#and understand what they are and how to utilise them

[crowtobio]

in a perpetual state of insane over kagehina

#please talk to me about them oh ym godhrhrhfgjhhhhh #sometimes i come on here and try to ramble about why i love kghn but jts just so hard bc there r so so many aspects of them that i adore i+ #just cant express that succinctly idk #their unwavering faith in each other #the belief they both have that theyll both make it to the world stage one day #they both struggle so much to accept their strengths and try so hard to be something they srent #tobio trying to emulate oikawa as a setter and shouyou trying to become the little giant #and its only because of the other that they can finally accept their actual strengths #and understand what they are and how to utilise them #without the other neither of them wouldve made it anywhere idk #like it goes deeper than just without the quick shouyou wouldnt have been put on the team or w/e #theyve just both had such a profound impact on the other in pretty much every way possible #you really cannot discuss one character without mentioning the other #like if u want to go into any depth on either of them you HAVE to mention the other #this is not coherent they drive me insane they are everythign to me #please talk to me about them jm so AAAAAAAAAAGGGHRNNHGGGGHHHNNGRGRHHRHGRRRAAAAAAAAA #also like this really is just scratching the surface #there is just so much to talk about with them #if u follow me and u havent read haikyuu…. please….. #the last 70 or so chapters are just #incredible #nothing will ever top that for me i think #no i still have not recovered from ch 387 thanks for asking

[mettywiththenotes]

I do find it weird when I see people being like “but he/she’s a background character!! why are they getting involved!! they mean nothing!! what’s even the purpose!!”

Like idk man let’s refer back to

“Everyone is the protagonist of their own story. You were never a side-character.”

and

“This is the story of how we all became the Greatest Heroes.”

and

“Inventions are the support classes way of being Heroes.”

I mean it is continuously said over and over that anyone can help in their own way, they can be their own kind of hero (even without actually being in the profession), and even if they’re not front-and-center they are still making progress and doing something for their friends/team

Like yes I understand that for some reason you don’t like background characters being given the spotlight but you have not been reading this manga if you’re wondering why background characters are getting involved

#i saw some stuff about this chapter but you know what? i'm referring to the series and fandom in general #you have not been reading the damn manga if you're complaining about background characters getting the spotlight #like maybe you wish for them to have better scenes or better arcs or wish they were utilised better and that IS okay to want that #but when you're like 'why is EDGESHOT getting involved WHY is best jeanist here WHY are we focusing on THIS bg character 🙄' #you're just showing me that you have not read any of these scenes or payed attention #its understandable if you hate the character i guess #but man. you are STILL ignoring what has been said #what has been repeated over and over again #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mettys posts #metty posts #bnha manga spoilers #how many times are we gonna get a bg character doing something only for people to act exactly like hori hasn't been saying #that characters can help in any way #that their actions still mean something for the story or for their character #seriously how many chapters and arcs are we gonna go through #before this sticks

[theclaravoyant]

look aziraphale giving Everything to stop crowley being forcibly ascended though . like . he only ever meant it as an offering . now that he knows it’s like a lance through his heart instead you best believe he’ll do anything in his power to stop anyone coming near crowley with it

#something about preserving another person’s agency and really knowing what that means to them #even if it’s not the choice you would make for yourself even if you don’t understand #ineffable spouses #good omens #you understand enough to love them enough to save them this #it makes me unhinged . UNHINGED #it’s so under utilised !!!!!! #i actually can’t think of another example right now that’s how off my hinges I am #oh and when they do it as an apology ? fuck me UP

[kuuyandere]

Sorry I’ll stop trying to fix you :/

Thank you, I appreciate it. I understand how you were trying to help and ensure my wellbeing, and I see that your advice comes from a place of experience.

#your yandere #aidoneus asks #I think you assumed a lot about me and why I created this blog- which is understandable since I don't explain everything in my posts #Making this was my 'break in the pattern' after months of thinking I moved on only because I ignored the ambivalence of my emotions #I lack emotional permanence and forget how I feel and think unless I am actively feeling them #I would forget why we broke up if I'm not feeling hurt or forget why I loved for her in the first place if I'm not missing it #Venting here helps me remember and understand my experiences/what I am feeling and address them rather than disregard them #It also holds me accountable for my current actions in creating more distance and advocating for my needs #It sounds like venting feelings intensifies them for you so your advice is completely understandable for your experiences #I was tempted to verbally rip that message to shreds or utilise the block button for that last part though #Do you really think so little of me to possibly believe that I am pretending all this to prey on a younger audience?

[princessbrunette]

https://x.com/horridprincess/status/1774386674979557801?s=46

how do you think rafe would react to catching bunny reader doing this?

✧˖°. ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა ✧˖°.

he simply follows the sound.

he’d know your moans anywhere — licking over his lips with a frown, mumbling a ‘the fuck?’ to himself as he draws closer to the bathroom. shrill mewls and whines echo through the bathroom — greeting him through a wall of steam as he walks in. the first thing he see’s are your legs dangling over the edge of the pristine marble.

his expression doesn’t change as he steps closer to you, but his pants certainly tighten at the sight he is met with. you lay on your back in shallow depth, body glistening with water, wriggling your hips as the running tap pounds down on your clit. you’re greedy, rubbing yourself despite the stimulation — panting toward the sky.

“you havin’ fun? huh?” rafe has the awful habit of managing to sound unimpressed, even when his cock was actively hardening. you’re in a daze, not at all alarmed by rafes presence. your sticky eyes blink open, residue of mascara smeared beneath them as you gaze at his impending silhouette.

“mm, mhm.” is all you manage, sucking on your bottom lip as you use him as visual porn, eyes locking in on the heavy bulge in his dress pants — letting out a loud and careless moan.

“would you like some help?” he asks slowly, like you might not understand. as you concentrate on your pleasure, you’re quick to shake your head no.

“mm-mm.” you answer and he squints at you, clearly offended.

“no? huh?” he starts to unbuckle his belt anyway. “get up. c’mon.” he commands under his breath, never needing to utilise a louder volume to get you to abide by him.

you groan, displeased — but cling to the edge of the bath anyway, opening your mouth and sticking out your wet, pink tongue before he’d even pulled his dick out. he hums out a low chuckle, stroking a thumb roughly over your wet cheek as he pulls you closer— slapping his tip on your tongue.

“know just what to do, that right?”

✧˖°. ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა ✧˖°.

#anon #rafe cameron prompt #bunny!reader #p!link

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Things Simon Loves About You

Warnings: Fluff <3, Cosy Headcanons, Simon Being a Hypothetical Animal Crossing Enthusiast, Jealous! Simon :3, Simon Being the Best Boyfriend, Spoilers for Simon’s Backstory, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

He’s secretly enamoured with the way you’ll gently pluck a fallen eyelash from his face and tell him to make a wish on it. The first time it happened, you had to explain to him what this odd ritual meant, what it entailed. You shushed him before he tried to make his wish out loud, telling him with haste that it won’t come true if he told you what it was. When he blew the eyelash from your fingertip, all he could do was look at you and think: ‘but it already came true’.

Though it initially worried him, he loves that you go to sleep late — especially when he finds you zonked out on the sofa, TV on, remnants of your midnight snack escapade scattered across the coffee table. It means he has an excuse to pick you up and bring you to bed, holding you close to him all the while. Most nights, he just stares at you, watching you, wondering how he got so lucky to even have someone exist in the same house with, never mind you.

Nobody likes arguments — especially Simon. Having grown up in an abusive household, they were commonplace in some form or another. But, when he argues with you, he knows that it can easily be fixed. Especially if it’s over something minimal like laundry or cleaning — it gives him the excuse to seek you out and utilise his ultimate love languages: gift-giving and physical touch. Sure, he’ll give you a quiet, verbal apology, too, but his efforts shine through in the way he opens himself up to you, pulling you into a warm hug and not letting you go for as long as you’ll let him.

He loves the nicknames you give him: especially the funny ones. You’ve called him Semen Demon before now — completely unprompted. He couldn’t help but give a deep chuckle, saying “What are you like,” before turning back to what he was doing. This worked a competition between the two of you to see who could create the most cursed nickname for the other.

It’s still going on ‘til this day.

He lives for the inside jokes the two of you have, like a dialect only you know. It makes him feel like he’s truly part of something… normal. Sure, he has the 141, by they are bound in the blood of their profession, not by the sanctity of love. Not the kind of love you two have. He loves it even more when everyone else looks confused when you mark a reference onto you two understand; it makes him feel like you’re talking to him and only him. For the first time, he feels like someone sees him.

He loves when you listen to his music suggestions. It makes him feel like his opinion matters — like what he says matters.

He loves the music you listen to, too. Not even because he likes the songs themselves, but because he knows, somewhere between their instruments and vocals, you have found enjoyment, like a coveted treasure. And that's what brings him enjoyment when listening to them.

Simon’s always been a light sleeper. A trick he learned in childhood. So when you prod him awake to spill your thoughts to him, he’s immediately all ears. And he loves everything you say, no matter how banal or nonsensical. Even when you tell him your worries, his heart swells with the fact that you trust him enough with your perils. That you think, even for a second, that maybe he can fix them.

And he would. Before time can catch him, he’ll do whatever it takes to ease your worries, to destroy them.

He loves that he gets to show you off to the 141 — like a child with an arts and crafts project. He’s a secretive man, but he won’t hesitate to make light of the fact that his partner is absolutely stunning, intelligent, hilarious, loyal, understanding—

You see where this is going.

He even loves how jealous they all look when they see you wearing one of his shirts in all your unfiltered glory, wishing them a good night while you bid Simon his own – a special one. A kiss. Just on the forehead. But a kiss all the same.

He’s dazed for the rest of the evening, trying to hurry his friends uut the door so he can come to bed and see you.

Lazy morning cuddles !!!!!

He’s recently gotten into video games because of you, too.

Secretly a big fan of Animal Crossing. He absolutely would have been one of those people to try and buy Raymond from anyone willing to sell him back in 2020 .

Likes any games that are life simulators. Simple ones — free of life’s stresses.

Loves Harvest Moon. And the Sims (Sims 2 is his favourite).

Although, when he found out you can romance other characters, he felt a bit bad because he felt like it would be cheating on you. Until he found out that you were already leading many a double life on those same games. The moment he found out you’d been romancing a collection of pixels and shapes, he picked you up, slung you over his shoulder and dragged you to the bedroom to “Teach you a lesson.”

All in all, domestic life with you is better than anything Simon could have hoped for. So long as you’re with him, he’s living a life he’s only ever dreamt of. And so help the person who tries to wake him.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #mw2 #mw2 x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost #ghost cod #mw2 ghost #cod #cod modern warfare #cod ghost #cod x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #ghost x you

[pandoraslxna]

Lost and found - Chapter 2

adult Neteyam x female human scientist

Words: 2.8k

Summary: Neteyam hates humans. One day, he finds you all alone and lost in the forest, but quickly decides against killing you. What might be the odd reason for that?

Warnings: explicit smut, oral, somnophilia, kidnapping, non-con elements, Na‘vi in heat, scent kink, size difference, semi-public, biting, fingering, p in v, language barrier

Notes: Here is the long awaited pt2 and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as the first one 🫶🏻 (check my masterlist to view all parts)

The tiny human looks so peaceful in her sleep.

With her chest evenly raising and falling, soft noises of dreams leaving her parted lips and hair in a mess.

Neteyam was lucky he arrived at high camp way past the eclipse and everyone was already sound asleep, otherwise he wouldn’t have managed to sneak her into his marui without anyone noticing. His parents would most definitely skin him alive the next morning anyways, when they find out his chosen mate was not only a human but an RDA scientist too. Maybe he could hide her for a few more days of peace, if he could somehow manage to make her understand that she wasn’t allowed to leave his marui and make any noises.

But that was something he didn’t want to waste a thought on right now. He would have to think about a solution for this little problem in the morning. Right now, he was entirely too busy watching her sleep.

Her sweet scent still lingers in the air. Usually it wears off after the first mating but he knew that his heat would probably last a while longer than that. A day or two maybe, he didn’t know. Maybe even longer, given how potent her scent was when it first hit him. Originally, Neteyam wanted to give her space and let her rest for a while, at least until he truly couldn’t bare it no more and had to mate with her again. But it seemed like this case didn’t even need to occur. He hadn’t even reached his physical limit yet, and already couldn’t withstand her any longer.

Neteyam made sure to be as quiet as possible, as he got up from his current position and moved over to her. Utilising years of experience in stealth as a warrior and skilled hunter, he pulls the thinly weaved blanket off of her, to reveal her bare limbs. She was still naked, no surprise after he had left her destroyed clothes behind in the forest. She wouldn’t need them anymore anyways. Tomorrow, he would make her some new ones. Some that didn’t made her look even more like the alien that she was.

Carefully, he repositions her to lay on her back, her soft thighs spread wide enough to make room for him. Neteyam places a gentle kiss on her inner thigh, both eyes fixed on her face. Her features are clam and relaxed, eyes still closed shut and he smiles to himself. He knows it’s probably not the best idea, knows he’s testing his luck but it’s just so hard to resist her.

He kisses her again, on her pubic bone this time. A quick look to her face –still nothing. Another kiss is left right on her core and when she’s still seemingly sound asleep, Neteyam knows he’s good to go. His tongue is gentle on her, sliding from her clit, leaving soft kisses here and there, to her entrance. She tastes as sweet as she smells and he can’t help the excited sway of his tail moving behind him when he realizes. A small gasps leaves her lips, when the tip of his tongue experimentally dips into her. Neteyam stills for a moment and musters her face before he continues.

He’s still gentle but there grows a force behind it, a need desperately restrained because he doesn’t want to wake her. He wants her so bad, yet he knows the human needs her sleep to fully recover. She’s just so fragile, he didn’t want to break his newly found mate.

Neteyam carefully spreads her open with one hand and finds her opening with the other. Deceptively small, but surprisingly elastic. She seems so tiny until his dick was splitting her open, swallowing him up, hugging him deep and tight. He traces his name over her clit with his tongue, marking her most sensitive part for himself, before he slowly slides a finger inside her. She moans quietly in her sleep, her cheeks now flushed red and Neteyam hopes her dreams are as sweet as she was. 

She was getting wet –like, really wet.

He smirks as he laps up some of her slickness where it leaks around his finger and his eyes roll all the way back into his head from her taste. He’s getting hard, too. Playing with her like this was a lot more fun that he thought it would be. Neteyams eyes fall closed as he devours her, relishing in the sweetness of her arousal. He doesn’t even realize how her breathing increases until suddenly, her tiny hands find the crown of his head. She mindlessly brushes through his braids, not fully awake and aware of what was happening yet. But then she tugs on his hair, just as he sucks on her clit. She hums, a confused sound leaving her lips before she fully registers where she is and Neteyam opens his eyes to look up at her. "Sleep well?", he asks her, using the very few words in her language that he actually knows, with a kiss to the little nub that brings her so much pleasure and her hips jerk.

"What the–", her eyes widen in shock and she tries to close her legs around his head, but a pair of strong hands effortlessly keep them apart. Neteyam is quick to hush her. "Shh, be quiet", he whispers, "I‘ll make you feel good, but you have to stay quiet for me."

"Listen, I have no idea what you’re sa— ah!" Before she can finish her complain, Neteyam lowers his head again. Expertly, he finds her clit and sucks. He circles it with his tongue, but when a moan escapes her lips, he stops. His gaze flies up to find her face and he simply looks at her with his brows drawn together. No words are exchanged, until the only sound that‘s heard is that of her rapid breathing. Only then, Neteyam lowers his lips back down again, eating her out like a starved man.

Her thighs quiver in his hold and her hips jerk, desperately trying to get him where it feels best to her. At one point, Neteyams tongue slides over her entrance and dips inside, as far as he can reach and she moans again. And again, Neteyam stops. His eyes find hers, a stern look on his face and she swallows thickly.

"Okay, okay I get it", she murmurs quietly between breathless pants, "Quiet. I‘ll be quiet."

What a smart girl, Neteyam thinks with a grin. The second he closes his lips around her clit again and sucks, he could feel heat spread through her entire body, heralding her impending orgasm. With the way she squeezed her eyes shut, her lower lip sucked in between her teeth to prevent herself from making any noise and the way her hips bucked up —She was begging him wordlessly to make her cum and so he pushed another finger into her, pumping in and out of her wet center. When she starts to tug on his hair again, in an effort to get him exactly where she wanted him, Neteyam can’t help but grind his hard cock against the ground, desperate to get to his release himself.

He then forces another finger inside her and she throws her head back, whimpering quietly. "You’re doing so well, so good for me. Cute little human", Neteyam coos in a whisper, comforting her. A new wave of her sweet scent suddenly rolls off of her, as if she was reacting to his words or his actions, he didn’t know, but he wonders how she was even doing this. For a faint moment, he wonders if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but then he feels his heart hammer inside his chest and it felt like he had been set aflame. His body was reacting to her scent instinctively. The sensation was particularly acute between his thighs, where an aching need throbbed, beating to the frantic tune of his heart.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

There was that yawning, aching void inside her, and her body needed something to fill it. Her body needed to be filled, Neteyam was sure of it. Her cunt pulsed, clenched around his digits and then a feverish wave of shivers went down her back, making it arch off the floor. Neteyam chuckled and the vibration against her core almost sent her over the edge. But then he draws away from her and sits back on his heels.

Her eyes fly open and it’s almost adorable how she looks at him, as if she was disappointed that he had stopped. Keeping eye contact with her, he licks his fingers clean of her slickness and watches her cheeks turn red– a quality his people did not possess. It told him that she was embarrassed. Flustered. She really was an adorable thing. Still a human, but a cute one.

Neteyam settled himself between her spread thighs, hooking her legs over his arms to fold her into a weird position where she was trapped, not only under his, but also her own weight. A soft whimper escaped her at the sudden closeness and Neteyam cursed the mask she was wearing, because he was close enough to kiss her like this but the thin glass hovering over her face prevented him from it. Instead, he choose to bury his face in the space where her delicate shoulder met her neck. He felt her pulse, rapidly beating, where he pressed his nose against her.

He kissed her soft skin there, while his cock, hard and already leaking pre-cum, glides between her wet folds. He grinds himself against her for a while, relishing in the feeling of her slickness covering him like a second layer of skin until he was nice and wet and ready for her. He draws back a little more, until his tip catches on her entrance and then he pushes himself inside. She’s still so tight, clamping down on him with enough force, it makes him hold his breathe in order not to groan out loud.

Neteyam was doing what his body was clamoring for. He kept filling her, his cock stretching her walls, making room for himself inside of her. She was tiny, but she was taking him. Even better than the first time, he remarked. Her body released more of her slickness to ease the way and finally, he was flush with her. Connected like two pieces of a puzzle. She was keening as quietly as possible but when he moved his hips and thrusted into her for the first time, a moan slipped past her lips.

Where he had left soft kisses earlier, Neteyam suddenly bit down on her neck. Not hard enough to draw blood or actually hurt her, but enough to remind her what she had learned earlier.

"Quiet, remember?", he whispers into her ear through gritted teeth and her breathing hitches. He feels her shift and quickly nod her head as if she understood what he just said. Not the words maybe, but their meaning.

Neteyam feels how she focuses on breathing, on getting air into her lungs. What had once been such a simple, effortless task was now a struggle. He could hear her whimper softly as she gulped oxygen in small gasps and when he thought that she was ready, he snapped his hips against hers. Every part of her tensed, her bottom lip sucked in between her blunt, human teeth but she kept quiet. "That’s a good girl", Neteyam says against her skin, kissing the marks his teeth had left on her.

Unfortunately, the only thing neither of them could keep quiet, where the slick, obscene noises at every stroke of his cock inside her pussy. Neteyam had to grit his teeth hard to keep himself from groaning, cursing and praying in his mind that nobody could hear what was going on in his marui.

The pace in which he was fucking her in switched constantly, trying to make the sounds less obvious just in case any of his family members would wake up. From short, deep strokes, to fast, rapid thrusts that had both of them panting into each others ears.

The little human was close again, he could feel it. She was trembling on the edge of it, squeezing around his cock painfully tight. Instead of the groan he wanted to release so bad, a huff of breathe escaped him. Just barely.

"You know, you really don’t make this easy for me, little one”, Neteyam whispered as she kept clenching around him. Her small arms had laid themselves around his neck and pulled him close, like she was trying to hide herself underneath him.

The little punched out noises she makes every time he thrusts into her and the mewling whimpers she can’t stop every time he pulls out are music to his ears, but she’s just too fucking loud like this. Her noises are barely above the sound of a whisper, but still enough to be heard by any Na’vi– thanks to their distinct hearing.

"Shhh", he coos, "I know it feels good, but you need to be quiet."

Neteyam knows he’s asking too much of her, yet it makes him all the more proud when she finally comes and not a sound falls from her parted lips. It’s a silent scream, like she’s choking on her vocal cords. But in exchange, he soft, velvety walls suck him and clench around him, squeezing tight enough until he’s unable to pull himself out. To him, it felt like she was trying to milk him dry and suddenly, it felt like the whole world came crushing down on him.

Neteyam couldn’t help it.

He buries his teeth in the crook of her neck, bites down onto her sweat slicked skin as he comes –because if he didn’t, he would’ve been moaning for the whole clan to hear. The human twitches below him, her hands clawing to his back as he fills her with his cum. It’s on the edge of overstimulation, but he keeps trusting into her a few more times just to make sure that every last drop of his pleasure was pumped into her pussy, before he finally pulls himself out.

They’re both covered in sweat, panting and trying to catch their breaths as Neteyam sits back on his heels to admire her. Her eyes are half lidded and she’s seemingly on the verge of falling asleep again, much to his amusement. He was going so easy on his mate, yet the little human could barely keep up with him.

For a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with her. It’s not like they could just sit there and talk, let him explain anything to her, so he quickly settles to lay beside her. He would let her rest for a while longer and then, in the morning, he would decide on how to handle the situation.

The sounds of her odd breathing mask were a little annoying at first, but at the same time strangely comforting. It reassured him of her presence, even when he closed his eyes. Thanks to this, he could pinpoint the exact moment where her breathing evened and she fell asleep. He curled himself around her smaller frame, his tail coming to rest over her thigh, gently swaying over her skin to comfort her in her sleep. She was so tiny and fragile, a very primal part of him made him want to protect her even more because of that. He pulled her closer until her back was flush with his chest, her head coming to rest on his arm.

Neteyam laid with her like this for a while.

He wasn’t sleeping though, still cautious of any noise that could imply that his parents or siblings were awake. But the only sound that reached his sensitive ears, where the ones coming from right next to him– the low grumble of her stomach. She was hungry.

Carefully, he slips his arm out from underneath her head. He redresses himself quietly, before he moves outside, in order to find something suitable for her to eat. Fruits would probably do, he saw Spider eat them once. If he could consume them without further complains, she could too. Neteyam didn’t want to let her try any meats or other things for now. Based on her blunt teeth, he wasn’t sure if humans were even meant to consume meat. He would have to ask her what food she preferred, once she had learned how to communicate with him.

A small smile spread over his lips by thought of that.

But when he pulled the woven cloth that represents the entrance to his marui to the side, his heart stops for a beat and his smile drops instantly.

The sight of his brother standing right there in front of him made him swallow dryly. With his arms crossed over his chest, Lo‘ak glances over his older brothers shoulder.

"You’re gonna be in so much trouble, bro."

Oh great mother help him.

#･ ｡ﾟ☆: *my works* :☆ﾟ. #avatar 2 #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #awow #neteyam #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x female reader smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x human reader #atwow neteyam #neteyam x f!reader

[ossifer-bones]

On the Mechanics of Lyctorhood

I want to preface this by saying this is a long, long post that is going to delve deep into lyctorhood, skim the surface of physics and biology, and fully embrace conjecture! If I'm right about all this then I'm very happy, but I also cannot wait to be disproven in Alecto the Ninth.

Thanergy

Thanergy is the product of the decay of thalergy: this is the principle that underpins all of necromancy. All necromantic adepts are capable of manipulating both thalergy and thanergy, but necromancy is shown to be reliant on thanergy specifically, and is most geared toward utilising thanergy as a result.

“Thalergetic decay causes cellular death,” you said carefully, pressing the nail in harder, “which emits thanergy. The massive cell death that follows apopneumatism causes a thanergetic cascade, though the first bloom fades and the thanergy stabilises within thirty to sixty seconds.” [Harrow the Ninth]

As shown by @pokkop15 in this post the term thanergy is almost certainly derived from Thanatos, the Greek God of Death, but thalergy's origins are more murky: likely candidates are thaleros (a greek word that means lively), Thalia (the muse of Festivity whose name also means blooming), or Thalassa (divine personification of the sea in greek mythology, which would fit considering how life is very associated with saltwater in TLT).

The Eightfold Word: What is Lyctorhood?

According to the resident tall glass of skank and questionably reliable narrator, Ianthe Tridentarius, the Eightfold Word is composed of the following steps:

Preserve the soul, with memory and intellect intact.

Analyse it—understand its structure, its shape.

Remove and absorb it: take it into yourself without consuming it in the process.

Fix it in place so it can’t deteriorate.

Incorporate it: find a way to make the soul part of yourself without being overwhelmed.

Consume the flesh [NOTE: Ianthe says 'a drop of blood is enough to ground you', which to me indicates that this step serves as a way to ground the incorporated soul into the lyctor's body, by having material from the soul's original body. This is very significant.]

Reconstruction—making spirit and flesh work together the way they used to, in the new body.

Hook up the cables and get the power flowing.

Lyctorhood seemingly works by providing the necromancer with, among other things, a near limitless reserve of thanergy that is presumably derived from the incorporated soul once the power is flowing: as we see with Cytherea healing herself, lyctors are either unable to generate thalergy—or their ability to do so is lessened in comparison to their ability to generate thanergy—and must instead siphon it from external sources when their own thalergy is depleted.

In Nona the Ninth we are introduced to Palamedes' conception of Lyctorhood in terms of Lysis: the Lyctorhood we are most familiar with is Petty Lysis, where only one of the components dies, while Grand Lysis is a mutual death—a gravitational singularity creating something new, as is the case with Paul. Lysis is a term used in biology that refers to 'the breaking down of the membrane of a cell', which as I've explored before

In the series, Lyctorhood is spoken of in terms of fire: there are repeated references to Gideon's soul being made the furnace of [Harrow's] Lyctorhood and serving as a furnace of power, Mercymorn refers to her cavalier's mortal soul burning in her chest, John says that the risk posed by fully incorporating Alecto into himself completely would be that he'd probably burn to death, and Paul's birth results in Camilla's body being consumed by flames. This leads us on to how lyctorhood is also characterised as consumption: eating the cavalier, absorbing their soul, burning it for fuel.

What is the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood?

Lyctorhood is barbaric, it is cannibalism, it is taking another and burning them in yourself for power. But that raises the question of where that power comes from. By the way that thalergy/thanergy are spoken of with terms reminiscent of radiation, coupled with how lyctorhood is rendered through metaphors and imagery related to fire and/or consumption, it would seem that the logical conclusion behind this is that the soul is being subject to continual thanergetic fission.

The terminology Tamsyn uses is something that lends credence to this: nuclear fission 'occurs when a neutron slams into a larger atom, forcing it to excite and split into two smaller atoms—also known as fission products'. Sudden, sharp decay/conversion of thalergy into thanergy could be the mechanism behind thanergetic fission, as we see with Harrow's description of apopneumatic shock and how the burst of thanergetic energy (a neutron slamming into a larger atom, forcing it to excite) is sufficient to prevent liminal osmosis from taking place: "In cases of apopneumatic shock, where death is sudden and violent, the energy burst can be sufficient to countermand osmotic pressure and leave the soul temporarily isolated."

But from what we know of the nature of the thanergy, thalergy, and the soul, this explanation makes no sense. Thanergy is emitted by thalergy decay, but souls in of themselves are not a source of thalergy nor thanergy, as shown by Anastasia's tripod principle: “The body needs thalergy and a soul to keep the lights on. Anastasia’s tripod principle. Body plus thalergy, but no soul, is basically a very weird vegetable … after a while it gives up and shuts down.” [Nona the Ninth]

Going back to the nuclear terminology, I'm going to cut straight to the core of this theory: the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood is thanergetic fusion.

What is thanergetic fusion?

The term I use here is a misnomer, because a more accurate term would be pneumatic fusion, considering how Tamsyn Muir is fond of using the Greek pneuma to refer to the soul: nuclear fusion 'is a reaction in which two or more atomic nuclei combine to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles'.

A nucleus in physics is 'the positively charged central core of an atom, consisting of protons and neutrons and containing nearly all its mass', while in biology the term refers to 'a dense organelle present in most eukaryotic cells, typically a single rounded structure bounded by a double membrane, containing the genetic material'. Palamedes uses the term lysis for Lyctorhood, which as you'll recall refers to the disintegration of the cell membrane, thus exposing it's innards: such as the nucleus. The soul is the nucleus.

Nuclear fusion involves combining two or more atomic nuclei to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles: the difference in mass between the reactants and products is manifested as either the release or absorption of energy; as a rule of thumb the fusion of lighter nuclei releases energy, making it an exothermic process, while the fusion of heavier nuclei results in energy being retained by the product nucleons, and thus the resulting reaction is endothermic. An exothermic reactions releases heat, causing the temperature of the immediate surroundings to rise, while an endothermic one absorbs heat and cools the surroundings.

In the context of this nuclear fusion explanation of Lyctorhood, an exothermic (exothanergetic) reaction releases thanergy while an endothermic (endothanergetic) reaction absorbs thanergy: the fusion of lighter souls release thanergy, the fusion of heavier souls absorbs it.

What are the implications behind these mechanics?

The question that comes to mind is what is a heavier soul? The answer, once again, lies in physics: "The heaviest atomic nuclei are created in nuclear reactions that combine two other nuclei of unequal size into one; roughly, the more unequal the two nuclei in terms of mass, the greater the possibility that the two react." [Wikipedia]

How does John explain the soul of a planet to Harrow?

John: “And what has a soul?” Harrow: “Anything with a thalergetic complexity significant enough to … have a soul. So, humanity.” [...] Harrow: “A planet’s a ball of dust. Its thalergy comes from the accumulation of microbial life. You can’t consider it one coherent system.” John: “Call it a communal soul. What’s a human being, other than a sack of microbial life?

Planets' souls are communal, formed from the thalergetic complexity of an entire world coalescing into a nuclei that lies at its heart, heavy in a way a human soul is not: a human soul is light, a planet's soul is heavy. In other words, Alecto is a heavy nuclei and John is a light nuclei, with the resultant nuclei of their combination forming something heavier than either: an endothanergetic reaction.

Moving back to thanergetic fission and the apopneumatic shock of a violent death, we can now examine what happens when John becomes God:

He becomes aware of Alecto when Cristabel kills herself in front of him.

Now aware of Alecto, he creates a massive flood of thanergy by inciting the violent deaths of millions, possibly billions, through the detonation of nuclear devices.

Empowered by the mass thanergetic fission caused by an untold number of apopneumatic shocks, 'I became a demigod', he finishes off the rest.

He kills Alecto, takes her soul in his hands, and attempts to become one with her.

He almost fails, and during this flawed process is forced to split her soul between his body and another, hiding himself in her and herself in him.

Fusion still occurs, this reaction is endothanergetic and allows him to near absorb a massive amount of thanergy in one sitting: "And when we were together … once the shaman had claimed the sun … I became God."

He violently kills the rest of the planets in the system, flipping them and creating a surplus of thanergy, a process of large-scale energy creation and transferall: to quote Ianthe once again, "You see, my field has always been energy transferral … large-scale energy transferral. Resurrection theory."

What this all means is that the secret behind the Resurrection is that John's Lyctorhood works fundamentally differently to that of his Saints, because his is endothanergetic where theirs is exothanergetic, a reaction between a heavy and a lighter nuclei.

Not only is it endothanergetic instead of exothanergetic, it generates a different form of energy. Emperor John Gaius produces thalergy.

Resurrection Theory

As we know from Anastasia's tripod principle, thalergy alone cannot make life, a soul is also needed—meaning that the inverse is true, in that a soul alone cannot make life, thalergy is needed; In order for John to have performed the Resurrection, he would have needed to imbue bodies with both their soul and thalergy to recreate the life he took in the first place. Logically, this means that John would have to be able to create thalergy. John is the only being in the universe who is able to generate thalergy, namely via the continual fusion reaction between a heavy soul and a light soul, also known as Alecto and himself, to produce it.

Let us return to what Augustine says of the nature of his power: “You don’t get your power from Dominicus,” said Augustine. “It gets its power from you. There’s no exchange involved, no symbiosis. You draw nothing from the system. It relies on you entirely, as we all know. You’re God, John. But—as the Edenites are fond of pointing out—you were once a man. So whither that transition? Where does your power come from? Even if the Resurrection had been the greatest thanergy bloom ever triggered, it would drain away over time.”

John is the source of fresh thanergy in the system: he produces thalergy, which he can decay into thanergy. The thanergy in the system is finite, it would drain away after enough time, but his heavy and light soul reaction producing thalergy that can then be decayed into thanergy allows for new thanergy to be introduced into the system; John's necromancy's unique in that it relies on the rapid creation of thanergy via accelerated thalergetic decay, resulting in thanergetic fission.

Why do I say thanergetic fission? Becase it could explain why his necromancy is shown to manifest as large amounts of light, because what does thanergetic fission result in? We see when Palamedes utilises the rapid thanergetic fission of his thanergy reserves to blow up in Cytherea's face:

The sickroom exploded into white fire, and the bonds pinning Gideon snapped. She fell hard against the wall and spun, drunkenly, lurching back down the corridor as Palamedes Sextus made everything burn. There was no heat, but Gideon sprinted away from that cold white death without bothering to spare a glance behind as though flames were licking at her heels.

White light that gives off no heat. What happens when John reassembles himself?

White light. It bleached the insides of your nose and the back of your throat. It hurt coming out your ears. It bled out your eyeballs. It wasn’t a flash of light, more … a suddenness; when it was gone—as though it hadn’t even existed, but had been a luminous hallucination—time stopped.

Speaking of that scene, it is likely the most definitive proof we see that John produces thalergy, because there is no way for his body to function without thalergy, and thanergy cannot be converted to thalergy (as far as we know). That thalergy has to come from somewhere. John, the Resurrector, is able to create thalergy.

Do you know where else we see what is explicitly called a form of resurrection? The endothanergetic reaction that created Harrowhark Nonagesimus: "My parents gassed fifty-four infants, eighty-one children, and sixty-five teenagers, and harnessed that thanergy bloom to conceive me. My mother used the resultant power to modify her ovum on a chromosomal level, so thanergy ignition wouldn’t compromise the embryo. She did this so I would be a necromancer." [Harrow the Ninth]

A large amount of thanergy is generated within an instant by closely-timed apopneumatic shocks caused by sudden death via what Harrow specifically names as nerve gas [Gideon the Ninth]. This brings to mind thanergetic fission as opposed to fusion, due to the fact it relies on thanergy, but the key detail here lies in two factors: the unequal size of the nuclei (souls) involved here, and the fact these souls are shown to have been manipulated.

The souls—emphasis on souls, as opposed to thanergy—of a large amount of children, of varying ages, are forcibly prevented from passing to the River via liminal osmosis due to the sheer amount of thanergy involved, and they are tied to Harrow's soul, as shown by Abigail commenting on her unique spiritual signature: "I’ve counted up to one hundred and fifty signatures contributing to you, and there’s more—they’re stamps rather than complete revenants, of course, which means their spirits were manipulated to leave marks on you in some way, which is fascinating if it means…"

What is a planet's soul? A communal one, the thalergy complexity of a world. What is Harrow's soul? A communal one, exactly two hundred sons and daughters of her House, manipulated to be stamped on her original one. I cannot speak of what this means, but it means that Harrow's soul is naturally heavier than John's: a nuclei formed from two hundred others.

Conclusions

Lyctorhood is nuclear fusion, with souls as the nuclei: the combination of souls produces thanergy as a byproduct of the process of forming a new nuclei; Souls are not a perpetual energy source, and are unable to generate thanergy or thalergy on their own, it is the combination of them that creates thanergy or thalergy.

Petty Lysis, the Lyctorhood of the Saints, is an exothanergetic reaction which produces thanergy as the two souls involved are melded over untold years: it is not a one-way consumption, it is a fusion, but the power transferral does only go one way, due to the fact it is not a mutual death. Grand Lysis is a more complete, and thus powerful, version of this reaction wherein the two nuclei are fully combined within an instant, as opposed to gradually combined.

John's joining with Alecto works on the same fusion principle of Lyctorhood, but the difference lies in the nature of the reaction at the heart of it: he is endothanergetic and produces thalergy as opposed to thanergy, which he can subsequently decay into thanergy to fuel his necromancy. The Resurrection was made possible by him generating thanergy.

Final Note:

I want to point out something before anyone else can, and that is the fact Lyctors could be interpreted as working on pneumatic fission as opposed to fusion: meaning that the constituent souls are split to produce power, and that the exothanergetic and endothanergetic reactions would be reversed—John exothanergetic instead of endothanergetic, and vice versa with Petty Lyctors, which explains why they appear to be thanergy voids: they absorb all thanergy in their surroundings.

I considered this while writing this theory, but ultimately I found that fusion seemed more likel. Alternatively, both Paul and John are examples of pneumatic fusion due to their more complete Lyctorhood while the Petty Lyctors are working on pneumatic fission. I prefer the idea that all Lyctorhood is pneumatic fusion, which is why I ultimately leaned into that interpretation in this post.

Thank you for reading.

#the locked tomb #nona the ninth spoilers #nona the ninth #tlt theory #tlt theories #tlt meta

[seleniangnosis]

Venus' gift to you ☁️💗

Pile 1 ---> Pile 2

Pile 3 --> Pile 4

Hi everyone ☁️💌! I was inspired by e pervious pac series of mine "Conversations with the Planets" , where I channeled the energy of the main planets to get advice for you, and decided ro now do one where I ask what gift are they bestowing upon you in this lifetime.

This is a general reminder to let yourself discard anything that you might not resonate with, and that my pacs are not to replace any professional help or advice. Hope you'll enjoy them ☁️💌. Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Find my other PACs here 💌

Pile 1

Hello people of pile one , and welcome to your reading 💌!

Your gift: Wisdom of the Heart

You are a person who has a good , and healthy control of their emotions. You don't let yourself carried away by negative feelings, or fall prey to emotions such as: envy, hatred, revenge. This might show up in situation where you're dealing with difficult people. You don't let what they say affect you, or get the best out of you, because you know it's not worth it. You value your peace of mind, more than coming on top and prove everyone else wrong. Even in situations when you are tested by people who try to get the best of you, the flow of your emotions is balanced, and you are able to manage them, without falling into extremes, or see the other person's point, and get the situation over without becoming " toxic ".

How to utilise your gift to it's highest potential?

Here, I m getting the idea that is more connected to yourself and how you feel inside, rather than the outside world. You are not immune to being hurt, even if you have good control over how you feel. Let people know when they hurt your feelings, confront people when they throw harsh words at you. I believe that you're the type of person who walks away and goes silent, trying to " heal " themselves quietly when they go trough a hurtful confrontation. This is useful sometimes, but people need to be put into their place sometimes. It's not worth to let them always feel like they won , and this can be done trough assertiveness, without verbal violence. The more I look at the cards the more I'm getting the idea that even though you have this amazing ability to work with your emotions, you might be afraid of serious confrontations, so you mostly walk away in difficult situations, without letting what's bothering your heart get out trough your mouth. Walking away from arguments is wise, but people will use this to their advantage, and walk all over you the next time they feel bothered by something.

Pile 2

Hi people of pile two, and welcome to your reading 💌

Your gift: Strength of Character

Actually the first word I heard when I pulled your cards was "audacity ", so congrats on your audacity pile 2! You seem to be a person with a strong character, who's not afraid to stand on their own feet, and put others back into place. If you are shamed, made fun of , even if people might think you're small and not so " threatening ", they soon find out the real you. What I don't see tho, is you being the type of mean / rude person when dealing with different situations. If people are around, you re perceived more as " the bigger person ", someone with confidence and authority, rather than " the meanie " .

I feel like this type of strength is sometimes taking you to a point of loneliness? You might be the person who always relied on themselves for emotional support, you solve your problems on your own , and cut connections with people and / or situations as soon as you see and feel ( for lack of better words) " attacked ". Unlike pile 1 ( read it if you want to better understand what I'm trying to say), you don't seem to sail so smoothly trough your emotions. You're not afraid of endings and cutting ties off with what you deem to be no longer useful, but in this way the cycle just repeats itself.

How to utilise your gift to it's highest potential?

Dont be resentful. Deal actively with misunderstandings, overcome the past, look at things in the direction of optimism and growth. The way you feel, the way others make you feel can tell you a lot about yourself. Challenge that status quo. In case you sometimes find yourself making mistakes, there's nothing wrong with apologising, or recognising that you judged the situation unfairly. Work more with your emotions, and try to understand them, rather than running away from them and say " ah it doesn't matter, it's over now". These thoughts might still be following you around from time to time, and acknowledging that you were too quick to judge isn't a bad thing. Asking someone else for help and advice could be a good idea.

Pile 3

Hi people of pile three, and welcome to your reading 💌

Your gift: Courage of the Heart

In this pile, the message is centered around yourself and how you play a role in the way you make yourself feel and act. You might be / have been a person with a lot of self doubts, irrational fears, a person who was/ is extremely reclusive, and bound to mental escapism tendencies. How is this a gift, you might ask ? Well , the gift is in overcoming your innate / irrational fears and discovering who you actually are. For those who overcomed these self doubts, you're now in a place where your inner world feels richer and stable. These emotions helped you see the real you and realise that you're lucky enough to share your thoughts ( I feel like some of you are/ were the shy, timid type of person) without fearing judgement.

Now, for those who are still trying to overcome what's holding them back, the advice is to use those words, emotions and thoughts you're afraid to, and get used to that part of you. There's nothing wrong with being more impulse and say something quirky, funny out of the blue. Don't overthink that much about other's reactions. You have all the potential to be a confident, brave and cool person, but only if you dare to, and let that side of you out. Take easy steps towards seeing your beauty, charisma and charm!

Pile 4

Hi people of pile four, and welcome to your reading 💌

Your gift: Beauty and openness of the Heart

You seem to be the type of people who, despite the struggles they faced, they kept their hearts open ,and are willing to help others deal with difficulties as well. People might have found a lot of support in you multiple times, or just by talking to you, you interacting with them. You know how's like to go trough what life throws at you sometimes, and are willing to be a pillar of support for others in need as well. I didn't want to jump directly towards financial help and support, but it's possible that some of you have helped others with money or made donations.

How to utilise your gift to it's highest potential?

Do not forget yourself and those close to you. It's good yo offer help, but so is to fill your own cup first. Do not exhaust yourself emotionally, materially and mentally to help anyone who needs it. You might be an emphatic person, or just someone who is deeply affected by seeing pain and hurt in others, and jumping immediately to help them, but doing this constantly will show negative effects upon yourself. You have a lot to give, but your resources will ran out if you keep on using them without a break. Prioritise those people who might really need it, or are close to you. You're much more than the labour you do for others, or the help you give them. Alternatively, you can provide people with advice only, and have them solve their problems by themselves. Never spread yourself too thin.

#tarot reading #pac reading #tarot pac #free tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #daily tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot cards #free tarot readings #free tarot #intuitive readings

[okthatsgreat]

rewording a post i made a while ago just bc it was a bit nonsensical but something that definitely needs to be examined in the danganronpa fandom is how a lot of characters seem to be interpreted through one single lens of intelligence. does that make sense. like in order for a character to be “smart” in this fandom they SPECIFICALLY need to be book smart and well spoken, regardless of their talents. we gotta shape up guys .. examining other types of intelligence is FASCINATING and really highlights each characters strengths and weaknesses, and this especially applies to emotional intelligence.

like is byakuya smart? absolutely. but is he emotionally intelligent? fuck no!!!! and aoi used that against him in chapter four!!!!!!!! and even though she is misguided as all hell, tenko has the ability to understand her opponent mid-battle and use that to determine how she continues the fight (likely something other fighting ultimates do as well!!!) which is crazy. mikan is able to read facial expressions well, even if she IMMEDIATELY misinterprets this as something she personally did wrong lol. these characters navigate through the killing game differently and in some cases survive because of it, and if you want something interesting to write on it’s definitely something to be examined!!!

also straight up sometimes the fandom interprets characters who don’t speak super formally/are optimistic as dumb too which is so strange. more of the “buff” talents like mondo and fuyuhiko need to understand battle tactics and serious team management/planning in order to get anywhere in their field, but are pushed aside quite a bit because theyre these super gruff macho characters that swear a bunch. sonia as well because she's a fish out of water type of character. and yes he isn’t very well spoken and is very trusting but gonta is an actual scientist guys… i could make a whole separate post about this weird trend of pessimism being seen as smart and optimism as stupid but yeah seriously

anyways all this to say, when writing for a “dumb” character take a step back and ask just what makes them dumb in your eyes. is it because they aren’t considered academic or a scholar?? is it because they’re a “happier” character that might not be as well-spoken?? theres nuance there and this obviously doesn't apply to all of them, like clearly akane isnt super good with emotions or smarts in general, but even THEN her spacial awareness and heightened sense of perception is something that is often under-utilised in fics!! it provides a whole lot of depth to remember that a lot of danganronpa characters are very talented and well versed in other forms of intelligence than what might be most obvious !!!!!

#nurse shes rambling about the murder video game again #but goddddd this is why i love writing from a bunch of different povs. theyre all so wildly different and interpret the world through very #different thought processes #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #lee chat

[tanpopomugishu]

"Thank you my dear"

.....

Another head cannon of mine, Aziraphale, is the one that usually initiates this kind of casual light kiss, and Crowley, while he doesn't give kisses as often, always kisses deeply and slowly like he's savouring it.

.....

🖌

I don't really like this one, but decided to post it anyway.

Why are kisses so impossible to draw??? I feel like there's something wrong with the pose, I just can't figure out what 🤔

Also, I'm trying out Krita for the first time. I really love the choice of brushes on this programme, but it might take a few tries until I truly understand how to utilise them properly, but man, look at those textures!!!

I still suck at art lining tho 🤣

Thank you @bryverros for the recommendation!

#good omens fanart #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #my art #aziraphale x crowley

[azrielwingspan]

THE CHOICES WE MAKE (AZRIEL X READER)

Summary : An unexpected turn of events puts Azriel and you to the test.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of kissing, fluff if you squint.

(The River House, Velaris)

"The Book of Breathings sets us a few steps ahead of our enemies. Do you understand the extent of magic the book contains? The power that could be wielded?" Amren says, eyes widening with astonishment and wonder.

"In the wrong hands...it could be the end of everything." Nesta fixes her gaze upon Amren, eyes stalking her like a predator. "It should be locked away."

"I'm sure we can find ways to utilise it and keep it a secret. None of us in this room will ever speak of it." you say firmly, casting a look at everyone in the room. The inner circle had gathered in the River House for a meeting. A meeting which had turned too dark too fast.

"Nesta is right." Rhys spoke up, surprise flickering through you at his agreement. You couldn't remember the last time the both of them had agreed on something. "It's too big of a risk to use it. Even if we do, the magic is so strong, someone will track it to us."

"Someone is always going to be looking for it though. Keeping it within our court is a risk in itself." Feyre adds and you agree with her. Azriel and Cassian had already voiced their opinions earlier. They'd suggested locking it away in the court of nightmares under a ward of spells.

"A show of hands then." Mor sighs. "All for using the book?"

You, Feyre and Amren are the only ones to raise up your hands. Letting out an irritated sigh, you drop your hand as Mor takes the book to be locked away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Later in your room)

Strong hands wrap around your waist from behind, a warm body pressed against yours. Letting his scent invade your senses, you relax your tense body allowing yourself to find comfort in his presence.

"Still annoyed?" Azriels voice rumbles through his chest. Not bothering to respond, you let your thoughts drift once more. A defeated exhale slips out his mouth as he drops his head to your shoulder.

"It's for the good Y/N." he mumbles against your skin, lips dropping a soft kiss.

"The good of whom Azriel?" you say calmly, your voice quite flat. "The good of whom, tell me? The good for the people or for us? Us...the people who are meant to protect and help those around."

You turn around in his grasp, placing your hands on his forearms for stability. "We have the power to help people. We have the power to change lives. Yet we choose to lock it away like an artifact?"

Azriel looked down at you warily as a strange look appeared in your eyes. He had never seen you this worked up before, it was quite disconcerting. "Don't we deserve happiness and peace as well, Y/N? Don't we deserve a break? There are other ways to help."

Cupping your face in his hands, he leaned down to touch his forehead to yours. "I want to spend my life with you without having to look over my shoulder for threats. I want to wake up to you by my side. Not in a war camp. In a home. OUR. HOME. Is that too much to ask for?"

Guilt smashed through your irritation, giving you a whiplash. He was right. Of course he was. The hope in his eyes snuffed out the remaining bits of anger that had accumulated over the past few hours. He was standing so still, waiting for a reaction, a reply, anything to indicate your agreement. Placing a peck on his lips, you mumbled "I got carried away, sorry."

"Don't apologize. You weren't wrong either. It shows how much you care and that's what I love about you." Azriel responds, going in for a longer kiss. You wrap your hands around his neck as he takes his time to ravish your lips.

The both of you had gotten together three years ago , a few months after you met at a council meeting in Vallahan. He was everything you had hoped for and more. You weren't mates but you were hoping that the bond would click into place one day.

"I love you..." you breathe onto his lips earning a beautiful grin from him.

"Let me show you how much I love you." you yelp as he lifts you off of your feet and carries you towards the bed, his laughter music to your ears.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Vallahan council chambers)

"The situation at the borders is getting out of hand, my lady. We've sent one unit to monitor, but nothing has been reported so far." councilman Freda states.

A headache starts to set in and you rub your temples to ease the pain. “I’d say it’s progressing too fast , wouldn’t you councilman ?”

“Uh yes …my Lady. I guess we could say that.” He shuffles.

“Then kindly tell me why we haven’t relocated the people. I’ve given the orders last month. Do we have a problem ?” your voice rose in intensity along with you anger.

“N-No my lady we…” he took in a deep breath before explaining “the people of the other towns and cities won’t accept them because they think the border fae are cursed due to the recent …situation.”

“So they’ve decided amongst themselves that it’s a curse then ?” your mind starts sprinting thinking of different solutions and possibilities.

“If I may say so my lady, I do think it’s a curse. A spell of some sorts.” Your attention snapped back to focus upon hearing his words.

“Explain.”

“There have been rumours of a death lord…Koschei living on Prythian. They say that he might have been the one to place the spell.”

“Who is this ‘they’ ?”

“Me and a few other councilmen , my lady.” He has the decency to look a bit apologetic but you knew it was a good possibility.

“Hmm… I’ll go pay a visit tomorrow. The last time I went it was just starting to breach the forest line.”

Councilman Freda steps forward in surprise “ I do not think it is such a wise idea. It’s quite dangerous…”

“There are people living there everyday. I’m sure I’ll be fine for a couple of hours. Thankyou for your time.” Understanding the dismissal , the councilman simply nodded and left .

——————————————————————————

(At the border village of Vallahan)

“I’m glad you asked me to come along.” Azriel said casting a cautious glance at the black rot that had taken root. “I can feel the magic permeating the air. This is dangerous magic Y/N. I don’t want you near it.”

“I need to find a solution in the new two days Az. This is spreading faster than I had expected it to.” You hands trembled at the sight before you , but clenching them into fists you forced yourself to push the fear down. Now was not the time.

“I’ll speak to Rhys. See if there’s anything he can do about this.” Turning to face you, he let you see the nervousness in his eyes “There’s a bog in Prythian ..that dark creatures have made their home. I get the same feeling here…it’s far too sinister.”

The fear in his eyes and the warning in his tone made a shudder rush through you. The shadow singer of the night court was scared. Azriel was never scared and yet here right now, he was almost terrified.

Letting out a shaky exhale, you intertwined your hand with his leading him away from the rot.

——————————————————————————

(Your chambers in Vallahan)

“Azriel wasn’t exaggerating. It is dangerously similar to Koscheis magic.” Rhys stated , running a hand over his face.

“What do you suggest I do ?” You ask twirling the glass of wine in your hands.

“I can ask Helion for a spell that could keep the curse at bay for sometime but it’ll only be a temporary solution.”

“For how long ? I need to fix it before it gets worse Rhys.”

“I know I know. Atleast we can give ourselves more time to think.”

You did think. You’d spent the last two sleepless nights thinking and worrying and planning. You had an idea but weren’t sure if Rhys would be happy with it. Nevertheless , you finally decided to bring it up.

Leaning forward in your chair you blurted out “What about the book of breathings ? Do you think—“

“I know what you’re going to say. Yes I’ve thought about it but I think it should be the last option.” he said firmly , maintaining eye contact with you , challenging you to say something against him.

You held back a scoff and shook your head in disapproval. “It’s getting a bit tiring don’t you think Rhysand? Having the solution and yet not willing to recognise it?”

“Enough.” The high lord of the night court commanded , standing up from his seat. “We’ve had this conversation before. You know why. Get some sleep Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alone in your chambers, you let the silence engulf you, the sound of blood rushing through your ears fill your head.

——————————————————————————

(The River House, Velaris)

“It’s Koschei. No doubt.” Nesta stated flatly, her eyes burning in anger. Rhys and Cassian had taken her to the Vallahan village earlier to confirm their suspicions.

“I can feel the darkness and the depth of the magic. It feels cold and…like death.”

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, his shadows moving agitatedly around him. The last few days had been tough on him as well. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fear and the worry in your face. Couldn’t stop the guilt and disgust that enveloped him when he realised how useless he was in the situation.

“It’s a trap for sure.” Nesta continued “he knows we have the Book. I don’t know how , but he knows.”

Rhys hummed in agreement while Cassians face morphed into that of the General of the Night Court. He was already planning, strategising.

“So if we were to use the book to find a spell, he would track it down immediately.” Cassian confirmed.

“Yes. He knows it’s with us but he wants to lure it out. Somewhere far from us. Somewhere he can overpower us. Somewhere where we don’t have the upper hand.” A flicker of anger lit in Rhysands eyes.

“We should tell Y/N.” Azriel spoke up.

“No.” Rhys and Nesta spoke at the same time, Azriel looking at them in shock.

“What do you mean no? It’s her territory. She deserves to know.”

“Az…she’s been acting strange lately.” Rhys said steadily trying not to anger the shadow singer. “It might be the stress but it’s a huge risk to our court and Prythian.”

“She’s OUR FRIEND. Someone we can TRUST.” The coldness in Azriels voice made Cass step forward in reflex.

“Easy, Az.” Cass muttered softly.

“She wants to save her people.” Az ignored Cassian.

“And we have to save ours.” Nesta said firmly. The words felt like a cold shower to Azriel. He finally realised the position he was in.

Help his court or the woman he loves?

PART-2 COMING SOON.

Tag: @lilah-asteria @anuttellaa

#azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #acotar #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #acomaf #azriel fic #azriel imagine #acotar x reader #acotar azriel #shadowsinger x reader #azriel spymaster #x reader #acotar fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #azriel angst #azriel x y/n

[prettieinpink]

Hi !

Could u give me some tips on how to stop procrastinating and be more productive (in school and after school) ?

And do you also have any study tips to help me to study much better ?

Thx very much and luv ur blog !

♡♡ Keep up the good work ♡♡

STUDYING EFFECTIVELY IN AND OUT OF SCHOOL

thank you so much for the support and for your patience!! I hope this post helps you well. I also think this post on procrastination would help as well.

Studying effectively looks different for a lot of people. You will have to try out different methods to see what works best for you specifically. This post will discuss ways to maximize your time in the classroom and reinforce that knowledge outside of school hours.

AT SCHOOL

ASK FOR HELP OR FURTHER UNDERSTANDING. Try your best to engage as much as possible with your teacher or mentor regardless of your understanding. If you need help, ask for it. If you want to advance in your learning, ask more questions. 

LISTEN TO MUSIC. A lot of people fall victim to talking to their friends instead of working. Bring earphones to school and listen to your playlist instead of talking to your friends. If you have your earphones on, you won’t feel obligated to join in the conversation and others most likely won’t bother you. 

TAKE EFFECTIVE NOTES. You don’t have to do an overly specific way of writing notes, but make sure your notes are clear, concise, and understandable for you. A thing I try to do is leave a little room at the bottom of the page in which I can summarise everything without looking at prior notes.

CARRY A WATER BOTTLE. Water helps boost your brain productivity, so carry it to all of your classrooms.

UTILISE LUNCH & RECESS. Giving up your lunch and recess for more studying is not ideal, but it’s better to set in fresh knowledge than go home and completely forget everything. Or, you can use this time for assignments or studying for assessments.

AFTER SCHOOL

REMEMBER TO REFUEL AND TAKE A BREAK. Studying can be hard after you come back from 6-8 hours of already doing that. Eat something, exercise, do something fun, watch a show. Give your brain a break before studying.

HAVE AN EVERYDAY STUDY ROUTINE. Maybe you wanna dedicate some time to your flashcards or revise back on your notes, or you can have your focus change for each day of the week.

(FAVE) STUDY METHODS

FLASHCARDS. Flashcards are so easy to do everywhere, which is what I like about them. I could do it while waiting for something, while bored, on a car/bus ride, or even just a few before going to bed. Requires zero energy while still getting a lot out.

WHITEBOARD METHOD. Though, you can use a mirror. It’s just writing everything on a whiteboard. From ideas, diagrams, and questions. The reason why I feel like this method is so effective is because it’s so engaging, unlike a laptop or pen and paper.

BLURTING. You most likely did this in primary school, but it’s just writing down everything you know and then checking for gaps in knowledge. I love this method because it’s also a really simple way to study yet it’s so effective.

SQ3R. Survey, question, read, recite, and review. This one requires a bit more focus, but it does help to retain more information than just skimming through the text. 

#becoming that girl #that girl #clean girl #green juice girl #smart and pretty #study inspiration #studying #study tips #study aesthetic #studyblr community #study motivation #studyblr #study blog #uniblr #high school #students #procrastination #university #anonnie #ask #hot girl semester #hot and educated #education #educate yourself #educate yourselves #princess academica #light academia #pretty academia #pink academia #pink study

[eds6ngel]

✮⋆｡°✩⋆˙ a christmas miracle

a 'when i kissed the teacher' spinoff.

summary: you and steve were in a weird situation. you weren't actively trying to get pregnant, but you weren't exactly being safe either. so, how will steve react when he opens his final christmas present?

warnings: dad!steve. mom!reader. fem!reader. afab!reader. 90s!au. mentions and allusions to sex. mentions of pregnancy. pet names. kissing. tons of crying. alena being too young to understand pregnancy (kinda cute tho). alena being a cutie pie as always. some worries over steve's reaction. but mostly fluff and comfort!! [1.9k].

author's note: hi everyone!! i am back!! my first semester of uni is finally over, so i can get back to fic writing a little more! i couldn't neglect my happy family like this, so i've tackled a pregnancy fic! i've never been pregnant, but i do wish to be in my life, so all of my research has been for my own benefit and utilised in this fic. if i'm inaccurate in any parts, please let me know for the benefit of the readers and myself!! ♡

It was hard not announcing the news to Steve. Having to attend your first scan without him was heartbreaking, but the look upon the nurse’s face after you told her you were going to wrap up the ultrasound photo, along with a card saying “Merry Christmas Daddy” and a pair of small, cream, woolen socks, just confirmed your decision was the right one.

You and Steve were in a sort of weird situation. You had stopped using protection, but weren’t in a position were you were actively trying to get pregnant. You agreed that any time from now was an okay time for the two of you to have a child, but also weren’t bothered if the pregnancy tests came back negative.

But, a little Christmas miracle decided to form inside of you, the test showing two lines on December 11th, 1999.

Steve and Alena had gone grocery shopping for an hour, the perfect opportunity for you to wrap Steve’s gift.

Rolling out the wrapping paper, you placed a grey, fluffy blanket in the centre, before laying on top the Christmas card which read:

Hi Daddy.

I’m six weeks old today!

I can’t wait to meet you soon! I’m planning to enter the world on August 20th, 2000.

My mom is keeping me very safe right now as I grow, but I’ll still be listening out for you from inside my home.

See you in nine months.

Love, your future child <3

And as you were about to place the ultrasound photo next to the cream baby socks you previous put underneath the card, your eyes started welling with tears once more.

Was it the hormones? Maybe. But, something in you felt this was all natural. You were growing a human life inside of you, one that has half of your DNA and the other half the love of your life’s. That was something to bask in the intense emotion of.

With everything laid out neatly, you reached over for the sellotape, folding over the edges and carefully sticking them in place.

Wrapping the gift in a pretty cream bow, matching the socks inside, and adding a label reading “To my darling Stevie,” you added it to the pile of increasing gifts in the corner of yours and Steve’s bedroom.

Now, just a week to go until he gets his surprise.

You cradle your stomach, despite the size not increasing at all yet, and whisper to your unborn child “A week and he’ll know, my love. Your beautiful existence will be known.”

“Mom! Dad! Wake up! Wake up!”

You are awoken by the sound of your bouncing ten-year-old, aggressively rocking your fiancé as he groans loudly, his eyes adjusting to the light peaking through the window.

“Mornin’ pumpkin,” he murmurs, you opening up one eye as Alena’s full set of brand-new adult teeth smile right at you.

“And what are you doing up so early, missy?” you ask, the clock on the bedside table next to Steve shining a bright 6:00 in the morning, illuminating the room in a red glow.

“Mom” she drags out, rolling her eyes playfully, “You know what day it is!”

You tap your chin lightly, playing along with the joke, “Hmm… I feel as if I may need a reminder.”

“It’s Christmas Mom! And I may or may not have seen all the presents you left underneath the tree…” her vocal pitch increases, looking away in a guilty look as Steve reaches up and pulls her down into his body, the girl screaming as he ruffles her hair.

“Did someone be naughty and peak underneath the tree?” he grits through his teeth, Alena shouting in a reply, “I didn’t mean to, I promise! I saw it on the way to your room!”

You begin to tickle her sides as Steve holds her in place against his chest, making the girl scream in delight loudly, “Is someone now on Santa’s naughty list?”

“Mom…” she pouts her lips, a grumpy expression adorning her face as you sigh sadly, “I know sweet cheeks, you don’t believe in him anymore.”

“I’m sorry…”

You hold out your arms as you wrap her in a warm hug, “Don’t be sorry, baby. I knew you would realise eventually. You’re getting too old!”

She gasps and looks into your eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, “I am not old! You and Dad are old.”

You start giggling in shock as Steve just opens his mouth wide, “You better watch yourself, pumpkin.”

“Yeah,” you hold up a finger in warning, before pointing it over to Steve, “Dad doesn’t like being reminded he’s in his mid-thirties.”

And now it is Steve’s turn to attack you, but instead with aggressive kisses, littering them up your neck and across your face lightly, Alena now old enough to understand the playful love between the two of you. “You’re almost thirty as well, you know.”

“Two more years to go, babe. I’m still in my prime development decade,” you smirk at him.

And it wasn’t just you who was developing.

A loud gasp can be heard along with the shredding of paper as Alena holds up her latest gift, “You actually got me it?”

For such a small gadget, the Barbie Digital Camera cost you $70, the most expensive gift yet, but maybe not the one which will cause the biggest reaction.

“Of course I did! It’s the one thing you kept pointing at in the magazine!”

She giggles with a bright smile, “Thank you! Thank you!”

She launches herself at you, the motherly instinct in you clutching onto your stomach to protect your unborn child, hoping Steve didn’t notice the movement. The surprise would be known in the next half an hour.

“And after you’ve taken your photos, we can connect it to Dad’s computer and see it come to life! How cool is that?”

“Can I take it to school?” she asks, clutching the box in her hands.

“I assume you can! But, just ask Mrs. Critchley before you take it in, okay?”

“Okay!” she smiles, plopping herself back down on the carpet to open the rest of her gifts.

Your hands began to sweat. Alena was all done opening her presents, patiently waiting for you and Steve to unwrap yours.

Steve let you attend to your gifts first. Everything from a brand-new necklace designed with a rose quartz, matching your engagement ring, to the latest Nokia phone, you were thankful for everything he had bought you, praising him with many gentle kisses and warm hugs.

Now, it was Steve’s turn. You specifically told him to leave one present until last, leading him to give you an eyebrow raise and a shrug before simply agreeing, used to your weirdness by now. You got him everything from a new cologne to a new pair of Nike shoes, the soles of his old pair wearing thin from how much he was working over the Christmas holidays.

But, after one final kiss, it was finally time.

“Can I open this now?” Steve jokes, the nerves deeply settling in your stomach. You don’t even know why you were worried, you had stopped using protection in mutual agreement, knowing kids could be a possibility from that result. There was just a voice in your head trying to convince you an awful reaction would occur.

“Uh, yeah… Yeah, you can.”

“Hey,” he puts an arm on your shoulder, “Why are you so nervous?”

You lightly chuckle, “You’ll find out once you open the gift.”

Even after all of these years, Steve still wasn’t the smartest. Verbal cues were not his strong suit, but my God could he read body language like a champ.

He gives you a confused look before unwrapping the cream-coloured bow, delicately tearing apart the paper as his eyes immediately notice the ultrasound scan.

He may be oblivious, but he isn’t that oblivious. He has one very similar in his bedside table drawer of his sweet ten-year-old daughter sat next to him.

The tears form at his eyes before he can even recognise them. Small sniffles enter the atmosphere as his hazel eyes make contact with you, “Are you serious?”

And the tears follow suit for you, nodding frantically as he leans across the floor to collect you in his arms, crying into your shoulder.

“How far along?” he mumbles into your shoulder, tears dripping onto the red fabric of your dress.

“Read the card and you’ll find out.”

Steve was too drawn into the ultrasound scan to even notice the card you had gotten him. Releasing from the hug, he keeps a gentle hand on the small of your back, picking up the card and carefully opening it, reading the words you had written, the tears increasing as he noticed it was from the perspective of his baby.

“Wha— How? When did you get this done?” he stutters out, still in complete shock of the entire moment.

“Pregnancy test has been in the bathroom trash can for two weeks. I was scared you were going to notice it for a while, but then I remembered it’s you, and you don’t notice anything,” you giggle, Steve not even bothered by the joking insult, too caught up in his own emotions, “And two Thursday’s ago, I didn’t go to work. Went to the hospital and got the scan, and just hung around Starcourt until the time I would normally come home.”

“Well, you fooled me,” he chuckles, leaning in for a kiss which you gladly accept, cupping his cheeks as you smile into it.

“I love you so much, beautiful girl. And I love the baby who is growing inside of you. You’re so strong. Your body is so strong. I just— I can’t wait. I can’t wait to meet them.”

His hand had migrated down to your stomach, gently cradling the unborn child inside of you.

Alena had finally looked up from her Etch-a-Sketch, noticing the tears falling down both yours and Steve’s cheeks, your hands holding tightly onto each side of his head as your foreheads were leant against each other, kneeling on the soft carpet of the living room.

“Mom? Dad? Why are you crying?”

Steve turns around to face his daughter, you looking softly into her eyes, “Because Mom is having a baby, sweetie.”

Steve passes her the ultrasound scan, her face scrunching up in confusion as she points at it, “Why is it just a black blob?”

Steve begins laughing as his head falls onto your shoulder, sweetly rubbing up and down the sides of your waist.

“Because when a baby is first made, it starts out as a black blob and then grows into the full size baby we all know and love,” you explain gently to her.

“Hmm…” she takes in, before asking her next question, “But how did it get there?”

Your eyes widen as Steve’s hands stop on your waist, refusing to lift his head and look at his daughter.

You smile through the awkwardness, remembering that her sex education lessons would start in a matter of months, “You’ll find out soon, baby.”

thank you ever so much for reading!! do you guys want any more pregnancy related fics? i really want to do some research into post-partum for myself, so do you want me to skip straight to that, or tackle other things like morning sickness, gender reveal, baby shower, stuff like that? feel free to let me know!! ♡

taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 @nix-rose @ihatepeanutss @suitelif3 @clincallyonline17 @crowssixof @starkeylover @eris-rose-86 @frostandflamesfanfic @tlclick73 @steveshairspray @superlegend216

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x afab!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington series #stranger things #eds6ngel

[earthstellar]

Just thinking about how close Miko came to getting killed in TFP "Con Job"

But not the scene where Fake Wheeljack grabs her;

I'm talking about the scene where she's in a hallway deep in the base, alone with Fake Wheeljack

He asks for where something is, and her response is a deadpan "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to crush your spark" or something along those lines.

Fake Wheeljack isn't familiar with humans. He can't be 100% sure if that's a real threat or not. Sure, she's tiny and squishy, but what are humans capable of?

Fake Wheeljack has her alone, away from the others at least far enough that it might take a little time for them to respond to any screams.

He doesn't move to attack, because he doesn't want to blow his cover unless it's unavoidably necessary, and because if humans really can put up a fight, he wants her to take the first swing to see what she's got.

She may not register as that much of a realistic threat, but she did technically threaten him, and Decepticons (with the exception of Knock Out, via movie night) have little exposure to humanity. He may not understand human sarcasm.

And after all, scraplets are tiny little things, yet look at all the damage they cause. I think Fake Wheeljack is sizing up Miko, just for a moment here. Just waiting to see if she might try to act on that threat.

Miko breaks the tension with a quick "just kidding", but for a moment there, there is a real fear that he might just decide to snuff Miko out while he has a good, clear chance to do so.

Of course, Miko doesn't know how close she came to being killed.

She didn't know she was speaking to a Decepticon.

Sure, she likely realised after Fake Wheeljack was exposed as an imposter just how dangerous an encounter it was, but in the moment...

... It's a very adult fear, being evoked here.

It's a child speaking to an adult who is someone other than who they say they are, with hidden motives, while alone in a secluded space with relatively few places to run to. She trusts him, because she thinks she is a friend of her protector, an adult she already trusts. And her protector likes this guy, so why wouldn't she?

Miko thinks she's playing around with a cool tough guy buddy, but in reality, she is extraordinarily lucky that he did not take the very easy shot that he had to take her out away from the eyes of the others.

Later, he does directly threaten her life.

But I think Miko was arguably closer to death in this scene rather than when she was grabbed and held hostage; A hostage is protection. Fake Wheeljack likely wasn't actually going to kill her then, because there would be nothing stopping the Autobots from opening fire on him if he lost his hostage.

But in this earlier scene, nobody was watching. He could have killed her, walked out and claimed she was running around deeper in the base, pretending to be on a "mission", because that behaviour is in line with how he's seen Miko behave since his arrival. He knows she's a bit more energetic than the others, she's more into "being tough and cool", it's something she would plausibly do.

Fake Wheeljack would return, the Autobots wouldn't be overly surprised to hear Miko got distracted by her imagination while messing around in the base, and they'd give it just enough time before going to actively look for her that the ground bridge would be back online and Fake Wheeljack could make it back to the Nemesis -- Leaving the Autobots to find her body after he was already gone.

This would also potentially frame the real Wheeljack for her death, if Fake Wheeljack's cover wasn't blown before departing, in this scenario.

Really dark shit.

I haven't seen this episode in a while, but it popped into my head and felt like it was worth talking about, because TFP does a great job of utilising adult fears in a way that isn't blatant enough to upset younger audiences, while also registering the real depth of the potential threat to older audiences who will recognise things like this.

Anyway, glad Miko survived, because holy shit this could have been grim.

#maccadam #transformers #maccadams #tfp #transformers prime #tfp miko #tfp con job #miko nakadai

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

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

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

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

notes: all good things come to an end : )

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

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?” 

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

.

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

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

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

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

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These damn Constantines. 

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

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

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

“Can it be done?” you bite out. 

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

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

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

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

.

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

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

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

.

A thousand reflections stare back at you. 

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

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

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

.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace. 

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

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

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

A beautiful dream. 

.

“Who did you say you were again?”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s answer enough. 

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

The demons make good on that order. 

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

Somehow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

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

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

“Wait, wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

“I shouldn’t be here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily. 

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you…?”

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

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

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

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume… 

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

You had foolishly believed you were friends. 

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

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

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

A bit of fun. 

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

“Fun.” 

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

It makes it worse. So much worse. 

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

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

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

Destiny says nothing. 

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

“Wanderer—”

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

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

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

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

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

No one laughs. No one responds. 

Only a bit of fun.

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

For once, the curse listens. 

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

“No.”

You turn to go. 

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

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

“No,” you repeat.

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

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

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

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

Fine. You’ll find another way. 

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

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

And then, impossibly, you see him. 

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

“Corinthian.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ring. Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re hurting them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’ve been times—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do to yourself?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, through horror, darkness closes in. 

.

Motion. 

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar. 

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

“But I thought—”

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

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

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

“Cori…”

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

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

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

Then nothing. 

.

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

.

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

.

Blank page. 

Blank page.

Blank page.

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

“My lord.”

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

“No! No, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything. 

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

“What are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

“You’re bleeding.”

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

.

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

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

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

“You mourn him.”

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

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

Sad. 

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

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

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

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

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

“But you mourn him still.”

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

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

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

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

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet. 

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

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Name it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s gone. 

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not this time. 

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

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

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

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

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

Madness and despair. 

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

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

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

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

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

.

“Happy Dreamfall.”

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

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

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

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

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

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

“Are you well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Giving you my present.”

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

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

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

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

“Dream this is…”

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

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

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

“We begin… with a spin.”

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

“Dream. I…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then stillness. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

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

You consider him for a moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair. 

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

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

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

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those unadorned words devastated you. 

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

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

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows. 

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

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

“Yes,” Dream replies. 

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

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

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

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale. 

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

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

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

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

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

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

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

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