#even the version of me IN the dream was aware 'well if they figure it out it won't be the end of the world or anything it's fine'

[annabelle--cane]

I actually had a fandom-related semi nightmare last night that was so mundane but awkward that it made me mad when I woke up. dream-me had apparently, in a fit of hubris, recommended my own anonymous alt ao3 account to one of my irl friends years ago, but the friend in question had never actually checked it out, leading present day dream-me to feel very relieved because the fic there is very unpolished and venty and quite easy to identify as mine if you know me well enough. which leads to the premise of the dream itself, where my friend dms me like "yknow I think I'll finally look into those recs you sent me a few years ago, I have some free time and want to show that I'm interested in your tastes and hobbies," at which point it became a race against time to either a) convince them to stop reading before they got to the most damning authors note in as non-suspicious a way as possible or b) simply nuke the account. why was this my stress dream. the stuff on there isn't even that embarrassing.

[thatanimewriter]

COULDA, WOULDA, SHOULDA, DIDN'T (ALTERNATE ENDING).

➳ synopsis: aventurine has never lost. that's what he tells people when he makes bets and in passing conversation about gambling. but every night when he lays in bed, he will always think about the day he almost lost you. angst version.

➳ character/s: aventurine

➳ warnings: 2.1 spoilers, aventurine backstory spoilers, aventurine real name spoilers, mentions of death, slavery (it's not romanticised, you're safe-), mentions of torture, blood, hurt/comfort, marriage, sleeping together (literally), reader described as beautiful

➳ word count: 0.7k

➳ notes: here's the happy version for those who were asking for it LMAO also i jumped on the bandwagon of fic writers inspired by aventurine official art-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

aventurine will never forget the day he met you. he himself didn't know much better than you did as you ran for your lives as children, but he knew he never wanted to see you like that ever again. that night, he thinks he fell in love.

even with the heavy metal cuffs crushing your wrists, he thought you were beautiful. in the most horrible circumstances, you found solace in each other's arms. aventurine made it a habit to kiss your brand mark and then your forehead as he let you use his arm as a pillow. any screams of pain either of you made as you were roughly dragged from your cell to undergo 'disciplining' haunt your minds in the rare moments of emptiness.

the day aventurine was bought away by jade, he's never felt fear quite the same as looking back and seeing you be dragged away by your cuffs, calling out for him as he left while you were pulled further down the abyss of pain and agony.

"i'll come back for you, wait for me!" he yelled behind him. he was desperate, he didn't know if he would ever get to come back for you and ultimately, that scared him more. the idea that his last interaction with you was filled with despair only fueled his desire to rise to the top. he would free himself and ensure that when (if) he freed you, you would have everything you needed immediately.

aventurine remembers the day he came back for you. he'd beat up a lot of guards, and possibly killed a couple, only to find you unconscious and bleeding onto the cold concrete floor in your cell. scrambling to his knees, he held you in his arms and bolted out the door, desperately praying to whatever god would listen that you were alive.

he lived a nightmare as you recuperated in hospital, but nothing came close to making him cry since leaving you than holding your hand and kissing you all over again as if it was your first time. each night as he slept in the chair beside your hospital bed, he wondered what would've happened if he never got to you or was too late.

when he proposed to you, it felt like a fever dream. when he woke up the next morning to see you beside him, ring glinting in the morning sun and cheek pressed into a silk pillowcase rather than dusty concrete. he smiled in adoration, pulling you closer by the waist and chuckling at your sleepy whine of protest before burying your head into his chest and falling back asleep. taking your hand in his, he kissed the ring he'd given to you as a token of your engagement, resting his chin atop your head.

his phone rang and he sighed, blindly reaching behind him to check who was calling him. dr. ratio.

groggily, he answered. "you're calling early, don't you know i'm spending my paid leave with my wonderful fiance?"

aventurine could practically hear the eye roll from dr. ratio over the phone. "i am well aware, i just thought you would want to be informed that i have located your old master that was missing from the premises when you were searching for them," he said, probably polishing one of his marble busts to occupy himself.

"...keep an eye on him. i'll figure out what to do with him when i get more sleep." and with that, aventurine hung up the phone. he returned his attention to you and caressed his thumb over your hip as he pondered this newfound information.

he could've lost you if he didn't get there when he did. he's grateful for that, because he can have you by his side forever and a little bit more. he would've come looking for you to discover you'd died if he didn't push himself harder than recommended to rise to the top. he should've lost you, for that is what the sick gods on some alternate plane of reality deemed reasonable for his kind.

he didn't.

[oliver-quick-ens-my-pulse]

Room of Requirements

Ominis Gaunt x f!Reader

Summary - Anon request for "I’d love to request a fluffy (smutty if you want) Ominis x reader where reader shows him their room of requirement and the two enjoy some time tending to beasts and the calmness away from the usual bustle of the castle! Mainly I offer up potential smut because the first time I heard the room of requirement described as “a place away from prying eyes” my mind tan with that idea"

Word Count - 1,492

Warnings - 18+ light petting, lots of fluff from softie Ominis

A/N - Characters aged up! This didn't go full smut, but I think could easily have a more smut version at some point.

Since it was your 7th year at Hogwarts, you knew you had to start figuring out what to do with all the animals you had in the vivarium. You knew the life you wanted involved having lots of outdoor space for them to be truly free and safe in, but you may have to find out how to make a vivarium elsewhere.

There wasn't anyone you had considered telling your secret to besides Ominis. You weren't really sure how to tell even him, 'hey by the way, do you want to help me rehome the dozens of mythical beasts I've been hiding inside of the castle?'

It made you laugh a bit to even think about it, but you needed some help brainstorming so it seemed like now the time had come. Luckily you were able to catch him coming out of the common room.

"Ominis!" It made you feel flushed seeing how his face lit up just from hearing you call for him. You bounded up the small staircase to the entrance and looped your arm with his.

"Were you busy? I have an adventure to take you on."

He shook his head, "No, but even if I did have plans would it matter?"

He knew you were beaming up at him, though he couldn't see it. He imagined would it would look like.

"No." You both said in unison.

You briskly led him through the groups of huddled students, to the hallway you knew was often empty.

You stopped him in front of the door to the room of requirements and his eyebrows knitted together. He looked down at you puzzled.

"Y/N? Have you lost your mind? First off, I'm impressed you didn't drag me straight off of the castle grounds. Second, I've been here hundreds of times and there's nothing of interest in this hall."

You grabbed his hand and walked him over to the cavity in the wall which held the most fantastic room you'd found in your time here.

"Well, my dear Ominis, I have news. Right before your unseeing eyes, were I am about to lead us into the room of requirements. You have heard of it, yes?"

You pulled him forward as you pushed the large door open, hurrying him in to shut the door behind you to disappear.

"What!" He pulled out his wand and used it as a means to take in everything that he didn't even know existed before.

He knew you weren't lying to him because the room even smelled different the second you crossed into the threshold. It bared your favorite scent which contrasted the dusty Hogwarts halls.

"Are you kidding me? If I had never known of the Undercroft I wouldn't have ever found it either." He slumped over, clearly pouting.

You placed your hands on either of his shoulders, laughing gently at him, "Ominis this room only shows up if you're in need of it. And well, no offence, but you truly wouldn't have been able to see it even if it presented itself to you."

He sighed. "Well, what is it you needed it for?" His foggy eyes bore right through you before his lips curled up into a sly smile.

He hadn't awareness of much of the room, but he was able to force you backwards until you were pressed against wall, looking up at him curiously.

He raised a hand to to your cheek, the other resting on your hip, "Unless you needed it for us?"

You hadn't even gotten the chance to process his words before his soft lips pressed to yours. It honestly felt like a dream.

You allowed your fingers to snake up the back of his neck to lightly tug on his hair. When he moaned softly against your mouth it sent a ball of fire straight to your stomach.

"Ominis-I-," you gasped between breaths attempting to at least let him know that wasn't why you brought him here, but you were definitely interested.

It just proved to egg him on further as he tugged your body flush to his using one of your belt loops. He released your lips to lean closer to your ear and whisper, "Is there anything in here special for us now?"

You shifted enough to peer behind him and suddenly felt completely embarrassed to see a curtained bed that had made it's appearance in a far corner.

"Ah-Ominis. Th-there is, but I -"

"Then show me to it." You definitely knew the 2 of you had a lot to do and talk about. It was hard to ignore the seduction in his voice, but you knew he would forgive you for what you were about to do.

You remained quiet as you drug him along. As he took cautious steps forward, a much different vision playing out in his head, he stepped right into one of the first floor vivariums with you.

Immediate confusion was on his face as the scents shifted to ocean breeze and he felt it too. It was lightly blowing over his face.

"Y/N?" He stuttered your name out before continuing, his cracking tone betraying him, "I don't quite understand. I -" He dropped his head to the the ground as if he could see. He could now hear the quietest little squeaking noises that he recognized to be a Puffskein.

A Puffskein had rolled into the toe of his shoes. "Y/N, why on earth is there a Puffskein at my feet. What is going on?"

You let go of his hand, to cover your own face, muffling your laughter. Ominis looked fairly embarrassed given his initial assumptions about why you were here and the kind-of-sort-of silent confession he gave away as a result.

"So, Ominis," you picked up the Puffskein and held it near to his palm so he could feel the creatures fur, "I-um- I'm definitely interested in the reason you thought we were here. I think we should pursue that later. However, I wanted to show you my secret vivarium."

You could see him processing all of what you just said, considering whether he should use a memory charm on you or not to make you forget he was about to rip your clothes off just a few moments prior.

He lowered his fingertips to ruffle up the Puffskein's fur and he couldn't keep the smile off his face. It was quickly replaced with confusion, "So wait. You're telling me for, for three years you've just been hiding an entire vivarium of animals in here? In Hogwarts?"

You stepped closer to him, looking up at his glassy eyes when you answered, "What if I told you there were four vivariums?" Your voice came out in a whisper as you finished your sentence.

He raised his hands in astonishment, he always gestured frequently when feeling strong emotions, "Four?! Are you mad? What on earth are you planning on doing with them at the end of the year?"

You saw him flinch pleasingly when you moved your lips near his ear, " I was hoping you could help me figure it out."

He immediately shook his head at you in absolutely disbelief. "Y/N you are full of trouble, d'you know that?"

"Well, if I am to help then I suppose you have to introduce me to everyone?" He sighed in defeat, pretending to be horribly inconvenience, but you knew he loved when you dragged him into your more innocent schemes.

As you grabbed his hand to show him over to the Thestrals, he muttered so you could barely hear it, "And introduce me to more of yourself later too?"

Ignoring the latter part of what was said, you guide him to the Thestral's habitat to show him the animal you were most pleased to have; the most misunderstood of all of them.

"Okay, Ominis, this is my momma thestral, Flora." The creature huffed as he reached his hand towards it to allow a chance to sniff. She quickly nuzzled her leathery forehead against his hand and you could see him light up.

"Are you kidding? This is incredible." He got more comfortable with her and you placed snacks in his palm for him to feed her.

"I love coming here. It's so quiet and calm, it's my own nature getaway within the castle. The best part is nobody can find me here."

He listens to you as you tell him about all of the animals you've had come and go, all the things you've learned that were completely wrong from the textbooks you had all seen.

The 2 of you decided to make it a date to come back at least once a week until you both leave for good, where you'll craft some kind of plan together. He agreed to keep your secret safe as long you as you got to come back to find out what the other mysteriously appearing items in the room of requirement were.

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

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

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

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

notes: all good things come to an end : )

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

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?” 

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

.

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

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

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

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

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These damn Constantines. 

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

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

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

“Can it be done?” you bite out. 

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

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

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

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

.

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

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

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

.

A thousand reflections stare back at you. 

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

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

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

.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace. 

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

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

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

A beautiful dream. 

.

“Who did you say you were again?”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s answer enough. 

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

The demons make good on that order. 

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

Somehow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

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

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

“Wait, wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

“I shouldn’t be here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily. 

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you…?”

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

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

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

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume… 

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

You had foolishly believed you were friends. 

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

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

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

A bit of fun. 

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

“Fun.” 

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

It makes it worse. So much worse. 

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

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

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

Destiny says nothing. 

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

“Wanderer—”

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

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

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

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

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

No one laughs. No one responds. 

Only a bit of fun.

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

For once, the curse listens. 

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

“No.”

You turn to go. 

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

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

“No,” you repeat.

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

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

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

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

Fine. You’ll find another way. 

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

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

And then, impossibly, you see him. 

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

“Corinthian.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ring. Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re hurting them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’ve been times—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do to yourself?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, through horror, darkness closes in. 

.

Motion. 

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar. 

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

“But I thought—”

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

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

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

“Cori…”

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

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

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

Then nothing. 

.

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

.

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

.

Blank page. 

Blank page.

Blank page.

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

“My lord.”

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

“No! No, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything. 

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

“What are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

“You’re bleeding.”

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

.

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

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

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

“You mourn him.”

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

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

Sad. 

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

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

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

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

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

“But you mourn him still.”

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

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

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

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

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet. 

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

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Name it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s gone. 

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not this time. 

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

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

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

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

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

Madness and despair. 

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

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

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

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

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

.

“Happy Dreamfall.”

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

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

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

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

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

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

“Are you well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Giving you my present.”

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

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

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

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

“Dream this is…”

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

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

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

“We begin… with a spin.”

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

“Dream. I…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then stillness. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

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

You consider him for a moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair. 

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

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

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

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those unadorned words devastated you. 

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

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

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows. 

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

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

“Yes,” Dream replies. 

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

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

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

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale. 

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

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

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

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

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

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

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

[thewertsearch]

Mega-Giga Ask Comp: Part 3

@manorinthewoods asked: I'll be honest, I wrote the Locked Tomb ask having not read the Locked Tomb series. I literally only know the starting and ending strokes of the first book. That being said, I do like the half-soul-Sollux idea, and it works pretty well with the Locked Tomb's general theme of Lyctorhood, and how knotted the whole situation with Alecto, Gideon, and Harrow ends up being. (What is even going on with Nona) ~LOSS (4/13/24) @manorinthewoods asked: You know, if you hadn't already read Gideon the Ninth, I'd have recommended it as a good second liveblog. It really does fit your preferred sort of mystery. From all the clues presented, you could probably hit very close to the ultimate solution to the Lyctoral puzzle - as close as anybody could be expected to get. ~LOSS (25/4/24) @manorinthewoods asked: The Locked Tomb's prose is pretty good. On occasion, it happens to chime with a sound of 'Homestuck', but I only recall that twice so far in my reading. I like the skelebook. ~LOSS (27/4/24)

Once again, I'm glad my hidden agenda - convincing this blog's entire readership to check out The Locked Tomb - is bearing fruit.

I agree! TLT does occasionally give Homestuck vibes, presumably because its author is a fan. For the most part, though, its prose style is all its own.

Anonymous asked: Reference to American culture: the sphere of Jade's home dropping and the timer that preceded it are references to the Times Square Ball, an annual event held every New Year's Eve. A giant ball descends down a pole at 11:59 PM and reaches the bottom at 12:00 AM, January 1. I believe that you can figure out why the reference was included in the first place. Anonymous asked: btw the gamzee page was released on new years. ‘the miracle of a new beginning’ is the new year and the lab dropping is supposed to be a reference to the ball dropping in times square

Some America Lore here that I wasn't aware of.

I was wondering exactly what Gamzee meant by 'a new beginning'. Maybe Alternia practices the tradition as well.

@omnilew asked: the way you speculate and go indepth into sburbs features and how it affects the kids, made a silly headcanon that your kidsona is reading the comic while playing out their session though this is mainly because "Eventually, we were bound to cross a couple of wires that should never have been allowed to touch" kinda references chargerkind

I like it! Maybe my 'sonas have access to a more in-depth version of Rose's walkthrough, and are adding their own commentary in quiet moments during their own adventures.

@manorinthewoods asked: Your excitement over the resurrection of Dream Jade gave me a form of suspenseful mirth. Seeing how happy you were at her resurrection, while also knowing exactly what came of it, is perhaps textbook dramatic irony. If only you'd read a panel further… ~LOSS (26/4/24)

She looked so happy to be back, too! That certainly didn't last long.

She was prototyped with a smiling corpse, though. Maybe that was just her 'default' expression, and it vanished as soon as her actual feelings asserted themselves.

@thetinygladiator asked: 'I hadn’t really thought about Sally’s ectobiological parent - but now that I am, I think the funniest possible option is that it’s her landlady.' okay but i just gotta say… this immediately makes me think about how that relates to the house-building aspect. Like, with the giant tower, are they gonna charge the Imps for rent? That might work, honestly. Where do imps even live? Bet they don't have good AC or Wi-Fi, lemme tell ya.

300 GRIST/DAY NO CRUXTRUDER NO ALCHEMY NO PETS

@manorinthewoods submitted: How many computers would you have on your person if you were playing Sburb? Jade recommends at least 5. I say I'd have a laptop, phone, a spare of both of those, and computer gloves if I need to compute really fast. Also spare gloves. Speaking of the phone - is it possible for people to put phones in their pockets? Given Karkat (and a minor gag in Act 6), we can assume that it's difficult or uncommon to carry items without using the Sylladex - or maybe it's just tied to your dexterity, and you have to hold things gingerly to avoid captchaloguing them when you pick them up. On the other hand, there's no issues with accidentally storing something you've unstored and are using - so how does the Sylladex actually work? Do people just instinctively store their items once they're done using them? Is it difficult to avoid storing something you aren't using anymore? Can you stuff phones in pockets? If not, then why develop a PDA in the first place? Given the Sylladex, it should be much more commercially viable to make a tablet. ~LOSS (24/4/24)

Since Karkat can physically pick up a book, you can probably pocket your gear - although maybe there's a difference between holding an object and trying to add it to a physical 'inventory'. Either way, the issue is easily circumvented by employing wearable tech, like the kids do.

As depicted in my alchemy binge, my primary computing device would be the Pocket Holodex, which can remote into any computer in my sylladex.

In addition, my Modular Ring shirt is also a computer, which can presumably be augmented by adding extra mod1ules over time. I'd probably also captchalogue every computer in my apartment, of which I currently have six.

I'd be exploring the Medium with a minimum of seven computers, plus one pseudo-computer, plus a phone. Jade would certainly approve.

@iris-in-the-dark-world asked: the tension in act 5 act 2 is perfect, i love it. maybe even moreso on rereads, the foreshadowing and generally ominous vibes always get to me @heliotropopause asked: You're getting to the part where the comic really starts hitting its stride. This'll be fun.

The ever-present countdown certainly adds a degree of urgency to the situation.

I'm really liking the pacing of this current act, as things slowly progress towards some critical point - one which, for now, is still shrouded in mystery.

Anonymous asked: Forwarding another ask for the person with no account ~DJ: Eridan's deal seems to be based on Wizardry Herbert - a proto-Homestuck work by Hussie. A parody of Harry Potter dealing with whether magic is real. [] But Methods of Rationality began in February 2010, so "Harry Potter but obsessed with science" might have also been an intentional reference to that.-RM @heliotropopause asked: Eridan Ampora and the Methods of Rationality sure is an idea for a fanfic. He'd be so bad at it.

Eridan would be an extremely funny choice for a ratfic protagonist. He'd be so smarmy about it - and thus, a perfect addition to their ranks.

What would the definitive Homestuck ratfic be called, do you think? I think Tool-Assisted Speedrun would be a decent choice.

@killedthekat asked: An interesting thing about doomed timelines is how they serve to prevent stable loop metagaming. As a basic example, in a typical stable time loop scenario, if you observe yourself unharmed in the future, you can throw yourself into high danger high reward situations and know that probability will twist itself into whatever improbable knot it needs to do to keep you safe. But in homestuck if you lean too hard on predestination you just get shunted into a doomed timeline for your trouble.

It's true. Timehopping just isn't fun in Homestuck, as you're constantly walking a tightrope, desperately trying to stay in the one timeline that might not get you killed.

It's a good way to prevent time-travelers from becoming overpowered - something which is probably necessary for a comic which makes such heavy use of the concept.

Anonymous asked: Now that you're updating while HS^2 is, I've realised that while I'm barely keeping up with ^2, I just yelled "Oh! Upd8!" out loud when I checked your blog, so to me? You're the real continuation of Homestuck

What an honor!

For veterans of the comic, this blog is more Homestuck: Revisited than Homestuck 2. As a woman who would much rather watch video essays about old Simpsons episodes than new seasons of the show, I completely understand why some would prefer the latter.

@manorinthewoods asked: I've since finished Worm. I think Sophia's by far the best Vriska candidate. Lisa, Amy, and Colin are less so, I think. ~LOSS (21/4/24)

Oh, nice, you got all the way through it! Worm is an absolute behemoth, and I know a lot of people who started it, and gave up halfway through.

Sophia is likely the closest match to Vriska in personality. I agree with an earlier comment, though, that the most Vriska-like character in terms of audience reaction is probably Amy.

Anonymous asked: Cannot believe someone would propose a Homestuck/Locked Tomb scenario and leave Gamzee as part of a spare pairing, when the Homestuck fic The Serendipity Gospels, written by the author of The Locked Tomb, stars Gamzee and Terezi in the proto-necromancer/cavalier dynamic. Absolutely appropriate to have Gamzee as Ninth though, since his facepaint is the direct ancestor to Harrow's. Gamzee and Terezi is such a funny pairing to go with. I'm certainly looking forward to checking out The Serendipity Gospels when I'm done with the comic - both to compare it to Homestuck and to the Locked Tomb.

As am I. Apparently it was left unfinished - but considering how long this liveblog is taking, maybe Taz will have updated by the time I'm done!

Wishful thinking, of course, but I live in hope.

@bladekindeyewear submitted:

(I started Dragon's Dogma 2 a couple weeks ago and did my best to a Gideon Nav pawn (NPC ally), facepaint and two-hander and all, and the "Jaunty Straightforward" voice selection has been EXTREMELY distracting / game-improving because her voice and attitude chatting beside my player all the time sound almost straight out of the audiobook.)

Damn, you really captured her essence. Pawn is a very fitting title for her, too :(

@manorinthewoods asked: On the topic of blood color names - Blue through Purple were renamed in Hiveswap. Originally, Vriska was Cerulean, Equius was Blue, and Gamzee was Indigo - which I like more than their modern incarnations. I think 'bronze' might also be a Hiveswap thing, although I won't dispute it, and rust might have been renamed to burgundy? Maybe burgundy is a synonym. Idk. ~LOSS (4/13/24)

I think I prefer the likes of olive, indigo and bronze over more generic terms like green, blue and brown, which would quickly lead to confusion.

Vriska's blood, for example, is also a shade of blue, so it would be a little strange if blue blood was an official term, but it didn't apply to her.

@mxamericanblue asked:hi i have been absolutely BINGING your live blog rn and i gotta just get this out this is so so cool watching you react has been giving me so much joy, i don't have a computer so i can't really experience homestuck again casually when i want to but watching you read it and react and THEORIZE??? omg your theories have been so fuckin killer it's given me a new appreciation for Hussie as a story teller and how spectacular this comic truly was thank you for this, i've been having a grand ol' time, and it's all cuz of u

Thank you! I feel like I've been theorizing a lot less since I came back from my hiatus, mostly because the comic hasn't introduced many big mysteries recently - aside, of course, from Aradia's unexplained explosion.

(Pre-posting update: Since first drafting this ask, my statement above is no longer true, as Gamzee has been revealed as Homestuck's most important character. What the actual fuck.)

@lilietsblog asked: re fifth house aradia: she's an archeolodist :)

Oh, shit, you're right.

Maybe she'd be in more danger from the Lyctor than I thought.

@ben-guy asked: Vriska's ascension to god-tier is, in my personal opinion, one of the most visually striking scenes in all of Homestuck. Also, one of the panels you didn't include (which is understandable w/ Homestuck lol. Sacrifices for the sake of brevity) specifically the one where she has him write "[…] plenty of time for that l8r" above her head… Think about the position she would have had to move him to to write that.

…jesus, Vriska. You can't just do that!

@martinkhall asked: "What is treasure but a fortune, waiting to be found?" Or stolen if you're the THIEF of Light.

Son of a bitch. That's why she's a pirate, isn't it?

Because a Thief of Light is someone who steals fortunes!

@manorinthewoods asked: Eidolons. A species purpose-built to play Sburb, while breaking every mechanic you can solely with biology. Eidolons don't sleep, and live in a hive mind. Their psychologies are very poor at recognising distinct things, with Eidolons seeing the world more in terms of a blur of colors and shapes. They thus have a very difficult time understanding Classes and Aspects, never mind that their mythology never involved deities, and they never invented chess, or games of any sort… ~LOSS (15/4/24)

The idea of a species engineered from the ground up to be Players does raise the interesting question of whether there was a first species to play Sburb.

Of course, with all the time-loops we've been working with, there might not have been a first species - unless Sburb was 'created' in some sort of metatemporal space, 'before' any loops were put in place.

@manorinthewoods submitted: You are very good at analysing Vriska's psyche. Vriska's character was executed very well, I think, and I would hate her with a burning passion platonically but to a high degree if I knew her in real life. She's just… really horrible. She's a horrible person. And half her shtick is that she keeps evading consequences in spite of that. All of her mental torture of Tavros, for instance, ends in her becoming the most powerful player in the session. What sort of justice is that, Terezi? ~LOSS (15/4/24)

She hasn't entirely evaded consequences, but it's undeniable that none of the consequences she's experienced have actually stopped her from doing the things she does.

She's lost an arm, an eye, she's been beaten up, she's bled to death, and literally none of it has caused her to let up on Tavros, even a little. Letting up on Tavros, to her, would be worse than any physical harm, because it would be an attack on her worldview.

@sanctferum asked: "Has anything come of this since, actually? I haven’t heard anything about this new comic – although I do scroll in the opposite direction any time I see a reference to Homestuck, so I guess it makes sense that I wouldn’t." - The general feel I've gotten from the community has been largely positive re: the new Homestuck 2 updates, which have indeed been happening. It's being updated once per month for now, so a lot slower going than non-hiatused OG Homestuck. But I'm enjoying it so far!

Once a month seems more sustainable than Hussie's original barely-believable pace for the comic. With Hussie no longer at the helm, expecting daily panels seems like a pretty big ask - most people don't have the time, money or energy do what Hussie did.

Anonymous asked: I don't know if you read UTDR fanfiction, but this Tavros and Vriska situation reminds me a little bit of Flowey Is Not A Good Life Coach. she's trying to push him to his limits and torture him into being someone who will kill, and he just won't. say, what's your read on comparing Flowey : Vriska?

Flowey does what he does because he's lost his emotions, but Vriska does what she does because she's consumed by her emotions.

If anything, Flowey has more in common with Aradia. They're both time-travelers whose ability to feel is somewhat compromised.

Anonymous asked: WHATTTTTT HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN BACK???????? I THOUGHT YOU WERE STILL ON A LONG ASS HIATUS BUT I JUST JOW DISCOVERED TUMBLR ISNT GIVING ME POST NOTIFICATIONS FOR YOU ANYMORE EVEN THOUGH I HAVE IT TURNED ON FOR YOU AND IT WORKS FOR OTHER BLOGS???? WHAT THE HELL. IM GOING INSANE.

This has happened before - but before, I was also removed from Tumblr's search function, which doesn't seem to be the case this time.

Is anyone else having issues with Wertsearch post notifications?

@elkian asked: So has anyone mentioned the godhood joke yet? (The God Tiers costumes have hoods. God Hoods. Badum-tish)

LOL, I did miss that.

Anonymous asked: Fun Homestuck fact! After writing Karkat, someone brought up that the writer of the 'Programming For [Expletive]s' book sounded a lot like Karkat. Andrew responded by telling them to imagine that it was actually written in all caps, basically canonizing that the 'Programming For [Expletive]s' book was written by Karkat. At least, I think that's how that went? ~LOSS (28/2/23)

And it could be any Karkat, too. Maybe one of the Karkats from a doomed timeline actually learned to code from Sollux, and became a famous ~ATH developer.

@morganwick asked: So with conversation 8=8 apparently taking place in the immediate aftermath of Rose destroying her gate (even technically during Descend), and Rose's attitude towards Kanaya in the part of it that we see, does that change how much you think her attitude in their previous conversations reflects her genuine mental state?

Oh yeah, no, I’m pretty sure she was genuinely in a bad mood here. Not really so much because of Kanaya, and I think the anger directed at Kanaya specifically was inauthentic, but the bad mood itself was real. She'd recently been injected with several months of traumatic memories, after all.

@manorinthewoods asked: That panel, of John in Vriska's 'fabulous outfit', is actually pretty neat, because you can see from the proportions how young John really is. He's small, not even fully a teenager yet, and he's been thrown into this chaotic world of humans and trolls, quadrants, violence and danger. Everyone in the game must be scared, in some degree, but none of them ever show it. It makes you wonder just how strong Skaia's children really are. ~LOSS (29/4/23)

Seriously. In what universe are 13-year-olds the people most qualified to make universes? Sburb has some very funny ideas about the optimal way it should be played.

I suppose this is something that had to be true, though, for Homestuck to be the coming-of-age story that Hussie wanted it to be.

Anonymous asked: My interpretation has always been that "the Blind Prophets" are actually just Terezi herself, in a time loop-y/predestined way. She's blind, her class is Seer, AKA prophet, and those are her numerals. Also, on an unrelated note, but to weigh in on your last ask, according to Latin conventions, the plural of lusus is lusus. Does Homestuck follow those conventions? Well…

Or, since there are two Seers in Homestuck, maybe they’re Terezi and Rose. She’s a Light Player, so a blinding would be suitably ironic.

Anonymous asked: re: captchalogue codes and the states of objects: it takes a relatively small change in the physical arrangement of atoms and whatnot to turn a ghost dad poster into, say, a little monsters poster, but the two have a relatively large difference between their conceptual nature. on the other hand, it would take a relatively large rearrangement of atoms to make the slime pogo ride be anything other than a slime pogo ride. perhaps this makes the former change state more easily than the latter? alternatively, maybe the captcha system just knows that all it would really take to make the slime pogo ride stop being covered in oil is soap and water and it's happy to do that on its own, but paper is harder to clean so it wants you to jump through more hoops for that one new question: if john had used his posters for alchemy before he was able to see their defacement, would the resultant objects also be beclowned? evidence seems to suggest that players with unawakened dream selves Will draw on their walls in their sleep and not see it until Ready, so there not being mechanisms in place to deal with that seems less likely than the alternative to me, but especially considering people who aren't them Can see the drawings, how??? would that even??? work??? what would've happened if john had done alchemy with the arms cake. i think it would be funny to see that

I think he’d still get the clown posters.

The kids keep accidentally making magic items, so It's clearly possible for someone to alchemize an object with properties they didn't foresee. Therefore, I think John would make what appears, to him, to be a normal poster - but Rose would still see it as it truly is.

Anonymous asked: any thoughts on what the horrorterrors are? beyond their (admittedly vague) intentions?

I think they’re a sign of the wider cosmology beyond Sburb - and, more specifically, a sign that there is a wider cosmology beyond Sburb.

I don't know if we'll necessarily get more expansion on them than we've already had, because their whole shtick is that they're unknowable. Needless to say, I'd love to be proven wrong.

[hana-no-seiiki]

Happy Holidays Everyone!! As promised this was finished and published before Christmas so I can work on official portraits. Enjoy your gift from your one and only god, Yun ♡

I don’t know where this takes place in the timeline for the HNSverse and my webtoons but we’ll just go with whatever the fuck was given to me in my dream.

Likes & Reblogs are much appreciated!!

YANDERE POWER RANGERS-ESQUE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS x AMNESIAC! MALE! RANGER READER

OPERATION : PRETTY PINK LIAR ♡

tw/cw: dddne. yandere fic typical violence. mech/scifi fantasy violence. off-screen character deaths. in this version reader is male. check the masterlist for other versions of the fic. your name appears as [ REDACTED ]. one-sided semi-cestuous pining(by yan). brief mention/implication of cheating. necrophillia (implicit). descriptions of gore/violence.

fic type: long oneshot

status: unedited

[ MASTERLIST / CHARACTER APPEARANCES ]

When humanity needed them the most, the Elemental Squad Unit came to save the day. Composed of Earth’s mightiest, most righteous men, they drive those wretched aliens away. Protecting our daily lives, while risking their own.

That was the story often told to the people. Those who lived blissfully unaware of the turbulence in heaven. Everyone knew of the ESU, whether they liked it or not.

“[Y/N]. You really don’t have to do this y’know.” Blue Ranger: Kaguya, repeated. He had medium length navy hair tied into a ponytail. He was short, cute almost. Sparkle shaped freckles dotted the middle of his face. Throughout your stay in the hospital, he had been the second most frequent visitor. He always touched you in one way or another. His fingers always grazed a part of your body. His eyes in a glaze as he’d stare at your injured figure. You found out it was because you two were dating or had a mutual interest towards one another . . . you think. At least in the eyes of the other crew members.

To you he was just a rando that always seemed to ignore your boundaries. Even when you were adamant with keeping a certain distance.

You tried your best not to flinch every time he came close, meticulously concealed any involuntary reactions, and strived to maintain an unwavering composure. It was difficult being so intimate with a total stranger. What was more concerning was the way your heart wrenched at such occurrences. An unsettling sensation, leaving you with a peculiar awareness that the narrative he presented was a well crafted farce.

You rolled your eyes at his worried face. It felt so off on him. Instead of the average look of concern one might show towards an ill individual, Blue’s expressions and tone always came off as haughty, snobbish, pitying, condescending. Red assured you that it was just what Blue sounds like all the time due to his background but you still couldn’t help but grimace as you spat back, “The squad has almost been eliminated thrice since I’ve woken up and was able to watch the news. I think I do.”

Yellow Ranger: Malik, shook his head. Despite being the tallest and rather gruff looking in comparison to the other members, his nagging often made all the intimidation in your nerves melt away. He had been the worrier you observed. Except that his worry usually came in massive spiels and sermons that threatened to have your ears bleed if you so much as breathed the wrong way. He was the complete opposite of Blue. Fitting when you weighed in his hometown — the kingdom on the other side of the planet of Blue’s. Harsh and condescending on the outside, a complete softie on the inside. “You don’t even know how your suit works! And it hasn’t been responding properly to your commands—“

You sighed as the brunette continued, delicately slipping a hand into the control unit positioned before you. Your fingers glided within akin to a nimble set of needles, traversing through the viscous, gelatinous substance within the intricate contraption. Abruptly, the entirety of the suit burst into a vibrant display of illuminating hues.

【 SUIT ACQUISITION SUCCESS 】

You fought the wide grin from appearing on your visage as you completely enclosed yourself into the suit. The odd, metal like material encased your form. You closed your eyes for a couple of moments, embracing the darkness and the brief second of peace you had without the other team members on your 6, before opening it to see the outside world beyond your suit’s controls. Completely in your view despite your current location and condition. Holographic graphs and charts on the edge of your peripherals.

“Ranger Pink. Welcome back.” The leader of the ESU, Red Ranger: Jasper, smacked the rose colored sentinel. He was your half-brother as you’d learnt. With features similar to your own. Tall, muscular, he towered many of the members. You spotted a lot of scars throughout his body, a few could be found accompanying his facial features; lips, eyebrows, his nose.

In the advent of this world’s technology, those scars could have easily been removed. In fact you knew the procedure was popular with many of your other members. Yet Red refused to do so.

“I’ll accompany them.” Blue ran off to his sentinel. His steps leaving a layer of water across the launch pads in his excitement.

“Blue . . .” Yellow reached out to him, only for Blue to brush his hand aside and eagerly jumped inside his suit.

Green Ranger: Zelenka chimed as he chewed on a špekáček, “Way to be obvious about what his dick thinks.”

“Green!” Yellow smacked him at the back of his head.

Green only grumbled, not at all surprised, bothered or in pain. His face blank, and eyes drifting off in boredom, “It was a compliment. At least Blue is honest about getting hard when Pink’s around. Unlike some people.”

“S-shut your goddamn mouth.” Yellow gave one last ‘hmph’ before he stalked off of the platforms.

Green gave the seething man a brief glance before his eyes wandered to his own sentinel. After a long sigh, he got inside.

Finally, Red provided a go signal, and the three rangers took off. Their sentinels; gigantic, metalic humanoid stepping from within the Ranged HQ and into the deep dark ocean.

Red smiled to himself, rotating his body to walk to his own suit’s platform for his own set of missions, nonchalantly speaking into the air. “Black. Ensure nothing . . . unfortunate happens with Pink.”

A figure clad in black emerged from the shadows. Much larger than even the ESU leader’s form.

“Understood.”

【　MEMORY UNLOCKED 】

Accessing files . . .

“. . .”

As consciousness gently clawed its way back to the surface, a haze of confusion shrouded the mind. Blinking away the remnants of slumber, [ REDACTED ] ‘s eyes slowly adjusted to the harsh, artificial lighting of the hospital room. A flicker of anxiety danced across their thoughts.

“You’re . . . awake!” A muffled voice entered their ears. The sensation of cool, crisp sheets under fingertips became apparent, offering a peculiar contrast to the warm cocoon of blankets. And as their sense of touch returned so did their full hearing capacity.

A face, dark tan — excessively alluring really, your gaze was immediately glued — with golden eyes reminiscent of the blaring sun covered most of your vision.

“You goddamn idiot! I- I was so worried. Why’d you protect me?! I could’ve handled it y’know?!”

“Easy, Yellow.” Another voice. But you could not move your body to view them. But with such a beauty right in front of you, did you really want to?

“To hell with that.” The pretty boy continued, “You hear me, Pink? I’m one of the original three. I am above you. I don’t need your god damned pity. Or anyone else’s! Especially not a nepo baby like—“ His pointer landed on your chest, painfully despite the massive amounts of bandages the surrounded your nearly eviscerated body.

“Yellow, that’s enough.” The voice popped out again, this time more authoritative and firm. You see a gloved hand reach from behind and grab ‘Yellow’s’ shoulder.

“No, I need to hear it from him directly! Tell me you won’t do this again!”

“Your Majesty, I don’t think—“ This time another voice advised the young man in front of you. They sounded a lot more frail, older.

“Answer me, bastard!”

“. . . Who . . .” You breathed, struggling to form words as every second you remained conscious was agonizing as it much less when you produced any sort of moved. “. . . Who are you?”

The more delicate voice spoke up once more. Your vision was starting to turn blurry and dark. “As I was saying, I’m afraid Ranger Pink has sustained too much damage in the battlefield.”

On a more solemn tone they added, “We did the best we could do.”

“Who . . . are these . . . people . . ?”

You fought with everything to stay awake. You truly did. But as the moments passed and the world around you started spinning and blending into itself, you could not resist the temptation to close your eyes. Your once anxious mind now slowly faded into serene clarity.

【　MISSION ACCOMPLISHED 】

The world was lot more vibrant than you expected it to be. Everything looked apocalyptic whenever you watched the ESU in battle. The only thing that signaled an invasion was happening was the occasional alien and buildings that were being repaired post-fight.

You marveled at the view around you, almost in a daze.

The sound of a lazer being shot snapped you out of your stupor.

“The hell—?! Green! That’s friendly fire you mani—“ Blue hollered.

You’re sure that if this man were any more petulant his suit itself would be stomping the ground in anger.

“I just saved you, your highness.” Green’s suit does a curtsy. He then pointed to the dead blob on the ground.

“Thank you, Green.” You bowed back.

“Hahaha! I like the new Pink. Maybe he should never recover his memories—“

“Had an Alien on your shoulder.” Blue deadpanned after shooting a jet of high pressure water towards Green.

“Bullshit.”

You grinned at their antics. You almost couldn’t believe that these were the saviors of humanity. One of if not the only line of defense against its extinction. But then grimaced at an indicator flashing within the corner of your vision. “Enemy at 7 o’clock.”

“On it.” Blue’s sentinel hurried to the scene, moving around as if it were swimming in the air.

Green cursed. It wasn’t just a normal enemy. “Shit. It’s a full on ship.”

“We have to re-unite with —“

Green is promptly taken down. A group of fliers came at him like vultures to corpse.

“Pink!” Blue screamed, swiftly flying to close to you once more. His suit takes yours’ hand and held it tight.

“. . .” You looked at him, almost angered that he tore your attention away from Green’s potential demise.

“We have to fuse. You’ve seen the squad do it on the news right?”

“Ain’t no way I’m fusing with—“ Green screeched as he fought off the bird like creatures. Vines reaching to grapple the them, but are promptly sliced by support from above: the main ship.

“Well I didn’t ask you did I?” Blue practically hissed at him. When you saw the ESU fight before they seemed so in sync, now you were starting to understand why these men kept on almost dying recently.

“Will Green be alright?”

“You heard him. He doesn’t want to fuse.”

It takes you moments to reply and hesitantly you finally responded with, “Okay.” You nodded, closing your eyes as Blue’s sentinel moved towards you, melding into your suit.

Your eyes flutter open. You’re surrounded with water, but somehow you were able to breathe. You see Blue’s figure beside you.

“. . . Your interface.” He looked over to your system, most of which has been covered in the ooze aliens were typically made of.

You must have been infected while Green was first attacked, hence the reluctance to fuse.

“Enemies” You reminded.

“Right.” Blue shook his head. Every ESU member was taught to put the mission before their own well-being. He had a natural resistance to infection due to his cockpit’s watery environment. It should help stave off the infection for enough time until back-up arrives.

“Let’s switch forms this time.” He suggested. If he took more control he’d be able to help fight the infection off better. “Flight mode ON!”

A chase begun. You and Blue flew at a breakneck speed, leading the ship and birds away from any nearby cities and Green. While fused, you could feel what Blue felt. Anxiety, fear. Perhaps this was how the team worked together properly. It was hard not to empathize when these emotions were shoved in your face.

You release one of your hands from your interface and place it on his shoulders.

You feel a sudden wave of warmth. Calm.

“You forgot the boosters.” You advised, hoping to jog his memory a little in this moment of extreme pressure and stakes.

He fumbled, causing your fused sentinels to dip for a moment, but was able to activate the booster in time. Creating a workable distance

“Shit, we’re heading straight into a city.”

Panic returns to your senses once more. You release your hold over his shoulder. With a smile, an idea popped into your head and you take over.

“Perfect, I got this.”

You shove the hand you used to comfort him back into the sludge and take control. The whole cockpit turned pink with swirling black tendrils.

The enemy followed you as you passed a bridge leading into a city.

“What are you doing?! You’re going to get people killed!” Blue attempted to override your command but found himself unable to.

You try to keep the sentinel above most of the building as to avoid making the alien ship collide and cause unnecessary casualties.

You soon reach the center where a monstrous skyscraper stood. You figured out from watching other members use flight mode that it was based off of the distance from underneath the suit to its main hull. As such, if you went up close to scale the wall of such a tall building . . .

【　TARGET LOCKED 】

The system prompted you and Blue as your soared through the skies and above the aliens.

You waste no time and shoot. A beam of electricity, water, and . . . shadow? releases — piercing straight through the tar like material. You made sure to destroy the wings of the birds and the flight mechanisms of the ship.

And as an extra assurance you fly back down, switch modes once more, and use the suit to stomp on their soon-to-be corpses.

As you float back down to check, you spot an aura of shadowy wisps clinging unto the wreckage. It seemed to be minimizing the damage surrounding the area via changing the material’s weight.

“Black. Thank you for the assist.”

Black Ranger: Noir. Close friends with the White Ranger. They looked nothing alike, acted nothing alike, and you never saw them even speak to one another. But they worked in terrifying efficiency together — scout missions — and as such were assigned into a sub-unit that rarely ever crossed paths with the main ESU.

Red was watching over you.

Your body tensed in the suit.

“No problem.” Black muttered. He was a man of few words. Rarely ever seen. You don’t think he even wants to be.

“We should go check on Green”

【　MEMORY UNLOCKED 】

Accessing files . . .

“My name is [ REDACTED ]. It’s a pleasure to join your team!”

Your introduction was fine you think. Jasper told you not to make it too long as the team was usually chasing time enough as it is. You even added a bow at the end, in both the Lunar and Solar Kingdom’s variation as to show your respect and admiration for the team.

“I can’t believe this. Another one? Green is already a pain in the ass.” Yellow reacted first. You flinched at his reaction, which made his demeanor soften for a brief moment before it returned to its domineering self.

“Yellow.” Red glared at him, this time semi-permanently making Yellow sink into himself. “Welcome to the team, brother.”

Blue does not respond nor look at your direction. A grim expression painted his pretty features.

“Guess I’m not the only newbie anymore! What should I call ya?” Green vibrantly beamed. Poking your cheeks as he munched on a bag of cheese puffs. No doubt making the dust stick to your face with his saliva.

“P-Pink would be fine.”

“Pinkie it is!” Green laughed letting go of his snack and hugging you tightly.

Your hands slowly, inch by inch, raised hug him back.

“Your vital signs are all fine.” You mused as you put down sphygmomanometer.

“Thanks for your concern, Pinkie.”

You shook your head. There was no concern here. “No problem. We simply can’t lose our healer. That would be a dire situation.”

“Pffft— I’ll be up and about after a day no problem.” He waved his hands. Well, a hand. His other one was broken and almost completely detached from his body when you busted him out of his sentinel. He was able to heal it enough to somewhat move it safely, but otherwise it was unusable.

“ . . . Red is considering taking you off the team.”

“. . . What . . ?”

“He says you’re too much of a liability. Your conduct and lack of cooperation that is.”

“Lack of cooperation my ass.” Green sat up and straightened his back with a grunt. “What do you get by telling me this? I’m guessing you aren’t supposed to?”

“If he’s kicking you out I’m coming down with.”

“Pinkie . . . “

“You’re a valuable member to the team.”

“Hey, do you . . . do you have a name I can call you by? Your actual one I mean.” Green leaned his forehead against yours.

He peered into your eyes. The once pink color had now slowly faded into black with swirls of purple.

What was he asking? He knew your name.

And then you realized.

“. . . I don’t have one.”

“Then I guess I’m stuck with calling you Pinkie?” He smiled holding your cheek. Sluggishly his face tilted moved closer to yours —

“Get your hands off of him!” A whiny voice resounded throughout the medbay’s room.

“Augh, your highness. Can’t you see I’m having a moment with your ex?”

Dazed you pushed the Ranger away from you and left the room, bumping shoulders with Blue.

You were able to get quite a distance away and were about to take a long sigh in relief. You were too exhausted for the other member’s antics and drama.

“[Y/N]—!” Blue panted. It seemed that he ran after you. In any case, he yanked you by the wrist to face him. “I- I’m . . . I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“That we used to be—“

“In a relationship? I knew. White told me.”

“That bastard—“

“May you let go of me? I have another check up.” You raised your wrist and his hand, shaking it a little.

“No!” He shouted. You gave him a shocked look which led to him lowering his voice and talking in a nervous, timid manner. “L-look, we can make this work. Alright? I don’t want us to just — end up like this.”

You do not sugarcoat your words and simply spoke “Blue. To me you’re a stranger.”

You continue even after he flinched at your words. “I don’t know you. Coupled with the fact that you purposely hid something as big as that makes your reliability questionable at best.”

You watched as his face morphed into sadness, then grief,

“I’ll make the judgment when my memories come back. Until then . . . It’s a no.”

and lastly, anger.

“No? No! Do you think you can say no to me?” He squeezed your wrist and you hear bones crack.“I’m the goddamn crown prince of the Lunar Empire! I get what I want and—“

“And you need to get off your high horses.” You halted him from his spiel. “We’re all equal here. As rangers. As defenders of humanity. Only Red has the right to be ordering the rest. You’re the prince aren’t you? Go find another potential mistress. I’m not doing this to Yellow.”

“But I . . .” Blue’s tone finally went back to it’s more quiet and tolerable version. “I need you.”

You feel Blue’s hold slacken and immediately took the moment to pull your hand away.

“You disgust me.” And you walked off.

You heard him falling to his knees as he cried. Yet you do not look back.

The control room wasn’t a place many team members went to. It was implicitly known that it was Red and his most trusted entourage’s domain.

You weren’t a part of that group. Not even from the memories you’ve slowly started to gain.

But this matter was of utmost importance.

“I’d like to be taken off the team.” You said as the doors slid open. A robotic greeting could be heard in the background, signaling your entrance.

From your rare visits, it was mostly where Red and White would plan out patrols and store their information about the invading forces. The place remained unchanged. Most likely due to Green’s lack of interference in the decor, and overall organization.

“If this is about Green, then don’t worry. I’ve changed my—”

“It’s about Blue.”

Red looked more alert. His head flicked from the various screens inside the room to your direction. Finally looking at you directly. “I told you two that a relationship would be detrimental to the future of the squad. But none of you ever listen. See what happens?”

Beside him, Ranger White: Blanc, mumbled yet it was audible enough to be heard by you from across the room. “Let’s be frank here, Red. You said that because you were jealous.”

“White—?“

You didn’t know Red could even be flustered. He always seemed so level-headed, so dangerously focused on the task of eliminating the invaders that anything aside from a stoic look on his face looked . . . well . . . out of place.

“Red. It’s easy to see your favoritism.” Unlike him, White’s eyes do not leave the screens. The man’s void like eyes were trained unto the replay of the fight you just had.

“Aren’t we . . . siblings ?” You questioned. You weren’t unaware of his feelings. But you always viewed it as a over-protective if not suspicious brotherly act. Thinking of it otherwise . . . vile.

“Oh honey, you two aren’t completely blood related remember?” White swiped to another angle of the battle. “At least that’s what Red keeps reminding himself in order to lessen the guilt he feels lusting over you.”

“But — “

And then he suddenly looked at you.

Void meeting tar.

“Much less now that you’re hosting an alien parasite.

Fear. It was such a human concept. The way your heart thrashes within the confines of its boney cage. The way your mind goes blank. The way your instincts take over and all you could do is either fight, run or freeze.

You chose silence. Cursing this human shell for glueing your mouth shut and feet to the floor.

“What are you talking about?” Red gripped White’s clothes. A jacket you’ve often seen him wear that completely engulfed his body.

Completely unbothered by Red’s actions, White continued, “I was wondering why you weren’t able to get your suit activated at first. But suddenly you’re able to control it with ease. Better than you were able to from before actually.”

He then brings up a tablet of your previously brutalized state. Ooze of black, violet and magenta coming from every orifice and wound. Your bones mangled in a way that seemed almost uncanny. Viscera from all sorts of organs on display. If you were anything but an ESU member you’d been twice dead. You feel your . . . this body’s stomach reel at the way it was treated.

“Green wasn’t able to heal you either, you had to ‘recover’ the old fashion way. I bet he knows too.”

You know of that memory. Green was all over you that day. He was a sobbing mess. He was always trying to help you recover, until you gained consciousness he spent countless nights without sleep or much sustenance just trying to figure out why he couldn’t help.

Zelenka. He was one human you’ll spare to move unto to the next phase of your plan. Such selflessness and kindness deserve recognition after all.

But back to the matter at hand.

“That the original pink ranger is dead and only a gooey parasite in the brain remains.”

Red released his hold on White, turning to you in a flash, and in a gentle manner he laid his hands atop your shoulder.

“[Y/N], tell me this isn’t true.” His red eyes were overflowing with grief, held back by a single, cracking dam. You shivered internally at its uncanny look. His face devoid of emotion suited him far better. “You know I’ll only believe in you. Whatever you say, I will follow.”

You looked down, mustering all the tears you could squeeze out of your vessel’s eyes.

“He’s lying, brother — no — Jasper. I’m alive. I’m right here in front of you.”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” Jasper placed his head right atop your chest, “I can hear your heart beating. You’re still alive.”

“Red? Are you listening to yourself? Of course your brother looks and sounds alive. A parasite is puppeting his body, forcing his heart to beat, his eyes to blink, his limbs to move. But he’s dead.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Noir?

Black approached from the shadows. Without his suit you can finally see his handsome face. Dark skin and hair like the night sky, and white eyes that lacked pupils.

“You can’t be serious. . .”

“Dead or alive. At least [Y/N]’s body is here with us. Don’t you see it, Blanc? God has given us the opportunity to be with him again.” Black’s face was smeared with an expression akin to religious ecstasy. A fervor so unlike him that it gave you a whiplash harder than Red’s sudden change.

“Are you going to take that opportunity away from me Blanc?” Black’s hand reached to carress White’s pale features.

And with those words White visibly turned docile. “No. No, of course not.”

“Good.” Black planted a kiss atop White’s hair and forehead. “Now what was this about you leaving the team, [Y/N]?”

[ PRESENT TIME ]

Humanity was far from salvation. As such, your kind, the so-called ‘Alien Race’ were sent to end their suffering.

In a world where billions of their currency went into glorified missile measuring contests, you were there to reset them back to zero. To their naive, infantile, god fearing state.

“Your Majesty. The carriage to the Lunar Kingdom has arrived. The mission in the Northern Front was successful. Reinforcements will arrive in due time.”

Planting yourself into the world was an easy feat. Although you missed your designated target and occupied a much weaker vessel than you intended to, it ended up being a boon. It barely took a decade before you wiped out humanity’s biggest defenders from their main planet. Only a few more left standing.

You stared up into the heavens. The moon and sun’s destined reunion shall signal a start of a new age and you were its herald. Smoke billowed and obscured part of the sky, but the celestial bodies’ light still remained visible in the sky.

“Good.”

You arose from your throne of corpses. You felt no guilt, not an ounce of remorse for the genocide of billions. You knew this was for their own good. Besides, you have done this several times before. In the end, humanity would thank you, even see you as the deity you served. Not that you would want that. You were to loyal to Them after all.

“Let us break down Humanity back to its roots.”

You took your seat upon the helm of your army’s main commanding vessel. A large rose-like entity that covered at least a few cities below.

“Praise be to the Divine.”

“Praise be to the Divine.”

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I feel like this was just a glimpse into what this part of the HNSverse was like so I’ll be glad to make this into a holiday tradition instead of a one-parter if this post is successful.

And yes the romance/elements between the members is a Genshin reference.

[theveryfires]

10 things i hate about you | eddie munson x reader

an: hi there lovelies! Apologies that i have taken such a long break from writing. I have recently finished university and with my dissertation and essays i ended up having no time to actually write anything worth while! for those that have stuck around, thank you for your patience and for those that are new, hi! This is essentially the full version of my earlier piece titles 'crush' that i posted months ago! i hope you enjoy and as always if there is anything i can do better please dont be shy to let me know!

“What’s got you all riled up this time, Munson?”

Gareth’s voice felt distant, drowned out by the sound that had been distracting Eddie since he stepped foot into the cafeteria. His eyes were fixed on the table a few feet away from his own domain. Populated by the slightly more socially acceptable nerds, they would probably be cool in college. All dressed in the same thick knit jumpers, deep blue denim flares, wild hair. He squinted, almost wincing as the sound seemed to grow to a crescendo. There you were, one hand clutching your stomach, close to tumbling out of your chair, the other hand covering your mouth and completely useless at muffling your laughter. it almost bubbled, tinkling and pouring, coating the rest of the usual lunchtime white noise in a thick syrup like blanket. The air had almost turned to honey, and nobody else seemed to notice. Tears were sliding down your face, glasses seconds away from falling off your nose. Eddie’s chest felt cramped, his face growing hotter when your eyes met his for a brief second.

“Not what, dear Gareth. But who.”

Eddie’s rivalry with you was well known throughout the Hellfire club. Although his reasonings were not as widely known, not even to Eddie. There was no definitive motive, no moment in time that started all this distaste. He simply didn’t like you. You had been aware of one another throughout your time at Hawkins middle and high school. Something about you had always given him a headache, made his palms itch, his overall being sweaty. All of this coming to a head when you accidentally walked in on a extremely important Hellfire meeting. You had cut your hair, it was shorter and your glasses had glowed in the low candlelight. He remembered distinctly the way you tripped over your words as you apologised, the glimmer in your eyes as you mentioned something about fire regulations. Your voice was teasing, pulling him out of his seat when he abruptly stood up. It had kept him awake at night, plaguing his dreams for weeks on end. Of course you occasionally caught his deathly glare, but it always softened slightly. The usual cold brown some how warming. You had just figured he was glaring at the jocks that sat a two table’s over. Of course you were unaware of your rivalry with the infamous dungeon master. Totally clueless.

“Is this about Temple of Doom again man? I don’t get why you don’t just bring it up with Keith.”

Eddie couldn’t quite believe that you worked at Family Video. For so long it had been a place of safety and comfort, until he had walked in to find you sorting through the horror section and chatting away to Robin. You were chewing on gum, from the looks of the lurid pink it was watermelon flavour, his favourite. He had never seen you with your hair tied back, little strands falling about your face and practically begging to be pushed back behind your ears. Robin and Steve had actually got a bit worried when they didn’t see him every afternoon like usual, quickly picking up on the fact he only came in when you weren’t working. Eddie had been going in virtually everyday asking after the new Indiana Jones movie. He was convinced you had somehow figured out he wanted it, and cooked up some plan to keep it from him. But Steve told him the actual truth, that you had booked it for three weeks specially for Dustin’s birthday. “Personally i couldnt watch a film that many times but…well you know Henderson.” Eddie had nodded absentmindedly, his eyes glazed over with a strange look. “How does she know Dustin?” His voice had sounded strained, piquing Steve’s interest as he raised an eyebrow. “She’s his babysitter, his actual official babysitter. Has been since I’ve known the kid.” Eddie had only known Dustin a month or so at that point, but it did something to his chest knowing that you cared that much. He continued to complain to Gareth about you, of course…to keep up appearances. But something was different.

“What? Oh no that…thats sorted now.”

That was another thing that he hated, you were always doing stupidly kind things for people for no apparent reason. A week or so after mentioning the whole Temple of Doom saga to Harrington, Eddie had been, as he described it, accosted in the student carpark. He had just pulled up, giving himself five minutes before dragging himself to English where you would surely be already waiting. On top of everything you shared quite a few classes with Eddie, meaning he didn’t really ever get a chance of not being around you. He always knew when you were coming, the telltale smell of coffee that had too much cinnamon and not enough sugar intermingling with your vanilla perfume seemed to surround you. Drifting down the halls, clinging to your locker, english books, pens. He knew this because you often let him borrow a pen and a spare book when he forgot them. But that morning he was surrounded before he had chance to prepare himself. A blush had attacked his face, tinging his ears that luckily were hidden under his mop of curls when you appeared suddenly in front of him. Eddie had watched you eye the cigarette in his hand, caught in the way you inhaled a little deeper, breathed out a little slower. He was left illiterate, only managing to just keep his cool whilst he raised a ever bored eyebrow in your general direction. He had smirked when you sighed, rolling your eyes and shoving the box towards him. “Steve mentioned you were ‘hankering’ for this. Technically i still have it for another four days but…i think if Dusty watches it one more time the tape will break. It’s all yours.” You hadn’t even waited for a thank you, already turning on your heel and walking away. Leaving Eddie with his mouth open, cig caught on his lip and smoke tumbling out of his mouth. He hated the way you left him feeling, all red in the face, heart racing, like an idiot.

“So, what’s the problem?”

Eddie was certain he hated you, was completely convinced of the fact that there was a high chance of you hating him too. But after the past few months, after being forced to actually spend more than the usual minimal amount of time with you, hate didn’t feel like the right word. You treated Dustin like a little brother, actually all the kids clearly looked up to you. You were always on time for picking him up, but never complained about staying a little later. Eddie found himself loving those sessions more than anything, sneaking glances at you as you watched wide eyed at the world of Hellfire. But he had hated you, all through school he had found every inch of you irritating. From the little crop tops you wore in summer to the grandpa jumpers that appeared in the winter. He had hated you for the way you made him feel. Setting him alight every time you were near, making his stomach twist and churn when you caught his eye, god help him if you ever spoke to him properly. And yet…and yet all that was changing. He hadn’t even realised it until Erica had made a pointed comment after catching Eddie drooling over you during one of the later Hellfire meetings. “Are you just gonna sit there all goo-goo eyed over Dustin’s babysitter or are we actually gonna play, I’m missing a key episode of MLP for this yknow?”

“It’s…complicated.”

A few days prior, Eddie had passed you on your walk home from work. He had been driving back from a gig at the hideout, his headlights illuminating the downpour as he slowly made his way back through Hawkins when he spotted you. You were drenched, hair sticking to you face, clothes practically moulded to your body, shoes sodden and squelching on the pavement. At first he had just drove past, only making it a few feet up the street before he reversed back down the road. Robin and Steve had taken the afternoon off to take Dustin to some science fair with Mike and Lucas. Leaving just you and Keith to lock up. Usually you were fine with that, but it left you with no ride home as on that particular day your own car was at the garage. A perfect storm, resulting in you having to brave the autumn downpour on the thirty minute walk home. “Are you crazy?!” Eddie’s voice had scared you, nearly making you slip as you turned to see him staring at you wide eyed from the safety of his van. Eddie watched you turned your face towards the sky, a soft smile taking over the weak frown on his face as you basked in the downpour. “Possibly!” You grinned as you yelled back, an awkward moment growing with you only getting wetter as Eddie struggled to find the words. “Are you offering me a ride or not Munson? Not that it isn’t lovely to chat but uh…” He barely nodded but it was enough for you to run round and jump into the passenger seat. Eddie had glanced at you, frozen and suddenly unaware as to what to even say never mind do. He worried he had forgotten how to drive under your stare. “Theres…theres a spare t-shirt in the back if you…want a dry one?” You had forgotten all about your wet clothes after getting into the warmth of Eddie’s van. The shock of realising just how see through your white crop top had gone making you laugh as you happily accepted a new shirt.

“How could it possibly be more complicated?”

The whole drive back to your house Eddie had felt..strained. He could feel your eyes on him, the gentle burning of them making the van feel uncomfortably warm. Every few seconds he let himself look at you, his breathe quickly being stolen as the sight of you wearing his shirt. A ‘Corroded Coffin’ shirt to be exact. He felt like his head was going to explode, and then you started talking and that only made everything worse. You were trying to fill the silence, not able to bare the awkward quiet. You were rambling, a habit you and Robin seemed to share. Going on about work, looking after Dustin, the latest project for English, whatever film you and your friends were going to see at the weekend. Eddie was drumming his fingers, scrunching his nose and dragging a hand through his hair as he forced himself to focus on the road. A frown on his face that he had perfected for when he was alone with you. “Sorry, am i annoying you Munson?” You had noticed more and more that not only was Eddie not listening but he purposefully was ignoring you. He had done this a few times in the past, but never so blatantly. Eddie was weird, but you had also seen the caring and lovable side of him over the weeks he had spent with Dustin. So why did you get the cold shoulder? For a second those hardened brown eyes melted to chocolate buttons, glancing over at you as if finally caught in the headlights. “You were rambling, and I’m…im trying to focus on the road so we don’t crash. I dont really want to die with you in the car, princess.”

“It’s just…theres…we uh…there uh…”

The lunch that had been sat in front of Eddie continued to grow cold. Gareths stare only hardening as he noticed a strange glazed look coat Munsons usual death cold glare. Eddie replayed the night in his head. The silence that followed his use of ‘princess’ , the painful wince that had flooded his system as he realised what he had said. The look on your face when he had finally worked up the courage to face you. Your face was hard to read, blank almost whilst trying to process what had just happened. Eddie Munson. Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson had just referred to you as princess, whilst he was giving you a ride home, wearing his bands shirt and from the smell of it, it had been worn by Eddie a few times over. The rest of the journey was haunted by a heated silence that came to a grateful end when the van came to a stop outside your home. Eddie remembered you’re stutter, committed it to damn memory as if one day it would save his life. “Thanks for the ride Munson, I uh, well i guess i owe you one.” There was a cheeky tinge to your words, only made clear by the small smile you sent his way. “I’m keeping this shirt by the way…until next time sugar.” Eddie had watched you walk into your house, his hands gripping the wheel with the might of Thor. He could practically hear his heart in his chest, feel the blood rushing around his body. He couldnt sleep that night, or the night after. He couldnt even focus on DnD. All he could think about was that little smile, the way you fitted his shirt like it already belonged to you, how normal it felt to have you by his side.

“Theres been a disturbance in the force of something man.”

Gareth dropped the sandwich he had been happily enjoying whilst Eddie stared off into the distance. He knew all too well what that meant for Munson. The freak was in some dangerous waters. And if the stolen glances you had ben sneaking over at Eddie meant anything, so were you.

[foreludes]

Blood on the Side of the Mountain

pairing: young!coriolanus x reader

summary: coriolanus snow, a man known for his charm, his wit, and his passion for power, meets a talented artist in the capitol. she spends most of her days painting portraits for prominent figures and finds herself painting one for none other than coriolanus snow himself. through all the ups and downs, will coriolanus and the artist be able to defy all odds? or is this so-called love merely another version of control and a means to a devastating ending?

warnings: small mention of blood

word count: 1,942 words

(chapter 1)

chapter 2: writing all over the wall

Have you ever seen a gameshow? Like the ones where they ask you to choose between a million dollars or a brand-new car? It's a seemingly impossible choice. On one hand, you could be set for life, and on the other, you could get to wherever you need to go. That's what it felt like to be asked to lunch by Coriolanus Snow, a seemingly impossible choice, and any option led towards a winning situation.

You were surprised by his question, you had never been invited to lunch by a customer before. Especially one of this magnitude. Who were you to say no to him? "Yes, I think that would be nice," you finally answered as you brushed your paint-stained hands on the legs of your pants. You suddenly became quite aware of what was to come. A lunch with the president of Panem, meaning you would probably have to muster up the courage to have a full conversation. You looked down at the clothes you were wearing. Fortunately, you had always had a knack for picking attire, but even still you didn't think this was good enough to have lunch with someone so admired. Yet, it would have to do.

"Walk with me to the dining room," he said as he stood up from his spot on the couch. He looked especially alluring today, something was different about him than the day before. His bright blue eyes were filled with more enthusiasm, more life than the day before. You wondered why he was so interested in your company. After all, he could truly have lunch with anyone he wanted. Anyone would've been stupid to say no to his request. Yet, he offered you a seat at the table. You stood up from your spot, ready to follow him into probably an even more magnificent room than the one you were currently in.

Coriolanus opened the door for you, letting you walk out of the room before him. You stood in the dimly lit hallway that you had just admired the day before. He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, and ushered you to follow him further into the home. You walked behind him quietly, not sure what to do or say. It wasn't every day that you were going to be able to have lunch in the president's home and you wanted to make a good impression. What if he wanted you to paint for him again? You could make some real money off a job like this. After a few short minutes, you entered a bigger room with a mahogany table in the center. There were two chairs, each spot adorned with an opulent-looking placemat, a plate, a set of silverware, and a glass cup. Coriolanus pulled out the chair nearest to the door for you and you sat down and watched as he walked to the other chair and sat down himself.

After a while, Avox's began to bring in food that you had only dreamed of eating, even seeing. They poured you a glass of fresh water, setting a small bowl of lemons in front of you. "So tell me, what do you think of me?" Coriolanus said, breaking the silence in the room. "Well I-," you were startled unsure of what to say. "And tell me the truth, I don't like lies," he interjected before you were able to muster up any thoughts. What did you think of him? You only knew what you heard, no firsthand experience. You knew stories of him from your friend who went to the academy and you knew how everyone else felt in the Capitol about him. But how did you feel? "I think that there's a darkness to you, something that you aren't telling people. I only know what I can see, as we don't know each other well," you began, watching his facial expressions twist and turn as you spoke. "But I think that I like that about you. It makes you real, it makes you more human," you finished as you picked up your fork and began to eat the food that was placed in front of you. He nodded his head slowly as a pit began to form in your stomach. Had you said something wrong? "And what do you think that darkness is?" He asked, the tone of his voice dark and low. "I think everyone who has some sort of power has it, it's not easy to get to the top and it's not innocent either," you responded, feeling more confident as you continued to speak. Never once had any of your customers given you the opportunity to speak about how you really felt, this was brand new to you. It gave you a powerful feeling that someone cared about your opinion.

The rest of the lunch was rather easy. You talked to him about how you started painting, your family, and pretty much anything he asked you about. You got to know him a little bit better too. You learned that he was somewhat of a simple man when it came to hobbies. He liked reading, going on walks, and tending to the greenhouse that he owned in the back of the mansion. He was interesting too and because you were sitting right next to him, you began to see what kind of person he was. You concluded that he was brutally honest, that he was driven, and yearned to succeed in all aspects of life. All of these qualities made him a confident man, no wonder he carried himself the way that he did.

It was the early hours of the afternoon now and the sun was making its way into the windows of the dining room where you and him sat. There was no longer any food on the table, just the glasses of water that were frequently refilled by Avox's. You hadn't realized how long you had been talking to him until he abruptly stood up from the table. "Let's go on a walk around the estate." You had almost forgotten about your painting, what you were really here for. "Shouldn't I finish your portrait?" You asked as you stood up along with him, pushing the chair back into the table. "You can finish it tomorrow," he said curtly as he walked towards you, putting his hand on your lower back as he directed you out of the dining room. Tomorrow? You thought. This project was only supposed to last a day, maybe two, and now he was having you come back for a third day? Was he doing this on purpose so that you would keep coming back to him until you never left?

By now, you were in the garden. The greenhouse he had told you about was at the back of the property. It was large, larger than you had imagined. You could see plants of all different kinds growing inside through the windows decorated with flowers from probably all over Panem. It was beautiful and you were impressed with his craftsmanship. It took a delicate touch to be able to grow and maintain such beautiful plants, almost like art. Coriolanus removed his hand from your lower back and instead linked his arm with yours as you began to walk around the intricate courtyard. It was mildly warm outside, but not enough for you to be wearing a short-sleeved shirt. So your hands were slightly covered by the sleeves of your brown shirt. "Do you like it here?" Coriolanus questioned. You looked up at the taller man, whose platinum blonde hair lay seemingly perfect against his forehead. "It's probably one of the biggest houses I've ever seen," you retorted as you neared the greenhouse doors. "That's not what I asked. I asked if you liked it here," he responded, his voice darker than before. You gulped quietly and nodded your head, "Yes, I do." And you weren't lying. You could imagine a wonderful life here. People waiting on your every beck in call, never going hungry, never shivering at night when the sun went down. It was like a dream, a dream that most people thought about and then moved passed because it would never be possible. "I'm glad you do." Coriolanus opened the doors to the greenhouse, revealing the most beautiful garden you had ever seen. Ferns lined the greenhouse walls giving a sense of privacy, katniss plants were deeply rooted giving an earthly glow of white flowers near the bases of every pot. There were tons of plants you couldn't even name, ones you had never seen before. It was beautiful, warm, and decedent inside the greenhouse. A bench sat under a small tree that was blossoming with pink flowers, and next to it bushes of white roses. Coriolanus guided you to the bench and sat down and so did you. He angled himself towards you so that he could look directly into your eyes.

"So why white roses?" You asked, reaching over to touch the soft petals with the tip of your finger. "My grandm'am used to grow them on the roof of our old family home," he responded as you sat back, resting your back against the back of the bench. "They were her favorite, they still are and then they became my favorite too," he continued. "They symbolize purity to me and although each rose is different, they're all seemingly perfect." His story was beautiful, it gave a more in-depth view into his soul and his desires. It seemed like Coriolanus valued purity, something you really were not. With all the baggage you kept inside of you, how could you be? "They're beautiful too, the most powerful in the garden," he finished. He reached over and picked one, the thorns gently poking his skin. He handed you the perfect flower and you smiled, looking at it delicately. As you twisted the flower stem between your fingertips, you were pricked by a thorn. A small droplet of blood began to form as you accidentally dropped the innocent flower onto the surface of the bench. You winced and brought your hand closer to your chest as a small pool of blood began to form from the small prick in your finger. Before you could wipe your finger on the legs of your pants, Coriolanus took your hand. He brought your finger closer to his lips before opening his mouth and gently putting your finger inside. You gasped, a larger pit now forming your stomach. After he was finished, he brought your hand back to your lap. You were shocked. His doing what he just did was something you had never expected. You couldn't rip your eyes away from his as your mouth lazily fell open, trying to understand what had just happened. His actions were so intimate, something you may have expected from a long-term boyfriend, not someone you had just met the day prior. His hand reached out, brushing a piece of hair off your cheek that had fallen in the process of your shock. You felt bile building up in your stomach. Was he going to kiss you? He leaned forward, brushing his soft lips against yours. And then he kissed you. The feeling was transcendent. You had never felt a kiss like this before. It was power, as powerful as he was. The feeling in your stomach subsided as you leaned into the kiss, letting him caress your face with the hand that had previously brushed the hair off of your cheek. As he pulled back he said,

"You'll come back tomorrow, won't you? I know you will."

Hi! Thank you for reading chapter 2. I'm kind of excited about this chapter. It's definitely a slow build, but I feel like that's what makes it fun. Thank you so much for the previous support on my first chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed this one as well, I know I did.

chapter 3 out: 12/05/23

tag list:

@bambikitten

@pepperanddsprayy

[seducemefanficsandheadcanons]

I'm literally about to simply yap about a rewrite I started forever ago.

So, I'm definitely going to steer away from canon a lot more when I rewrite my rewrite lmao.

Initially I was worried about doing so. I started it because I struggle with plotting, and the plot was pretty much already there.

But I personally feel I have grown as a writer since starting it, and I think I can do a lot better than I had. I want it to be more than rewording what's already in canon, I want it to be new. Maybe not a new story, but a much more fleshed out version than I had originally planned.

Like, I want to explore a relationship with each boy before Mika choses Sam. And not just, oopsie I've kissed all of them. I want there to be conflict with the boys because they have all fallen for this woman, and she isn't even fully aware of it.

I want to explore the incubi's magic more and incorporate my headcanons better. I want to really dive deep into the possibilities of their magic and for that to terrify Mika, more than it did in canon and in my rewrite.

For example, Sam is more brute than the others, so how would that affect his magic aside from being able to feed on rage? I headcanon he can use fear enthrallment. Or how much can Erik affect dreams! Canonly he just absorbs them, but that's kind of boring lmao. I want him to be able to create them.

And some smaller headcanons as well! I like to think all of the boys have fangs for example.

I want to really work out Mika's background and explore her relationship with Harold more. This man was practically her father figure in my canon, but I would like to flesh that out more. I also decided to give Mika a power, I have now given Aron, my self-insert. I hadn't really developed Aron as a character, so in some ways, I had put her into Mika. I felt like I was writing multiple people in one character, so I failed to make her a consistent MC. Also, I want to make Mika a college student or have her already working at a job.

I want the threat of Malix to be truly explored. I failed to do this properly, and the plot was very much all over the place because I was like "Wow! Since it's a rewrite, the plot is basically written out for me!" so, I never truly sat down and thought about what I wanted to happen differently aside from ideas. I do plan to actually plot this out when I start again.

I want more hesitancy from Sam. (The boy I have chosen for the fic, because he is canon and because I live laugh love him) I want these weird fuzzy feelings in his chest to confuse him. Demons aren't able to love, so the fact he's feeling something that can only be described as such must confuse him.

There are so many more things, but these are the ones that come to mind. I am actually going to write this story and plot it out, whether that is with a million bullet points or chapter by chapter.

Really when I think about it, I'm still relatively new to writing. I started on Wattpad around mid-January of this year in attempt to gain back some cognitive skills after major surgery and because there were so many Seduce Me the Otome ideas, I wanted to read but couldn't find. I had just gotten into the fandom I have loved the game for many years, but it never went beyond playing the game and watching YouTube videos. I had never used Tumblr before and had never even heard of AO3. Wattpad was the only fanfiction website I knew about.

My point of saying that is that I am still knew to this. There are still things I'm learning and want to continue to improve. So, I am trying to have grace with myself for my lack of consistency and plotting.

It is still on hiatus, until I finish Soul Bound, I likely won't write for it at all.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[alltheweirdkidsinoneplace]

Eddie Munson + potential Iron Maiden references

because I'm hyperfixiating and desperate. Also apparently not everyone was raised on 80s metal, so this might be new to some people and gatekeeping is lame. None of this is confirmed obviously and I'm probably reaching but here we go

let's start with the most obvious one: This is Iron Maiden's mascot. His name is Eddie. He's been on every single album cover, most single covers, merch, posters... He looks a little different every time, but he's always undead.

This is the cover artwork for the 1982 album The Number of the Beast. It features A huge version of Eddie, controlling the strings of a red, devil-like creature, which in turn holds the strings of a tiny version of Eddie. The Devil (Vecna, there I said it) is not shown to be aware of Big Eddie controlling him. It's all very double agent, The Spy parallel. Also if you take just the frame of Big Eddie's hand and the devil, it looks A LOT like Eddie Munson's puppetmaster tattoo. With a little fantasy and even more reaching there's also some vaguely mindflayery shape in the background of the image.

(probably irrelevant but still fun fact: This album was released on March 22nd 1982 - EXACTLY four years before Eddie Munson became the main suspect in Chrissy's death)

This one speaks for itself. We've all seen the Eddie prequel book that's gonna come out later this year with literally the same title as this 1983 song.

Interestingly, Eddie has batwings here, aka KAS THEORY CONFIRMED?

This one, holy shit. This is the artwork for the 1986 (!) album Somewhere in Time, and if the year and title weren't enough, there is so much more.

1. Again starting with the most obvious: There is a graffito on the wall to the very right that literally says EDDIE LIVES.

2. Under the graffito we see a hand reaching up from the ground (grave?). The version of Eddie that we get here is a cyborg, and the hand on the ground looks very cyborg-esque as well. The band members are seen a little towards the left as normal humans, so it's not like everyone's just a cyborg in this world. Ergo the hand belongs to a second Eddie, which is very in line with the whole "there is another timeline with shadow selves"-theory.

3. The red clouds in the background are very vecna-y.

4. The little winged figure from the Flight of Icarus cover is seen left of the big tower in the middle.

5. The neon sign of the movie theatre to the very bottom left contains the words "Live After Death" (illegible here, but it's there!)

6. The lyrics on this album! In particular Wasted Years, featuring the lines "But now it seems I'm just a stranger to myself

And all the things I sometimes do, it isn't me but someone else"

- again, very much in line with shadow selves. And even more Stranger in a Strange Land:

"Was many years ago that I left home and came this way

I was a young man full of hopes and dreams

But now it seems to me that all is lost and nothing gained

Sometimes things ain't what they seem

No brave new world, no brave new world

No brave new world, no brave new world

Night and day I scan horizon, sea and sky

My spirit wanders endlessly

Until the day will dawn and friends from home discover why

Hear me calling, rescue me

Set me free, set me free

Lost in this place and leave no trace

Stranger in a strange land

Land of ice and snow

Trapped inside this prison

Lost and far from home

[...]

They found his body lying where it fell on that day

Preserved in time for all to see

No brave new world, no brave new world

Lost in this place, and leave no trace

What became of the man that started

All are gone and their souls departed

Left me here in this place so all alone"

Does that sound like someone left for dead in the Upside Down or is that just me?

7. idk a fuckload more in the cover probablay because it's wild.

Bonus Metallica fact: Master of Puppets was released on March 3rd 1986. Eeven if he bought the album the day it was released (he would) that would have given him under three weeks to rehearse it so much that he could give the most metal concert ever on March 27th.

Anyway that's just from the top of my head; I might add on to it if/when I think of more. PLEASE spam me with your theories I beg you.

Side note: Contrary to popular belief, if you got into metal because of Eddie: That's awesome! Welcome! Again, gatekeeping sucks; we've all had our minds blown by a Metallica song for the first time at some point, so let's be nice to the newcomers.

[appocalipse]

Scenario 15 from the prompt list with Eddie?

Thank you!

honestly this just SCREAMED eddie leaving to pursue his career with corroded coffin. and i could not resist writing angst. thank YOU ♥

[There’s a hole in my heart from when you left—chasing your dreams in another town/country/state/city. I can’t figure out why though. It isn’t until you return and pull me into a hug do I realize that I love you, and I thought I lost you. ]

—

You're crouched down behind the counter, fighting a pile of papers you've just dropped when someone places a record on top of it. Your heart skips a beat; you didn't even hear anyone come in — although to be honest, you hadn't been paying all that much attention.

You bundle the papers into a hand sloppily and put them aside, a headache for later. Straightening up, you prepare your charming customer service voice.

But it's not needed.

There's no use for it because on the counter, before your very eyes, lies the newest (and first ever) record of a band called Corroded Coffin — a band that not only you but all of Hawkins knows quite well. And one of the people on the cover is on the other side of the counter, staring at you quietly.

"Hi," says Eddie Munson.

You look at him, fully aware that your own mouth is open and yet unable to do anything about it.

The Eddie in front of you is a softer version of the one on the cover, no makeup, no cool rockstar expression. He's two years older than the last time you saw him, but somehow he looks younger, and except for the dark circles under his eyes, he looks healthy enough. He even looks like he's grown a few inches, although that's probably not even possible.

Eddie certainly, undoubtedly, most definitely, shouldn't be here. There's a part of you still doubting that he is, in fact, here, because he's supposed to be on the other side of the world. In a big city, maybe; at a concert with thousands of people watching him, or on the cover of a fancy magazine. Far from the small town where he grew up.

Where he'd left you behind.

Thankfully, Eddie grants you a moment of pure shock where you simply stare at him like he's just come back from the dead; it feels like he did, to be honest.

But then the moment is gone and you swallow the lump in your throat, snapping out of the trance.

"Your mom told me you'd be here," Eddie is smiling, but his eyes are apprehensive. It's like he's walking on thin ice, trying to measure your reaction and go from there.

He'd gone to your house. Your mom must have opened the door, overjoyed to see him. And you should be happy too, you know you should, but you're not. And when you ask yourself why, all you can find is an old wound reopening, starting to bleed again.

Before you know it, Eddie is running around the counter and pulling you into a tight hug that has you tiptoeing and steals a whole lot of the air from your lungs.

Two years is a long time. With his arms around you and everything about him invading your senses, you also learn that it's not nearly enough time. Love is a permanent wound — especially the unrequited kind.

"What are you doing here?"

He pulls back just enough to take a look at you, his arms still around your body like it's where they belong. "I missed you," he says, as if that answers everything. Or anything.

"After two years?" you ask, more defensively than you intended to.

Eddie's eyes drop to the floor, arms loosening around you.

"I've missed you every day. I… wrote to you."

Your silence is an answer. So is the pile of letters still sealed inside a shoebox under your bed at home.

"You never wrote anything back," his tone is not exactly accusing, but there's some kind of hurt behind his words.

You take a step back and Eddie's arms return to his sides. "No."

"Why?"

Instead of answering, you pick up the record from the counter and return it to the shelf where it belongs. You don't turn around, but you can feel Eddie following you closely.

"You're my best friend," he says suddenly.

"I was your best friend," you correct.

"Y/N."

He touches your elbow and you dodge his touch, running a hand through your hair exasperatedly. "Eddie, it's been two years. Two whole years."

"And I've thought of you every single day in these two years."

A low laugh, closer to a sigh, escapes you as you shake your head in disbelief. "Eddie-"

"Come with me."

You're sure you must have heard it wrong. "Where?"

"Everywhere. Anywhere. Come with me, with my band when we leave."

My band. Corroded Coffin had slowly shaped itself as it went — some members left, others joined in, and at some point everything fell into place and they finally started to get the recognization they deserve. They're still not the biggest band in the world, but their popularity has grown enough that a fair amount of money is involved, and you can't see where in all of this you could possibly fit.

It's crazy.

"You're kidding," you say, looking at him in disbelief. "You're not making any sense."

"Why not?"

You shake your head and try to clear your thoughts, walking around the store and rearranging anything out of place. Eddie trails after you insistently — it almost feels like you're both fifteen again.

"The bassist brings his wife with us wherever we go," he argues.

You wish you had left all the records and tapes out of place so you'd have something to do right now. You pretend to organize a pile of records that is already perfectly in place. "You and I are not married," you say unnecessarily.

Eddie takes the record out of your hand and puts it back in its place.

"Marry me, then."

It astonishes you how he can say those words with such a serious face and yet not mean anything by it.

The way you look at him isn't subtle at all, let alone the amount of time it takes you to remember how to speak again. "That's not funny."

"I know it's not," he is grinning, though, "But we did promise to get married if we turned forty and were still single, do you remember?"

This seems to have happened in another lifetime.

"I'm not forty," you say stubbornly.

He leans against the wall and watches as you try to find something to keep your hands busy with.

"I'd marry you anyways."

The butterflies in your stomach — stupid, stupid butterflies — carry a certain familiarity when they appear. It's weird that Eddie is so observant, so smart, and yet can't see what you so clearly feel every time he says something flirtatious lightly.

"I need to close the store," you state, pushing him gently so you can move past him, although it's still decidedly early, in fact, to close the store. But your parents will understand.

"Sweetheart-"

"No, Eddie, no!" you turn your head to look at him, and that look alone is enough to make him freeze in place. "You don't get to 'sweetheart' me, not after two fucking years, you don't. You have everything, why would you- why did you even come back here?"

Eddie swallows hard. He looks…embarrassed?

"I don't have everything," he says mildly.

"You've moved on with your life and I…" you sigh, defeated, "I'm right where you left me."

For a very long moment, Eddie just looks at you, studying, gauging your reaction.

In the silence, you can hear the cicadas chirping outside, the faint buzz of the neon letters out the front of the store; still, everything seems to have changed, everything seems different.

Because he is here.

Eddie shrugs. "I'm not leaving without you."

"Then you'll be staying in Hawkins for a long, long time," you say quietly. The hole he'd left in your heart two years ago is nowhere near disappearing. You don't want to risk going through it all again.

Eddie takes a deep breath.

"If that's what it takes."

It's a promise.

[yamayuandadu]

"There’s a misconception that Matarajin is Shiva which is perpetuated entirely by Touhou fans." - I think you overestimate Big 2Hu when English Wikipedia itself says that:

"Daikokuten originated from Mahākāla, the Buddhist version of the Hindu deity Shiva, conflated with the native Shinto god Ōkuninushi."

The Mahakala-Shiva connection is repeated in JP Wiki, quoting an encyclopedia? And I thought the Shinbutsu merger was also not too controversial

it's a bit of a mess ngl especially since Okina seems designed to be a mess as well

I haven’t seen anyone but Touhou fans make the leap from “Matarajin is associated with Mahakala” to “Matarajin is literally Shiva” let alone to “Matarajin is associated with Okuninushi”. So I maintain it is not incorrect to refer to it as a Touhou fandom misconception specifically. To be even more precise - it’s limited to a specific subset of English-speaking Touhou fans, mostly on reddit and to a smaller degree twitter. Tumblr has its fair share of misconceptions too, don’t get me wrong, but they have more to do with misinterpreting something because of what ZUN said. Anyway, it’s the Daikokuten article which says this. Not the Matarajin one. And this applies to Daikokuten, not Matarajin. These are two separate figures. Both of these wiki articles are entirely reliable on their own but you can’t perform this sort of haphazard synthesis. Matarajin and Daikokuten are not interchangeable.  More under the cut, including a quick overview of some of Matarajin’s actual associations which get entirely glossed over both by ZUN and in fan discussions.

The fact figure x is equated with figure y in one specific context does not mean all of their associations are transferable. And in particular the fact that Mahakala originated as a form of Shiva (though whether this is necessarily always vital in Buddhist context is another matter) can’t be easily assumed to also hold true for Matarajin. This is one step away from arguing Tenjin and Tamamo no Mae are basically just Okuninushi via vague Shiva connections (or rather connections with figures which originated as manifestations of Shiva but acquired distinct identities in Buddhism with time, really).

It is true that there is a theory going back to the 1950s according to which Matarajin has been partially derived from Mahakala, specifically developing as a result of confusion between him and Taizan Fukun (see discussion in William M. Bodiford’s Matara: a Dream King Between Insight and Imagination, p. 240). However, Bernard Faure interprets the connection as possibly only based on phonetic similarity between the names. Following Faure’s and Nobumi Iyanaga’s research it is entirely possible Matarajin’s name has nothing to do with Mahakala etymologically and instead comes from the Seven Mothers (mātṛkā, transcribed in Japanese Buddhist sources phonetically as matara). It’s worth noting ZUN seems to be aware of this, since Okina’s first bio calls her an “an Earth mother goddess” (地母神). It should be pointed out that in Buddhist context the Seven Mothers are a type of dakini-like disease demon, and not spouses of major deities, though.

Keiran Shūyōshū does equate Matarajin with Mahakala (“Makakaraten”) though it also states that Matarajin might instead be one of the dakinis commanded by him. It’s actually this network of associations that matters when it comes to equivalence between them, rather than the separately established equivalence between Mahakala and Okuninushi. Matarajin’s dakini association recurs elsewhere, and there are even (mostly Shingon, but still) cases of full on equation with the dakini par excellence, Dakiniten. I’m actually surprised I haven’t seen it referenced in any Touhou discussions. Matarajin being a dakini, identical with Dakiniten or at least commanding dakinis consistently pertains to the belief that dakinis consume people’s livers to free them from bad karma. As a curiosity it’s also worth mentioning that Inari Kinja Kō from the Edo period lists Matarajin, Dakiniten, but also Izuna Gongen among names applied to supernatural foxes - another major component of the dakini network (down to “fox sorcerer demon” - 狐 魅鬼 - being one of the early Chinese translations of dakini), though one with limited relevance for Matarajin otherwise. It would be fun to reference in Touhou context, though. 

To sum up, my issue is that entry level understanding of the nature of connections between deities leads to a simplified image of them, and overshadows more interesting reality. In this case there are also entirely fictitious associations on top which doesn’t help.

It’s also deeply puzzling to me that people are so eager to invent an Okuninushi connection where there isn’t one when Matarajin already has an incredibly well attested link to a figure from “classical” Japanese mythology, specifically Susanoo. The nature of this connection is somewhat variable. We have cases of direct equation: in various texts from the Mt. Hiei Sanmon tradition; in texts from Hinomisaki (a branch of Izumo Grand Shrine); in the account of Saichō’s journey to China in Sange Yōryakki; in Jimon Denki Horoku (here Matarajin is called a “trace” of Susanoo - we’re essentially dealing with reverse honji suijaku); and in Nihon Shoki Kikigaki (a medieval commentary on the Shoki; the author went all out and also equated Susanoo with around half a dozen other figures, ranging from Pangu [sic] to Kōjin).

Equation with a twist is also an option: in a local tradition from Gakuenji, Matarajin was understood as a name applied to Susanoo after he died and was buried underneath this temple. However, they can also be associated without being equated. A novel take on the Ama no Iwato myth from Fujiwara no Tameaki’s Kokin Wakashū Jo Kikigaki Sanryū Shō has Susanoo team up with Matarajin and a horde of demons (you can find a translation in John Breen’s and Mark Teeuwen’s A New History of Shinto, pp. 142-143; I have yet to add this to the wiki article).

The Susanoo connection also brings us to the arguably most important cluster of Matarajin’s associations. There is a distinct possibility it didn’t arise in a vacuum, but rather due to convergence of two other connections - between Susanoo and Shinra Myōjin, and between Shinra Myōjin and Matarajin. As a fellow old man Tendai deity, Shinra Myōjin is arguably the single figure most similar to Matarajin, though obviously they are not identical. Still, it feels pretty glaring to me he’s not referenced in any shape or form in HSiFS, not even through a single offhand comment or spell card. Matarajin and Shinra Myōjin additionally effectively formed an interconnected network with a further similar Tendai deity, Sekizan Myōjin. This brings us back to something I brought up earlier - the modern theory that Matarajin was partially derived from Mahakala nonetheless acknowledges the influence of Taizan Fukun on his character, and it is the association with Sekizan Myōjin that emphasizes it the most, since the latter was essentially patterned after him and similarly functioned as a supernatural judge determining people’s lifespans. 

The connection between Matarajin and Taizan Fukun had an additional layer to it, though - as a core member of the entourage of Enma, Taizan also had strong links to beings like the Seven Mothers and the dakinis, much like Matarajin did. Faure outright argues this might have been why they came to be associated with each other. The Taizan Fukun connection is another one I have no clue why neither ZUN nor any fan works acknowledge. Especially since Taizan is actually mentioned in Touhou (in the Yama entry in PMiSS). I really hoped we’ll get something in SFW, but not much came out of that and we instead got my least favorite Okina scene yet, the Flandre power level deus ex machina. Tragic! Maybe one day, considering hell is basically a secondary setting of Touhou in its own right, though I’m not very hopeful.

I’m willing to admit obvious omissions like lack of any references to dakinis, Taizan, or Susanoo (coupled with severely overestimating the connection with Hata no Kawakatsu, but that’s a topic for another time) do make it possible to say Okina is a “mess” as you put it, though I don’t think it had to be this way. The problem imo lies in ZUN no longer writing her the way he did in HSiFS - she hasn’t made a single religious reference since despite these making up the bulk of her dialogue. In a perfect world, her reappearances would be used to cover the missing aspects of Matarajin’s network, but it seems like even when the plot is basically begging (once again, SFW) for it we are getting basically nothing. I have no clue what happened, though it also strikes me as notable that despite being named after a Matarajin-esque figure Megumu got precisely 0 meaningful religious references so far. 

Despite my ambivalent views on Okina as a character, I think it would be unfair to call the genuine Matarajin a mess. The networks in which he was included are fairly coherent, and represent a typical example of medieval theology, not something uniquely convoluted or outlandish. It’s not a topic which is difficult to research, either, with plenty of easily accessible publications in English. If nothing else, I think HSiFS deserves credit for opening the metaphorical door to them for more people.

[snippychicke]

u asked for kuro ideas to write to riddle me this bestie:

some girl ate a devil fruit that gave her shapeshifting animal abilities so while shes in cat form kuro kinda..... adopts her, as a cat, not knowing.... OOPS THAT CAT IS ALSO HUMAN!

You're the best bestie for coming when I call. 😘 (And I mean, I was the one to pull you into One Piece Fandom anyways)

So here you go!

(Edited Sept. 29-- I needed more of this, so I finished the story. Hints of Spice but nothing to terribly nsfw)

--Set at a random port after the events of Syrup Village

We can all agree Kuro, more likely than not, loves cats.

Like, certified crazy cat dude. Especially black cats, but loves all cats to be honest. More relatable than humans, and far more reliable.

Then we have you, our animal-shifting devil fruit eater. Lingering around ports as a cat was a lot easier than being a human, and being a black cat typically guaranteed that you were more or less left alone by the superstitious sailors.

This makes it very easy to pilfer goods as a thief. You could scope out who has what and easily slip in and out without any questions

When you meet Kuro, you didn’t initially think anything of it other than he was one of the kind ones. You were used to many going ‘pssp pssp pssp’, but instead of an empty hand promising head scratches, Kuro actually had some smoked fish for you.

And well, you weren’t going to turn down a free meal. Or the scratches from ears to tail. The animal instincts that were usually wary of humans settled around him, so you weren’t to worry. He didn't even try for your belly as you laid on your side to enjoy the sunlight.

Unbeknownst to you, when you flopped down by his side as he sat on the pier (finding the ocean a nice place to figure out a plan for the future after the disaster of Syrup village) he decided right then and there that you were his.

Once he picked out which ship to steal, he plucked you from your sunbathing by the scruff of your neck and ran.

Before you realized what was going on, you were dumped on the deck of a small boat, the port drifting away. Yet instead of transforming then and there, you decided to hide as shouts and gunfire filled the air.

(Unfortunately, the fight-or-flight instincts were too hard to ignore in animal form.)

You weren't sure how much later it was when Kuro found you and tried to coax you from your hiding spot with food, but it was long enough for the island to be little more than a speck.

He was not expecting his new companion to shift into a human after they wiggled out of their hiding hole, their eyes narrowed in anger.

"What the hell?"

After a lot of confusion, arguing, and maybe some tense feelings, you do end up as partners.

After all, you're a thief of opportunity. But between his planning skills and your abilities, the sky is likely the limit.

The Marines are clueless that Kuro lives, and you're unknown considering no one thinks to link the black cat with the thefts.

A new version of cat burglary. You laugh about it, Kuro rolls his eyes, too cautious to believe your good luck will continue.

As it turns out, you both dream of an easier life. You share your dreams during the late nights sailing between islands while he listens quietly.

Part of him can't help but hope that since you have similar goals, maybe he doesn't have to be so cautious around you.

The hull is soon filled with stolen goods that you start selling to black market contacts into a diverse mix of stacks of Berries and precious metals and gems.

There are nights where you can't sleep, and you have been known to sneak into his quarters as a cat to curl up next to him, just to feel less alone.

He is well aware, though won't say anything. In the morning it will be like nothing happened, but through the night his hand will be on your back as you snuggle close to his chest.

He treasures those moments just as dearly as you do.

Kuro won't admit it, but he wishes you felt confident to come to him as a human as well. But he'll take whatever affection you are willing to give, because he is too cautious to ask for any himself.

When you start reaching the targeted goal, your heart starts feeling heavy, as does his.

Both of you had grown closer during your travels, slowly trusting in each other as well as falling in love.

You're not sure who suggested advancing the goal since things had been going so well, but it's unanimous. After all, better safe than sorry, right?

Between raids, you talk more about where you want to retire to, and sometimes will start adding to the others dreams.

Things take a turn when a theft ends up with some alcohol on board. And well, you deserve to celebrate a little.

Neither of you are drunk. Just relaxed. Inhibitions and walls lowered.

Kuro is the one who makes the first move, cupping your jaw like he would if you were a cat, and commenting on how brilliant your eyes are even as human.

One small little kiss quickly ends up with you in his lap, hands roaming each other slowly, studying the other. You indulge in the feel of the muscles he hides with his clothes. Running your hands through his hair.

He calls you beautiful. Claims you as his, calling you his beautiful thief. Kuro enjoys the shape of your body, squeezing and massaging your hips, waist, ass.

When you beg him please and admit that you need him, it breaks him. He carries you back to his cabin, to his bed. Admits to you how he had dreamed of this, how often he wished you would join him as a human, as he worships your body, carefully noting each little sigh and gasp.

Your nails digging into his back is bliss to him as he finally enters you. The careful, cautious part of him evaporates, leaving the pirate captain who takes delight in making you scream and beg. Whose strength and speed threaten to break the small bunk as he plows into you.

He says those three words as he comes, swearing he is never going to let you go. You're barely able to think straight after so many orgasms, and hope that your soft little kisses in the afterglow convey what you mean.

The fact you curl up next to him, human this time, and falling asleep says enough.

You do end up together in a small but bountiful town, a little townhouse with the comforts you both crave (and plenty of cats.)

… you also may take 'sailing trips' when you both feel too wild for your new life. Just once in a while. There are rumors of the ghost of Captain Kuro and an unearthly black cat that spread through the East Blue.

[ottokallenhonkai3rd]

⚜ ℐ𝓈 𝒪𝓉𝓉ℴ ℴ𝒷𝓈ℯ𝓈𝓈ℯ𝒹 ⚜

Antis describe Otto as obsessive or simp, who is after Kallen and doesn't respect her love for Sakura. ~*~ To answer the question... Yes. Otto is obsessed. But not for Kallen's love, but for Kallen's life.

He says that himself and is aware of it. And this “obsession” can be traced back to a profound fear of loss that runs throughout “Elan Palatinus”.

Otto's view of the world underlines why he desperately wants to bring Kallen back to life:

When you truly want to change the world, you will discover how pitiable your own strength is. The Holy Maid gave her all to the people, and was repaid with merciless shackles und nooses. The world is at chaos. It´s neither fair nor sensible. It wrongs heroes and breeds scum. It is rife with ugliness without a trace of beauty. The malice of the world shal be sundered- by the villain. - Thus spoke Apocalypse Here he clearly denounces, how the people Kallen wanted to protect are repaying her. This makes it clear that he perceives Kallen as a good person, even a heroine, and most of humanity as crude and ugly. And Kallen is very important to him. This may be due to his childhood, in which he was not treated well by his family and Kallen was the first person who showed him anything like appreciation. Yes. Otto definitely has feelings for Kallen. This was mentioned in "Honkai Chonicles - Otto Apocalypse", as well as in game. But Sanka Saga shows that these don't play a role.

This event recreates an alternate version in which Kallen follows the path that Otto did out of love for Sakura. In this event, Otto intentionally binds Kallen to Sakura and Yae Village so that she does not return to Schicksal and be executed. If Otto only cared about Kallen's love, he would have accepted this risk rather than leaving her with her bElOvEd Sakura. ~*~ And if we're already talking about Sakura and Antis mostly prefer SakuKallen, I'll say something to the lady now.

If the worn-out fake version of your passionate love tells you that you're a little obsessive, then there's something to it. You might not get it that way because Kallen's story is a shambles. But Kallen intended to return to Schicksal. It's being teased in Sanka Saga...

As well as in "The Gratitude Arc" and also in "Dark Sakura Tales". This webcomic only exists on the Chinese HI3 site and appears in "The Gratitute Arc", "Divine Key" and "Elan Palatinus".

In this webcomic you also get to see a completely different side of Sakura. You can tell that she can't cope with Kallen leaving her and would prefer to keep her with her. "In many dreams she had dreamt of making you belong only to her. She thought, she had found her own beacon of light. But that Light chose to shine on otheers instead." By the way. In "Dark Sakura Tales" Kallen never left Yae Village, she just wanted to prevent the human sacrifices. I would have understood it, if Kallen had actually left Yae Village to seal the box, as initially assumed. But no. She was never gone. And Higokumaru can only manipulate. Manipulation involves taking advantage of doubts, fears and weaknesses. He cannot implant thoughts that are not there. In that case, I wonder how obsessed one can actually be? I can only feel sorry for Sakura. But in my opinion, that's only the case in this manga. As shown above, there are several indications that Kallen left Yae Village in HI3, if only to complete her mission. In Gun Girls Z there is an alternate story in which, under the Herrscher's influence, she actually forces Kallen to stay with her.

Happy Birthday "Kallen..." "..." "Kallen..." "..." Why don't you answer me...? Obviously or "Your" pupils will no longer reflect other people's figures "Your" body temperature will no longer be passed to other people. "You" already belong to me alone … It doesn't matter……. It doesn't matter. That's enough. "Sakura...don't..." ——As long as I can still see "your" smile "Don't want……" ——As long as I can still feel the presence of "you" "Don't want……" ——As long as "you" are still by my side I will be very happy I turned you into this soulless doll. This is the best birthday gift. Thank you, love. Source ~*~ But let´s make a Checklist:

A constant need for validation from the person you are in love with Otto: Could be. Sakura: No.

Obsessively keeping in contact with the subject of your affection  Otto: No. Sakura: I see this problem with Sakura. "But that light chose t shine on others instead" and the fact that she consciously decided to stay in the stigma world with a fake Kallen.

Ignoring the personal boundaries of the subject of your affection  Otto: No. Sakura: No.

Behaving in a controlling manner with the person you love  Otto: No. Sakura: Under the control of the Herrscher, yes. Bullet point soulless doll.

Feeling extreme jealousy of other relationships the person you love might have with other people   Otto: No. Sakura: "BuT tHaT lIgHt ChOsE tO sHiNe On OtHeRs InStEaD.

Feeling overly protective of the person you love  Otto: Yes. Look the secound screenshot. Sakura: No.

Becoming so overwhelmed with emotions about a person that it disrupts your daily functioning Otto: No. Sakura: No.

Feelings of low self-esteem, especially when it seems like your love isn’t being reciprocated  Otto: Low-selfesteem, yes. With regard of Kallens reciprocated, no. Sakura: No.

Refusal to engage in social activities that don’t involve the subject of your affection  Otto: No. Sakura: Yes. Because she chose to stay in the stigma world with fake balls instead of returning to life.

Feeling extremely possessive of the other person’s time, space, and attention  Otto: No. Sakura: No.

Feeling a need to control the actions and behaviors of the person you supposedly love  Otto: Already a little. Even if it was out of his fear of loss. Sakura: Under the controll of the Herrscher, yes.

Experiencing anxiety over your relationship with this person Otto: No Sakura: No.

I gave one point for each “maybe” or “other circumstances.” Therefore, Sakura and Otto would be on equal terms when it comes to obsessive behavior. ~*~ Still, I think Sakura is much more obsessive and her obsession, unlike Otto's obsession, is really about Kallen's love. Strange that he is still basically the simp and Sakura is completely innocent.

[baenyth]

Bethany's Bizarre Miraculous Reviews: The Paris Parallel Universe Special

Big news! Parallel Universe time! Except it's mostly just visitors from another universe! Just the multiverse plot I like! In the episode 2 timeskip, I'm guessing!

Also I thought about it and decided in my rewrite AU Marinette instead falls into an alternate timeline that's my attempt at giving reason to salt fics combined with a dream I once had. The current issue I'm having is figuring out how Lila can coerce and befriend both the class members that worship Hawkmoth and Alya, who still is a massive Ladybug fan and therefore would be against said Hawkmoth worshipers. It's a dark timeline, to say the least.

I don't think being a fashion designer is a normal life, honestly.

Holy fuck, this really is an alternate timeline! Gabriel Agreste's the one doing the singing!

So why is it Kamiko instead of Akuma? I always felt like it would be Tenshi for the angel/demon parallels, not to mention how Tenshi meaning "heaven messenger" works well with them being empowered and in a way controlled by the butterfly wielder. What does Kamiko mean, anyways? I know Akuma just means "evil demon," considering their only purpose is to wreak havoc and get the Miraculouses,

Oh right. This scene again. The lighting looks different, though.

"Turns your best friend into a dimensional portal and pops out of it"

Evil fucked-up Ladybug and Chat Noir

Nope. Still not believing this is real Paris.

Wouldn't it be funny if she said "Unlucky charm!" instead? To enhance the evil reverse situation!

Alright, so how does "Tikki living in all parallel universes at once" work, anyways? Is each Tikki a small component in a grand semi-autonomous hivemind that all relay back to the Master Tikki? Does Tikki ever get messed up at what part of the universe she's talking to? Is she aware and feeling the misery of her Shadyverse counterpart I know will appear?

Claw Noir is corny as hell and feels like he's forcing himself and not being who he truly is. You can tell this isn't who he's meant to be because he's still a boy.

Honestly Claw Noir turning his staff into nunchucks is cool as hell. I hope regular Chat Noir does that sometime.

Same with Shadybug's lucky charms being guns and weapons and tools. Helpful stuff!

No way! Angel Chat Blanc!

Those two dumb jackasses are the kind of people to say "Bad morning" and "No we can't" to Bob the Builder.

Monarch's really thinking with portals now

Doomreading about her alternate self's better life and friends

So why are there evil phrase versions for the Miraculouses anyways? What purpose does it serve?

Long forms

Oh hey! This happens in my rewrite as well!

Broken

Yep, the giants are illusions.

Despite this being a timeline where bad is good and good is bad, Chloe is still evil? Honestly I think she should be a sweetie pateetie. Also because it's funnier that way.

Eh. The old outfit looked better. Just get rid of the dark makeup and make the hair tidier.

So have they been up all night?

And Ladybug has become Hatsune Miku!

Get his ass! Get his ass! Also different timelines having different appearances is very useful knowledge to me.

Nooroo's used to this shit

Yep, this never happened!

Oh god they did stay up all night

Damn, these specials are getting better and better! I'll admit, the reconciliation scene felt campy in a way I didn't like and it feels weird that even in another timeline Gabriel Agreste redeems himself more than Chloe, but other than that, good stars! Also the animation was good!

[just-a-carrot]

Hi carrot, so I kind wanted your opinion on my wish Au but ik I might start yapping so have an Iggy doodle as compensation.

First off as much as I’d love to make a full comic I think making a fanfic ish story with images might work better to keep my motivation up (though I have no idea if people even post fanfics on tumbler, might just link it on my page)

The other thing is since I might involve the corrupted Au as well, most Au’s would be seen as programs with broken code if that makes sense? Except that I have little idea of how I’d draw let alone describe it, I’m aware of basic stuff like making demands and having a figure move or build due to school. I’d probably have unnecessary or missing command that messed with the Aus.

I also want do occasionally ad Cecil and Jerry.

The thing with Jerry though is that he’s seems more like he belongs to the our fantastic wonderland as in a separate Au and is able to connect or reach Ow in a way but here it gets confusing.

I think every Au depending on the routes only have one Jerry that connects to at a minimum of 4 timelines depending on the route with him existing originally in the Ofw game. Kinda like a hive mind, so when one dies in one timeline its memories and experiences go back to the Og. It would mean that the corrupted Jerry’s don’t leave a big impact on the Og aside from their memories.

So Jerry himself would be separated but not completely detached from the Cannon of Ow.

I just wanted your opinion on how you’d find the ideas or if things wouldn’t make sense like the code stuff or the Jerry thing.

Again I’m soo sorry for making this long just this hole Au’s been haunting my dreams.

Hope you have a grate evening and again sorry for Yapping.

ohhhhhh!! the little iggy sketch is so cute!! 😭💕

hahaha i don't think anyone ever needs to "check" with me regarding ideas for aus or things like that. i generally think just anything would sound cool and be fun if it's an idea you have (unless it like... completely goes against their core characters or is somehow offensive or inappropriate or something lol)

corrupted aus... 😮 that's actually a really interesting idea!! something like how those versions of the timeline somehow got "corrupted" and start producing strange or even more otherworldly things or split even further away from the main timeline... i think that would be really interesting to explore, especially if it somehow ended up creating versions of the chars that are quite different in the end. i don't really know much about code stuff myself though aside from what i do when i code my games LOL so i'm not really sure i could give much more of an opinion on that aspect of it

regarding jerry i think using him in any way is a lot of fun. though he does exist in the main OW timeline even before OFW! he appears in arc 2 hahaha. though it's true that he doesn't really have much of a personality or become "jerry-like" as we all know him today until OFW LOL 🤣 but honestly because OFW in itself already introduces so many questions that even if have decided to simply not think about, so anything people ever want to think up about OFW and the connections and how it all works i think is really cool (i still want one day to make an entire OFW RPG with its own complete setting and plot... sob...)