#so i got to get fucked in a fishbowl

[sarahsupernovah]

Imagine fucking here doggy style as we both look out at the natural beauty 🥰😍

[stromer]

guys don’t worry abt timo he’s at my house and we’re gonna have a girls night 💅🏼🧖🏻‍♀️✨

[senblades]

Hi :)

I love your art and your writing, and you have such a great grasp of these characters that I was wondering if you have any fic recs? Rating doesn't matter ;)

boy do I! (and ty for the compliment <3 <3 <3)

[cracks knuckles] alrighty:

The Dissapearence of Goro Akechi by Kupowonders - Probably my favourite fic ever, honestly- it's like. derailing the plot of persona 5 post-medjed thanks to the persona 4 accomplice ending years prior. (So, spoilers for p4 in that, too) it's. very good.

Marigolds by Colbub - Akechi gets ng+'ed to right when he started working for Shido, and has to take a good look at the future to come and be like "Aight how the fuck do I fix this". Fun times!

Daredevil, You've hit the wall by ez_cookie. Essentially, p5 Strikers but Sumire and Goro get to be in on the fun, too. And, there's a direct sequel currently being updated that's a similar premise for p5 Tactica. very very good stuff

A Tale of Two Tricksters by Zoe2k8 - Murder boyfriends! ...sort of? Angst! Angst and murder boyfriends! An oversimplification, obviously, but I'm not kidding when I say this fic is amazing and is also over a million words holy shit-

Throw away your mask by MollyPollyKinz - Another ng+ situation for Akechi, but this time the poor guy gets thrown all the way to 2009. You can imagine how well that goes (For the audience, less so for Akechi himself.)

The Crow Cries at Midnight by Dorked. hehe this one is very fun. Basically, a series of coincedencs causes Akechi to get thrown into the plot of persona 4. No time travel here! Just a grumpy 12/13 year-old Akechi trying to solve a murder mystery

The entire Tales of Chaos series by Eternalmomentss (The first one is called Like sand between your fingers) Very very good stuff! Something of a character study, I would say, of Ren and Goro. Plus, all the funky plot stuff that comes from trickster-typical bad luck and poor descision making. I really love this series hehe

uhh this post is getting very long I need to make this less wordy- lightning round?

Hunger for a life by Leonawriter - do you like vampires? I sure do! Mix that and the p5 plot and you get shenanigins. [evil laughter] a lot of shenanigins

Fishbowl by KivaEmber - Akechi has a terrible time in Maruki's reality. And I mean a terrible time

You have a beautiful smile underneath that mask by Saposaki - Akechi has a crush on Akira and Joker has a crush on Crow. No one is aware of the other's secret identity. Dramatic irony and hilarity ensues.

MASTERMiND by StumblingBlock - No Metaverse au where Akira really doesn't want to follow in the footsteps of his crime family, and fails miserably

Rose and Rot by SixteenJuniper - Read this!! I'm serious!! "A fun fantasy adventure" don't listen to Juniper. You'll be in tears by chapter two. (/pos, of course) (Seriously this fic is incredible)

Redressing the Balance by Convocated - ...almost a ng+? Ng+, in the sense that shuake are getting funky visions that are very quickly derailing the standard plot of p5r. This causes problems of the "Someone get the popcorn and maybe the tissues" variety

She's got a heartbeat full of lead (And she's aiming straight for the head) by Dots - This fic haunts me, often. In the best way possible, of course; but seriously, read it

Cracked into by SydneyHorses - Ren makes bad descisions and it becomes Akechi's problem. 2/2 timeloop, perhaps most notably featuring HaruGoro friendship! Love love love this fic

Okay that wasn't as "less wordy" as I intended but it'll do

Aaaand that's a wrap! Sorry for the long post.. and this is by no means all of the fics that I've ever loved (nor are the ones here in any particular order) but I swear we'll be here all week if I keep going HAHA

ty for the ask (and again for the kind words), anon! Hope this was helpful and to your tastes! (I... hope you like Shuake HAHA it's present in most of these- I assume you do, since you came to me (points at literally everything shuake I've made) of all people, but uh. Some of these fics are gen if it's not to your liking?)

[herenya-writes]

To Kneel at Your Feet

So, uh, I tried my hand at a little Dreamling fic when a particular image wouldn't get out of my head.

~1850 words, Rated T (violence, non-graphic injuries, a bit of foul langauge), pre-relationship Dreamling set a few months after Dream escapes the fishbowl but before he's told Hob who he is

When a shadow fell over him, Hob figured he was fucked. Well, even more fucked than he already had been.

The day had started pretty normal. Term was over for the summer, and he had finally finished the last of the marking the night before, so he had let himself laze in the sunny patches of his bed until almost noon when the grumbling of his stomach drove him to the kitchen for food. The rest of the day had been syrupy slow, with a light frisson of anticipation running through. He was meeting his Stranger tomorrow morning for brunch, their first pre-evening meeting and the fifth one they had had since his Stranger had returned. So it was with a spring in his step that he had gone through the rest of the day, chatting with Mrs. Giles up the road about whether he could buy a few cases of her jam to serve at the Inn, taking a stroll around the park, mixing up a batch of scones. When Sasha called in sick, he had gladly picked up their shift bar-tending at the Inn, and even that had been lovely. A faster pace than the rest of his day, sure, but the night had been full of familiar faces and easy laughter.

He had been closing up the Inn and wiping down the last of the tables when the bell above the door rang. He didn’t get out so much as a word before the bullets were flying.

He managed to dodge them for a good while, but even his immortal body got tired of crouching and diving eventually. Plus, there were three of them, all armed, and only one of him. He had a bat and an array of knives behind the bar and an assortment of weapons in his flat above, but he didn’t see how he could get to either of those places unscathed. He’d survive, of course, but that could cause even more problems depending on how smart these thugs were.

His next dodge had been a bit too slow, and as he slid behind the sturdy oak of one of the booths a bullet buried itself in his shoulder. He snarled at the pain and pressed a hand to the wound on instinct. His immortality meant he’d survive no matter how many times these assholes shot him, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the bite of metal burrowing into his flesh.

It was as he was leaning against the wood, listening for footsteps and considering his options that a shape blocked the light above him. He swore and held up an arm to guard his face on instinct, but when he looked up it wasn’t one of the thugs he saw.

In the muted light of the Inn, his Stranger stood, clothed as always in his black coat, jeans, and boots, a minuscule frown pulling at his lips.

Without thinking, Hob grabbed the hem of his Stranger’s coat and yanked him down. His Stranger went, and a millisecond later bullets soared through the air where he had been standing.

“Sorry, friend. You chose a dangerous time to stop by,” he gasped. He had grabbed his Stranger with his left arm, and the bullet wound in his shoulder was protesting loudly.

His friend’s face took on a pinched expression, brows furrowing in a way that would have been adorable in another situation.

“You are injured,” he observed, his voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. Hob could listen to that voice all day, and despite the circumstances he could feel his heartbeat slowing at just those three words. “You are not healing as you should.”

Hob blinked and looked down. Damn, his Stranger was right. One of the side effects of his immortality was that any injuries he sustained healed rapidly. Serious stuff like disembowelment still took a long (and excruciatingly painful) time to heal, but the process happened much faster for him than a normal human. He had been stabbed in a knife fight once in his second century of living and by the time the other fellow had hit the floor the only evidence of the wound had been the blood on his skin and the tear in his shirt. A bullet hole should have shown evidence of closing by now, but it was still gaping open and bleeding freely.

“At least I won’t have to cut the bullet out later,” he joked, but the tremble in his voice ruined his attempted levity.

“There are very few weapons in this world or another that could harm you so,” his Stranger declared, and something like lightning flashed in his eyes. His expression turned stone cold, and in a fluid movement he rose to his feet and turned toward the gunmen. Hob scrambled up after him, biting back curses, but he stopped short when he realized there weren’t any bullets flying through the air.

In the space of a blink, all the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen and gather around his Stranger, and Hob swore he saw recognition begin to dawn on the face of the lead thug as his Stranger stepped forward and extended one pale arm.

“Servants of the Morningstar, by what edict do you walk the Earth and seek the life of one to whom Death has denied her gift?” His Stranger’s voice buzzed with barely-restrained power, and something deep in Hob’s human brain told him to run and hide. He stayed where he was, though, and so did the gunmen, even as they trembled in obvious fear.

“Dead or not, the glory of claiming an immortal’s head for Lucifer’s throne room is undying,” the one in the middle declared. Hob was almost impressed with how even their voice was.

“You have attacked him in his home, unarmed and unaware of your challenge. There is no glory here, hellspawn.” His Stranger spat the word ‘glory’ like it was vinegar on his tongue, and all three creatures (he had thought they were human, but now he could swear an outline of fire flickered around them) recoiled. Still, they didn’t flee.

“He is unclaimed, Dreamlord. Glory or not, he’s ours for the taking!”

The shadows in the room deepened impossibly, and the air pressure dropped fast enough that Hob’s ears popped and every hair stood on end. His Stranger took a menacing step forward, standing directly between him and the gunment now. When he spoke, the power in his voice shook the floorboards and set Hob’s very bones buzzing.

“Is that so? Allow me to correct that oversight.”

His Stranger threw back his coat, and it melted into a midnight black robe. The folds of the fabric were ablaze with swirling galaxies that seemed to spill into the shadows that surrounded him. The power radiating off him now was equal parts strange and familiar, like hearing a song for the first time but immediately knowing the chorus. Any unease Hob had felt settled at once, even as the gunmen began to quiver and keen in dismay. His Stranger spoke over their sounds of distress, his voice firm and unyielding. In that moment, Hob had no doubt that he could make any declaration and reality would bend itself to reflect his will.

“I, Dream of the Endless, Shaper of Forms, Oneiromancer, Prince of Stories, King of the Dreaming and Nightmare Realms, declare Hob Gadling to be under my protection. Harm him and know the unfettered wrath of the Dreaming.”

Hob had been a lot of things in the past 600-plus years. He’d tried his hand at just about everything that had held his attention for longer than a week, and he had even been decent at a fair chunk of it. Hell, he’d even been knighted once! Right now, he probably had enough wealth squirreled away in stashes across the world to keep him living comfortably for the next two hundred or so years. At his core, though, he was nothing more than a peasant.

His knee hit the floor before his Stranger even finished speaking, and he barely felt the way the movement shocked his still-bleeding shoulder. All he could do was gaze up at his Stranger, awe, in the oldest sense of the word, flooding him. Dream of the Endless. His Stranger had a name. His Stranger was a king.

He wasn’t sure what happened with the thugs after that. There was a moment when the Inn got so dark all he could see where the pinpoints of light in his Stranger’s eyes and the galaxies swirling in his robe, and the next the light had returned and his Stranger had turned that fathomless gaze on him.

He lowered his eyes. “My king.” His tongue was heaving in his mouth, and his throat was sand paper. There was a spit of crimson blood, his blood, on the hem of his Stranger’s robe.

“You would kneel and call me king? Even after the wrongs I have committed against you? I did not even grant you the courtesy of my name.” Power still rumbled in his Stranger’s voice, but it was leashed now in a way that sent a spark racing up Hob’s spine. God help him, but he had always loved a bit of danger.

He risked a glance up and saw his Stranger’s perfect lips twisted in a frown, his brows drawn together like Hob was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

“I don’t need anything from you that you aren’t ready to give, my friend. You came back to me, and that was more than I could ever hope for.” Those words strayed a bit too close to another truth—that he would have waited forever just for a glimpse of his Stranger’s face, just to hear a single word from his lips—but Hob wasn’t about to start lying now, not when this magnificent creature, this otherworldly lord, had deemed him worthy of his time and attention despite all odds. His Stranger had returned after over 100 years to sit in a pub and listen to Hob ramble about airplanes and smartphones and humanity reaching the moon. How could anything he had to say possibly have captured the attention of a king with no doubt a million other duties to attend to?

His Stranger regarded him, galaxies swirling in his black eyes to match the ones dancing across his robe. Hob tore his gaze back to the floor for fear of falling in.

“Rise. You owe me no servitude or obeisance, Hob Gadling.”

Hob wanted to disagree, but he kept his mouth shut and did as his lord bid. He bit back a growl of pain as he stood, and in a blink his Stranger was there, long arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding him up with unnatural strength. Together, they hobbled up the stairs to his flat, and his Stranger laid him gently on the couch and let Hob grip his hand too tightly as he dug out the bullet lodged in his shoulder, seemingly uncaring of the way the crimson blood stained his pale fingers.

[toomuchracket]

fourth of july (politician!matty x reader smut)

another summer75 fic. warnings for shibari (light) and breeding kink (HEAVY). bon appetit <3

“you're sure you don't need anything else, ma'am?”

“thanks, claudia, but we're all good,” you smile at your assistant, her eyes flitting between the windows (and the party on the lawn outside) and you. “it's been a busy morning - i think you should go and relax, do some celebrating of your own, yeah?”

her eyes light up. “really?”

you laugh. “of course. just, piece of advice? don't drink anything anyone tries to serve you from a fishbowl tonight,” you grimace, shaking your head. “too many 5th of julys have been ruined for me that way. and for the president, actually, he was so much worse than i was at parties. stupid boy.”

claudia giggles. “noted, ma'am. i'll be sure to have a glass of water after every drink, too.”

“smart girl. well, i'll leave you to it,” you stretch, moving to close the door to the presidential living quarters. “have a good weekend!”

“and you, ma'am!”

closing the door behind you, you wander through towards your bedroom. aside from the sound of your husband humming to himself in there, the place is quiet, only the two of you around.

just how you like it.

you smile as you enter your bedroom, ogling matty as he pulls his shirt over his head. his hands move to his belt, but he stops his undressing in favour of walking towards you with love in his eyes and a grin on his lips; you pretend to sulk, but open your arms anyway. “damn, i was enjoying the show.”

“of course you were,” matty kisses your forehead, pulling back to arm's length to look at you. “i don't look half as good as you do, though. i love that dress, baby.”

“i thought it was pretty,” you clasp your hands behind matty's neck, and his find home on your hips. “it's really uncomfortable, though.”

it's a blatant lie, and you're sure you aren't being very subtle, but matty has the good grace to play along anyway. “is that right, my love?” he coos, hands moving across your back to undo the halter neck “well, we'd better take it off, then.”

“fabulous idea, mr. president,” you snuggle into him, sighing when the fabric of your dress falls to the ground and your bare chests press together. matty's arms wrap tightly around you, and the feeling of home washes over you. the two of you hug in comfortable silence for a second, your fingers gently twisting into your husband's curls, before you speak softly. “m'really proud of you, you know. it was a good morning. and i know you were reluctant to host anything today, but… i'm glad you did. it was fun.”

matty huffs out a laugh into your hair. “was only reluctant because it cut short our usual long weekend plans. and you know how much i love those.”

his hands travel towards your ass, sliding under the waistband of your thong to squeeze it; you giggle softly in response, pressing a long kiss to your husband's neck and enjoying the moan he lets out. “sometimes i wonder if you'll ever get bored of driving to the cabin whenever we get a few days off.”

“if we ever get rid of the shibari rigging hooks, i might.”

“as if we'd do that. be serious, please, matthew.”

matty laughs, scooping you up and dropping you onto the bed. “i love you, my perfect little rope bunny. and wife, obvs.”

“love you too. i also love that you've got your priorities straight,” you bite your lip as you watch matty undo his trousers, leaning up to kiss him messily as he crawls up to hover over you. it's a good kiss, sloppy and passionate, one that goes straight to your underwear and prevents your brain from thinking about anything other than matty inside you. “fuck, baby. tie me up now, please? we still have,” you glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “two hours before we need to start driving. pleeeeeeease?”

matty simply raises a brow.

you pout, batting your lashes. “come on, baby, please? just a little design? a little preview for the rest of the weekend?” you wrap your legs around his waist, smiling prettily the way you've done to get whatever you want from matty since you were twenty-two. “because you love me?”

at that, your husband sighs, nodding and trying to keep the smile from his face. sap. “legs only, alright? just because i love you.”

“mhmm,” you take his face in your hands and pull him in for a kiss, smiling at the way he melts against you. “thank you, my love.”

“sweet girl,” matty strokes your cheek, before moving off you and reaching to pull a box from under the bed; inside, you see pink rope neatly arranged in loops of figure eights. your heart leaps and core gushes at the sight, but matty makes a face at it. “not very patriotic colour-wise, is it?”

“pretty sure the amount of time i'm gonna spend on my knees worshipping you this weekend will make up for that, mr. president.”

“fuck. underwear off, now,” your husband quickly takes two separate loops of rope from the box, twisting them into position while you shimmy your thong and lie down, practically vibrating with happy anticipation. “and speaking of knees - bend them for me, darling, that's it. tell me if it's too uncomfortable, yeah?”

“i will.”

“good girl.”

with that, he begins to loop the rope around your left thigh and shin, securing them together with an intricate pattern you hope to god will leave a mark on your skin. you can't remember whether it was you or matty who first suggested trying shibari a decade or so ago, but you both took to it with enthusiasm - since then, every extended private moment you've had together has involved some sort of artistic bondage, exploring new designs and positions and making each other feel good. the rope took a bit of getting used to, initially, but now you love the feeling of it against your bare skin; it's a reminder that, for at least the next few hours in your busy lives, it's just you and matty, alone together, getting to love and appreciate and care for each other at the most primal, most intimate level.

once he's done, matty taps your bound knee. he moves back, smiling at his handiwork. “that feel alright, gorgeous?”

“yeah. thank you, angel.”

he blushes, and your heart flutters. “you're welcome, my darling. gonna do the other one now, yeah?”

“go ahead.”

the two of you settle back into comfortable silence, matty continuing his work while you smile at the way his tongue pokes out of his lips in concentration, one of the things that first endeared him to you when you met at law school. suddenly, those lips part as he speaks. “isn't it funny how many people just, like, handed their babies to us at the garden party this morning?”

your brow furrows slightly. interesting topic of conversation. “happens to me quite a lot, to be honest.”

“yeah, i've noticed. s'happened eighteen times to you in the past week alone.”

your brow furrows further. “you've been counting?”

matty's cheeks go pink again. “well… not deliberately, darling, i just,” he sighs, finishing off the shibari and sitting back on his heels to look at you sheepishly. “i can't help but notice when you're interacting with babies at the minute. like, i really can't.”

oh. how interesting. and, if you're honest, not entirely unwelcome. you smile. “you think it's time?”

his eyes widen. “for… for us to-?” he clears his throat. “for us to… have a baby of our own?”

“yeah, sweetheart,” you reach up to caress his face, smiling softly at the way matty leans into your hand. “do you think now’s the time?”

“well… yeah.”

you smirk, removing your hand from your husband's face so you can use it to pull your bent legs open as wide as possible and expose your glistening cunt. “let's make a baby, then.”

matty blinks. suddenly, your instructions seem to sink in, and he follows, not even bothering to take his boxers off fully before sliding through your wetness and pushing inside you; his lips meet yours as he bottoms out, the two of you sighing into each other's mouths.

home at last.

for a moment, there's nothing but the two of you kissing like teenagers, passionate and messy and desperate, matty throbbing inside you in the most delicious way, and then he moves, pulls his hips back and snaps them forward again, over and over and over, drawing soft moans from your lips every time he slides in. a huge part of the reason matty was elected, everyone says, is because he does everything with focus and conviction - the way he fucks is no different.

he pulls back from your lips, resting your foreheads together in the most tender way and sliding his hands over yours against the pillow; when you intertwine your fingers, he smiles. “sweet girl, taking me so fucking well.”

“your sweet girl.”

“that's right. my girl, all mine,” matty beams. something about the ownership reminder spurs him on, makes him thrust faster and harder and deeper into you. you whimper his name, and he kisses your nose. “what is it, darling? need me to fill you up, is that it? put my baby in you and let everyone know you're mine?”

the words go straight to your cunt, brain too hazy with pleasure to properly take them in. “please.”

“cum for me first, sweetheart, and i will,” he coos, stroking your face and dropping a sweet kiss onto your nose. “touch that pretty clit for me, yeah? and then i'll fill up that needy little pussy of yours. promise.”

“okay,” you exhale, hand sliding down your sweat-shiny chest and between your legs, circling your aching clit the way you know matty would. ecstasy shoots through your body the instant you touch the bundle of nerves, causing you to whine and clench around your husband's dick - which in turn makes him whine - but, somehow, it isn't enough. “matty,” you croak out, blinking up at him. “need you to talk to me. please.”

“oh, my darling,” matty grins, not unkindly. “need me to tell you how good you feel, how much i love how fucking tight your cunt is? even after all this time, after all the pounding i've given you, she's still clenching around me like a fucking vice. could stay inside you forever, you know. wanna do that. i think you want me to, as well, don't you, gorgeous? feels like it, anyway.”

the pleasure's practically blinding you at this point, tightening your muscles and clouding your mind - all you can do is frantically rub your clit, and whimper. “yeah, yeah, want you in me all the time.”

“needy girl,” matty's lips crash onto yours, tongue licking into your mouth before he murmurs against you. “can't fucking wait to fill you up properly, sweetheart. please tell me you're close.”

“i am, oh shit, i am!” you aren't lying, either - your legs are quivering as much as they can within the rope, and the pressure building in your lower stomach feels like it's about to reach breaking point. you're vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face and pooling on your chest, but all you can focus on right now is matty. “gonna cum, please, please let me cum.”

your husband leans forward, cock driving impossibly deep and lips ghosting over your ear. “do it, my darling. cum for me, let me give you a baby. our baby.”

and that's all it takes.

you cling to matty like a liferaft as your orgasm hits, although the more accurate nautical metaphor would be to liken him to an anchor; without him above you, hands digging into the flesh of your legs almost as much as the rope, you're certain you'd float away, buoyant from sheer fucking ecstasy. he cums with a guttural moan of your name as you clench around him, kissing you deeply as his thrusts get more and more shallow, and you don't think you've ever been more full, metaphorically (of love) and literally (of cum, crass as it sounds). once he's done, your husband nuzzles into the crook of your neck, both of you sweaty and breathing heavily.

for a few blissful minutes, you stay like that, weaving a hand into matty's messy curls and scratching his scalp while you exchange murmured “i love you”s. your eyes flick sideways to the alarm clock, and you tap his shoulder in a feeble attempt to get him to move. “sweetheart, we need to get cleaned up before we leave.”

“just give it another minute or two, darling,” matty mumbles into your skin; he pulls himself up just enough to kiss you, looking adoringly into your eyes. “have to make sure the baby sticks, after all.”

you giggle, stroking his flushed face with your thumb. “we'll miss seeing the fireworks from the cabin if we don't get a move on, though.”

“trust me, my love, you'll get your fireworks this weekend no matter when we leave.”

“whatever you say, mr. president.”

[just-j-really]

While I'm on the subject of Dreamling-does-tropes-wrong:

Hanahaki au where Hob's the one with hanahaki. Because I think however you set it up Hob refuses to play by the rules of the genre and the potential there is like catnip to me.

"The cure is confessing your love" variant? Hob's just like "Well fuck this actually" and tells Dream he loves him the moment he starts coughing up flowers. And there's so much potential there!

-Poor Hob tries to confess to Dream every time they interact and something keeps getting in his way- he falls in love in 1689, in 1789 they get interrupted, in 1889 he gets halfway through a confession and Dream YOU DAREs him, in 1989 he gets stood up. In 2022 Dream shows up at his table in the New Inn and Hob just blurts out "I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU" before Dream has the chance to actually say anything.

-Modern day, post-reunion, Dream doesn't want to intrude on Hob's life but he does want to see him more so he decides to go for the totally rational move of using his Dream-powers to spy on Hob- which means he gets a front-row seat to Hob slowly succumbing to hanahaki the second their meeting ends. All of Hob's friends/coworkers/acquaintances are REAL worried for him, but he's just like "it's seriously nbd I'll just tell him next time I see him." Dream is also REAL worried while spying from afar, but eventually goes to Hob in person to beg him to confess to whoever he's in love with. (Could be very serious and emotional, could play like that one "just tell them you love them" "alright. hey, I love you." "yes, like that!" meme.)

-Hob blurts out a love confession at... literally any of their canonical meetings, and the rest of the fic is dealing with the fallout. I think the simplest way to do this is 1889, with the confession standing in for "I think you're lonely." I think the most interesting way to do this is 1489, because so much would change. I think the FUNNIEST way to do this is 1589, yes Hob is still married.

But then you can also do the "the cure is having your love requited" variant, where Hob suffers through several centuries with an incurable lung disease. One of his most treasured dreams is that someone will come up with a cure (but for Plot reasons it keeps just not happening, like someone does come up with a cure but the side effects just aren't worth it if you can technically survive having flowers in your lungs. And/or he's never found a doctor he trusted not to freak out if he died and came back on the operating table).

And then you've got options such as:

-Dream falls in love in 1689, and either they start up a relationship right then, or they spend several centuries where Hob thinks they're in a relationship (his feelings were returned, of course they are!) and Dream thinks he's pining hopelessly for Hob, who could never love him

-Dream Does Not realize that Hob is in love with him (and in fact thinks Hob just keeps getting hanahaki, over and over, for different people, and wonders why Death saddled him with the world's Messiest human). And then he falls in love with Hob.

-Dream DOES realize Hob is in love with him. Unfortunately, he falls in love with Hob (or more realizes that what he was feeling WAS love) while fishbowled. Fortunately, Hob notices the lack of flowers, gets worried about what that means (because if his Stranger returns his feelings then why isn't he here? the flowers can't be gone because he's dead, Hob refuses to believe it). Cue a fishbowl rescue!

-Dream falls in love with Hob post-fishbowl, but is in denial about his ow feelings and assumes Hob found a workable cure sometime while he was fishbowled, or got over him. He's VERY SAD about this and can't figure out why. Hob is busy googling 'how to ask out a guy who i empirically know likes me back but only looks at me mournfully when i try to flirt'

Like I want to write this fic so bad but there are so many directions i want to go with it...

[svnnyd4ys]

the seven + nico incorrect quotes lol

Piper: She's the girl of my dreams! Annabeth: You say every girl is the girl of your dreams. Piper: I have a lot of dreams.

!!!

Leo: *watching their house burn down* Leo: Leo: *starts filming* Waddup, guys, welcome to my vlog, today's topic: how to get away with accidentally committing arson because you forgot Spaghetti O's cans are metal and thus non-microwavable! Step one: deny everything.

!!!

Jason, looking at a selfie of Leo’s: I hate this photo. Leo: I’m cute as fuck in that photo! I’m smiling kindly. Jason: You’re not smiling kindly; you look like you’re up to something. Leo: Up to kindness.

!!!

Hazel: Nico, how do you feel about lifting heavy things? Nico: My doctor just said I should avoid— Hazel: Being a wuss? I agree.

!!!

*During a game of Hangman* Piper: Nope, there’s no Q. You lose. Leo: Are you kidding me?! You can still add something! Piper: I already added a belt, four earrings and an extra arm! YOU LOSE!

!!!

Jason: Are you guys bringing anything to the party? Nico: Yeah, an empty stomach. Annabeth: My sparkling personality. Percy: A flagrant disregard for common decency. Hazel: ... Hazel: Chips.

!!!

Piper, looking at a map: It’s a barren, featureless wasteland out there, isn't it? Jason: Other side, Piper...

!!!

Percy: You know, Leo, when you generalize, you tell general... lies. Leo: ... Leo: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns.

!!!

Annabeth: What time is it? Piper: I don’t know, pass me that saxaphone and we’ll find out Piper: *BLASTS the saxaphone* Nico: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXAPHONE AT TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING Piper: It’s 2 in the morning.

!!!

Leo: You’re overthinking this. Hazel: You don’t know the appropriate level of thinking, Leo. What if I’m underthinking?

!!!

Frank: I am an expert at identifying birds. Percy: Okay, what about those ones flying over there? Frank: Yeah, they're all birds.

!!!

Percy: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere* Jason: Where did you get that? Percy: My pocket. Jason: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket? Percy: Skills.

!!!

Frank: If I fall down these stairs, I'm just going to lay down and accept my fate.

!!!

Frank: I’m taking a look at your numbers, and it doesn’t look good. You have a lot of measurements. Quite a few variables. Jason: Is that… bad? Frank: Variables are the #1 risk factor for outcomes. The past is a big contributor to the future. Jason: Isn’t that just causality? Frank: Causality is the leading cause of death in this country. Jason: So what are my odds? Frank: Do you have a family history? Jason: Of what? Frank: Just, in general. Jason: …Yes? Frank: Oh no.

!!!

*the Squad at Disneyland, in the teacups* Leo, Frank, and Jason: *spinning a little and talking* Nico, Annabeth, and Hazel: *flying past them, spinning as fast as they can, screaming*

!!!

Percy: My dad drowned at sea when I was little so whenever someone jokes about fucking my mom I’ll pretend to be really sincere and say some shit like “Glad to see she’s moving on, my dad’s death hit her pretty hard.” Then watch them absolutely fumble trying to figure out a response to that statement. Percy: Update, she got a new partner I can no longer make the joke.

(pre discovering yk his half God-ness)

!!!

Annabeth: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

!!!

Nico: This is a safety pin. *cuts off end* Nico: It is now a danger pin.

!!!

Jason: Sometimes I talk to myself for no reason. Jason: Me too!

!!!

Piper, explaining why they are not allowed to cook: I put the noodles in the pot and put the pot on the stove and turned the burner on high. Turns out you don't put noodles in marijuana and I almost burnt the whole house down.

!!!

Hazel: *gets set on fire and screams in agony* Hazel: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

!!!

[theaceace]

While Dream was hanging out in the fishbowl, a few dreams and nightmares that (like the rest of the Dreaming) think Hob would be the best thing to happen to Dream in a long time and also that Dream has abandoned them all, go and start bothering Hob in the waking world

But because they're dreams and nightmares, it kind of manifests as (usually awful) hallucinations. Specifically of Dream, a lot of the time (look they're trying to get their lord's attention by needling his human, yes it's stupid, no they don't have any better ideas)

And Hob, with the same attitude that's carried him through 600-odd years is like 'well I guess immortal life is already so goddamn weird this might as well happen' and just rolls with the fact that he is having hallucinations now. Learns some coping mechanisms, gets really good at not reacting to them even when horrible terrible things are happening

So when Dream finally does get back and goes to see Hob, he's just like oh cool I'm seeing things again, thought I got over that like ten years ago, ah well got a lecture to finish, better get on with it and barely even glances at Dream

Dream, of course, reacts to this like 🥺 like the sad wet cat he is, but also maybe this is a bad time. His friend is shaping young minds, he's very important and busy, Dream can come back later

So he pops back into Hob's life that evening when most people are, if not asleep, then at least at home. Hob's in the New Inn (of course) but it's quiet enough that Dream thinks maybe Hob will talk to him this time

Absolutely nothing. Like sitting across from a brick wall (and because Dream tends not to be noticed if he wants, and he very much doesn't want to be perceived while he begs forgiveness from a mortal, people's eyes just kind of skim over him, which isn't helping with Hob's assumption that he's a figment of Hob's imagination)

Dream is feeling very, very cold. None of the gentle things he's been saying to Hob have got anymore reaction than his hand tightening slightly around his marking pen (Hob is waiting for something horrible to happen, as it so often used to when he imagined his stranger, and is getting more and more tense the longer it doesn't)

Eventually they're the only ones left, even the bar staff have gone home because it's Hob's pub and he has a set of keys. So finally, FINALLY Hob looks up and is like 'oh, you're still here. We're still doing this, then' flatly

Dream: I thought I might - (he was going to say apologise) Hob: yes alright get on with it, the sooner you start the sooner you can piss off again (thinking this is a vision here to torment him) Dream: ...very well. I understand, and you need not worry, I shall not trouble you further. Only, let me ask, one final time: do you still wish to live? Hob: (well it's never gone down like this before, at least I'm getting some variety in my waking nightmares) what sort of bloody stupid question is that, obviously yes! Dream: I am. Pleased to hear that. Goodbye, Robert Gadling

So off he goes, leaving a bottle of wine that he pinched out of someone's dreams on the table. Hob scoffs, rolls his eyes and goes to bed

And panics the next day when one of the bar staff asks where the super fancy wine came from, and also who his friend was last night, didn't get a good look at him, but I don't think I've seen him before?

There Hob is. Screaming internally, because he's only gone and fucked it all up and now he's NEVER going to see his friend again

(obviously he does, probably because one of the nightmares finally confesses what they did to Lucienne, who tells Matthew, who speaks both fluent Dumb Human and Dramatic Fucker Dreamlord and manages to get the two of them in the same room long enough to talk it out)

[gabessquishytum]

Dream is ambivalent about A/B/O genders. He's seen enough shit in the universe in billion years, current human civilization doesn't even come close to his definition of 'strange.' Still, he tried on various genders like clothes (he feels most comfortable being an omega), and even hoped in secret that Calliope would be amenable to mating when they got married. He breached the subject very tentatively, found out she was not delighted by the prospect of being tied to an Endless at all, and they never touched upon it again. Their marriage crashed and burned soon anyway, so it must have been for the best. After their reunion with Hob post-fishbowl, Dream decides to take him up on his offer to meet more frequently and drops by. The timing is unfortunate (or fortunate, depends on the point of view!) as his human alpha friend turns out to be in the middle of his rut. And maybe Dream is not versed in human communication and rites, but even he understands that it's better to leave and return next week. Which he is about to do before Hob very enthusiastically jumps his bones. Dream is extremely confused and tries to talk Hob out of this endeavor - he believes Hob is not interested in him like THAT, but Hob is as single-minded as only an alpha in a rut can be and showers Dream with all the words of passion and praise his fevered brain can come with. When he drops the l-word, Dream melts and gives in. They spend Hob's rut together, and Dream is on cloud nine: he feels cherished, desired, and, above all, LOVED. So when Hob suddenly bites him, Dream is not opposed at all. Alright, it'd have been better etiquette if they had discussed it beforehand, but Dream currently is more occupied being happy because 1) his love is requited; 2) Hob wants him as his mate! The problem is, Hob'd have never dared to jump his Stranger like that, let alone do anything to him. He hoped that if he's lucky, maybe he can try to court him…in 500 years or so. To him, all that occurred was just a feverish rut dream. So when Hob comes to his senses once his rut is over, he finds a very fucked out Dream looking at him with heart eyes in his bed, sees a fresh mating bite on his neck…and panics. Dream immediately comes to the conclusion that Hob already regrets their mating and dissolves into sand, retreating to the Dreaming before he starts crying in the presence of this human - his mate - that humiliated him so. Chaos ensues!

Oh dear. These idiots! They're both as bad as each other, really.

Hob is just horrified that he'd done that to his stranger - to Dream! It's totally taboo to bite someone without even talking about it, and they certainly didn't do that. Hob doesn't even know if Dream wanted it! Wait - what if he started crying and disappeared because he didn't want it!? Hob ends up running to the bathroom and throwing up at the mere idea. How could he do such a heinous thing to the man he loves?!

Meanwhile Dream is flooding the dreaming with his tears (yes, literally) because he thinks that his mate regrets everything and probably hates him. How can he face Hob ever again? He'll have to, because they're mated... if Dream goes into heat, he'll need Hob. Being without him simply won't be an option.

Desire, Despair and Death are all sitting in the threshold and collectively groaning because the idiots are idioting. And Matthew has had enough of trying not to drown in the dreaming, so he makes an executive raven decision and heads to the waking world.

He immediately confronts Hob (who is still panick stricken and white as a sheet) about why he rejected the boss?? And Hob just gapes at him like "rejected??? i thought i assaulted him!!!" Matthew face-palms. Face-wings. Whatever. He tells Hob to go the fuck to sleep and fix things.

Easier said than done. But Hob eventually gets to the dreaming, swims through the tears, and finds his poor miserable mate curled up on his throne. Dream doesn't look up at all until Hob nuzzles his mating bite. The flood recedes a little bit. And Hob tries to explain as tenderly as he can, why he freaked out when he woke up.

Dream falls even more in love with him, honestly.

And three weeks later, they spend Dream’s first heat with a mate together in Hob’s bed. It's everything he's ever wanted. And Dream gets to bite Hob, giving his alpha a perfect mating bite to match his own.

And yes, Matthew gets so many raven treats as a reward for his service to his King.

[avelera]

I just realized that I think I have a consistent headcanon across all my fics that like... Dream and Hob are a good match, once Dream gets past all his preconceptions around Hob. BUT, if Hob REALLY wanted Dream to go feral for him right away, all he'd have to do is be in a situation where DREAM needs to take care of HOB.

Like so much hurt/comfort focuses on post-fishbowl Dream but I think Dream would HATE THAT, truly. Does he need it? YES. And I think if they got to a place of trust, Dream WOULD open up to Hob taking care of him and he WOULD be better off for it.

Does Dream want it? NO. Does he NEED it? Probably yes!

Because the first MOMENT we see a spark of real fascination from Dream? It's 1689, when Hob is at his lowest! One of the few sparks we get before that? 1489 when Hob is being all wide-eyed and innocent. Even 1389, when does Dream smile? When in his mind, Hob is utterly fucked by the wager he just agreed to. Dream has this little smile of "Oh boy this guy does NOT know what he's in for!" and he does, in both 1389 and 1489, for a moment, seem charmed by Hob's naïveté.

1789? Dream is VERY turned on by Hob coming to his defense, yes, but ALSO Dream's hungry look follows Dream using the sand in Hob's defense, AND the moment the look he gives Hob becomes truly feral is when Hob concedes that Dream really didn't NEED his help, when Hob acknowledges Dream's strength with that, "Clearly."

And what's the next thing Dream does? Take care of Hob by sacrificing short term attraction between them for Hob's long-term safety.

When does Dream freakout in 1889? When Hob tries to take care of him. Dream does NOT want Hob's comfort or his thoughts on Dream's loneliness!

When does Dream look closest to heart-eyes in 1889? When Hob looks sad at the thought he'll never truly grow or change or become better!

Dream lunges to take care of Hob in 1889 and prop him up in that moment. He looks so warmed by the prospect of being able to cheer Hob up but he immediately shuts down when Hob tries to return the favor.

So, all I'm saying is... if Hob really wanted to reel Dream in, he'd conspire to need to be rescued, or get sick and be nursed back to health, or SOMETHING that lets Dream be the caretaker. Because CLEARLY the thing driving Dream away for so much of their relationship is any time Hob is brash and loud and cheerfully self-sufficient.

Dream is a mess himself. He doesn't NEED a reminder that for all his power, his personal life is a mess. He's a KING, he wants dignity and respect. And Hob, a COMMONER, is showing himself more resilient to immortality than Dream of the Endless is.

But when does Dream suddenly see Hob as more than just a task he's been assigned? When he gets to see the moments where Hob struggles, when things aren't working out for him.

I would argue, it's because that's then Dream doesn't feel like such shit about himself around Hob. And more to the point, Dream's job is to take care of the dreamers. Hob is a dreamer. Dream feels good when he can take care of another person.

And this is why they are both acts-of-service bitches doing an absolutely terrible job communicating this to one another for the first 600 years of their friendship. In this essay, I will....

[karalynlovescake]

Dreamling AU that I might have to write where Dream's siblings literally can't help him out of the fishbowl even if he asks because Reasons, but in this scenario they actually feel bad about it so they all just kind of decide as a group to keep an eye on his boyfriend Hob. Death is obviously great company and they get along well and Desire is like "i know about ALL your fantasies you kinky bitch, you're so great for my repressed big brother," and makes sure to spend the late 70's and 80's sending a variety of pale goth men in his direction. Despair shows up at the bar to keep him company when he's depressed enough to drink himself unconscious. Destruction actually met Hob once in the early 1600's and that didn't turn out well for Hob so he just sends a postcard from wherever like , "good luck, hang in there, my brother's an idiot but he's got it in him to not fuck things up this time." Delirium actually met Hob back in the early 1800's when he was doing a lot of opium, and she takes him to raves and concerts. They run one of those unofficial drug checking stations together because Del hates it when her big sister shows up to collect the people she is trying to party with.

Dream gets out and everyone is like, welcome back, we've been taking care of your boyfriend for you, and Dream (who is well aware that he stormed out on Hob and then didn't see him for 133 years) is like my what? And he gets invited to the next family dinner and Dream is like ??? And Destiny's just like, I got outvoted, he can stay.

[cuubism]

can't stop thinking about like. the shift in dream and hob's dynamic between pre- and post-fishbowl.

before dream got captured, he kind of had the upper hand in most of their meetings? he was the one setting them. the one watching, observing what hob did each century. the one with all the knowledge, the one who knew or learned everything about hob while hob never got to know anything about him. he was the powerful creature - being - devil? - god? (to hob's mind) while hob was just a man. etc.

and this does even out a bit over the centuries as they get more familiar with each other, as hob clearly gets more familiar with him and bolder with him (this starts to pop up more clearly in 1789, i think, he asks dream's name, he asks to get drinks later, and so on), but dream still ends up the one making final decisions over the meeting, and, in a sense, the relationship.

in 1889 hob flips the fucking table over.

in one statement: i think you're lonely, i think we're friends. suddenly it's hob who knows dream, who sees dream; suddenly dream's not there for idle curiosity, but out of some need; suddenly it feels like dream coming to hob instead of hob coming to dream. hob holds all the cards. hob's 'hosting' the meeting.

needless to say dream does not tolerate that very well. that shift in dynamic is summarily rejected.

the post-imprisonment meeting though...

by this point, any upper hand dream had in this dynamic (other than the basic knowledge of who he is) has been obliterated. he did this partially to himself by storming out in 1889 and setting up a situation where meeting hob again in any capacity was essentially admitting defeat on the 'we're friends' issue. then he's forced to miss the 1989 meeting (i'm still undecided on whether he would have gone or not if he hadn't been captured but as it stands the choice was made for him), setting him back even further with hob because now hob is, very definitively, the one who's arranging the meeting, the one who's hosting, the one who's waiting, and the only possible dynamic now is dream coming to hob. because they're friends. because he wants to. the 'experiment' is over, the illusion of distance has been dissolved and dream couldn't get it back if he tried.

dream goes to hob anyway.

knowing all of this, knowing he's forfeited pretty much all power in this dynamic, knowing he's admitting friendship, defeat, need, want, in doing so, knowing that for the first time hob could reject him, if he so wanted. still he goes, to hob's inn (if you subscribe to that headcanon), the place hob built for them, a declaration of his friendship and care that dream rejected last time they met. the absolute last thing dream needs after the incredibly shitty hundred years he's just had is to be berated for and called out on his past choices, but he goes anyway and puts hob in the position to do just that. and the flipped dynamic is so evident in the way hob is so established in the inn, waiting, while dream steps in slowly with almost a wariness in his step...

and he receives absolute grace and acceptance.

hob has the complete upper hand in that moment and he uses it for nothing but making dream feel safe and welcome. even his you're late comment is teasing and fond rather than critical. and the smile he gives dream, it's not exactly like the smile of meetings past, its not infatuated or charmed, it reads much more as like, i knew you'd come back. welcome home.

dream sits down and their relationship stops swinging back and forth and just clicks. into friendship. and equality.

where was i going with this? oh yeah just screaming eternally

[ewanmitchellconnoisseur]

Mɪᴛᴄʜᴇʟʟ Esᴛᴀᴛᴇs (Chapter 1) "Mᴏᴠɪɴɢ Iɴ"

EwanMitchell Verse x F!Reader

A/N: Hello! This is the first chapter of my Mitchell Estates Series! This chapter is for introduction so not much going on! //Dividers by@firefly-graphics

Summary: You finally arrive at what will be your new home. You hope this fresh start will be able to bring you some peace and less drama in your life.

Tw: Nothing!

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist • Next Chapter → (WIP)

The road feels never-ending. Everything moving outside of the car feels like a blur and you feel as if you're driving in a fishbowl.

Your eyelids feel like they're being weighed down. You've gotten to the point where you've imagined taping them open. Constantly feeling the need to shake your head as you try to stay awake.

You've spent the entire day packing, and loading all your belongings to your new apartment all on 2 hours of sleep. The cost of movers was not an expense you were willing to pay, the truck itself was already putting a dent in your wallet.

"Your destination is on the right."

You turn on your signals and carefully pull into the small building complex.

It wasn't an easy find. A friend of yours luckily knew the person who had just moved out and managed to get in contact with the landlord before they could give the space to anyone else.

It was an old Motel that had been renovated into apartments, though, it still looked like it was a motel.

You pull into a random parking spot near a smaller building that looks to be the office. It feels good to finally put the car in park and unbuckle.

"Fucking finally" You lean your head back on the headrest and close your eyes just for a second. You listen to the sounds of the cars passing by and the music coming from your radio on low. You had work until 2 in the morning, a rare occurrence, they needed help and you needed the money. And it was only natural that when you finally got home at 3 your neighbours were having sex loudly followed by someone being a dick revving their engine outside the building. You ended up falling asleep at 5 but had to be up by 7 to start packing.

As you relax in your car someone comes and knocks on the window. You look out it to see a man standing there with a clipboard. Annoyed, you hold the button to roll down the window.

"Yes?" He eyes you for a moment not saying anything simply looking between his clipboard and you. You notice his eyes go to your chest then your lips.

Fucking creep.

"You're late." He stares at you and then looks down at his watch. "You were supposed to be here 5 minutes ago." He sighs angrily and starts flipping through pages on his clipboard.

"Sorry, there was traffic." You apologize to which he just rolls his eyes.

What the fuck is up his ass?

Technically you were 3 minutes late since you spent 2 minutes taking a breather. Either way, 5 minutes is not that big of a deal.

"Are you going to get out of the car or am I supposed to give you the tour from here?" He chews his gum like one of the cocky guys that come up to you in bars who act as if they're walking around with the biggest dicks on the planet. You sigh and glare at him as you press the button to slowly roll up the window while staring into his soul.

Once it's up you take the keys out of the ignition, grab your bag and step out of your car. It belonged to your dad, it had been all banged up so you had to get it repaired but it was worth it. It was probably the most expensive thing you owned.

You look around now that you're out and fully take in the building. They did a pretty good job at not making it look like a motel the vibrant blue and orange colours of the doors paired with the black finishings as well as the white walls just made it all pop. You could tell the trees were just recently planted and the gardens were actually tended to.

For a moment you had been worried the place your friend found would be a dump considering the side of town it was on and the price of the rent. You were in too much of a desperate situation to come to look at the apartment itself so you had no other choice but

"Any day now..." You look over at the man who is glaring daggers at you. You take in his appearance now that you can see him better. He's wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a red sweater. You notice that just above the neckline you can catch a glimpse of a tattoo on the side of his neck. He's cute you'd give him that, but the cutest thing about him has to be that nose. Your thoughts grew a little lewd as you thought about riding his face. His nose perfectly nuzzling against your clit.

Why are the hot ones always so fucking rude?

You close your door, locking the car a couple times before following him.

"You're in B3. Thats the second floor, unit 3." He walks over to that office-like building you noticed earlier and leads you inside, holding the door open.

At least he has some fucking manners.

You take a seat across from the desk as he walks around and sits down in front of you while going through the desk drawers. "No loud noises past 11pm, no pets if it's not on your lease, no in-unit laundry machines, no renovations without clearance."

He finally finds what he's looking for. He pulls out a lanyard, attached to it are 2 sets of keys, a laminated pass and a plastic card. The lanyard itself is decorated with the building's name Mitchell Estates and two phone numbers.

"You only get two keys. If you lose them you owe me 30$ for a new one. The pass gets hung up in your car. If I see no pass and no paid ticket I tow the car. The plastic card is your laundry card. The lanyard has my phone number, don't call me, I promise whatever it is I don't care enough to answer. There is also the maintenance number, call him." He speaks with a dead look on his face and no emotion.

He stands up and walks over to the door and holds it open waiting for you to get up and follow him out. You grab your bag stand up and follow him out of the building. He begins leading you over to the actual apartment.

"The spot you're parked in now is empty so you can have it. Over there is the laundry rooms." He points to the left side of the building, you see a boy and a child walk out dragging baskets behind them. "There are garbage shutes on every floor. Recycling is at the back of the buildings. Those vending machines work." You look over to the vending machines and see some guy leaning against it while smoking. He gives you a grin before stomping out his cigarette and walking into his unit. You try to keep up with the Landlord but frankly, he's walking so fast like he's trying to get rid of you.

You follow him upstairs below you see someone walk into the complex and look toward you. He's wearing glasses and a burgundy cardigan paired with cargo pants. He notices you but quickly looks away.

"Over here is yours." He walks you over to a unit. As you get to the door he searches for the keys, a man comes up the stairs and goes into the unit next to you. You notice the cases of beer he's carrying and a tattoo of a horse on his bicep.

He finally finds the right key and unlocks the door. "Over there on the counter is a copy of the rental agreement. Sign it and drop it off by tomorrow. Rent is due on the first of every month. I don't make exceptions and I don't care for sob stories. If you can't pay I call the police. I trust we will have no issues?" He eyes you up and down again.

Isn't he just a ray of sunshine ladies and gentlemen?

"No need to worry. I don't plan on causing any problems." He nods his head and turns to leave. "Wait," you call after him and he turns back around with an annoyed look. You put out your hand and introduce yourself. "Your name is?"

He looks down at your hand and then back up at you.

"Ettore." With that, he's out your door slamming it behind him.

An hour later the moving truck arrived. Your friends hopped out and began helping you unload your stuff. Since you couldn't afford it on your own and they needed a truck too, you split the cost.

One of your friends stops to look around quickly before walking back over to the truck.

"Wow. It's actually nice." Boyse blocks the sun from her eyes as she looks up at the building. "And that man up there is hot."

You look to see who she's looking at. You see the man before who lives next to you leaning on the railing while drinking a beer. He takes another sip before turning around and going back into his apartment.

"How...kind...and I wouldn't call it nice. It's...an improvement." Boyse rolled her eyes at Farleigh's statement. "I guess considering how it looked before...I can see the appeal." He lowered and handed down a box from inside the truck.

"For $900 a month. Im just fine with how it looks." When Farleigh told you the price even you were shocked in this day and age you were looking at about $2k for more apartments. "Now come on and help me get these boxes upstairs. Im not paying a late fee for this truck." You grabbed a box.

The three of you spent the next 2 hours unloading the truck and then unpacking your stuff. You didn't have much since you were only renting a bedroom before but luckily you had good friends who would be bringing by furniture to help fill in your new space.

"Fuck that was rough." Farleigh leaned against the wall and fanned himself with his hand.

"You didn't even do anything." Boyse rolled her eyes as she took a swig from her water before putting back on the cap and sitting on the counter. "You spent the entire time talking about fucking Felix and his new boy toy."

"I'm 100% sure that fucker framed me." Farleigh had been boring you and Boyse about his family drama for the whole day. He only came back to see his mother for a day and tell her what happened. "Which reminds me we have to leave if im going to make my flight. I have a party to crash."

He blew a kiss in the air which you pretended to dodge earning you a dramatic heart clutch from him. Boyse laughed and walked over and hugged you.

"At least you're a bit closer to me now." You followed her over to the door. The next-door neighbour walked by Boyse and watched him walk away before turning to you and winking and running off when Farleigh honked the truck. "Bye, babe! Have fun."

You turn around locking the door before eyeing your plain and empty apartment.

"This is going to take some work..."

A/N: This was SUPER short but it was just meant to introduce the story and set the scene. Hopefully, you guys can figure out who some characters are just by my vague descriptions but if not do not fear! We will meet them all in due time! (Also it is not easy to describe them when they all look alike 🤣) The next chapter will be longer and better and we will also get to meet Will!

General Taglist: @thought--bubble, @valeskafics Series Taglist: @slytherincursebreaker, @watercolorskyy, @dixie-elocin, @venmondiese, @briefcollectivepersona

[bones4thecats]

Twisted Wonderland Incorrect Quotes

Sebek Zigvolt: Didn't you die?! MC: That was weeks ago, dude. Things change. Riddle Rosehearts: When I first met you, I thought you were weird and annoying. Ace Trappola: And? Riddle Rosehearts: And you are. Floyd Leech: Start talking! Random Octavinelle Student: Well, I- Floyd Leech: Shut up!

Kalim Al-Asim: That sounds super! Doesn’t that sound super, Jamil? Jamil Viper: No. Kalim Al-Asim: I think I speak for Jamil when I say it sounds really super. Grim: I got grounded for a whole week just because I came home late. Leona Kingscholar: Well, you deserved it. I mean, getting everyone's hopes up like that and then showing up again. Vil Schoenheit: OKAY, YOU KNOW WHAT?! TIME OUT! GET ON TOP OF THE FRIDGE! GET UP THERE! Epel Felmeir: *Climbing* THIS HOUSE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!!! Azul Ashengrotto: Your Honor, I hereby submit the following to the court: Azul Ashengrotto: Floyd, what the actual FUCK? Malleus Draconia: Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff. Leona Kingscholar: YOU PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS! Ortho Shroud: I don't follow the rules. I follow dogs on social media. Cop: You ran a red light. Cater Diamond: So did you, hypocrite. Cop: I was following you. Cater Diamond: That was dumb, I'm a terrible driver. Cop: Get out. Idia Shroud: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul. Lilia Vanrouge: I’ve been described as a ‘heartless villain’ and a 'little shit’, but I prefer… 'has alternative ways of having fun’. Vil Schoenheit: Would I rather be feared or loved? Easy. Both. I want people to fear how much they love me. Eliza: Don't joke about murder. I was murdered once and it offends me. Trey Clover: I'm usually that person who has no idea what's going on. Jade Leech: I’ve come to a point in my life where I need a stronger word than fuck. Jack Howl: Do you think different paints have different tastes? Ruggie Bucchi: They do. Jack Howl: ...Why did you say that with such certainty? Divus Crewel: In your opinion, what is the height of stupidity? Literally Anyone, turning to Ace Trappola: How tall are you? Epel Felmier: Housewarden, I’m afraid. Vil Schoenheit: Just stay close to Rook. Epel Felmier: That's why I’m afraid. Rook Hunt, at the slightest provocation: I came into this earth screaming and covered in someone else's blood and and I'm not afraid to leave the same way. Sam: Good morning. Mozus Trein: Good morning. Divus Crewel: Good morning. Dire Crowley: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit. Ashton Vargas: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS! Mozus Trein: Where’s Crowley? Sam: Doing stuff. Mozus Trein: I don’t like the sound of that. Where’s Crewel? Sam: Trying to stop Crowley from doing the stuff. Mozus Trein: And Vargas? Sam: Trying to stop Crewel from stopping Crowley from doing the stuff. Mozus Trein: I see. And what are you doing here, Sam? Sam: I’m supposed to stop you from stopping Vargas from stopping Crewel from stopping Crowley from doing the stuff.

[im-the-reader-of-which-you-speak]

Cool Cut

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Reader wants a cool, unconventional haircut, but is too shy to get it. Or at least that would be the case, if she wasn't dating Eddie Munson.

Word count: ~1,000

Notes: Reader is implied to have hair long enough to cut. The hair cut they want is described in the first sentence. Not sure if it will work for all hair textures. I think the details are pretty vague otherwise. -- Eddie calls Reader "Babe" and "Baby." -- No pronouns used, but the haircut they want is on a girl. -- Y/N is not used.

Her hair was long in the front and short in the back, like a reverse mullet. The magazine she lies in is a few years old at this point, the cover reads "August 21, 1984." That's how long you've been thinking about the damn haircut.

It was weird. It was unconventional.

It was cool.

You run your fingers through your hair, imagining what it'd be like to have a cut like that. Eddie pokes his head over your shoulder.

"With how much you stare at that lady, I'm starting to think you have a crush, babe." He kisses your neck. "Should I be jealous?"

"No no- don't worry, it's nothing like that! I've only got eyes for you, promise." Setting the tattered magazine down, full attention now on your boyfriend... Only for Eddie to pick it up again and flip right to the page.

"Ya sure? This is the third time you pulled that thing out this week. You study this page like Picasso painted it."

"She just has cool hair 'is all. Don't think I've ever seen anything like it."

He lets out a knowing hum, playing with his curls. "Think I should get it? Would ya like it shorter?" He shines a playful smile.

"No!" You snatch away the magazine before it gives him anymore ideas. "I love your hair exactly how it is!" You grab two fists full of his locks as if that will protect them.

He chuckles, gives you a kiss on the forehead and grabs your hands. "Yeah I love it too. Don't worry, this mop isn't going anywhere." He gives his crown a good shake, relishing in his abundance of curls.

"So do you want a cut like that?"

"Oh uh. Ha, I don't think real people have that sort of hair. That's reserved for like, rockstars and models. Not us lowly serfs."

"Says who? What, are the fashion police gonna stop us?" He hops off the sofa, finger gun pointed in your face. "Place the shears on the ground! We have you surrounded!"

"Officer! I was only getting a bob, I swear!"

"Likely story. With a cut this stylish, you're looking at a lifetime of conical bras high-waisted suspenders."

"Noooo!" You throw your hands up, surrendering to Officer Munson.

Grinning from ear to ear, Eddie ends the scene and returns to his place next to you on the couch. "I know you have shears in the bathroom. The style doesn't look that hard, I bet I could do it if you want."

You thought about it again. Feeling the breeze on your neck. How the long bits in the front would frame your face. You sigh. "No... Thanks but, nobody has hair like that. I'm not trying to put a target on my back." You fold in on yourself. "Probably wouldn't even look good on me anyway."

"Woah. First of all, you'd look hot wearing a fishbowl on your head. You'd look even better embracing your own style." You shy away from his words, but he pulls you right back to him.

"Second of all, what with this target? You're already dating the Freak of Hawkins High." He hops out of his seat, putting on the theatrics. "Are you gonna let them suppress you? Stamp out your individuality? Mold you into a drone like them?"

"Yes."

"So not metal." He rolls his eyes, shot down by words. His body drops down like a sand bag, weighted by disappointment. "I can't control you, babe, but I hope you know I love you. No matter the hair style."

"Even if it's matted and ratty?"

"Even if you were bald. And I think anyone worth a damn would too. 'Cuz you got good taste, baby. And anyone who thinks differently can fuck off!"

How does he make it look so easy? He dances through life like no one is watching. He screams to the world that he's a nerdy metalhead freak every day. He doesn't give the backlash a second thought.

If you were Eddie, you would have had this haircut for years now. And here you are longing for it. What to you is a dream, for him is a reality. You loved Eddie. You loved his style, every little weird thing about him, all his unconventional hobbies. To you he's the epitome of cool.

Man, how did you score a piece like him?

"Okay let's do it."

"Wait what?" Eddie tuned out while you were admiring him. It takes a second to process what you're saying.

"We have hair clippers. Let's do it" You hand him the magazine for reference.

"Fuck yeah baby let's do this!"

You wash your hair and throw on one of Eddie's shirts, one that you don't mind sacrificing to the prickly hair gods. You look in the bathroom mirror. Eddie stands behind you, pulling goofy faces, pretending to be some crazed killer with the scissors.

"Ready babe? Standing firm? Don't move around too much, I don't want to cut your ear off." You take a second to ground yourself, you're really gonna do this. Grasping the sink, you look at Eddie's eyes and he gives you a reassuring smile in the mirror.

"Ready."

He combs through your hair, separating a bit from the back.

Snip!

There's a drop in your stomach as you watch the wet loc fall to the ground.

"Hey could you pull your head back a bit?" He gently guides your face back up to the mirror. "Stay still, let me work my magic here."

Snip snip snip

Eventually you close your eyes-- you can't keep looking anymore. Deep breaths, you focus on Eddie's guiding hands. His fingers lightly scratching across your scalp. The long inhale he takes before holding his breath as he focuses. The long exhale that leaves his mouth as he makes the last cut.

"Done!"

You open your eyes, but he covers them immediately.

"Uh oh Munson, what did you do?"

"Gave you the perfect hair cut. But don't look yet! Let me comb it out and dry it first."

Your eyes mostly remain closed as he gets rid of all the stray hairs, but you manage sneak a little peek while Eddie is blowdrying your hair. His tongue pokes out as he concentrates.

"No peeking!" He blasts your peeping eye with the blow dryer.

A final brush out later he finally announces that you can look.

"What'd'ya think babe? Lookin' like a rockstar?"

Any reasonable person would probably not let Eddie cut their hair. Any reasonable person would probably lock away any sharp objects in his line of site.

But good thing you weren't reasonable, because it was perfect.

"Wow. Eddie, when did you go to cosmetology school?"

"So you like it?"

"Eddie, it's exactly what I wanted."

"Yeah, but how do you feel?"

Finally seeing yourself with the hair you always wanted, only one word comes to mind.

"Metal."

"Damn right you do babe." He squeezes your torso and places a fat kiss on your lips.

If there was any question amongst the student body of Hawkins High that you two were dating, there isn't anymore. Because you two freaks belong together. You guys were too cool for the rest of them anyway.

[tj-dragonblade]

Hi! I'd like to hear something about the fishbowl therapy fic, please!

Ah, this is probably my favorite year-old idea that I really want to write but haven't quite gotten around to. I like the concept, I like the visuals that I've got in head, but so much of the necessary conversations just fizzle when I try to flesh them out. I'm sure I can get it right if I focus on it long enough, though. The long rambly synopsis with a tiny snippet of drafting included:

Sometime after their 2022 reunion, with more frequent meetings etc, Dream finally tells Hob why he missed their 1989 meeting. And Hob is very much Not Okay about it. He has so many feelings - the horror of his friend having been held captive that long, rage on Dream's behalf, self-recrimination that he didn't know, he could have done something if he'd known, and a crushing guilt over every unkind thought he had after 1989 (never mind that he got over them, he still thought them in the first place and his friend was stuck in a glass cage while Hob was wallowing in self-pity and uncharitable assumptions).

But Hob stuffs all his feelings about this down inside, because what kind of friend would he be to make Dream's trauma-sharing all about his own reaction? So he tries very hard to keep his own feelings out of the conversation, aside from some commiserative vindication when Dream confirms that everyone who held him is either dead or dealt with.

But he is Extremely Upset about it all evening, and ends up dreaming about it. Dream catches awareness of his distress, visits the dream. He didn't give Hob specifics in their conversation, 'a glass cage' and 'basement' were the key details and Hob has dreamed up something akin to a zoo exhibit - the cage is rectangular, three glass walls attached to a fourth stone wall, roomy enough to pace about in, a proper semblance of a bed in one corner. Dream watches as Hob stands on the outside, talking to the dream-version of Dream inside the cell - a Dream who still has his clothes, he had not shared that detail with Hob either - and makes himself known after only a moment. Hob is apologetic, he's so sorry he's making this all about himself, but Dream is…pleased, by his distress. 'Pleased' is not quite the word, but it is comforting to know that someone is so upset on his behalf. He takes the place of his dream-self within the cell, urges Hob to continue, to tell him everything he's held back. It's easy to be detached from the memory when the setting is wrong, and he is warmed despite everything at how vehemently Hob insists he would have come, how sorry he is for thinking Dream had chosen to stay away, etc etc. Eventually they are talking about how Dream is coping with it, is he healing from his trauma, and of course he says it does not bother him, but Hob is like 'If I'd spent more than a hundred years cooped up in this -' gesturing at the spacious cage he's envisioned '- I'd be - I'd be something. I wouldn't just be okay about it.' And Dream, feeling peevish and daring, decides to push.

"It was not like this," he says. "You dream it too kind."

Hob blinks at him. "…What?"

"You dream it too kind," Dream repeats. "Shall I show you the truth of it?"

"I…okay," Hob agrees, foreboding and unease in his tone, and Dream shifts the basement around them. With less than a thought he is naked in the suspended glass orb again, the painted stars mocking him from above and the the binding circle a sickly glow beneath him, the dank reaches of the underbelly of Fawney Rig stretching into infinity in every direction. Hob stumbles back a step with a shocked cry, horror flooding his features; he nearly flails backwards into the moat and steps forward again, stumbles to his knees, staring up at Dream with tears flooding his eyes.

"What the fuck—god, Dream—!"

And while he's processing all over again the full depth of the horror that was done to his friend, Dream is feeling something akin to panic creeping over him now that he's here again. He is less okay than he thought he was, the memory is pressing in again, and he focuses on Hob's distress to mitigate his own. There's gotta be a moment of both of them pressing hands to the glass; they get to a point where Hob just sort of spirals into a frenzy of 'gotta get you out, gotta get you out' that feeds Dream's own latent panic that he's definitly not giving in to, never mind that he can't stop repeating 'Free me, Hob, free me' (?) over and over. Hob's scrabbling about for anything that might help him break the glass and shortly dreams up a crowbar; he scrambles to his feet and starts swinging. It's thick glass, and magical etc, and it takes Hob whaling on it quite a lot before it begins to crack, and plenty more hits before it shatters. Whereupon Dream drops to the floor, free, unbothered by the broken glass all around. Hob suddenly has a jacket so that he can take it off and wrap it around Dream, and somewhere in the surging relief of the re-enacted rescue Hob just flings his arms around Dream and kisses him. Dream is taken by surprise, but things are definitely falling into place for him and he kisses back. Hob jerks back, doing a full 'oh shit I kissed him my secret's out I've ruined everything' kind of take; Dream just grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him back down, kisses him again.

There is a little more conversation here in the dream as heat and realization build; then Dream, 'weary of this wretched basement' and wanting Hob to remember all of this, ends the dream and manifests in Hob's bed as Hob wakes. There is sex and conversation to finish it out, Dream finally voicing out loud how much it means that there is someone who would have come for him, who will come to his defense no matter how unnecessary, who thinks he's worth the effort of rescuing.

Like I said, I stumble over the conversations somewhat and that makes it easy to let this one languish in the depths of the wip file. All that Hob-pov exposition at the beginning isn't really part of it either, since this will be Dream's pov, but I've got to convey all that via Hob talking to dream-Dream and then actual-Dream in the dream itself. I'll get it all ironed out one day. Hopefully.