#fic: dream a little dream of me

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LVI

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. This chapter is not suitable to those under the age of 18. Chapter on AO3 here.

As soon as the doors to your rooms shut and Zandik removed his gloves behind you, you reached up to undo your mask only to feel his fingers already working at every fastening.  He lifted the headpiece and discarded it on a nearby surface without a second thought. 

Several steps ahead of you, as always. 

A smile crept onto your lips as his touch returned when he began to remove each hairpin one by one, as methodical at removing them as you had been placing them.  They fell to the floor in quiet pings, like rain tapping on glass during a storm.  Your scalp ached from where you had wound too tightly and you melted as Zandik’s fingers carded through your hair, eyes fluttering shut as a low moan escaped your lips.

You felt his hot breath against your neck as he chuckled.  “I’m barely touching you, rooh 'albi.  We have the whole night ahead of us.”

“Good,” you replied, leaning further into his touch.  “I’d like to put that abundance of patience you have to the test.”

Fingers left your scalp to trail down your neck and your exposed spine.  You stiffened visibly before you shivered, heart skipping as though a spark ignited against your skin, permitted to burn.  There was no shame in your desire, you reminded yourself.  Your body’s initial response was a familiar one, a hated one, and it always broke you out of the moment as soon as you had to recall you were safe.

Zandik’s large hand flattened against your back.  Warmth flooded through you at the grounded touch and you turned to face him.  You reached up and unclipped his mask with practiced ease and discarded it, revealing a gaze that was only ever earnest towards you. 

“We’ll see about that,” Zandik murmured.  “For you, I have eternity.  Contrary to what we discussed downstairs.”

The words were paired with, not a smirk, but a faint smile that seemed to make his eyes light up.  He always looked so enthralled when he was in the throes of a breakthrough that you once thought nothing would ever compare.  When had that changed, you wondered.  When had his expression softened to extend that excitement towards you, show itself because of you?

You returned your hands to his face and brushed your thumbs against his cheeks, your thumb grazing icy blue eyelashes.

Was it the bond?  The time together?  The entire culmination of the last months’ events?

Did it even matter?

Words failed as you scanned his face.  You angled your head and brought your lips to his, the kiss instinctual.  Pressure released from your chest, not from a held breath but from the remnants of distant memories your body held falling away. 

You deepened the kiss slowly, knowing the movements by heart but wanting to savor every second.  The last hints of wine danced across your tongue as you tasted him, tart and full-bodied. 

Zandik’s arms wrapped around you, familiar warmth returning to your back as another hand buried itself in your hair.  Expert fingers found the same spots as before and rubbed small circles in your scalp.  Somehow, you managed to turn, your back now to the door as you stepped carefully over the hairpins and made your way further into your quarters.

Your hands slid down to Zandik’s neck, fingers teasing the neckline of his shirt, before they traveled further along his chest and the lines of his suit.  His muscles were hard as you snaked your hands underneath his jacket’s shoulders and pushed the coat away slightly.

The kiss was broken only long enough for him to let go of you and tug on the sleeves to toss the jacket to the floor with a thump. 

As soon as you were joined again, your hands wandered and searched for purchase, never settling in one place.  It was as if your fingers wanted to memorize him, as though if you touched him, you might burn him into your veins alongside the growing fire in your blood. 

When was the last time you’d felt this desire and wanted it?

Zandik smirked into the kiss as his hands covered yours and brought them back to his chest.  Beneath one hand, you felt the steady thrum of his heart (biological or biomechanical, you wondered), breaths as shallow as yours.  His touch trailed up your bare arms, fingers grazing your skin and dancing along the delicate fabric and strap of your dress; your breath hitched when he followed your shoulder and brushed along your spine again.

Your core pulsed and you couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped your lips.

“You’re not the only eager one,” Zandik whispered.  “I want to find every sensitive spot and hear every sound you make, see every reaction.  But I want to savor it, rooh 'albi.  Don’t you?”

Of course you did, you wanted to reply.  If you could find a way to freeze time, for this bubble to exist separately in its own little universe, you would do it in a heartbeat.

He ran his fingers over the exposed small of your back one more time and you jolted, pressing yourself against him further as you hummed in needy agreement.  Just like before, he flattened his hand and rested it against your back, this time keeping you in place.  Through your dress, you could feel his arousal, his pants straining.

You pushed ever so slightly against Zandik’s chest, leaning forward as if to take a step.  Savoring one another could be done a little further away from the door, in your opinion.  One step, and then another, you fell into a rhythm as Zandik followed your directions until he collided with the arm of the couch near the fireplace.  You parted, breaths mingling in hot gasps as your eyes traced his swollen lips, flushed face, hooded eyes.  Your handiwork. 

Gorgeous.

All yours.

Forever yours.

You reached for his necktie, slipping your finger through the knotted fabric before pulling it away and casting it to the floor.  Zandik angled his neck and you unfastened the top button of his shirt, and then three below it, exposing his warm skin to you before the waistcoat stopped you.  His hands gripped the arm of the couch, knuckles white, as if restraining himself from touching you.

This sight was nothing new, for you watched him get ready countless times by now, but you were aware of every motion, every inch of him.

Slowly, you traced kisses from the corner of his mouth to his jaw and then down to his neck.  You found his pulse with ease and your heart skipped at the stifled groan that rumbled through his chest.  The pads of your fingers explored his exposed collarbone and the definitions of his muscles as they flexed beneath you.  Your lips followed, and you pressed a kiss just below his Adam’s apple before delving lower, listening for every sigh and change in his breathing.

A soft laugh ghosted over his skin when you remembered how he compared exploration of one’s body to sight-reading.  How right he was.

Venturing lower, your hands traced the dip in his waist, a natural curvature that your eye always felt drawn to.  You teased the hemline of his pants and skimmed over his belt to brush against Zandik’s clothed erection.  He hissed and bucked against your hand as you palmed his length and squeezed slightly. 

You’d felt him before, an inevitably of sharing a bed, let alone the overwhelming desire that swept over you some mornings.  As much as your body ached to be joined with him, it ached more to know him, explore him properly.

When you looked at him again, his pupils were blown wide, face flushed.  Hunger, tempered only by a softness you could never properly name, carved itself along his lips and eyes. 

You didn’t look away as you unfastened his belt and pants, pushed the fabric away from his hips to expose him to you properly.  His brow twitched and he swallowed when you took him in your hand, heavy and thick and already dripping with precum.  Your thumb teased his tip, spreading the wet bead along his sensitive skin, and you caught the audible hitch in Zandik’s breathing, his eyes wide.

His eagerness fueled your own and a deep ache settled between your thighs as you sank to your knees.  Zandik’s mouth opened and you shook your head.

“I want to,” you said, looking up at him as you kissed his tip.

He gave a sharp inhale, whatever words he was going to say dying on his lips.  You angled his cock, kissing and licking along his length before easing him into your mouth.  Precum mixed with your saliva as you moved your head in slow strokes before you took him deeper.  Zandik bucked his hips as he released a throttled gasp and his hands shot your head, fingers tightening in your hair. 

Looking up at him beneath your lashes, you held his gaze as you ran your tongue over his length and then teased the underside of his tip.  He threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut, cock twitching in your mouth.

Had anyone ever seen him like this, you wondered?  Composure all but lost?

Your thighs were wet, your own slick arousal having soaked through the lace panties some time ago.  This act never turned you on before, the gestures merely mechanical, all knowledge and no passion.  But the deeper you took him, it seemed as if your walls were intent on matching the pace of your mouth, pulsing in time and driving you closer to the brink.

You reached around to get a better hold, hand finding purchase on relaxed muscles.  Another part of him you admired but rarely touched.  Viewing him from behind when he was without a coat felt one was holding a secret, something clearly his tailor must have known too for every set of pants fit him perfectly. 

One hand left your hair to cover yours, urging you to touch, to squeeze.  You gave a low hum of understanding, the vibrations eliciting a delightful groan from the man above you.

Emboldened, your other hand cradled and massaged soft flesh at the base of his length.  You pulled away slightly to focus on his tip again, tasting a salty tease of more precum. 

Zandik tugged on your hair and pulled you away, his cock leaving your lips with a slight pop.

“Continue like that and you’ll finish me far too soon,” he said.

A flare of smug pride dashed through you and you pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh and then his tip before you rose to your feet.  You squeezed your legs together to ease your own desire, the taste of his cock lingering on your tongue.

Zandik’s fingers skimmed across your arms and slid beneath the straps of your gown, pushing them away to let the bodice of the dress fall down to your waist.  Your skin broke out in goosebumps and your nipples stiffened from the slight change in temperature.  He found the tiny zipper that kept the dress over your hips and the dress pooled to your feet, leaving you in teasing lace and your shoes.

Those, too, joined the pile of discarded garments, and your stocking-covered feet were thankful they were finally flat on the floor again.

You pressed your bare breasts against Zandik’s chest, a flash of heat and a plea for more as his throbbing erection pressed against you, before you reached up and kissed him again.  You were intoxicated and dizzy from your own need, as if your very person might never know peace if you were to leave this unresolved.  It threatened to overwhelm and consume you entirely when familiar hands traveled lower still and slipped between your legs.  Your head fell back as you writhed when he touched a particularly sensitive spot at the curve of your behind.

Tugging at his shirt, you pulled him away from the couch and towards the bedroom, leaving a trail of his clothes as you went.

Zandik perched on the edge of the bed, with you standing between his legs, and wrapped his arms around you.  He peppered kisses to your sternum and the soft flesh of your breast, one and then the other, attentive to every curve.  A precise thumb rolled an already-stiffened nipple before hot lips replaced his touch, tongue lapping at your skin.  You arched your back and carded your fingers through his hair, pushing back the long strands from his face, supported by a hand splayed at your back. 

Words were whispered against your skin in a language you neither spoke nor recognized.  You only picked up how Zandik said them, the kinds of things befitting reverence and honor and awe.

“What are you speaking, mon rêve?” you whispered.

“It doesn’t have a name, not anymore,” he panted.  “The words don’t translate but feel...correct.”

Zandik pressed his lips against your belly and, reluctant to let go, pulled you atop him when he shifted onto the bed.  An idea sparked as your bare chest brushed against his; pressing your hands to his chest to keep him flat, you shifted until your knees rested on either side of his head, thighs resting on his shoulders. 

His face was more flush now, hazy with desire, but Zandik gripped your thighs and pulled you further down, settling your weight on his chest.  He kissed the bare flesh of your inner thigh, shiny with your essence.  Hooking a finger to pull aside the lace, he revealed you swollen, soaked core with a low groan that rumbled beneath you.  He whispered again before teasing your entrance with his tongue and you whimpered, never breaking his gaze.

He continued, tongue playing with your inner lips as his nose brushed against your clit.  His red eyes gazed up at you, only closing in intense concentration in time with your reactions.  You clenched and spasmed, occasionally bucking against his face as your body longed for more.  Zandik’s tongue delved deeper, entering you and tasting your warm velvet walls, and you gasped, heart pounding.  You reached down and gripped his hair with both hands in attempt to keep him close or to beg him to stop.  No, not the latter, never the latter. 

Heat pooled in your lower belly, churning with every flick of his tongue and every gentle suck to your clit, ready to snap.  Not now, not yet.  You wanted this night to last, to reach that peak with him, not…

You pulled your hips back, panting, your blood on fire and your body screaming for more.

“Not yet,” you managed.  “I want…”

The words caught in your throat, your own desire choking you.  How did you articulate that without sounding ridiculous, without feeling selfish?  The guilt came out of nowhere, long buried, the source of many dissatisfied evenings and attempts to make others happy.

But that was not what this was about, you reminded yourself.  And the man between your legs would never stand for you pushing away your own desires for the sake of others.  Not now, at any rate, not when you only recalled his other selves in a vague sense of awareness, rather than a solid memory.

His lips and lower face wore evidence of your presence, his skin glistening.  He opened his mouth as if to speak but with trembling hands, you brushed his hair back softly, stopping him. 

The words spilled out like water from an overfilled cup.  “I want to feel you first.  Inside me.  I want to be joined with you when I come.”

Beneath you, Zandik he kissed your thigh again, grazing the skin with his teeth before he swirled his tongue against your clit.  You jolted and your soulmate chuckled, delighted with himself.

“As you wish, rooh 'albi.”

You shifted, moving your legs to free Zandik’s upper body and crawling backwards.  His hands made quick work of the lace at your hips, pushing the material away, which you kicked off without a second thought.  When he sat up and angled himself as though to turn the both of you over, you pressed your hands to his chest.  You expected a question that never came, given his ever-observant nature.  Wordlessly, you lowered your hips to grind your soaked heat along his length and sank atop him, chest to chest, skin to skin. 

A throbbing pulse ran through your core and you paused, savoring the sensation of his hips between your legs, his solid form beneath you.  You rolled your hips, eager for any kind of friction, slick heat passing between you.  Your entrance caught his tip and your mouth opened in a silent cry; Zandik let out a delicious hiss as his hands shot to your hips, stilling you.

Every fiber in your body tightened and you wondered if his grip would leave bruises, the way his fingers dug into you.

You swallowed, a passing thought that your body was more than prepared flickering through your mind, and eased yourself further onto his cock as you captured Zandik’s lips with your own.  Inch by inch, you rocked your hips, Zandik’s hold guiding you, taking him a little more each time, the pace excruciating and exquisite all at once.  A rumble escaped Zandik when you finally buried him deep inside you to the hilt and you swallowed it, kept his passion for yourself.  You broke the kiss to catch your breath in the crook of Zandik’s neck, willing your body to adjust.  Unaccustomed to the sensation of being joined after so long, your walls clenched, squeezing him as strong arms wrapped around you and he cradled the back of your head. 

The initial shock wore off and you rocked your hips in slow, steady movements.  At first, you tried to take his length with every stroke, as if you couldn’t bear the idea of his absence; that was, until Zandik whispered your name and guided your hips, focusing not on depth but sensations from shallower strokes. 

Once you had your bearings and your rhythm, you pulled away from his neck, panting and trembling over him.  You melted into another kiss, uncertain where you ended and Zandik began.

The familiar heat returned to your lower belly, coiled tight, stoked carefully so fire ran through your veins and burned all it touched.  Beneath you, Zandik gasped as you took him deeper again, the sound mingling with that of your joined bodies as his cock twitched.  You needed more, to feel him in a way that seared all that came before, a forest destroyed so new life could grow.

Every orgasm previously, your only other experiences, were forced, coaxed from you like an amateur learning their instrument, demanded as proof the moment was forgivable. Now, you felt as if you were floating among stars, hazy and lost among the bliss.

“Look at me, rooh 'albi.”

Zandik whispered your name again and you held his gaze, attentive and earnest as you lost your rhythm, too close to the edge.  He took over, thrusting into you as you shattered, walls fluttering and squeezing.  Staccato gasps ripped from your lungs and your eyes burned with tears but you couldn’t look away, not when—

You watched Zandik’s eyes go wide as he rocked you through your aftershocks before he gave a choked groan and buried his face in your neck, whispering incoherently.  He grabbed your hips, keeping you in place as he spilled inside you, your core convulsing around his twitching cock. 

Dazed, your tongue was heavy in your mouth, all but useless.  Zandik pulled away just enough so you could kiss him but made no effort to move otherwise, your bodies still tangled.  He broke the kiss first, eyes skimming your face the way moonlight touched water.  His curiosity was tempered not by selfish lust but with the desire to understand far beyond the surface.

You brushed his hair back softly, heart skipping, your very skin wanting to memorize every sensation.  His groan matched a note you knew by heart and already, you were trying to piece together more, as if you could translate the moment and capture it forever.

“Sleep feels very far away, mon rêve,” you panted, brushing your nose to his. 

“I did say we had all night, didn’t I?” Zandik teased.

“Eternity, actually.”

He hummed in reply, lips pulling into a soft smile that made his eyes burn like hot coals.  You melted against him again as his lips captured yours and he turned both of you over, never once breaking away from you. 

“Eternity it is, then.”

[posallys]

dream a little dream of me

posally | T | 4.6k | could-be canon for @pjoseries and @chironshorseass

Do you ever dream about mom?  Dreaming is simple; words are not.  When Poseidon looks at his son, he sees Sally.

or, a recollection of the things poseidon dreams about

read on ao3

[doe-eyed-dreamr]

Late night drive with cg ~☆

- Getting tucked into your seat and buckled up with a gentle kiss to your nose

"Ready for our adventure little one?"

The gentle rocking of the car soothing you till everything feels dreamy and soft around the edges

Holding your stuffie to the window and pretending they can fly, making "whoosh" sound effects so your Cg giggles

Mama/Papa humming along to quiet music

Finally being lulled to sleep, the feeling of being scooped up and carried back inside when the journey is over

[hardly-an-escape]

Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

[videogamelover99]

Bill Cipher angst at 2AM??? Also plz read Flat Dreams

[cuubism]

I see your "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make me have feelings for Hob!!'" and raise you "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make Hob have feelings for me!!'" because it's the only logical explanation for why Hob would claim to want someone like Dream

[ cat screaming crying . jpg ]

Dream storms into Desire’s realm, steps thudding on the uneven floor, rage propelling him forward. He cannot remember ever feeling such anger, such betrayal towards his sibling, not even when he had learned they were behind his imprisonment.

Desire’s games have always gone too far, but this is beyond trying to teach him a lesson, this is beyond what Dream can reconcile, this is simply cruelty.

“YOU,” he thunders, the air shaking around him as he stalks up to where Desire is lying casually on a chaise lounge as if they haven’t just ripped Dream’s one comfort in this life out from under him. “How dare you.”

“Brother, dear,” drawls Desire, popping a grape into their mouth with not a care in the world, “it is rude to simply fly in without even knocking on the door. You wouldn’t like it if I did it to you.”

Blind with fury, Dream grabs them by the throat and hauls them to their feet. Desire lets out a choked gasp, genuinely startled by his vitriol. Their pulse trips under Dream’s thumb.

Desire cannot be killed through something as simple as strangulation, but it truly is tempting to try. “What,” Dream snarls, grip tightening, “what have you done to Hob Gadling?”

Desire blinks at him, torn from their alarm by confusion. “Whomst? Listen, I know you know everybody’s name and their kinkiest fantasy but I honestly can’t be bothered with the details, you’re going to have to fill me in.”

The rage in Dream’s core only flares hotter. “Enough of this charade, you know exactly what you’ve done.”

“No, seriously, I have no idea what you’re—”

Dream whirls away, leaving his sibling staggering in the wake of his grasp. “Was it not enough?” he demands, staring sightlessly into the gleaming red curves of Desire’s realm. “Was the vortex not enough? Was a century of imprisonment not enough for you?” His voice cracks halfway through, and it’s mortifying. “Truly, your hatred of me is untempered by even the slightest compassion.”

Desire’s voice is quizzical when they next speak. “I am starting to wish I was behind whatever this is that seems to have pierced you straight through the heart. I’m afraid my own arrows have missed that organ thus far.”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream insists, but Desire’s seemingly-genuine confusion has him wavering. It’s not like them not to revel in their own victory, and oh, this has been a victory, Dream feels laid lower than even a century in a cage had managed. “You are manipulating him.”

“Once again, I don’t know who that is. But he’s clearly excellent ammunition so I’m certainly going to find out once you leave.”

Dream flexes his hands at his sides, summoning his control. If Desire truly was not behind this, then he’s already made a mistake in coming here. Best not to offer anything else.

Being in Desire’s realm makes this stoicism difficult. The very space brings emotions to the surface, drags feelings up from his stomach that he’s tried so very hard to tamp down. He tastes blood at the back of his throat, his stomach churns, his skin prickles with sweat.

Desire stalks up behind him, sensing all of this. “Now I am curious,” they murmur, dragging a finger up his shoulder, over the collar of his coat and along the back of his neck. “Now I must know what’s go you so riled up.”

“You think you have earned such things?” Dream says through gritted teeth. His heart is pounding hard and uneven such that it physically hurts in his chest, the weight of the Threshold bearing down.

“No need to earn, you can hide nothing from me here.” Desire circles around him to his front, dragging their finger along his collarbone until it lands right at the base of his throat. They look at him from under their lashes, all smug satisfaction. “You are all tangled up in the realm of Desire, aren’t you?”

Dream moves to storm off, but Desire blocks him, nails pressing into his skin.

“Nah-ah, no running away. Let your little sibling help you, hm? As you may know, I am rather wise in matters of the heart.”

The look on Desire’s face is craftiness, glee, not charity or wisdom.

“I neither need nor wish for your assistance,” says Dream, voice hard. “On this, or any other matter.”

“But there is a matter.” Desire leans in and speaks right in his ear. “I can smell the heartsickness on you, Dream.”

There is nothing Dream can say in response to this. Any denial would only be read as falsehood, for Desire does not lie – of late, Dream feels sick with wanting in Hob’s presence, hunger so sharp it turns over into nausea, much like the first time Hob had pushed him to eat after his captivity. How cruel, then, to have his pain eased, his desires sated by a reciprocation that cannot possibly be truly felt.

There is nothing to say, so Dream doesn’t speak. Silence, of course, is its own answer.

“You know, if there’s one thing I have always admired about you, big brother, it’s your willingness to destroy yourself for the sake of passion,” Desire continues. “You’d think that’d be my sort of thing. Who’ve you lost yourself on this time? Demigod? Demon? Dryad? Vampire?”

Dream glares at them, but does not speak.

Desire’s face absolutely lights up as they realize. “Oh. My. God. Is he human? Dreeaaammmmm, my my, maybe your little time out did change you, after all.”

Dream turns away, refusing to give them the satisfaction of confirming. Though he knows this reaction is also a confirmation.

Desire claps their hands. “Oh! I’m so proud of myself. Look at this! Look at the softness of your heart. Look how I can bruise it.”

Dream’s heart, indeed, gives a painful thump. “Should you dare to touch him, even the old laws will not protect you.”

Desire sighs, flopping back onto a couch, legs crossed, head propped in their hand. “Why bother? You’ll destroy it yourself, and that’ll be much more fun.”

I hate you, Dream thinks, like a petulant child. He hates, also, how any argument with Desire makes him feel that way, feelings crowding at the surface of his skin, throat tightening, mind spinning in a chaotic churn. His muscles clench so hard he thinks they might have snapped, were he human, then he forces himself back into a semblance of ease.

There is no extracting himself from this situation with any dignity.

“Interfere with my affairs again,” he warns darkly, “and I will destroy you.”

Then he storms out of the Threshold.

“Love you too!” Desire calls after him, a grin in their voice. “Good luck with your human!”

--

When he’d found Hob at the New Inn, thirty-three years after he’d meant to arrive, Dream had not known how he might be received. Friendship extended once may not be extended again after so brutal a rejection, and so prolonged an absence, no matter that the latter offense was not within his control.

Being met with a smile, then, and an easy acceptance of his apology, like Hob had already forgiven him long before Dream had stepped through the door, had been a revelation. Something had settled in him that he had not known was knocked askew. Could there, truly, be one thing in his life that was allowed to be easy? Where Dream’s missteps were not met with scorn or vitriol or world-shaking consequences, but with grace and the chance to try again?

It seemed improbable, but still Dream had grabbed for it with cold, shaking fingers. Had held that unlikely flame between his palms. Had watched as it grew, hotter and brighter with each smile Hob sent his way, with each gentle brush of fingers as he pressed cups of tea into Dream’s hands, with the hug Hob finally managed to wind him into, once Dream had told him of the true reason for his absence in 1989.

Hob’s grace, Hob’s generosity in inviting someone, something like him into his home, into his life… Dream did not quite know how to hold it, so unlikely it was. He tried, though, oh he tried. And he swore he would not mess it up, not like he had when Hob had first offered his friendship.

He has now, quite royally, messed it up.

He very much doubts Hob will be so generous this time.

He finds Hob where he left him, sitting on the couch in his flat, a book in his hand. He doesn’t seem to be concentrating on it; his thoughts feel scattered in ragged, disturbed daydreams.

He doesn’t even startle when Dream materializes next to him. Though he knows it can be startling to humans, Dream has not been able to break himself of just appearing where he needs to – traversing the long way from point to point is not how he works. But aside from the occasional, teasing, I have a door, you know, Hob never truly complains about these disturbances to his day.

Dream means to offer him an apology. To say, I should not have walked out when you said that you loved me. To say, I am supposed to be better, I am trying to be better.

Instead, just as Hob looks up, the words that trip out of Dream’s mouth, pushed by the flurry of Desire’s realm still pounding within him, are, “Did you speak truly, Hob Gadling?”

Which is a ridiculous question. Dream does not think he has ever heard Hob speak a lie. Still, Dream must have the answer.

Hob’s expression shifts through several incarnations, none of which Dream feels capable of reading. Finally, it settles on the same soft, exasperated understanding Dream remembers being presented with when he’d said, I know thirty years is truly quite late, at their reunion, before he’d told Hob why he was late.

Grace, then. He is to be offered grace, again.

His emotions are still so close to the surface that he has to physically swallow down what he feels about that.

“Of course, I did,” Hob says, and there’s a hint of nerves in it, but he pushes through, he always does. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

His gaze is genuine, open, and no, Desire had not lied – Hob’s feelings are no manipulation of theirs. And while it is tempting to search for other answers, spells or illusions or any number of other causes, Dream knows, deep down, that he will come up empty.

Hob’s feelings are true, are his truth, confounding though that is.

Dream no longer feels capable of holding any of this in his hands.

Instead, he kisses him.

It’s like he is pulled forward by a force outside his own body. He goes to Hob like he had gone to the sugar in the tea Hob had made him, that night at the inn when Dream had first realized how long it had truly been since he’d eaten; he goes to him like he had gone back to the Dreaming after being freed, returning home breathless, lost, changed.

Hob catches him against his mouth, hands cradling Dream’s face. His grip is solid and warm, and he kisses Dream like he looks at him like he speaks to him, with a care Dream hardly knows how to accept. He leans into it anyway, he leans in.

“I wasn’t fishing for a kiss when I said that, you know,” Hob says when they part, still lingering close enough that Dream can feel his heat, his breath. “I meant it in more of— well, that way, for certain, but really, any way you wanted to take it.”

“Any way,” Dream repeats, not sure he comprehends Hob’s meaning.

“Yeah, you—” Hob cuts himself off, letting out a breath, thinking. His hands slide from Dream’s face down to his shoulders, and he holds him there. “I. You just. I want you to know that you’re loved. Not demanding anything of it. Just telling you. Take it however serves you best.”

Dream stares at him, his whole being tripped and restarted at a new rhythm, and Hob gives him a sad smile.

“It’s too big to hold,” he says, and taps his chest. “In here. And besides, I wanted you to have it.”

Dream had had it. Only he hadn’t quite known what he had. The sunshine of Hob’s smiles, sustaining him, a bridge between distant points of light.

Finally, he manages to say, “I felt it. You have been my succor. My… only.”

Hob has captured him more effectively than Burgess’s snare, but this capture is not a prison. It hurts, oh, it aches, but it never wounds.

Hob smiles at him again. There’s still something pained in the creases around his eyes. “I know.”

He’s still touching Dream. His hands run over him, up his neck, over his throat, along his collarbone, and—

catch, on the collar of his shirt, above his heart.

“What happened?”

His voice is tight, now, worried, and— yes. There are bruises on Dream’s chest, crawling up over his breastbone. He had felt them form, and hadn’t stopped them.

Hob’s expression darkens further the longer he looks; he drags the collar of Dream’s shirt down, trying to see how far the damage spreads. “You’ve got bruises all over you. Dream, what happened?”

What happened is Dream stood in the Threshold and his heart beat so hard it drummed right through to the surface of his skin. What happened is it hurt so badly his form shifted to give reason for the pain.

“Desire,” he says, and he does not mean his sibling.

Hob doesn’t seem to understand, but he smoothes a hand over Dream’s heart as if to wipe the bruises away. Dream could will his body to return to its original, unharmed state, but he does not. He lets the blood stay pooled beneath his skin.

Hob sighs, tugging Dream’s coat tighter around him, shielding him from further injury. “Come here, you. You strange creature.”

He pulls Dream in, though he does not have to pull hard. Dream tucks his face into Hob’s neck, reveling in the warm scent of him, woodsmoke from the fireplace down in the inn where they’ve now spent many a long evening, basking in the heat of the flames. Hob’s arms go around him.

Absolution. Dream does not think this is a gift that has ever been granted to him.

“I would also love you,” he says. “If you would accept it.”

“If I would accept it?” Hob repeats. “Darling, your love is a privilege.”

Dream’s heart, in all its bruises and blood, finds rhythm again, and he thinks, though he certainly doesn’t pull away from Hob to check, that his skin clears up partway, too.

[petite-phthora]

Can I kiss you?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 1]

Next >>

Ao3

---

“—so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to kill him! It was an accident! He just jumped me out of nowhere and I have had bad experiences with clowns in the past so when I saw it was a clown trying to kidnap me I kinda just panicked and punched him! I swear, dude, I didn’t mean to hit him so hard—“

Jason, much too calmly, likely in some form of shock, rises from the crouched-down position he had been in to check the clown corpse’s pulse.

He had seen the poor, still rambling, twink getting grabbed from a distance and was about to step in as Red Hood, not even having been aware it was the Joker who —shouldn’t he have been in Arkham? There has been no announcement of him breaking out yet— had grabbed the guy until he had run close enough to the scene.

Which was after the guy had already been startled so badly by the Joker trying to kidnap him that he sucker punched the Joker into the wall of the alley so hard the clown died.

Said twink then realized what he had done and that he had a witness, that witness being Red Hood himself, and had started his frenzied speech on how it was an accident and to please don’t take him to jail he’s only just started his scholarship at Gotham U. and he can’t have murder on his track record yet.

Breathless, Jason looks at the nervous twink in front of him, who's still trying to plead his case, and who just obliterated the Joker with a punch.

Before his brain can catch up to his mouth, he’s already cutting the distressed monologuing off.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts out.

Danny, taken off guard, breaks out of his panicked—oh, Ancients, I just killed someone— stupor and lets out a startled laugh.

“Take me out to dinner first” came the automatic joking reply, Danny still largely in shock of what he did.

Jason, either not picking up on the joking tone or ignoring it, nods seriously, already trying to come up with the best place for a dinner date with the cute twink to thank him for his service to the city.

Danny, who has calmed down slightly by now, glances between the red-helmed vigilante and the clown corpse. His gaze lands on Red Hood and he hesitantly speaks up again.

“So, uh, what happens now? Do I need to go to the station to make a statement orrrr?” He pauses awkwardly.

Jason, who’s still trying to figure out whether the Bat Burger would be a good place for a first date or not, doesn’t reply.

“I’ve got school in the morning and I only have like,” he pauses to check his phone for the time, “3 more hours before I have to be up for my first lesson. Soooo, I’m just gonna go. That cool?”

Again, he waits for a reply. But it doesn’t come.

“Right. Cool cool. Uh, see you later? Mr. Red Hood dude sir?” Danny gives a clumsy and awkward salute before turning tail and speed-walking away.

It’s not until 30 minutes later, once Jason has finally decided on the perfect place to take the guy to dinner to, that he realizes the twink is gone.

Fuck, he forgot to ask for the guy’s name.

…

And number.

[lacecap]

i saw you once in a dream

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

Will the teasing of the fire be followed by the thud? [x]

[no-light-left-on]

"Fuck you."

I've been re-reading What Lies Between Sorrow and Longing and since I am unwell about this entire fic I drew a scene from Chapter 4

[shaykai]

Look I don’t think Nightmare and Error would pick a fight with each other (I think they both acknowledge that the other is not someone they want to have to fight) but if they did?????

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LII

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter on AO3 here.

You walked barefoot across spongy, moist moss, enveloped in luxurious, dense flora.  Trees soared overhead, their trunks so thick it would take at least three people’s arm span to encircle just a single one.  Dusk birds let out call after all and the branches above jostled as squirrels and other animals darted through the heights.  The sun’s light was muted by the thick canopy, trickling through in long shafts where the layer was thinnest.

The air was heavy and sweat beaded across your forehead and at the back of your neck.

Despite lacking a compass and a map, you knew where you were going.  Nothing here looked familiar; it didn’t matter.

You came to a stream, the water gurgling quietly over the rocks as it ran towards its point of gravity.  Frogs chirped to one another in the twilight.  The surface shimmered where the sun managed to slip in.  Beneath your feet, tiny salamanders scampered through the soft silt.

Everywhere you looked teemed with sound, with life.

You dug your toes into the thick mud after stepping into the stream.  The water was cool around your ankles and clear as crystal.  You looked across the water when a tug pulled at your feet, silently urging you to the other side.  This stream rivaled even the narrower parts of Fontaine’s islands where the lake was thinnest; it was far wider than it looked at first glance.

It was pretty here but you couldn’t stay forever.  Not when the sun was already beginning to set.

Your feet parted from the mud with a wet sucking squish as you stepped forward and cautiously worked to find proper footing before putting your weight down again.  As you went, the mud seemed to realize it no longer had a hold on you and every step became harder.  Thankfully, you weren’t wearing shoes; you would have lost them by now.

Halfway across, the water up to your knees, you pulled and tried to shift your weight forward to no avail.  No matter how hard you tried, what way you moved, you couldn’t lift your leg again.  You frowned.  You weren’t sinking; that ruled out quick sand.  But you were now stuck in the middle of the stream and the sun was getting lower.

Would your steps be easier if you went back the way you came?  Maybe you could find a different way across that had a proper path.  Looking this way and that, you spotted no stones poking above the water as the stream stretched out in either direction.  Going back wouldn’t get you home, now would it?

Home.

Was that where you were going?

The tug from earlier crept up your ankles and sat low in your belly, still urging you onward as it curled up with other sensations that threatened to overwhelm you.  You needed to get across.

You wiggled your foot, loosening the mud and making the foothold wider.  With a little extra effort, your foot popped free and you were able to take another step.  You did the same with your other leg, every step growing easier as you worked your way to the other bank, silt clinging between your toes. 

On your last step, you overestimated the force and propelled yourself forward.  Instead of meeting the cool, wet ground, however, you immediately hit something hard, warm, and capable of sound.

“You could have made a bridge, you know."

Your hands searched and found that you hadn’t run into a wall at all but rather a person.  Their shirt was soft and their muscles were flexed from your impact and relaxed under your touch.  Your legs were precariously arranged, their thigh pressed against almost against you.  Every point where your bodies touched burned and yet soothed you like spring water.

“Or did you forget how to influence your dreams, rooh 'albi?”

Startled, you pulled away, just enough to get a look at the stranger’s face.  Zandik stared down at you, red eyes gleaming and a knowing smile on his lips.

“It worked,” you whispered, eyes wide as your hands traced the planes of his chest and reached for his shoulders.  “You’re…we’re…”

You took his face between your hands, tracing the familiar shape of his jaw and cheeks.  Emboldened, you pushed his hair back from his face and found the texture was the same as it was when you were awake.  Enhanced, even.

Zandik shook his head slightly and you pulled your hand away from his hair.  He took your wrist in his hand gently and guided it back to his cheek but not before pressing his warm lips to your palm.

The sun was lower still, the rays of light at the mercy of the canopy overhead again from its position.  But at this angle, Zandik’s eyes caught the sun and you swore you never saw more brilliant gems.  Certainly not in Fontaine.  And it was all yours to admire. 

Around you, the frogs continued, and the birds sang to one another.  The sounds never stopped but all that surrounded you was the wildlife.

“It’s quiet now,” you whispered.  “There was always wind before…it carried voices, echoes.”

“The Segments.  It was never possible to be separated from them before,” Zandik replied without missing a beat.

You nodded, recalling that they did always sound like him, even if you never clearly caught the words they spoke.

“There’s still much to study and take note of,” he continued.  “I don’t recall the environments being this vivid, for one, nor do I recall experiencing such a tangible draw to you before.  I have a perfectly fine sense of direction.  Perhaps that’s the magnetic draw others mentioned in their accounts…it’s quite distracting when one is attempting to understand their environment…”

“I felt that too,” you replied, keenly aware of how hot you felt and the demanding, burning ache that rooted itself in your very being.  You resisted the urge to buck your hips.

Zandik drank in your expression and gave a low chuckle before dipping his head down to meet yours.

“As pleasurable as that would be, it’s best to save that until we fully understand what changed,” he murmured.

So many questions came to mind but one stood out further from the rest.

His lips met yours with a familiar certainty.  The fiery desire burned low, stoking embers while keeping the sweeping flames at bay and something deep inside you finally settled.  When you finally parted, your mind was clear.

“Then what shall we do first, mon rêve?”

The next time you saw the sun, it was streaming through wide open windows, glaringly bright.  At first, it felt accusatory, demanding why you were still in bed when its warmth was here to draw you out instead.  Dust motes caught your eye and curiously, you stuck out a hand to change their course.  They danced around your fingers, the tiny particles floating elsewhere, but they did not gravitate to you as they had before.

Static, still.

Silence had crawled into the bedroom and muffled all noise.

And yet the notes were never louder.

You turned your head slowly and shifted your legs, only to find that Zandik was next to you, intertwined with you.  His arms held you in the same fashion you fell asleep in (he would bemoan that later, you were sure, when his shoulder was not quite right), his breathing even.  As soon as your head settled, his eyes flickered open and the excitement of multiple successes was palpable on every breath he took.  Instead of either of you throwing back the covers, however, you shifted and found a more comfortable position, pressed against one another, noses brushing.

“If I do not record this now, I fear I will lose it.”

His mouth was dry but he was still far from incentivized to leave you.  New-found energy hummed through him and manifested itself in his fingers finding yours, tracing every callous and every knuckle.  You could not bring yourself look away from his eyes unless it was to press your lips to his forehead, eyelids, cheeks, and lips.  Every touch was a different texture, a different rhythm to the syncopation that only the two of you seemed to understand. 

Your free hand traced notes across his arm and collarbone, humming all the while.  Zandik seemed to relax ever so slightly beneath your hands, tilting his head as you put note in front of another, his own musings falling into rhythm with your notes.

Neither of you acknowledged parting nor leaving the bed; it was not so much a conscious decision as it was a drifting of relieving touches.

Air was easier to breathe and you finally realized the color of the couches in the other room as you took up your cello.  Zandik was immediate in his search for paper and a pen, reaching for his notes to solidify the process that brought you both here, to this state of existence.

Notes flowed at a steady, even pace, and you only broke away from your bow long enough to draft.  You felt as if you were putting yourself into the very ink you laid upon the paper, the very sounds you brought to life.

You had no concept of time.  When you finally wrote Fin at the bottom of your last page, Zandik peered out from the bedroom, papers in hand and delight dancing across his face.

Time was irrelevant in such things, in such moments.

For once, you never felt more alive.

[posallys]

*knocks on ur door* any spare fic, please? spare fic?

FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK THIS AS I AM WORKING ON A FIC THIS VERY MOMENT!

i want to share the whole thing because it is SO HARD to just pick a few lines....i am really devistating myself writing this. but HERE is what i have settled on:

[screwpinecaprice]

She's on a hospital bed, amnesiac after an accident and she's having a crush on this man who is apparently her husband.

@dragonuva's part on an art trade with them from last year! 🥰 It's based on the first chapter of Chiptune by Newlense.

Guys. This fanfic is my favorite FAVORITE connverse fic and I love it so much I don't care if the last update was in 2020 nor if it's never going to be continued. It's so tender and the angst whalloped my guts in the right places. 😭💕

[the-kipsabian]

wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

[the-bear-and-his-sunbird]

After ten years of not writing fanfiction, Baldurs Gate 3 has me in a chokehold. Inspired by one of the songs Halsins VA Dave Johnson put into his Halsin playlist, i made this. If you want the full experience listen to "I want to be your only pet" by Bombay Bicycle Club.

The whole playlist ist gold to be honest, so if you haven't do check that out.

The Tav is based on my Character Òrfhlaith (say it like Orla) who started as a Sorcerer/Bard and respecc. into Sorcerer/Paladin. For the sake of the story, the Tav is not named and only described with she/her pronouns and the title songbird.

English is not my first language, so if you find any spelling errors or grammatical mistakes, please do point it out.

I Want to be your only pet (I want to let go and forget)

Paring: Halsin x female!Tav (Halsin POV)

Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Yearning.

If you prefer Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55315462

Warnings: Mentions of past Trauma, sight violence, explicit description of blood, hinted panic attack, explicit sexual thoughts. Minord DNI!

Description:

“My Bear, my bear. My sweet, sweet Bear. I will protect you. I will see you safe. You have nothing to fear as long as you are with me. And if I cannot promise you anything, I promise you this: You are safe with me.”

Little snippets of Halsin learning to let down his guard around Tav and his every growing yearning through Act I- III.

After the group freed him from the Goblin Camp, which was honestly a miracle in itself, they went on to save the Grove. Halin still could not believe it. After all the moments worrying, hoping, praying he would find a way to ward off all harm, it was done. The Grove was preserved and on the way to begin anew, whilst the Tieflings were on their way to Baldurs Gate. Not that he would call it safe in any way. Even if he wished them a happier ending, he feared for their lives on the road to the city. Halsin prayed that Sylvanus would watch over the group of refugees. Especially whenever he thought about them having to pass through the shadow cursed lands on their own.

When they finished saying their goodbyes, Halsin asked permission to stay at camp. In his heart he knew that they would need his help to pass through the shadow curse. After all, he had seen it put into place, living with its weight for over a hundred years. If his knowledge could help them towards their goal, he would be glad for it.

Their way would be long and traveling with them would mean leaving the grove behind but for all that it was worth he was relieved to give up the title of Archdruid; it had clung to his shoulders long enough. If he was being honest, he never was really good at it. Sure enough, he understood enough of politics and leadership to keep everything running, but it teared at him. Every nag and every whisper a shred of himself fell away. People like Nettie made it bearable, but he knew that due to his position there was a distance between them that could not be bridged. So he quietly yearned for nature's sweet caress again, when he would run out in the early morning hours his paws on the soft, wet ground, looking for berries and honey. Hunting at night. Unburdened from the limitations, being Archdruid gave him. No, he was not sad at all, to let all that go. and Francesca would lead the Druids to a new beginning. Remind them of the true intentions they should strive for.

The first days in camp were truly magical, though so very different than the hundred years before: Being able to enjoy the sunbeams on his face, the crisp air of morning, knowing that no one would ask him to lead the way. No one to depend on his judgment and whisper about his decisions in the hidden corners, when they thought he would not hear them. The people in camp gave him space to go after his day, not wanting his leadership nor needing it. They shared their meals with him and though some eyed him suspiciously, no one bothered him. Mostly he was left to ponder over the shadow curse and the illithid infection.

Though she came to him every now and then. Halsin could tell that she was the leader of their, rather chaotic, crew. When she spoke, they listened. Some rather … reluctantly at the beginning. But nevertheless, they accepted her plans and did what they could to support each other on the road. And she was patient with them in return. At least more patient than most of the people he knew. Even when she had to end the quarrels between them seemingly every other night, she only used harsh words in situations deserving of them.

That did not mean that she was above frustrations: One time, after a particularly bad fight between Gale and Astarion (the rogue accused the brown haired man of having stolen a copy of one of his books to eat it, telling him to use his own damn library for dinner) where they nearly set the campground on fire, she had set them straight sternly, her brow furrowing, using a surprising colorful vocabulary.

Halsin admired her vigor to go on, no matter how bad her group returned at night. Often she would go to every person in camp chatting for a few moments, her face still swollen and bloody. Most of the time, she would swiftly discard her armor and put on some (relatively) clean clothes, yet sometimes she only undid the heaviest part of her armor, chucking it away carelessly, as she went on to greet the first person. She asked them about their day, offering them counsel if needed. Every time she also appeared at his side at the end of her round. Her eyes shining with a warmth that he could only describe with a warm summer's evening.

He came to like the routine. The few first nights she would ask about his comfort and share a few kind words with him. Later, when they neared the shadow cursed lands, she requested advice trying to find the best route. While he explained she listened intently, nodding while he was mapping the ways and when he finished, she thanked him for his words before she left. It was nice. Not having to answer for every decision that was made, but his words being heard and acknowledged. It made him feel warm.

After that she returned to her usual routine. Asking him about his well being with a soothing voice, smiling at him like the fresh morning sun. One particular evening, after she left, Halsin could not help but keep thinking about the way she leaned her head when she was listening. Or how her eyes focused when she was mulling over ideas.

He found her attractive, he did not need to deny it. But the way his attention seemed to stick to her, like a fly on a honeypot, made him uneasy. There was a time and place for such thoughts and he did not believe the current situation to be one of those. So he stuffed the thoughts of her laugh and her eyes far away and carried on.

Halsin heard her sing, one time at camp. Wyll was sharing a story about the fine dances back in Baldurs Gate and bards that could induce you with whatever feeling they pleased, with just a few strokes of their instruments. The Warlock recalled the way one particularly skilled bard sang a ballad full of yearning and heartache, that he never heard again. Halsin heard her surprised exclamation, telling the horned man excitedly that she knew that song by heart. Wyll had politely asked her to sing it for them, only if she did not mind. And she did not mind at all.

Her voice sounded a bit coarse at the beginning (there were not many occasions to sing anymore) but soon her voice unfolded like a flower petal in bloom. Halsin could have sworn to Sylvanus, her voice sounded like a songbird, both sweet and rich. Soon she was weaving a net with each syllable, entangling the listeners with her honey voice. Turning his head he could see entranced eyes, some humming along softly and tapping their feet. A gentle breeze passed through them as the song ended. Gentle quiet settled over camp. For a moment everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts before Karlach asked for another song, excitement barely contained. With a glint in her eyes, the songbird began to sing a folkish song. One that was easier to follow and more well known, stomping along to the beat. And soon enough a few of them joined in. All in all it went on to be a surprisingly jolly evening. From his spot on a thick branch, Halsin watched them sing and dance around, grabbing onto the unwilling campmates pulling them along, much to their pretended dismay.

She had suddenly stood before him then. Hand outstretched, eyes shining like the sun itself had made its home there. With his heart pounding in his chest, Halsin stared up to her.

“Will you be joining us?” She asked in a melodic tone. He wished for nothing more than to keep her voice around for the rest of the night.

It would have only taken him a word. One word and he could have joined their merry dancing, their laughter. But he did not dare to. Not with the memory of the Shadow Curse hanging on his shoulders, whispering every single failure he could count into his ear. Not with Thaniel lost, not with the unspoken promise of saving him or die trying. With a heart so heavy it could drag him right into the ground, Halsin shook his head. “Another time. But thank you for your invitation. It is greatly appreciated.” Her smile faltered. He could have sworn to see a flicker of concern in her eyes. With a pang of regret the Druid tried to say something soothing- He did not mean to steal the sun from her eyes.

As he was trying to find his words, she smiled again. “All is well, my friend. You take your rest and tomorrow we will see to the Shadow Curse.”

Her eyes laid intently on him, unfaltering. He could swear he saw a different kind of fire there. “We will see it broken and Thaniel freed once again. I swear." The way she said it filled Halsin with hope. She seemed so sure of it.

Before he could say anything in response, someone from the group (he could swear it was Shadowheart, rare laughter spilling from her lips) was pulling her away from him again. He watched her pick up her laughter full of sunshine again, holding the hand of the young cleric. Under the sea of stars she radiated light and warmth, turning in a circle, stumbling over her feet and catching herself, before holding onto someone elses hand. Halsin wondered how it would feel to catch her, to make her laugh and bring the light into her eyes. Holding her close to his chest as he traced the rivers of starlight on her skin. To bite her tender skin, taste her, devour her. Halsin inhaled sharply, willing the golden sparks on his skin away. He reminded himself that such were no thoughts to have. Now was not the time to relax and to come undone. Not before he had freed Thaniel and lifted the Shadow curse. This was his duty before everything else. She would help him. That was a small relief in the suffocating fear that had nested itself in his heart so very long ago.

With a sigh he looked at the wood he was chipping away at. He had to be alone for a moment. Grabbing his utensils, he stood up, swiftly waving goodnight towards the group as his feet carried him back to his bedroll. Staring up towards the stars, he wondered if he should carve a dancing bird.

After they saved Thaniel and killed Ketheric Thorm the land bloomed once more, roots emerging from the earth tasting the sun's kiss once again.There were no words in the world that could describe how he felt then. Everything he worked for, all that he wished for over 100 years, came to life. Just like that. The land that had clawed at them mere hours ago, now flourished in the light of the sun, reaching for it like they were drowning. Halsin felt like the weight on his shoulders had lifted a bit. Years of feeling like there was not enough air, now seemed to ease, as every inhale came a little easier to him. For a moment he let himself rest and gazed at the scenery around him, when a high pitched yelp ripped him out of his thoughts.

Startled, he turned towards the sound: Karlach had gathered everyone in reach of her in her arms, squeezing them tight to her chest. His Songbird laughed as she was swept up in the embrace of the tiefling woman, laughing freely. He cherished the starry eyed look she had, as she looked back on the land, her chest swelling with pride. There was seldom a moment when she looked so full of wonder, so carefree.While she smiled often before the others, when no one looked, her eyes turned grim, as a heaviness Halsin recognized all too well took hold of them. Shoulders sagging as if the burden of the world sat on her shoulders. It was a relief to see her unburdened, even if only for a moment.

When his gaze lingered on her face a second too long, their eyes met and time seemed to still, nothing existing besides them for a moment. Then she shot the elf a questioning look. Shame bloomed in his chest, as Halsin had realized he got caught staring like a fool and then kept looking at her still. Suddenly he wished to make himself as small as a mouse. But to his surprise she merely reached over to him and pulled him into the hug

“You are officially one of us now.” She said sneaking her free arm around his chest, squeezing him towards her. At least he thought it was her arm.

“Next time join us earlier.” So she must have thought his stare stemmed from lacking inclusion in the group. Halsin hoped, she would not find out the real reason he had been staring.

That evening the group celebrated once again. It was rather modest, as the weeks before had depleted their ressources greatly. Still, the relief after surviving moonrise tower seemed to give them new energy. Now the whole group seemed to buzz with excitement for the next chapter to come. As they drank and talked, Halsin could feel himself relax more than he had in years before- His Pipe pressed between lips, letting out a puff of fragrant smoke and watching it swirl into the bright night sky, whittling tools in hand again, chipping away at it slowly. The ground under him was soft and warm, bustling with life, ready to begin anew.

He chuckled as the songbird watched her in an armwrestling competition with Karlach, Wyll and Lae’zel on the side, discussing their forms, throwing in a bit of advice every now and then. Even if she was strong, Karlach bested the songbird easily, apologizing the whole time. Halsin could swear he saw a coin switch hands in the background. Whoever did not bet on Karlach was foolish, that woman would best everyone in camp, including himself. As Gale and Astarion started to bicker again, the songbird stood up and shooed them to do “something useful for once” with a grin. She loved them, he could see it clear as day. Seeing her made his chest uncomfortably tight.

Later that evening she came to him, out of breath, sweat glistening on her skin. She had been playing with the dog and the owlbear again. Eunning away with Scratches' ball before getting tackled, when she did not manage to run fast enough. She pointed her finger to the spot next to him.

“Is this seat taken?” She inquired, her skin flushed and eyes twinkling.

He smiled. “ No. If you want to rest here for a while, you are more than welcome.” The elf shifted to the side, allowing her to sit down next to him. She quickly made herself comfortable on the floor and crossed her legs. Her gaze shifted to his hands, holding his piece of wood.

“Can you teach me how to whittle? Every time I see you, I wonder how you do it and … I thought that this night is as good as any to ask you. If that’s not too much to ask” her voice seemed to waver at the end.

Was she nervous? Halsin wondered if he was intimating her somehow. Before he spoke he softened his tone on instinct.

“I don’t know if there is much to say about it. Most people tend to perceive it as boring, anyway. But nevertheless I’d be honored to show you, if you really want to.”

She shrugged. “Well most people can stuff it.” A huff escaped her lips when she saw the surprised look Halsin gave her.

“You do well to know what you like: They cannot take that away from you. No matter how much they sneer about it, this is yours. And besides: whittling is a hobby as good as any other.” He contemplated her words for a moment.

“Sometimes I think people look at me and think my feelings can’t be hurt” Halsin stilled for a moment “Thank you for your words. I appreciate them greatly.” She shot him a smile as the elf picked up his utensils again. While he was showing her what to use and how to begin, she listened attentively, asking for clarification a few times. When she leaned over, he could feel her warm breath on his skin. Hastily he cleared his throat and went on to explain.

“For me the vision of what I’ll carve comes when I’m already in the process. But for the first time, it would be a smart choice to already have an idea in mind.” He handed her a piece of wood, which she started turning in her hands over and over again, contemplating. Holding up his own work so he could show her.

“You could start with a spoon if you’d to begin very simple. Or if you would rather enjoy something artistic I could show you a fox or a bi-”

“A Bear.” Taken aback, Halsin looked over to her. She did not falter, as she continued. “It is you who is showing me how to do it, no? I met you as a bear the very first time. And …” She hesitated. “You do inspire me, you know? So, I would like to do a bear.”

By Silvanus, the bear would like to do you , he thought. Alone the notion that she was inspired by him of all people. Did she even know how extraordinary she was? But that was a thought he would keep to himself. So instead he said: “A Bear it is then.”

He showed her the outlines of the piece and what she would have to expect, while she was whittling. Soon they both worked in silence, elbows touching every now and then. Halsin sneaked a glance at her face: She made her focused face again, eyes solely on the wood in her hand, crouching over it, trying to find the best position for her blade. The tall elf chuckled and looked at his work again. His wooden bird came along just fine. The upper side of the outstretched wings was already apparent with its head thrown towards the sky, beak open as if right in the middle of a song. He wondered if he should carve the legs to be standing solidly on the ground or rather ready to set to the sky, when Galel came to them, asking for support on “urgent matters”.

“Thank you for your time.” came her voice from next to him. She gently brushed the shavings from her legs before standing up. “Will keep showing me how to whittle? I had a lot of fun,” her eyes held a cheeky twinkle “even if some people will call me boring now.”

With a short laugh he responded: “Well I hope you do well to know that you can be boring with me anytime.”

“Well. Until we meet here again, to be boring together.” She cackled and waved him goodbye, walking alongside the talking wizard. As Halsin watched her leave, he wondered why his chest was so tight again.

Sighing, he gathered the wood chips on one pile, cradling the rough wood between his big hands before discarding it.

It was not that he wanted to harbor her for himself. Far from it. She was a beacon of light in these dark times, one that everyone was sure to enjoy having around. And she seemed to like the company of her friends so much. But still his heart betrayed him. He would have loved to sit alone with her a moment longer, her light breathing next to him and their skin touching gently. Maybe she would lean over again, so he could smell her hair. In the short moments when the wind blew just right, her smell carried over to him: fire and berries. He wondered how she managed to smell like that. Maybe he would have asked her about it. Maye she she would have accidentally brushed his hand and he would have gathered his courage, reaching for it, holding it tight. A shudder ran through him. Maybe it was better that she left. He wondered how much longer desire in him would have stayed silent, when it wanted nothing more than to hear her breath coming quicker, tasting the sweetness of her skin, telling him that she needed him like a song- He shushed himself, swatting at his thoughts like they were flies. He picked up the wood she left for the next time. Weighing it in his hands, he looked at it. A Bear she wanted to whittle. He chuckled sadly. As if she had not been whittling away at his guard for such a long time.

Whilst on their way to Baldurs Gate, she came to his tent every evening and they calmly whittled away. Most of the time, both of them sat in silence. But sometimes they would share a few words, talking about their interests and stories, sharing comfort in their presence. One quit evening, when the others were gathering some supplies on the road, leaving the camp in a state of unusual calm, she opened up to him about her insecurities. Telling him about her experience as the group leader, comparing it to her wildly different life before.

In the spur of the moment Halsin asked her if she wanted to go back after this was all done. The whittling stopped, while her brow furrowed. For a second he was afraid that he overstepped. Was ist too personal? Did it bring up troubling memories for her?

But she laid her hand on his arm and found his gaze. “Actually I prefer it now. Even in these dire times.,” in her eyes a sudden bitterness pooled. ”I got all of you now, after all. That is more than I had before.” As her gaze shifted towards her workpiece again, Halsin noticed her hand lingering on his skin before pulling away to adjust her grip on the wood. The spot on his skin her hand had rested upon, felt empty now. He turned his head towards his own project again, not wanting to inquiry any further.

It was peaceful for a few days. So peaceful that he nearly forgot all the horrors that the world entails. Soon they reached Rivington. Their excitement for the city had already turned to anxiety as they reached the city gates, being denied entry as all the refugees were. For Halsin this Situation was unbearable. Seeing all these people in little makeshift tents, sleeping on the cold hard floor, having barely enough food to feed all the children. hated the city for its uncaring nature. Seeing all of the city's misdeeds he wondered if they felt any shame at all. All this time he held himself to such high standards, as he tried again and again to be deserving of the title as Archdruid. The leaders of this city could leave a legion to starve right before the city gates and be praised for it.

Since they took Yenna into their camp, he tried his best to keep his composure. The young girl was already scared enough and did not need to see the adults around her losing their nerves too. So he tried his very best to appear calm and collected, while a storm raged under his skin, growing stronger every day. One hungry face at a time.

The final breaking point approached in front of the circus gates. Halsin had seen the posters advertising the circus time and time again. A clown they all seemed to be excited for. Telling him about the jokes he would tell and all the attractions that could be seen. He did not truly understand the concept of that yet but he was willing to try, if the group decided to visit.

But in a cruel twist of fate, it seemed they did not need to go to the circus but rather it came to them. When it started to dawn, his group decided to pack up for the night, making their way down the roads of Rivington. A rather big crowd had formed cheering a sturdy human man on as he cracked his whip, forcing the animals to dance on small stands, as a middle aged woman played a fast song on a wooden flute. His blood ran hot through his veins as anger seemed to swallow him whole. He could feel the bear in him stir, ready to attack and tear the flesh of this disgusting person's bones. The noise around him made him nauseous. Halsin didn’t know why the fighting started. One moment he was thinking about ripping and screaming and the other he saw his songbird emerge from the crowd, weapon in hand, fighting a cloaked figure. Jumping forth as fur emerged from his skin, he did not care who started it at all. He was glad for the fight.

After the battle was won, Halisin stayed as a bear, wishing for the comfort this shape brought him. His strong body shifting on his paws, every smell more intense but also his mind quieted a little. Everything seemed more manageable like this. But now even as a bear his heart pounded and his breathing did not seem to slow. As Halsin stood still, he noticed that his body was shaking like leafs in the wind, the memories of long bygone times whispering in his mind, demanding to be seen, no matter how much he seemed to push them away. He growled and made his way back to camp with the others. He needed to be away from everything for a while. No one should see him losing control like that.

He did not care what looks he became as he nearly ran through camp, ignoring his name being shouted. There were only his feet, pounding on the ground, coming quicker with every moment until he was sprinting into the first spot of trees he could see, not stopping until his feet reached water. The Lake. Exhaling he pressed his snout into the water only coming up for air when he felt like his lungs were about to explode. He did not want to be alone like this. But also he could not go back, have them ask questions about why. Especially when he did not seem to know either.

A thump behind him alerted him prompting his muscles to tense on instinct. He sprung around, jaws open to expose his sharp teeth. She stopped in her tracks, carefully holding up her hands.

“Halsin? Do you need help? Are you hurt?” Her voice was gentle but Halsin detected an urgency behind it. Looking for a reaction, she slowly stepped close to him, kneeling down an arms length away, her right hand outstretched towards him and stilled. Uncertain his eyes flickered between her and the trees. The light had already vanished, casting her silhouette in blue and gray hues, as she silently waited for him to breach the distance. He realized that she was leaving him the choice: To either come to her or run away if he felt the need.

Desperation clawed at him. Why did he even hold back? What was it good for in the end? She was here now, offering comfort. He would be a fool to deny her. So he took the last step towards her and laid his face into her hand. A sigh escaped her lips, that he could only describe as relieved. Soon enough her fingers started carefully stroking him. Minutes passed, his breathing coming slightly slower than before, his mind gradually clearing from the fog of panic he was lost in.

“Oh my sweet friend.” she whispered, her steady voice not much about a whisper. Her right hand was still on the side of his face, gently caressing him. He did not want to bear the burden anymore, to shoulder it all alone. All the memories of hardship and loss, the memory of himself sitting behind cold and rotting Goblinbars and, before that, behind a closed bedroom door, his eyes tracing the pattern of the carvings on the door time and time again until they burned themselves behind his closed eyes.

It broke him when he saw the eyes of the animals. He knew the look all too well.Some of them had no hope of escaping anymore. Those who did looked like they paid greatly for their resistance: Time and time again under the cruelty of their so called masters. One day even those who held on the longest would give in. They would become the broken puppets the Circus desired. Their fur dulled, their scales spotty. Dancing to some people's badly played lute. Carving patterns into the iron rods. He could have sworn that they would carve and carve like he did-

Halin shuddered and pulled his fangs back. If he would not be in his bear form already, it surely would have been broken free by now. He could taste the blood in his mouth, could free it dripping down on the cold forest floor. Halsin wanted to pull back. He did not want her to see him like this, afraid and grappling for control. He felt his trembling in the trees around them.

When her other hand appeared on his head, he finally looked up. His eyes adjusted in the dark to really look at her. After the fight, she had thrown the upper half of her armor away and traded it for a dirty shirt which by now had been stained with no small amount of blood. With her arms outstretched towards him, he was able to see the smears and stains that appeared blue and purple on her skin and hair. Blood both from her own wounds and those inflicted on others were running over her skin like a river delta. Even though she smelled like blood and sweat and leather, the wind carried the faintest whiff of berries- It startled him. After all this her hair still smelled like herself. It was absurd.

Halsin wondered if he began imagining things. Nevertheless, his tension eased a bit as he allowed himself to step an inch closer, nostrils flared. She smelled lovely, more now than ever.

“Let me help you. My gentle bear, let me heal your wounds.” She whispered again, her hands stroking his fur, beckoning him closer.

My Bear, she had said. If his mind had been clearer, he would have asked her about it. But right now Halsin gave in and pressed his head even harder into her hands. He did not want to think anymore. He wanted to relax into her warm touch and forget.

She pulled him close, guiding his head onto her lap, as she sat on the stained earth below them. Halsin let himself fall to the floor, his strained limbs protesting. The Bear groaned as he adjusted himself to laying on the floor, without bothering his wounds too much. As soon as he stilled, one of her hands started to caress his neck, the other gently touching his snout. It had stopped dripping blood, but he tasted it still on his tongue. He winced again, wishing to wash the foul smell of these people away.

"Shhh." She hummed “ It’s alright. You’re alright. Let me take care of you.” Her hands suddenly stilled. “Can you show me where you are hurt?”

In my heart he wanted to say. But the bear was not able to speak and he was glad for it, his treacherous thoughts would not reach her ear. Instead he forced himself to turn himself on his side, so she could see his stomach. His already dark fur was clumped with strands of blood and dirt, in the night it seemed to be almost black. When he had pushed himself on his hindlegs to strike at his opponents, his soft underpart was exposed just long enough to strike him.

In the darkness she reached over, her hand already glowing. Bowing her head onto his, her forehead silently connecting with him, she whispered sweet nothings into his ear. Halsin felt her magic on his body as it encouraged flesh to mend and skin to heal. To him her energy felt like hope in new beginnings. Like the soaring of wings. It felt like being home again. Almost felt like the relief he felt after they saved Thaniel. She truly was his sun, with the way her entire being seemed to emit warm light, his beacon that guided him through the darkest of times. Everywhere she went, it felt summer had begun anew.

Only moments passed until his body was healed, but her hands stayed on his fur long after it. Several minutes went by in silence, with only their breathing filling the space between them. After a while she groaned and repositioned her leg, wincing. Guilt exploded in his chest as he looked up, slightly pulling away from her, reading her expression. She gave him a tired smile, bloodied lips stretching to reveal her dimples. Halsin realized how exhausted she really looked, not only from the battle but rather carrying the weariness of all the weeks in her eyes. And still she went to care for him, before all others.

Halsin wanted nothing more than to keep her to himself, to shield her from all her sorrows and to be held by her in return: To find comfort in each other. The desire to hold her tight seemed to burn through his chest, gnawing his way up until he felt like he could choke. Who was he to ask anything of her? He tried pulling away from her completely, but her hand on his back tightened

“Don’t go away. Please. I don’t want… “ She trailed off. Halsin saw a flicker of anxiety on her face. “Stay, please. Just for a moment.”

She let go, stretching her arms out wide in front of him. An Invitation. Halsin noticed that her eyes held the same request, like the day she asked him to dance and like so many nights before It would only take him so little to accept. He forced himself to push his worry down, as the Bear pushed his head into her hand. In an instant she pulled him close into her chest, pressing her face into his fur. The bear inhaled sharply as her arms tightened around him in a silent plea. It felt like she tried to wrap her entire body around him. Carefully he lifted one of his blood-soaked paws and wrapped himself around her, gently pulling her into his chest. Now she nearly laid on him, her body rising and falling quickly with his ragged breath. It still was very fast.

As if reading his thoughts she murmured: “Breathe with me.” Pushing himself back on his hind legs, he pulled her even further onto him, which earned him a soft laugh from her, and rested his head carefully on her back, observing her steady breathing. Trying to detect a pattern, he started to exhale and inhale in rhythm with her, his heart slowing down little by little. Relief washed over him, gentle but strong, like an ocean wave that came upon the shore. A part of him wondered if she knew how much this calmed him, breathing together as the gentle night breeze carried it away.

Hasin felt her hand begin to draw patterns on his chest, trying to untangle the knots in his fur whenever her fingers catched a particularly bad one and finally closed his eyes. Nothing could coax him away from this moment, having her in his arms, her warmth seeping into his fur, holding a light within him that kept his sorrows at bay. If the world would have ended in this moment, he would not care for it.

After what felt like hours of peaceful silence, he felt her stir again. She hesitated for a moment but then turned her mouth towards his ear and spoke.

“My Bear, my bear. My sweet, sweet Bear. I will protect you. I will see you safe. You have nothing to fear as long as you are with me. And if I cannot promise you anything, I promise you this: You are safe with me.”

Halsin felt like his heart wanted to explode in his chest. Warmth began spreading in his body, sending a pleasant feeling into his exhausted body. My bear. The first time he heard the word could have been a mistake on his part, born of wishful thinking and the blood flowing from his wounds. But she said it again. And again. My bear. Oh to be hers indeed.

Halsin wished her to hold him like this every night, have her close, let her stroke his hair and tell him that there is nothing to worry about, like a prayer that only he could hear. To have her say that he is safe with her again and again until he started believing it again. And he would swear to her that she is safe with him, promising it with every breath, kissing it into her skin. He would be pulling her in his arms softly as either elf or bear. Holding her and letting himself be held. Feeling her body against his, shielding her from harm. Halsin desperately wanted to worship her every inch, calling her all the wondrous things he could think of.

Showing her how much he needed her in any way possible, hearing her scream his name into the night, her moans just as beautiful as her songs. He longed to leave his mark upon her skin, to show everyone how desired she was, for nature had made her so very beautiful, inside and out. If she did not know by then that she was like the sweetest honey to him, he would make sure she knew every day and night.

He scolded himself for being selfish. But her words, the way she called him mine; he wondered if there was any possibility she could return his feelings after all. That she felt the same way he did, when she gazed at him. Why else would she call him my bear? But uncertainty rang loudly in his ears. What would he do, if he was wrong about it? She called the others my friend and some even sweetheart. What if he misunderstood her intentions and she left him, disgusted by his brazen words? No, disgusted by him.

Then he would never be able to look at himself again. Only imagining that she could sneer at him and turn away hurt him beyond comprehension.

Tonight he could not muster the strength. Too sweet was her embrace, too comforting her words. And he was so tired of pretending he possessed strength that had left him years ago.

Nestling even further into her skin, he savored every second. He just wanted to breathe in her scent and pretend that his feelings were returned. Pretend that he was wanted the same way like he wanted her. Pretend that there were better days to come for him, where he could be himself with her. Building a safehouse for everyone who needed it so that no one would ever fear for their lives again. He imagined never carrying so much weight again. But those were far away dreams. No, tonight Halsin could not shoulder the dark shroud of reality. Instead he vowed to ask her about it, to finally ask her if she felt the same. Tomorrow.

If he only knew, how much she yearned to do the same.