know the whole 'watching a cute, romantic ass wedding' plans everyone had for today? Just...watching two bergens have a nice, uninterrupted marriage?

"STOP THE WEDDING!!!"

well fuck those plans. ★ Starting off the bat, when he was literally parkouring his way down that building which just happened to be the MOMENT he noticed you from the crowd, he couldn't help but throw a wink your way right after (even though he had his goggles on, that stupid mf) which led to him face-planting to the floor because his ass was NOT paying attention to stick the landing. YIKES. ★ He also DOES notice when you are at the edge of your seat to hear what the hell is going on. Apparently, he was Branch's brother (figures since both are fine ash, MUST be in the genetics), he was in a band, and his other hot brother was in danger?

remember the wedding? yeah me neither atp

★ He can't help but steal occasional glances at you when the others talk, and when he does, his smile almost seems to widen, even if it's just for a split second. He just saw you, yet look at you go! Making him all giddy and shit inside 🤭 ★ And whenever Poppy and Branch turn their backs to discuss the whole situation, you just KNOW he would be smirking at you with a smug-ass grin, trying to strike up a conversation. Keyword? TRYING.

"Soo...come here often?" lord almighty sir THIS IS A WEDDING.

"Damn, I could really go out for some fresh air right now, because I think you took my breath away." SIR WE ARE OUTSIDE WHAT

Needless to say, this man does NOT know how to strike up a convo.

★ If you do end up getting flustered about his horrendous pick-up lines somehow, he will be so fucking proud of himself for getting a reaction out of you, and WILL keep going at it. What a charmer. (Unless you are uncomfortable with that of course, he might not know how to talk to people, but he has human (troll???) decency.) ★ I'm talking him leaning slightly closer to you with half-lidded eyes, a huge smirk plastered on his face as his voice gets lower and lower, though internally I feel like he'd be going 'LET'S FUCKING GOOOO I STILL GOT IT' since he would be a bit unsure if he was doing well in the first place. It's probably been years since he had any sort of interaction with anyone other than Rhonda so it's understandable. ★ Not to mention BROZONE. MY GOD. If you know about his band? NICE! If you don't know anything about it? NICE! Either way, this man will absolutely brag about it to you. Even if it has been AT LEAST 20 YEARS. He will absolutely talk about 'the good old days' as if it was just yesterday. Bro would probably talk about how he wrote the hits "Girl Baby Baby" and "Baby Baby Girl" on the same day. ★And who knows? Maybe at the end of the wedding when sadly he has to go to save his brother with Branch and Poppy, you'll end up getting a way to contact him after the whole thing ends. You will see him sooner than you think, that's for sure though!

(please keep in mind this is the first time I've written any serious headcanons like these and not just stuff like 'he would be a great hugger' or 'he was a 7.5-inch haver 🤯🤯🤯')

GRAAAGH I'M STILL SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE THIS THOUGH, I STILL HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT EVEN IF IT IS SHORT AS HELL

#the winking HC was actually my bestie's idea so PROPS TO HER #I LOVE YOU MAXY TAXI /P #trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #trolls x reader #trolls john dory #john dory trolls #john dory x reader #john dory headcanons #jomn drory /pos #explodes like an atom bomb #I'M GENUINELY SO SORRY IT TOOK THIS LONG #this was probably not worth the wait for the requester i'm so sorry

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cod-fishing · 6 months

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Thinking about Price being possessive over his boys. Not romantically or sexually (he likes to tell himself), but any time Soap starts chatting about some bear he met in a bar during leave, or Gaz mentions a girl who gave him her number, he can feel himself bristle. He tries to bury it, but it only gets worse after Las Almas, their bonds forged in far too much blood, and he struggles to bite down discouragement for any connection outside their little family.

When soap and ghost finally get together, he can’t figure out which of them he wants to throttle, but the sensation is intense nonetheless. Enough that he can’t stop himself from ordering them to his office and dressing them down so meticulously his old drill Sargent would be proud. They both look defiant. At perfect attention, military perfect in their stance, but fire in both of their eyes. It’s only when Soap, jaw clenched, demands if Price is going to transfer them that the Captain falters.

He sits heavy into his chair, and orders his boys at ease.

“I could never let go of either of you,” he finds himself gritting out through cigar smoke and choking emotions, far too unfiltered, “I just don’t want you boys to get hurt.”

He sees them soften, understanding. Not expecting a real answer, Price asks them their intentions with one another. He doesn’t want either of them to hurt the other, and while he knows they both have hearts of gold, they’ve got a lot of thorns as well. But they talk, and Soap is his usual genuine self and Ghost- Simon, really - is more honest and open than Price has seen him be ever, so…

He says okay. But keep me updated, he says. The good and the bad. They nod, and he assumes he’ll have to pry information out of them, and they move on.

Miraculously, they do keep him updated. Soap comes knocking one day, and Price asks about those reports he sent him off with and Soap says, aye, captain, got those for you, but ah…can I tell you something sweet Ghost did for me today? He’s bursting with joy when Price looks at him properly, and how can he say no to that?

Ghost, too, comes in one day, and asks to speak with the captain. Need some advice, sir. Johnny wants to take me home to his family for the holidays and I’m feeling real conflicted, he says. And they talk it out, fingers playing with the rims of their whiskey glasses. Price gets this feeling in his chest, likes he wants to reach out and trace his fingers somewhere else, but he ignores it.

It keeps happening that way, Price getting deeper and deeper in their relationship. He knows everything about the two together - almost everything. Ghost is on a solo mission one day and soap is moping, and so price pulls him into his office with the intention of getting him plastered and making him go to bed.

Instead, Johnny gets talkative. He should have known.

“God, Price, you wouldn’t believe the things he can do with his mouth. His fingers, too, lord knows where he learned it, but it’s like he took a fucking class on making me cum just from the teasing alone.”

“You’ve heard his voice captain, I mean no wonder I was creaming my pants to be with him so bad, and boy was I right. Downright evil how good it sounds during and early morning shag.”

And, even worse than all that, somehow…

“Well you know me, I like to be the best. So I told him we should start training my throat, so I can actually take his monster cock, the bastard. Did pass out the first time but we’ve been taking it slowly but surely ever since.”

And Price just…he should shut him up, but instead, he just takes it. Just lets the lad ramble about his love, like some lass back at home pinning for her deployed soldier. He hates it, he hates it, he tells himself. But he takes it for Johnny, and for Simon, and for the trust they have put in him.

And when he fists his cock in his quarters later that night, aching from being hard for so long, he can’t help but picture all those filthy things Soap told him.

Maybe, all this time, he was just jealous.

#cod mwii #soapghost #ghostsoap #cod mw2 #ghoap #tf141 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #codmw2 #mywriting #cod mw3 #cod mwiii #captain john price #priceghost #pricesoap #pricesoapghost

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prince-kallisto · 8 months

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Vil, Meleanor, and the Virgin Mary: Crowley’s Obsession

I haven’t seen anyone talk about this, but it’s driving me insane: Vil and Meleanor’s design parallel each other SO MUCH that it’s not even funny. In fact, I think Vil is foreshadowing EVERYTHING about Meleanor’s fate and Crowley’s plans.

I know I’m just coping lol, but I think I finally figured out why Crowley is so obsessed with the Fairest Queen and Pomefiore if he was Levan. Here me out: Vil is the representation of Meleanor.

Vil’s Overblot form is what immediately caught my attention. The way his cape connects to his hands, the night sky on his cape, the corset and the gems. The way the edges of his dress looks like old, torn paper, like history long since forgotten. Not to mention how he has claws like Crowley and is wearing Crowley’s same exact shade of blue. Just…this entire silhouette with the sleeves and crown matches Meleanor more than Malleus’s Overblot does. Strange how both Vil and Meleanor are associated with stars, when Crowley has a lot of star designs on the curtains in his office.

In his dorm uniform, look how the gloves and the lace has a similar design as Meleanor’s. Not to mention how in this vignette, Vil is like a “Queen reborn” with “two knights” at his side. Hm?? Like Meleanor with Lilia and Baul, perhaps?

Something I’ve always found strange is how much Crowley dotes on Vil. In both his history and flight lessons, Vil comments a lot on Crowley when a Special Lesson is triggered. Doesn’t it feel…almost uncomfortable??? Vil feeling “eyes” on him specifically when Crowley is there. And there isn’t clarification if Vil is speaking to Yuu or Crowley, but when he says “I’m just fine,” it makes me wonder if Crowley was asking Vil how he was doing.

This isn’t just limited to the lessons. Although Crowley played a less significant role in Book 5 than I thought he would, doesn’t he sound very affectionate when he says this?? “What I’ve always taken you for”…he holds great pride in Vil and how represents the history and beauty of Pomefiore. Crowley has NEVER shown this much of a bias towards any student before. Only Vil.

I can hear some of you asking: Why in the world would Crowley/Levan care so much about Vil if MALLEUS and DIASOMNIA exists? Here’s the thing: Vil simply represents more of who Meleanor was as an evil, proud princess.

He is proud, he is beautiful, he truly understands the power of his beauty, how to make people submit to him with harsh truths. He has a certain charm and pride in his accomplishments that Malleus doesn’t.

But what REALLY got me was the religious symbolism in Vil’s Overblot form. @pianostarinwonderland made a really amazing post on the resemblances Vil has to the Virgin Mary and the Lady of Sorrows.

The Lady of Sorrows is another “form” of the Virgin Mary- which ironically enough, is depicted with SEVEN swords piercing her HEART. Sometimes she is depicted with only one sword- more on that later. The Virgin Mary is considered to be the holiest of saints- a figure of worship. She is also considered to be the “god-bearer.” Her death is referred to as the Dormition of the Mother of God, Aka the “falling asleep of the god-bearer.”

And back to the swords in her heart, the seven swords represent the Seven Sorrows, but the singular sword represents the Prophecy of Simeon.

The prophecy of Simeon said something like Mary’s child would be the RISE and FALL of many in Israel, and that a sword would pierce through Mary’s heart too, as an allusion to the crucifixion. Because Mary would suffer alongside her son, the one curse of motherhood. Stars are also significant in Christian mythology, like the star of Bethlehem to guide the wise men to the birthplace of Mary’s child. Another significant “star” is the Morning Star, Aka Lucifer. The Morning Star title is based off Venus, whose Greek name means “the light bringer” or “the DAWN bringer.”

If all of these things I’m saying reminds you about the imagery in TWST, I feel like this is purposeful! Lets back up and go over each of these points and how it relates to TWST (I am not religious, so if any of this is inaccurate, please let me know!)

Crowley in the opening seems to worship his “benefactor,” and I’ve been theorizing that it’s Meleanor whose trapped in the Dark Mirror. She is quite literally a figure of worship to him- the holiest of saints. And with Meleanor being the mother of Malleus, who is one of the most powerful mages in the world, doesn’t it sound similar to be a “god-bearer?”

The swords through her heart not only sounds like a connection to Meleanor’s death, but to Maleficent’s too. The sword of truth piercing her heart- but not only that, Vil’s Overblot crown LITERALLY has the design of a singular sword piercing through a heart. Yes, its a representation of the Evil Queen demanding Snow Whites heart, but why is Vil’s design combined with the Virgin Mary of all figures??

I bolded “prophecy” because I think Levan is heavily connected to prophetic powers, but doesn’t this prophecy sound A LOT like Meleanor’s blessing on Malleus? Malleus would be the benevolent star to the Fae, and an evil star to humankind. Like the Star of Bethlehem for the Fae, and the Morning Star for humans…and the Morning Star is heavily connected to the DAWN. Dawn Knight? Silver???

It doesn’t help that Dragon Fae seem to be ostracized by humans for their horns. Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty though, refers to her powers as “powers of Hell,” heavily leaning toward his demon like design.

Meleanor suffered to protect Malleus. She gave him up and fought an entire army to better his chances of survival because she loved him so much. And if Meleanor is trapped in the mirror and will be brought back to “life,” all of this suffering stemmed from the fact she sacrificed herself for Malleus.

SNDJDHSJSJDJD STOP IT TWST WHY DOES THIS ALL FIT TOGETHER SO WELL????? YANAAAAA HELP

But do you see what I mean on how I think Vil is slyly foreshadowing EVERYTHING? Not only that, but look at his Overblot design again. At his waist, there are sharp crystal-looking objects surrounding him. I think these represent broken mirror shards. This, combined with all the coffin imagery at NRC, Epel’s Unique Magic, and Malleus’s making everyone fall asleep like Aurora or Snow White…

Perhaps Meleanor really is trapped in the mirror, put in a death-like sleep…but one day she will be freed, like Aurora or Snow White with the power of true loves kiss. Until then, Vil is the closest representation of her to Crowley. Someone who understands the power of beauty to make others submit, someone to worship.

#twst vil schoenheit #twst vil #vil schoenheit #twst overblot #twst meleanor draconia #twst meleanor #Meleanor draconia #twst Crowley #dire Crowley #twst levan #Twst levan draconia #twst dire Crowley #twst theory #twisted wonderland #KallistoPost #crowley is levan theory

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majorproblems77 · 21 days

Text

LU Update! So welcome back to the analysis corner with me!

We have another LU update! Called Moving forward we see the heroes leave the town and make their way to the location that Sky found. With learning a little more about the team as a whole.

With 10 pages there's a lot of information to work through so I hope you are sitting comfortably

As always Linked universe (LU) belongs to @linkeduniverse and Jojo, I own none of the pictures I'm using and please give the original post some love. It's very well done and I love this comic so much.

You can find the comic here!

And as always there are spoilers abound for the most recent update!

Now sit back, grab some water and snacks and let's do this!

So before we get started im just gonna say that the brain cell is pinging around this lot so much that I'm bound to miss some stuff. But I shall try my best to get everything I wanna say said.

It was only some of you, captain, dont forget that.

(Oblatory look at my blorbo picture, he's so sweet. Blorbo blorbo blorbo)

Okay I'll behave this time

(No i won't)

I can understand the concern from the captain, as a captain from the army during a time of war secrets are dangerous. He's probably thinking if Twilight has concealed this what else has he concealed.

And then we get snarky wars again

I missed the snarky captain, he's wonderful.

Also the line about double duty, Come on captain, you know full well that patrol is an important part of a group dynamic like this.

This also confirms that the group have had encounters with monsters outside of what we've seen. As the line from wars about missing fights implies that they've fought a bunch of stuff. But we've only really seen wolfie in a fight back in the sunset arc.

Twilight fondly mentioning Midna, I'm so proud of him.

These two are the goddamn brothers ever and I love them dearly. Also, the knowledge we are about to be given about how this works is very exciting.

The brothers ever

All of them

Twilight thinking Wild had more than two brain cells. I love him. And the hug? The hug gives me life.

Also the captain, the captain is a point to talk about here. This feels like an accusatory sentence. The "You dont say?"

Me trying to figure out how time travel works in LU.

Legend, why are you so grumpy about this? Like he looks angry to hear this.

Four thinking about the implications of this sentence. I can literally hear the brain cell bouncing as it pings from hero to hero as they try to figure out this time travel thing.

Wind is a small bean as well look at him. The youngest I love the eyes.

Ahh, so thats the explanation. A spirit wolf that helped guide him on his journey which he trusted so much that he thought that the wolf he saw here was just another spirit until twi changed in front of him.

But this line from him is so sad. "Right after my resurrection" and "we both would have known the grave." This feels like as a person wild is at peace with it but doesn't want others to have to go through what he did. He's a chill dude and i love him for that to be honest.

Meanwhile, my blorbo Sky is out here trying to get actual work done. This is 10/10 the sksw dousing experience if you've not played it. You just swing the sword around while it pings at you until you eventually find what you are looking for.

Fi is trying her best.

Lads all of you need to remember that not all of you have had things that perform transformation magic. Im surprised (But also not surprised) That Time doesn't have anything to say about this. Like my man has used a tone of different transformation masks that change him into various different things and has one that turns him into a god.

The magic users ganging up on the non-magic users, like please behave.

Ahh Time, Time is the disappointed old man that has to coral a bunch of kids. And Wild is like the most kid of them all. (Tell me why I'd love to know! :D) (Which makes sense if we take LU to be at most a few months after the end of his game. Wild would be 18 at most.)

the sort of conversation you dont want to involve yourself in Time trust me on this one.

JUST SOME GUY WILD JUST DESTROYED TWILIGHT OKAY RIP

Feels bad for twi man he earned that title and to have it reduced to just some guy.

Wild is gonna get told off by Time if he ain't careful, that's his blood descendant right there and we all know he has a soft spot for him.

This is important, because I'm pretty sure most of them did at one point.

Another thing that appears to be a constant amongst the team is the need to conceal an identity. Either from them or them to others.

I'm not versed in all of their games so I can't go into full details but these guys ain't the only ones. Pretty much all of them have. The spirit of courage does love secrets, doesn't it?

Thats my blorbo and he's so sad help he

Blorbo blorbo blorbo

Give him a hug and reboot Fi and it'll be fine.

To echo the words of Time.

Curious.

Now this depends on what exactly Sky was dousing, was he dousing the portal, the helmet outside the portal? The postman even?

My money is on the helmet outside the portal, so that Dink came back into this timeline to retrieve it before leaving. But I may be incorrect on that account because Fi is able to track people as well as objects (Sksw would often have you tracking Zelda directly)

OHHHH

I was wondering how they were going to do it. But with Twilight able to track it they'll be able to use a combination of dousing and him sniffing out Dink's scent to be able to find him no matter where he might be.

It's so distinct, twilight you know by saying that you're gonna have some of these guys asking questions. Just wait for the next campfire story time it's gonna come up.

I can see Wind and Twilight having a conversation like this.

"What does Dink smell like?" "What?" "You heard me."

Oh he's so excited look at him!

Oh four.

I wonder if we are gonna have a four and Twilight conversation about this, with four's past he's understandably worried about the use of dark magic in one of his friends.

Oh come on legend lighten up, the child has never seen something like this before.

I'm glad Hyrule is coming in for his defence and all but 5 minutes ago Hyrule you were with Legend and saying to Wild that there's a load of items that do it.

Why is wind just so wonderful?

Look at him go!

Thats gotta be Wind, He's been so excited about this I can't see it being anyone else.

Bark Bark!

Wolfie beloved.

Im here for more brotherly content from the team, they are wonderful.

Now lets go find us a Lizard, or iron knuckle or whatever he transforms into next.

And thats all from me! I loved this update and there was so much to unpack I know I've missed stuff! But I hope you enjoyed it! :)

(Also apologies for spelling mistakes I'm sick rn but wanted to get this done)

Have a great day!

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befemininenow · 12 days

Text

Very late Mother's Day post, but it's better late than never. This is more or less relating to the events that trans girls/women go through depending on the circumstance. No matter what they go through, they all have at least a supportive maternal figure they can rely to. On one of them, they are even a maternal figure themselves. I wrote a small story based on using these illustrations, each with their different scenario. All of them include a supporting mother. To those mothers who support their trans children, old or young, you are all amazing! To all of you, I hope your Mother’s Day was amazing. Hugs to all of you!

Captions are made by me. Pictures belong to Themirrorsotherside of DeviantArt. AI art created through DreamAI.

Based on the order of the pics:

Pic 1 shows a young Japanese trans girl trying out her grandmother’s old sailor fuku after she comes out to her. Being the only mother figure for the girl, grandma supports her journey and will do anything to see her now granddaughter smile.

Pic 2 shows a South Asian (probably Indian) trans girl wearing her mother’s old wedding dress and admiring their reflection. The mother may not understand at first, but she will do anything to make her child happy. Pic 3 shows the same girl (now an adult) years after her transition, ready to marry her groom. The mother is very proud of her trans daughter for becoming the woman she was meant to be.

Pic 4 is about a trans woman wanting to see her kids after her ex-wife divorced her and prohibited her from seeing her kids, despite being legally allowed to see them and paying support. On the other hand, her ex mother-in-law, who has been supportive of her transition and is against her daughter‘s bigoted views, hatches an idea. Pic 5 shows the ex mother-in-law on the right being excited of her daughter-in-law’s successful makeover. The plan is to disguise as her ex-wife’s lost “cousin” who is paying a visit to see her “aunt”. She does this as a way to challenge her daughter’s views and for her grandchildren, who have been eager to see their other parent for years, to reunite with them.

Pic 6 shows a young teen seeing a girl in their mirror after months of dealing with gender dysphoria. They’re afraid that their mother won’t accept them for being transgender. Pic 7 is the young teen, who has come out to her mother, admiring her reflection after her mother gives them a makeover. The young trans girl tears up after seeing their reflection match her inner identity, as well as receiving the maternal love and support she desired.

Pic 8 is about a trans mother and daughter being happy together. Despite them having troubled times due to a rocky transition, her daughter loves her parent and accepts her as her new mom due to her only mother figure abandoning them after she cheats on her then-husband.

Extra pic 9: Some grow up wishing to be like their role models while others may wish to be like their mother. Princess Ariel knows what it’s like to not be born human, so it’s no surprise she’s your role model. However, how would things turn out if she was your mother?

Extra pic 10: Turns out, both of you are similar. Ariel knows what it’s like to be born in the wrong body and has made it possible for you to live in the right one as well. Nothing is as beautiful as seeing you smile the brightest since forever.

#transgender #tgcaptions #feminine #trans girl #motherly love #mother’s day #trans ally #you are valid #protect trans kids #trans rights #trans captions #trans children #lgbt art #mother #daugther #lgbtlove #ai generated

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elizais · 4 months

Text

when their gf is a reader

includes: chuuya, dazai, ranpo warnings: none?? dividers by v6que

chuuya loved to spoil you to death, whether that be fancy dresses, expensive jewellery, makeup, books.. heavy on the last one! he knew your favourite genres, authors, book lengths, classics or new releases.. everything.

whilst chuuya himself found his interests piqued in poems, he knew after a long week you just wanted to go to the old bookshop tucked away in the corner of downtown yokohama. how the place stayed up and running? probably the both of you single-handedly paying it's rent from your visits.

you had been a frequent customer of said bookshop long before meeting chuuya. the dusty rooms with ladders to reach the highest shelves, tables covered with books yet to be sorted.. he felt honored to be allowed into the place you adored.

an old couple ran the place, they must have known you since you were little. they kept certain books aside for you because they knew that they would interest you.

"dating y/n comes with required reading. you're the first boyfriend to ever be introduced here though." the man joked when chuuya and he met. a swift pat on the back for your boyfriend. years had passed since then, and he even had gotten buried in a few books.

during one of your visits, chuuya saw a book in the sections you liked. "have you read this one, doll?" he asked, holding it out to you with his gloved hand, allowing you to take it from him.

he seemed incredibly pleased with his find, proud of the fact it checked all of your favourite boxes. "no, i don't think i have read this one yet.. thank you, chuuya!" you chimed, not having the heart to tell him you must have read that same book about 30 times before.

dazai is an awfully clever man, i don't see him being a reader though.

i'll do a couple of headcannons to get this across b4 the drabble

if you like reading, you can convince him to read some books

he mostly cuddles you while you read

lying on your shared sofa, with your back to osamu's chest, he was practically asleep as you lay on top of him.

you held your book by your chest, reading a tad slower incase osamu was also following along. his chin rested on your head, your hair acting as a cushion. how he wasn't bored of sitting in this silence? who knows. he knew that he cherished any time spent with you though.

he paid some attention to the array of words on the pages, knowing you would tell him about it later anyways. osamu's legs twisted around yours mindlessly, not doing anything in particular.

he stopped glancing at the book's contents and became completely immersed with making your legs move by lazily pushing them with his. you didn't even notice what he was doing, too focused on the book.

the closest comparable thing to what he was feeling was when you shake keys by a baby's line of sight, so silly yet somehow amusing.

due to your close proximity, he could tell exactly what you were feeling. this time, by the way your muscles just tensed up. you leaned forward ever so slightly - careful not to disturb him - and held the book closer.

he moved his hands to your cheeks and pinched them a little as you shut the book. "care to tell me what happened?" he asked, knowing you would explain in rigorous detail what happened in the few chapters you had read.

trying to get ranpo to understand the joys of reading was - to lightly put it - impossible. you can't blame him, given his superhuman iq, to get bored as he has figured everything out very quickly.

you were sat on the beanbag he had insisted you buy for your shared living room, ranpo getting sweets from the kitchen. you were on the last few pages of a murder mystery and didn't seem to understand why it happened.

and this was where having such a smart boyfriend was a blessing. ranpo walked back into the living room and saw you with eyebrows furrowed as you repeatedly read the last few pages.

"you don't understand why they done it?" he asked, mouth full of candies. you nodded, "i just don't know why their alibi held up for as long as it did! it doesn't make any sense! it's completely illogical!" you rambled as he walked over to you, taking the book out of your hands and reading the last few pages.

he skimmed over it, nodding as he went along.

"you're right. that alibi should have been laughed out of an investigation. doesn't take the world's best detective to figure that out!" he agreed, handing you a strawberry flavoured sweet. "for your troubles." he explained.

sorry 4 not posting recently!! i'd give a creative wattpad-esque excuse but i just dk what to write. next time i'll try to have a more fun excuse !! promise !!

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #dazai x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya bsd #ranpo edogawa #edogawa ranpo #ranpo bsd #ranpo x reader

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thaliagracesgf · 4 months

Text

i hail a cab with a goat, and make some questionable decisions at a party

author’s note: i want to make it, like, really, really, clear that this is not a fic glorifying sa or being a victim. what the reader goes through here is a horrible experience, one that’s happened to me and countless other women (and other people!!). this fic is for anyone who, in the words of rachel sennot in bottoms, has been “gray-area-d,” and felt completely lost afterwards, not knowing how to feel or what to think. this is one example of how you deserved to have been treated, and i’m sorry if this or something similar wasn’t your experience.

content warnings: sexual assault (not graphic and not by luke! r is sort of tied down and has their shorts undone), violence (luke is not happy about this situation), alcohol (r is drunk), talking about it afterwards?, talking about monsters (on a regular pjo level), swearing.

word count: 6.6k. i had a lot to say. so sorry.

this is the first fic i have written in a while, i hope you enjoy it!

⭑

seven a.m. in the camp half-blood dining pavilion saw the same faces every morning. you, silena beauregard, clarisse larue, and annabeth chase. your little group of friends spanned six years, at seventeen, fourteen, thirteen, and eleven, and your best friend, who had been off at college all year, made it eight.

you didn’t remember becoming friends with silena and clarisse, although you figured hannah, your best friend and silena’s older half-sister, must have introduced you, and clarisse came along with her.

you had met annabeth and hannah when you were just thirteen, when you had followed a friend to connecticut in the middle of pre-algebra.

“do you understand any of this?” you whispered to grover. he gave you a look as if he had never seen a fraction before last week, and you sighed. your teacher, a kind old woman named ms. lucy, gave you a look. when she gave the class a new problem to work through, she came and knelt by your desk, looking over your shoulder at what you had managed so far. which was a whole lot of nothing, unless you included a sketch of grover that would make picasso proud. you shrunk sheepishly in your chair.

you looked to your right, as if trying to see how bad it really was compared to your model, but he was gone. you turned back to ms. lucy.

“did you see grover leave?”

“hmm?”

“grover. did he go to the bathroom?”

“i assume so, dear. if you convert the decimal—" but grover’s things were gone. you felt terrible. you knew you were a terrible student, and ms. lucy was so kind to you anyways, but it wasn’t like grover to walk out of class like that. he was terrified of authority.

“i have to go,” you mumbled to ms. lucy, throwing your things in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “stomachache.”

she looked genuinely concerned. “would you like me to let the nurses know you’re coming?”

“no… no. that’s okay.” and you ran out the door.

it wasn’t too hard to find grover. he was sitting in an empty classroom just a few doors down, but what was weirder was that he was watching a video on the projector. weirder still, he was talking to it. you knew it was rude to eavesdrop. it didn’t stop you from doing it.

“chiron, i can’t just leave. she’s here, and she’s in danger. she needs a protector. anything could come for her at any moment—" was he talking about you?

a deep voice over the projector, whose face you could hardly make out through the low-quality image, answered: “i will inform her mother and she will go home. she will stay there until we can send gleeson to collect her and—"

“why can’t you send gleeson for these kids?”

“he’s too far, it would take him a day at least to reach them. i already told you, this was a request from hermes himself. he wants his son and his friends collected as soon as possible, and—"

who the hell was gleeson? and hermes… who names their kid after a greek god? at least choose one with a better name than hermes. it sounded like a disease. your mother had named your brother after some greek hero, but he didn’t go by it. and at least it was, like, a human name.

“he’s the god of travelers.” you were starting to worry that grover might be on drugs. what on earth had they put in those enchiladas at lunch? “can’t he get him, like, a car? a day could be too long for—"

“grover.” the voice boomed. that shut him up. “you will go. you will escort the son of hermes, the daughter of athena, and the daughter of zeus to camp, and then you may return to the city. this is not up for discussion.” you were really starting to think that the booming voice might have been two booming voices, but the door was closed and the audio was already crackly, so you decided it didn’t really matter.

you heard grover’s voice say, “alright,” defeated and almost mournful, and then the message cut off. your eyes widened as you realized that grover would probably step outside any second, and you would have no excuse as to what you were doing with your ear to the wall. you turned slowly, and winced as your shoe squeaked on the linoleum floor. you started speedwalking. no sense in trying to hide anymore, you were just interested in getting as far away as possible before-

“oh, gods.” grover’s voice echoed between cinder block walls and metal lockers. “how much did you hear?”

you turned, your fingers nervously twisting the straps of your backpack. “i mean. not everything. just. you know.”

“almost everything?”

“yeah.”

“this is not good. this is really not good.” grover wasn’t talking to you anymore. he was pacing the short ways of the corridor, head in his hands, muttering to himself. “my first mission and i’ve already messed it up completely.”

“how could you have messed it up completely? you haven’t even met these kids yet.”

“oh, gods,” grover groaned.

“woah, dude. are you like, hindu or something?”

“what?”

“you said gods. plural. i read this book—"

“okay,” grover interrupted. “you need to go home.”

“okay. that was rude. also, it’s like the middle of the day. my mom’s at work and my stepdad will kill me if i come home early.”

“your stepfather. perfect. just climb in the back window of your room, and when your mom gets home, tell her that chiron says you need to go to camp immediately.”

“what? what the hell are you talking about? who— is that who you were talking to on the phone?”

“what?”

“the phone call. the one you were mad at me for overhearing…”

“okay. first of all, that was not overhearing, that was eavesdropping. second of all, i’m not mad. this just complicates things slightly. third of all—"

“dude, you need to—" grover glared at me, and i shut up.

“third of all,” he repeated, “that wasn’t a phone call. it was an iris message.”

“a what?”

“nevermind. not important. ask about it at camp.”

“why do you keep talking about a camp? i haven’t been to camp since music camp in second grade, and they don’t want me back. i was really, really, bad at the recorder.”

“you played the recorder?” grover looked suddenly very interested. “nevermind. you need to go home.”

“dude. i’m telling you, i. can’t.”

“you have to—"

“take me to connecticut,” you suggested.

“what?”

“isn’t that where you’re running off to?”

“you can’t come to connecticut with me—"

“why not? you seemed pretty adamant on the phone—"

“iris message”

“that you needed to be with ‘her’. based on how insanely you have freaked out, i’m guessing that was me. so take me with you.”

“i know you have no idea what is going on right now—"

“thank you for finally acknowledging that important part of this conversation.”

“- but taking you to connecticut would be an astronomically bad idea. like i-would-get-fired kind of bad idea.”

“you’re twelve. how on earth would you get fired? child labor laws are—"

“i’m nineteen.”

you laughed at that one. “yeah, sure.”

grover rolled his eyes. “look, i really, really, wish i could explain more, but i need to go. and i really, really need you to go home.”

“ok.”

“like really, really need you to listen—" he paused. “okay? great!”

“if it means that much to you, i’ll go home.” grover sighed with relief.

he was eating his words. and a tin can he had picked up off the street. you had followed him out of the building, watched him call a cab, and then, at the last second, jumped in after him, slammed the door, and told the driver to drive before grover could figure out what was going on.

after your initial panic, when you realized you were hurtling up fifth avenue at three-hundred miles per hour with three old ladies behind the wheel, you had straightened yourself out, and made grover explain everything. he had, reluctantly, when he came to terms with the fact that you were in too deep to back out now.

he explained camp, the greek (not hindu) gods, and the ladies in the front (who had one eye between them) were very helpful about filling in the details. so, so many details. he explained that he didn’t know who your parent was, just that you were powerful, and that he was planning on asking your mom before everything went up in flames.

he explained that he was going to connecticut to escort three (now four) demigods to camp half-blood, and that they would likely be tailed by monsters the entire way back. four demigods as powerful as you, and one forbidden child — a child of zeus, poseidon, or hades, as he had mentioned — would attract a lot of attention.

and you did. it took you a month to get to camp after you found thalia, luke, and annabeth, constantly being thrown off course by monsters, over which you got to know them better than any friends you’d had in your life (with the exception of maybe grover and your little brother). your mother was worried sick, but you iris-messaged her (grover finally got through on that one) every so often, letting her know you were okay. she was surprisingly understanding about camp. she apologized that she hadn’t been the one to take you herself, and that she had been forced to hide the truth from you for so long. the calls always ended though, when she tried to tell you who your father was. the water would shut off suddenly, the rainbow disappearing along with your mother, so you learned to avoid the topic if you wanted to continue talking.

when thalia died, you were in shock. you sat at the edge of long island sound at camp for three days, staring into the ocean. you didn’t speak, even when you were claimed, as you sat, by your father, poseidon, and shuffled your things from the hermes cabin into cabin three. it was just another loss — you could no longer sleep in the bed next to luke’s. there were no familiar faces in cabin three — no faces at all. you were completely alone.

eventually, an older aphrodite girl came by the cabin. she introduced herself as hannah, and she showed you around camp, forced you to sit with her and her siblings at dinner, dealing with chiron and mr. d’s disgruntlement herself, and at the campfire. she dragged you to the center of the amphitheater, dancing slowly at first, and then faster, until you were laughing and finding luke and annabeth in the crowd and dragging them to dance as well.

you missed hannah so much. she wasn’t that far, a first year at barnard this fall, where you would hopefully be in a couple of years. you weren’t ready for college yet, you thought, so you would take a gap year (though you hadn’t been in school for years) and stay at camp, while chiron would help you convince the admissions committee (using the mist) that you had a perfect gpa, excellent extracurricular activities, and a stellar recommendation letter from a highly admired ancient greek scholar by the name of professor c. brunner.

sitting at breakfast with you was probably miserable, you could admit. you were counting down the days until hannah came back, and your friends were definitely tired of it. but for some reason, this morning silena was practically jumping up and down with something.

“will you stop?” you asked. “you’re shaking the entire table.”

“i can’t, i’m sorry.” she seemed sincere in her apology. “i just— oh, you’ll see.”

you didn’t see, in fact, as someone jumped out from behind you and wrapped their arms around your head, their sweatshirt covering your eyes. “who—" you started, before you got a whiff of lavender-vanilla perfume and jumped up from the table.

hannah. you shrieked, probably waking up half the camp. you spun around and tackled her to the ground, hugging her so tightly you would probably cut off her circulation.

she pushed you off, laughing, and got to her feet. “it’s good to see you too, babe. what’s up with all of you? you never call, i feel like i’ve been completely cut off.” (you had iris-messaged her last week for five hours).

“your sister is still absolutely obsessed with beckendorf,” you said, sitting down.

“hey!” silena protested.

“but of course he has no idea that he likes her.” silena turned pink. “no one here is good enough for annabeth, obviously—"

“i never said that, clarisse doesn’t let any boys near me.” you stick your tongue out at her.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” clarisse said, feigning obliviousness. “you hang out with luke all the time.”

“he’s always hanging out with that new kid.” she grumbled. “or—"

“speaking of, clarisse definitely thinks this hermes boy is so cute— you haven’t met him, he got here a few months ago, but his name is chris, and i think they would be so cute together. she’s out of everyone’s league, obviously, but if anyone would be good for her—"

“gods, you would think you’re the aphrodite kid, listening to you.” hannah smiled. she stole a bite of your french toast.

“i’m just excited to see you,” you said, laying your head on her shoulder. silena and clarisse smirked.

“she’s leaving somebody out here,” silena said, smiling.

“i know, it’s weird, she never shuts up about him otherwise,” clarisse added, narrowing her eyes at you teasingly.

“oh, who could you possibly be talking about?” hannah twirled a piece of hair. she hasn’t even been here, but one doesn’t forget their best friend’s crush of four years in a few months.

“i do not,” you protested meekly.

“you knew who we were talking about, though”

“i spend a lot of time with him, that’s all. there would be a gaping hole if i told you about my day and didn’t bring him up.”

“would you stop pretending as if you aren’t in love with each other, please?” annabeth interrupted. “you’re worse than them, at least they can admit it.” she gestured at clarisse and silena.

“i am not in love with him, annabeth.”

“you’re always starting at him.”

“i’m in conversation.”

“with your eyes. that is literally textbook romance.”

“i could so admit if i was into him,” you say, cutting her off. “i admit things like that all the time. i told you i thought jack was cute. you know that kid from demeter?”

“we all know you made that up,” annabeth said, crossing her arms over her chest. silena gave her a light push.

“don’t be so quick to accuse, annie.” only you and silena ever called her that. “i don’t think she made it up. i just don’t think she’s as into him as she is into him.”

“would you drop it, about luke, please?”

“hey, you said his name, not me,” silena smiled. “but sure. i don’t believe that you’re not into him, but i’ll drop it if you can prove that he isn’t into you.”

your heart sank. you weren’t sure why, but you suddenly felt nauseous at the thought. hannah’s hand rested on your knee, as if she could sense it.

“how am i supposed to do that? i can’t read minds.”

“hook up with jack at the campfire.”

“what?”

“flirt with him! you were just talking the other day about how you’re eighteen and you haven’t even had sex yet.” hannah covered annabeth’s ears, to which she shoved her off and glared. “jack’s, like, really hot. i saw you staring the other day.”

“when luke wasn’t around,” annabeth added, one eyebrow raised.

“you want me to have sex with jack?”

“i’m not saying that. just flirt with him. see what happens. we’ll— she gestured between herself, clarisse, annabeth and hannah— see how luke is doing.”

“okay, he isn’t going to be doing anything,” you said. “i don’t see what this accomplishes.” but even as you were saying it, your mind betrayed you. you thought for a second and conjured an image of strong arms holding you, soft lips kissing yours with the bonfire light in the background. maybe you were near the beach.

“we’ll see,” silena smiled.

you didn’t want to go all the way, or anything. you knew that. but… jack was really hot. and sweet. he was always catching little kids falling off of obstacle courses with soft bushes, and growing them flower crowns. it couldn’t hurt to talk to him, see what happened. maybe he’d ask you out, or something. bring you flowers on a date. and you guessed you wouldn’t mind making out with him.

the campfire roared in the middle of the amphitheater. the only people there were the older campers, and some counselors trickling back in from tucking kids into bed. you had helped luke with the hermes cabin, because he had so many kids to take care of, and you had none.

you pulled the covers over katie, a girl a little younger than annabeth, who had gotten to camp a few months ago. she was still unclaimed, but with the way she spent all day in the strawberry fields, and the plants tended to shoot up around her, you were fairly sure where she belonged.

you kissed the top of her head, and stood up, looking around the dark cabin for luke, seeing him kneeling beside a little boy, probably about the same age as katie. the boy sounded like he was crying.

“hey, connor,” luke whispered, rubbing circles on the kid’s back. “it’s okay. it’s okay. i get them too.” you realized that the boy must have been afraid to fall asleep. “travis is right above you, he’ll protect you, okay? nothing bad can happen to you here.”

he looked over at you, before turning back to connor. “and we can play poker tomorrow, you’re getting pretty good.”

“are you leaving?” the boy whispered, choking a bit on his tears.

“just for a little bit, kid. i’ll be back soon, i promise. i’ll be here when you wake up. i’m not going to leave you anytime soon.”

“okay,” the boy mumbled. luke pulled the covers over his shoulders, and ruffled his hair before turning to you.

“let’s go,” he mouthed, gesturing at the door. the two of you crept outside, luke much more stealthily than you, closing the door silently. “god of thieves,” he shrugged, but he didn’t grin as he usually did when he bragged. you didn’t have to ask why, but you played along.

“yeah, yeah, i know,” you said, rolling your eyes. “can we go now?”

“yeah, ‘course,” he said. he slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him as you walked, and you couldn’t help but think of silena’s words as you rested your head on his chest.

arriving back at the campfire, you pulled yourself away from luke, walking over to hannah. she smirked at you, pulling you in for a hug.

“you don’t have to do this, you know,” she said.

“i know,” you replied. “i want to. he’s cute.”

and he was, you thought, as he led you away from the campfire. you’d sat for an hour, letting the flames dance over your skin as you talked with him. he made you laugh, even blush when he grew a flower out of the stone to tuck behind your ear. when he grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, you felt dizzy, though that might have been the alcohol.

as you walked further away from the amphitheater, you spun around in the grass, laughing, and he laughed with you. or at you? you couldn’t really tell, and you didn’t really care. you just wanted to kiss him. you didn’t notice that you weren’t heading near the cabins until he stopped in a little cove at the edge of the forest.

“why are we here?” you asked, a little dazed.

“come on,” he said. “you know why.”

and then he was kissing you. it was messy, and made you kind of uncomfortable, but you told yourself to get over it. you couldn’t expect it to live up to the time luke had kissed you, on a dare, when you were thirteen. nothing would ever live up to that, because you couldn’t have him. he hadn’t even cared when you had left him at the party, talking up some girl you couldn’t really see on the other side of the fire.

you blinked, pulling away from jack. you hadn’t realized as you were thinking it, but you had admitted to yourself for the first time that yes: you did want luke. really, really, wanted him. you pushed back on jack lightly.

“i’m sorry, i don’t think i can do this right now,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth on the sleeve of your hoodie — luke’s hoodie, that he had given you that night after he kissed you, when you were shivering outside, staring into space because you couldn’t understand what you were feeling.

“come on, it’s fine,” jack replied, pulling you back into his arms. they weren’t like the arms you were picturing earlier. no, you could admit to yourself new that those had been luke’s. your mind was reeling— you knew that you couldn’t have him, that he would never like you like you liked him, but kissing jack felt wrong. not that you had really been kissing him back.

“i want to go home,” you said, and you weren’t sure where you meant. back to the campfire, to luke and hannah, back to your cabin? maybe even back to your mom on the upper east side, who you missed every day but couldn’t live with during the year for the sake of your little brother, who was too young to know that he, too, was a son of poseidon.

“really? you were flirting with me all night,” jack mumbled into your lips. “stay a little longer.” it was true, you had been flirting with him. you figured you could at least make out with him for a bit. you resigned, letting him lower you onto the grass, and reluctantly letting him run his hands along the hem of your shirt.

hannah was getting worried, and luke could tell. he had forced himself off when you were clearly interested in that demeter guy, who luke knew and was friends with but suddenly hated with all his guts. he had forced himself to be interested in getting the details on silena and beckendorf, which he didn’t really realize he was getting to share with you later, resigning to glancing too often through the flames of the fire at your face, and the way the flames made you look like a goddess. no, he thought. you always looked like a goddess.

but hannah, who had just arrived back at camp for the summer that morning, was biting her lip, and looking around with a bothered expression on her face, and luke had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, that he needed to know you were safe immediately.

he walked over to hannah, probably too quickly, and didn’t waste time asking how she was, or how college had been. “where is she?” he demanded, too forcefully. he would have to apologize to hannah later, but he only had one thing on his mind.“what’s wrong?”

“oh. hey, luke,” she said, still in a sort of trance. he snapped his finger away from her face, shaking his head.

“hannah? where is she?”

she shook her head and widened her eyes. it was clear to luke that you had picked up that habit of staring out at nothing when you were deep in thought, usually not about pleasant things. “she’s with jack,” she said. “they left a little while ago. i just… i don’t know. i should go check that she’s back at her cabin by now.”

“yeah, yeah we should,” luke grumbled, and started taking the steps out of the theater two at a time in an effort to get out. hannah followed— you had told him that his stress could be contagious.

you weren’t in your cabin. you weren’t in the demeter cabin either, and the pair of them woke up a bunch of kids as you barged in, which he was sure mr. d would have a lot to say about in the morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

he ran across the basketball court, hannah close behind.

“i have an idea of where they might be,” hannah said, pointing in the direction of the woods.

“how do you know?”

“because i showed jack that spot when we were fourteen,” she said, grumbling. luke clearly wasn’t the only one who cared about you.

“i thought you were gay?” luke questioned, not slowing down.

“yeah. like i said, fourteen. people explore things, figure themselves out.” gods, she thought, men could be so incredibly stupid.

they ran faster than ever to the edge of the woods, where sure enough, they found you, lying on a mossy stone with jack hovering over you. luke wanted to run to you immediately, but hannah held him back — no easy feat, but she managed.

“hold on, romeo,” she strained. “you can’t just barge in there and—” then she heard it— the unmistakable sound of your voice, and the word stop.

“jack…” you mumbled. you were so drunk. you weren’t sure where you were anymore, and you didn’t really remember walking over here, though you knew you had. “jack, we can do this later, i’m tired—”

“you’re fine, it’s fine,” he said quietly, starting to undo the zipper of your shorts. you reached down to stop him, but he pushed your hand away, and as it hit the stone, moss started growing over it, holding it there.

“jack, stop it,” you said, more forcefully this time. you realized that he didn’t even know what he was doing, and for some reason that scared you more. he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but he wanted it— he wanted you held down, and he didn’t care that you didn’t.

he shushed you, but looked up at a rustling in the trees, and a familiar grunt.

luke broke out of hannah’s arms, but it didn’t really matter, because she had been letting him go anyways. he stormed across the clearing, and while you were still dazed and confused, you couldn’t miss the entirety of jack’s weight being ripped from on top of you, and you thought you saw a fist collide with his face.

hannah, however, rushed to your side. she didn’t particularly want to see luke end up bloody and beaten in the infirmary, but she had bigger fish to fry right now: namely, you. she tore up the moss, no longer strong as jack’s focus was elsewhere, and redid your shorts for you. there were tears on your face as she pulled you to your feet.

there was so much noise. jack was shouting at luke, but you couldn’t make out the words. you could hear the music and the gleeful sounds of counselors from the amphitheater, but it seemed worlds away from you.

as hannah led you out of the woods, much faster than you could really manage, your head began to pound behind your eyes. a splitting pain hit your forehead, and your vision went black and spotty. you stumbled forward, relying entirely on hannah to keep you upright, but one stray tree root took you down. you swam between consciousness and a dark, dark sleep. there was screaming, it was hannah, and then the familiar deep voice of clarisse, barking orders. you thought you heard annabeth’s name, and then two strong sets of arms lifting you up, and carrying you away.

you woke up at the bottom of the sea. no. that wasn’t right. the bottom of the sea was soft, covered in mud and sand. you tried to stretch your body, hitting plastic walls. as your eyes focused, you could make out cartoon fish swimming entirely too close to your face, and you sat up with a start, splashing water all over a corner of the infirmary.

a kiddie pool. they had filled a kiddie pool with salt water, and left you in it overnight to soak, like one of those colorful dinosaur toys that grew in water. and the worst part was that it seemed to have worked. you felt brand new, like you had slept for a hundred years, and at the same time followed a very strict workout regimen, taken a juice cleanse and eaten like a king. you groaned, and slipped back under the water.

you stared at the ceiling, watching wooden beams ripple with the surface of your personal ocean. you wondered if your father ever felt like this is in the pacific, if he could be that big if he wanted to. your camp necklace floated up before your face, crossing a familiar face lurking over you.

you sat up. cara fletcher, hannah’s friend, held out some nectar. you shook your head.

“i’m okay.”

she raised an eyebrow.

“fine,” you sighed, taking the flask and drinking. it did help. you felt like you could take on the minotaur.

“your friends were here all night,” she said. i kicked them out around ten because they were falling asleep on each other, and i didn’t need any more cracked skulls when they fell off the stools.

“more?” you asked. she sighed, looking over her shoulder.

“your boyfriend beat that kid up pretty bad last night,” she said. you didn’t see jack lying on any of the cots, but a head of dark curls lay a few beds down, and the body attached to it did not look to be in great shape.

“he’s not my boyfriend.” you answered quickly, not taking your eyes off of luke. “is he okay?”

cara seemed to make out which he’s you were referring to. “i wasn’t talking about him,” she said. “hannah told me what happened. if you ask me, luke didn’t do nearly enough damage.”

“don’t tell him that,” you said. “and he’s also not my boyfriend,” you added as you processed her words fully.

“not yet, he’s not.” hannah said, strolling in with three bagels in hand.

“i thought i told you to go to bed,” cara scolded, taking her bagel. “you’re going to drop dead one of these days.” hannah smiled, ignoring her as he sat down next to her and put her arm around her shoulders.

you glance between them, ideas churning in your mind, but they were quickly interrupted by the bagel being shoved in your face. you had always thought that the harpies must have spent some time in the city— they made a dam good bagel.

“so.” hannah started. “you are going to tell us everything you’re thinking right now, because i see you looking over at him every two seconds, and don’t think you’re getting out of any of it.”

“i’m eating,” you grumbled. hannah reached to snatch the bagel away, but cara swatted her hand back.

“she’s recovering.” you stuck your tongue out at hannah.

“i don’t care,” hannah said. “spill.”

“look, i don’t even know what happened last night—”

“because you were really, really, drunk,” she interrupted.

“do you want me to speak or not?” you demanded.

“okay. fine. but just so you’re aware, he swooped in and defended you, and beat the shit out of that little asshole, who, just between us, mr. d is fucking fuming with.” trust hannah to get distracted two seconds in. demigod adhd was no joke. “he dragged him to the big house this morning himself, severe concussion and all, and according to lee, chewed him out for about an hour. something about the sanctity of drunkenness and how it is not to be weaponized… even chiron was surprised.” she paused for breath.

“anyways, the point stands— he,” she nodded her head at luke, “was quite literally your knight in shining armor, and if you still don’t think he is absolutely enamored with you—” and you were pretty sure you heard a cot creak— “then i swear on my mother i will call her down and force her to do something about this because i cannot take it any longer.”

“he was just being a good person, hannah,” you muttered. “he’s just like that.”

hannah looked as though she were about to scream, but cara rubbed her hand along her thigh, calming her before she spoke herself.

“there’s something more than that, isn’t there?” she asked softly, and you thought she was staring directly into your soul. “there’s a reason you don’t think he likes you.”

you hesitated, splashing the water around in your pool and making eye contact with a cartoon fish as you worked up the courage to say what it was you knew you had to get off your chest.

“before last night,” you started, your voice cracking as you spoke, “it was just me thinking i wasn’t pretty enough, or good enough for him. that he wouldn’t look at me because there are so many other girls at this camp who are obsessed with him. and i don't think i realized that i liked him either. but now…” a sob came from the back of your throat, and you looked up at hannah, tears streaking your red face.

“why would he want me now?” you sobbed.

“hey. stop that,” hannah started. “what jack did to you wasn’t your fault, and everyone knows that.” she was trying to make you feel better, but the news that your pathetic love life was the talk of camp wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“it was, though,” you said quietly. “i led him on. i never told him no that strongly, and i was flirting with him all night. what reason did he have not to think… not to…” you were hyperventilating now, your words coming out in broken syllables.

“i’m a fucking slut, and now everyone knows it,” you managed. you sank back into the water to slow your breathing, but tears still streamed down your face.

“that’s bullshit,” came a voice from elsewhere in the infirmary. you could have thrown up then and there. you pulled yourself up by the walls of the kiddie pool, looking down the aisle as luke castellan limped towards you. his scarred eye was bruised and bloodshot, and he had a massive scrape running up his left arm, and that was just what you could see. the tears began to fall faster.

“luke…”

you were thirteen years old again, at the top of half-blood hill, holding grover upright. you were watching desperately as he stumbled upward, through the pouring rain, carrying a screaming little girl who was trying with all her might to run back and help her friend. all four of you were sobbing, exhausted and beaten. seeing them all like that was ten times more painful than the gash in your side.

“that’s bullshit,” luke repeated. you got up from the pool and held his face in your hand, inspecting the bruise. you took the rest of the nectar cara had given you, holding it to his lips, but he pushed it away. “you’re not a slut,” he said. suddenly everything about your conversation came rushing back to you, and it hit you that you had just admitted to him that you were in love with him.

you turned your head. hannah and cara were gone, slipped out the back door. you turned back to face luke, face red and tears pouring over your skin.

“that wasn’t your fault. you didn’t owe him anything. he‘s disgusting, and deserves to have his fucking dick cut off.” you laugh, despite everything.

“i think mr. d may have actually taken care of that,” you whispered.

“good.” you looked at him for a while. his eyes were so beautiful, a deep, deep, brown that reminds you of the otters that hung mysteriously around your upper east side apartment when you lived in the city.

“why did you have to fight him?” you asked, reaching up to his face again.

“you were in trouble,” he said.

“luke.” the tears were threatening to fall again. “you could have seriously hurt yourself. i just… why? why not just pull him off of me?” you needed an answer. you needed to know why, why on earth he had put so much of himself in front of you, in front of jack’s fists.

he looked down at you, a pained expression on his face. “you know why,” he whispered.

he looked down at your lips, and you shook your head softly. you looked down at your feet. you were so afraid, afraid that he wouldn’t be interested now that you didn’t want… that. from him. yet— that you considered looking up and letting him kiss you.

he shocked you when he wrapped his arms around you and held you close to him, holding the back of your head into the space between his chest and his shoulder.

“okay,” he whispered. “that’s okay.” then, softer. “i love you.”

you couldn’t say it back. not yet, not now. but you held him tighter, holding on to him like he was the only thing stopping you from falling into tartarus.

“i’ll be here forever,” he spoke into your hair. and you believed him.

the hermes cabin hosted a movie night that night. you were watching the incredibles two, at a request from connor stoll, who was currently involved in an intense argument with annabeth over which installment was better.

“i think i’m going to start calling you that,” luke whispered in your ear. “jack-jack.” you glared at him. “‘cause, you know, your last name’s jackson-”

“yeah, dude, i got the joke,” you said. you rolled your eyes, nuzzling your head into his chest. you could stay like this for a while, you thought, and as you closed your eyes, you felt him press a kiss to your head — something you had told him was okay. you couldn’t wait to bring him home for a weekend. maybe annabeth, too. you couldn’t help but think she would get along great with your brother.

⭑

a/n: hello loves! i hope you enjoyed this, please please leave any feedback or anything, and let me know if you would like me to continue this story/write more of luke and the reader's past. i hope people enjoyed the little hints at percy! so excited for this reader and to explore all her relationships.

#pjo x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan x you #luke castellan angst #luke pjo #percy series

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tgmsunmontue · 5 months

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It's not who you know 1/4

YEAR 1 - Non-angsty Nepo!Baby Bradley and his first year at the USNA and his head-in-the-sand approach to the nepotism and the fact that he ends up being known as the guy with the two hot dads instead...

YEAR ONE – 2001

“You don’t want us to drop you off?”

“No! I don’t need a… a Captain and an Admiral coming to my first day. It’s not school!”

“Lots of parents will be dropping their kids off. It’s the beginning of Plebe Summer…”

“Yeah well, it’s not like I haven’t been there before. I know my way around already, you know your way around! Please don’t…”

“Are you… embarrassed to be our kid?”

“Uh…” Bradley refuses to meet their eyes.

“Oh my god, you are!”

“No! No. I’m not embarrassed okay? It’s more… I don’t want people knowing I’m a legacy kid.”

“Oh,” says Ice then, expression going understanding and Mav looks confused.

“What? What am I missing?”

“Bradley wants to prove himself. Doesn’t want others to think he got in because of his… connections.”

“But… he did.”

“He also tested crazy high, he would have got in regardless.”

Bradley feels a flush of achievement at the sheer surety in Ice’s voice, proud and no-nonsense.

“But… you’re more than just a legacy kid. You know that right?” Mav asks, and he suddenly seems so unsure, like Bradley isn’t aware of how good he is.

“Yeah Mav, I know that.”

“Anyway, you’re a triple legacy kid and plenty of the brass at Annapolis already know you’re on your way. You going to pretend you don’t know half of them?”

“If I have to…”

Mav cackles then and Bradley lets out a laugh as well when Ice just lets out a resigned sigh. He needs to make a couple of phone calls. Another job for tomorrow.

… … …

“When did we become uncool? He doesn’t want anything to do with us! Maybe it’s just you that’s uncool, do you think he’d let me take him? I want to take him.”

Tom rolls his eyes, because Mav is nothing if not dramatic.

“We have to let him go. I’m sure we’ll figure out some way of keeping in touch. My parents wrote me letters.”

“Too slow. We could get BeepBeep one of those transportable phone things.”

“Calling him BeepBeep is another reason why he doesn’t want to be seen in public with us. Also, it’s a mobile, or cellphone, you’re not old so stop sounding like you are.”

“Yeah yeah, just because you have one.”

“We can get you one at the same time we get Bradley one…”

“Hmm, I feel like it would just be another way you could tell me no.”

“It would be another way in which you ignore me telling you no.”

“You like it when I don’t say no,” Mav says, turning toward him and grinning.

… … …

“Mav, where are you?”

“Uh… I took a couple of personal days?”

“To do what? Also I find it highly suspicious that these personal days coincide with the start of Plebe Summer. Tell me you aren’t stalking Bradley.”

“I’m not not stalking him?”

“Jesus Pete…”

“He doesn’t know I’m here! I’m just… making sure he arrives okay!”

“He’s an adult. He flew there, we put him up in a motel and he then caught a taxi. Shit. I still haven’t rung Sli and let him know Bradley’s going to pretend not to know anyone…”

“Oh! Don’t do it. Let Bradley cause havoc! Can you imagine some of them talking to Bradley like they know him and Bradley just… pretending they’ve got the wrong person?”

“Do you really think Bradley would be that rude?”

“Depends how committed he is to this whole ruse. And he was pretty stubborn.”

“I wonder where he gets that from…” Tom remarks dryly.

“One of life’s mysteries,” Pete replies, clearly distracted and Tom lets out a long breath and reminds himself that he loves Mav. Mantra or curse, he loves the man.

“So what are you actually doing?”

“Watching everyone arrive. I’m just parked in a car up the road and watching everyone walk in. Bradley will be easy to spot because he’ll be all alone…”

“So you’re in a car outside a naval training center staring at cadets as they arrive. Tell me you don’t also have a pair of binoculars.”

“They’re small ones.”

Tom groans and hangs up on him, glad that he did go through with getting Mav that cellphone after all. As much as the idea of letting Bradley cause chaos may be appealing to Mav, he knows better and he really needs to make that phone call.

… … …

“Welcome back to Annapolis Bradley!”

“I’m sorry sir, you must have me confused with another cadet…”

“Bradley Bradshaw?”

“That is my name sir, but I think you have me confused with someone else…”

Admiral Mackenzie blinks and frowns and then steps back.

“Sorry Cadet Bradshaw. On your way then.”

“Thank you sir. Nice to meet you.”

… … …

Tom sighs and wonders what the easiest way of dealing with this is going to be. He’d fully intended to make this phone call months ago, not leaving it until the first evening of Plebe Summer when Slider is no doubt at his busiest.

“Hey Ron…”

“Oof. First name. What did I do?”

“Not you…”

“What did Mav do?”

Tom snorts and rubs at his eyes.

“Not him either…” He won’t mention the creepy sitting in a car aspect of Mav’s latest craziness.

“Bradley? Baby Goose? He’s never any trouble…”

“Well, I think he’s going to make up for it.”

“At Annapolis?” Ron scoffs disbelievingly.

“He’s going to pretend he doesn’t know anyone…”

“Uh. But he knows everyone.”

“I’m well aware. Just… can you prepare everyone for Bradley being an idiot and pretending he knows no one?”

“Oh… I think this conversation is coming too late. Mack came into my office earlier and said that Bradley completely blanked on him.”

“Oh shit…”

“Well, at least we have an explanation. He was worried that he might have memory issues.”

“Who? Him or Bradley?”

“Either. Both? Anyway, I’ll let Mack know. As well as the others, because that could have backfired horribly.”

“I know. They’d think he was getting smart. He just… I think part of it is wanting to be judged on his own merits, but also not have anyone use him to advance themselves.”

“He’s a smart young man. I look forward to watching his career.”

… … …

“You seem to know how everything works around here…”

“Uh. I did a lot of reading in preparation for coming. I didn’t want to be taken by surprise by anything you know?”

“Smart move. You definitely seem to have caught the attention of all the instructors at least. They all know your name.” Bradley grimaces, because that’s not necessarily a good thing. At least no-one has called him MiniMav, BeepBeep or Baby Goose. There are others, but he doesn’t need his childhood nicknames coming common knowledge. “Although, I guess Bradley Bradshaw is an easy name to remember. Kind of rolls off the tongue. Brad Brad.”

Bradley lets out a sigh, resigned to yet another nickname.

… … …

Mav follows through with the other visitors. He hasn’t really told Ice or Bradley that he was planning on coming today. Unlike Ice who went through USNA Mav never really allowed himself to show too much interest, directing it all toward the flight school after doing his Bachelor degree. Now that Bradley is here though he can ask all the questions. Even the ones he’s pretty sure he knows the answers to. He spies one of the cadets with the last name Trace and wonders if this is the same one in Bradley’s platoon. Maybe.

“Hi! I’m Peter, Bradley Bradshaw’s dad. Nice to meet you.”

“Good morning Mr. Bradshaw. Natasha Trace. Bradley didn’t mention that his parents were coming…”

“Well no, I hadn’t been planning on coming. I can’t often get away from work, but I thought I’d try and make an extra effort with it being the parents day and all…”

“Oh, did your wife come with you?”

“Uh, no, I’m not married…” The young cadet looks awkward then and Mav takes pity on her. “I’m just going to join one of the tours. If you see Bradley tell him his dad Pete is here. I’ll catch up with him later. It’ll be a surprise!”

“Uh, but if I tell him then won’t it spoil the surprise?”

“He’ll still be plenty surprised when he actually sees me.”

… … …

Bradley still hasn’t seen Mav, and he knows it must be Mav, because Ice surely wouldn’t fuck him over like this. He’s heard through three others that his dad is here, and also a few comments that he looks good. Bradley hopes like hell he’s not in his fucking uniform, although everyone is fairly desensitized about uniforms looking in any way sexy when everyone is wearing them. He’s more worried about people finding out exactly who Mav is… But he can’t seem to find him in the swarm of people, everyone showing their family around. Plus Mav is short and likely knows Bradley is looking for him.

“Bradshaw! I just met you dad, holy fuck he’s all sorts of hot isn’t he?”

“Short guy? Dark hair?”

“Why? You have more than one dad?”

Bradley freezes, suddenly unsure of what to say because in his head he’s got space for three dads and they’re all very distinct people. None of whom he would ever describe as hot. Gross. God, it’s even worse than thinking of them having sex.

“I, uh, yeah… fuck.”

“Like… a dad and a step-dad, or are we talking a couple of dad’s who adopted you?”

“Closer to the second one I guess,” Bradley says, resigned, because fuck it, it’s close enough. He’s not going to get into the specifics but he guesses he can share some rough details. “My dad died when I was a little, his best friend is my god-father and he was pretty much my dad growing up. And once him and his partner figured their shit out I got another dad…”

“What about your mom?”

“She died a few years ago. Cancer.”

“Oh wow… so you really have two dads.”

“Yep. And one of them is here?”

“Yeah, he said his name was Peter Bradshaw?”

“Oh. Huh. Of course he did…”

Trust Mav to fucking come up with a cover story but not tell anyone else what is.

He doesn’t end up finding or seeing Mav for the entire day, although he does receive a couple of overly exaggerated winks from some of the teachers, as well as Uncle Slider and Admiral Mackenzie. He takes it with good grace because they’re humoring his need to try and stay as anonymous as possible, even if Mav seems to be intent on fucking it up.

… … …

“You couldn’t have stopped him?” Bradley asks, and Tom would almost call the tone whining, but there’s too much desperation there.

“I’m sorry, are we talking about the same person? Have you ever tried to stop him doing something once he’s set his mind to it?”

“Ugh, I didn’t even get to see him! What was the point?

“So he could see you. See that you’re happy and alright.” Just like that the wind seems to leave Bradley’s sails, like he has to let Mav have this. Has to be grateful for small mercies that Mav didn’t learn how to do sky writing, which he’ll keep to himself because it’s totally something Mav would want to try out. “And you should know he’s actually being fairly restrained, especially if he didn’t approach you. He did follow you out there for your first day and just watched from a car like the giant dork that he is.”

“What? Ugh. Dork, yes. Giant, no. Ugh. Why is he like this?”

“I really have no idea. Do you like the taste of whiskey yet? I find that helps.”

SECOND YEAR

#Nepo!Baby Bradley Bradshaw #IceMav #Top Gun Maverick #Top Gun Maverick Fanfiction #AU where Bradley goes to USNA #it's not who you know

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the-darklings · 2 years

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──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

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

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

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

notes: all good things come to an end : )

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

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?”

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

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

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

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

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These damn Constantines.

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

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

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

“Can it be done?” you bite out.

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

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

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

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

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

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

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

A thousand reflections stare back at you.

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

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

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

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace.

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

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

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

A beautiful dream.

“Who did you say you were again?”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s answer enough.

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

The demons make good on that order.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

Somehow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

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

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

“Wait, wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I shouldn’t be here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily.

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you…?”

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

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

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

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume…

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

You had foolishly believed you were friends.

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

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

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

A bit of fun.

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

“Fun.”

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

It makes it worse. So much worse.

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

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

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

Destiny says nothing.

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

“Wanderer—”

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

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

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

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

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

No one laughs. No one responds.

Only a bit of fun.

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

For once, the curse listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

“No.”

You turn to go.

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

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

“No,” you repeat.

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

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

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

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

Fine. You’ll find another way.

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

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

And then, impossibly, you see him.

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

“Corinthian.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ring. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re hurting them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’ve been times—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do to yourself?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, through horror, darkness closes in.

Motion.

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar.

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

“But I thought—”

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

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

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

“Cori…”

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

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

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

Then nothing.

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

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

Blank page.

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

“My lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

“No! No, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything.

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re bleeding.”

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

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

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

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

“You mourn him.”

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

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

Sad.

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

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

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

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

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

“But you mourn him still.”

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

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained.

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

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

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet.

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

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Name it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not this time.

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

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

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

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

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

Madness and despair.

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

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

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

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

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

“Happy Dreamfall.”

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

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

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

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

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

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

“Are you well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Giving you my present.”

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

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

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

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

“Dream this is…”

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

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

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

“We begin… with a spin.”

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

“Dream. I…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then stillness.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

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

You consider him for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair.

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

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

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

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those unadorned words devastated you.

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

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

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows.

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

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

“Yes,” Dream replies.

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

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

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

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale.

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

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

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

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

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

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

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

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