#//also his very visible Magma uniform.

[harteofthehart-ayyy]

Went on a short hike with a friend earlier, looking cute 💖

[ayamturd]

end│dreamwastaken

summary: dream was once your everything that you would do anything for; what happens when you finally confront the reality of his manipulation and sadistic destruction?

prompt: “we’re both at fault here, and now we both have to pay the price.” 

warnings: descriptive manipulation, a single curse word, angst

pairing: in-game c!dream

a/n: this is my entry for @sleepysoupi​‘s 1.8k event! it goes without saying how late i am considering she’s currently working on her 2.0k event, but still a huge congratulatory to her amazing success and obvious, well deserved recognition <33 we love soupi in this household, nothing less of the fact *^*

also i know the prison doesn’t work exactly like how i wrote it, but let’s pretend for the sake of this fic

wc: (1.6k) - m.list

“Don’t do this, y/n.”

The air was sticky and heavy. As the lava bubbled behind you, it felt as if the heat could reach out and smother you entirely; the subtle warmth that felt insufferably suffocating in the tight space was a large contrast to the dark, opaque walls. 

Although you stood in front of him by your own desire, habits quickly fell to place as he stood proudly above you. Chin raised, Dream’s shoulders were relaxed while he spoke to you. His words were firm, and with clenched fists, you swallowed harshly from his mocking tone. 

You could practically hear his condescending grin without looking in how belittling he addressed you, and you hated how familiar the speech was. 

“After all I’ve done for you, and you want to throw it all away?”

Despite all attempts, you unconsciously bowed your head down. Whether in unjustified guilt or the internal rage from his lies, you couldn’t say yourself. He noticed nonetheless, and played into your vulnerability further. 

He was the one defenseless in this scenario, yet he held all the power in the small cage between the two of you. 

“We made promises! ‘Till the very end, right?!” He began to raise his voice and feigned some form of heartbreak, taking a step dangerously closer to you while you stood there in frozen fear.

Staring harshly down at your feet, the weight of gravity pulled at your tears as they trickled down sparsely. This was different than when you originally confronted him mere hours ago. Here, you were alone and with no backing, no one to reassure you that you did the right thing. That he was a monster that had you blinded for so long.

That you were justified for betraying Dream. 

“Don’t play stupid with me now. You can’t act like I did this all alone. That I’m not the only sick fuck in the room who enjoys the-”

“Stop it,” you whispered with closed eyes. While your voice was small, it echoed so loudly and threw Dream off guard. He shook his head and with a dark chuckle, sneered disparagingly. 

“You really th-”

Your eyes opened as you unexpectedly interrupted him.

“No. For once in my life, I mean it. Shut your egotistical mouth for one goddamn second.”

Everything was in a frozen stand still as you snapped. 

Course tears ran steadily down your cheeks, yet your eyes held more strength than Dream could had ever perceived in that moment. It had been so long since you had lost your voice. Lost your confidence, your fire that drew him in in the first place. It had been so long since you felt like yourself again, the person you once were before he teared you down completely to his mercy. 

You swallowed sternly in exposed anxiety; when was the last time you saw his face like this? Saw his face at all, at that. 

The molten lava radiated the room, it being the main source of light in contrast to the faint glow of the lanterns built into the walls. When you had originally requested to see him one final time before he was officially locked away for good, you had no idea what you expected to see. You didn’t see anything, actually, since you couldn’t bring yourself to try and meet his eye line the entire time. 

Until now. 

As the magma shaded the room in a warm shine, his dull eyes gleamed a faded hue of ash green. His dirty blond hair was visible without his signature hoodie, his previous clothes stripped away and replaced with an attired uniform instead. He hid behind a mask for so long, it was surreal to see him as something so mundane and human.

Your mouth felt so dry from seeing him again. He almost looked like when you first laid eyes on him, that beautiful day when you thought you had fallen in love. How nice the sun felt, and how crisp the wind blew. The summer day was fresh and the sweet smell of honey pervaded the air. To think it was by mere chance he approached you in the white flower field, hidden in the depths of the forest with a charming smile and gentle hand.

How cruel reality liked to play with you and give you false hope that such love could truly exist. 

The memory brought a smoldering rage that made your heart race in return. Back straight, you dared a step towards him with a quiet, yet firm declaration. 

“I’m done making excuses for your lies. For your actions, for the hurt you cause, for you.”

Dream could barely register your words as you continued in growing fury. It was like the floodgates were open and you felt free to speak your truth. 

You were riding this new found wave and would hold nothing back anymore. 

“I let you get away with so much because I truly believed that I loved you. That my love could fix you, or change what you are.”

You stepped forward again, your finger shakily pointed at him. His mouth opened to respond but you spoke before he could try. You weren’t going to give him anything, you thought, he doesn’t deserve your silence.

“I went against everything I believed!” you suddenly yelled, “everything I stood for, everything I thought because of you!”

Your vision was a blur as your raw emotions came loose. You screamed from the top of your lungs to the point where your voice cracked with a head lifted high. 

“I let people get hurt! People I love and care for because I prioritized you over everything I had!”

Another step forward, your voice shook with quivered lips as a result of an ached and long scorned heart.

“To think I used to be so proud to say it, to say you were my everything and my world.” With a trembled exhale, you gathered yourself before finishing your thought. “Maybe I am stupid, but trust me when I say my ignorance was your freedom and my considered love a blind devotion.”

Dream’s face softened considerably, for he was at a loss for words and didn’t have anything to probe at anymore. It was his turn to suffer in a lost acceptance.

“I…”

Shaking your head, you scoffed with your head tilted in disbelief. Smiling darkly, you knew then and there you regained the power of the room and your self-assurance over him. How the turn tables.

“Funny how things change when you have no where to run. When you’re the one helpless and reliant.”

Standing strong with your arms crossed, you stared at him with such distaste. Dream’s brows furrowed with a clench jaw as he stepped even closer to you. He was now mere inches away and glared down at you from his given height. Even then, you wouldn’t back down any longer.

“I do love you, y/n. Everything I did, I did for us. You can’t leave me like this.” He gazed down with such intensity that your past you would have wanted to say something just to appease him entirely; you weren’t that person anymore, and you wouldn’t let him drag you down more than he already has. 

Dropping yours arms before stepping back, you messaged Sam without wavering your eye contact from him. 

“We’re both at fault here, and now we both have to pay the price of it alone.”

The sounded mechanics from outside the box indicated the lava dropping, signifying the end of your visit. Dream grew agitated at the thought of you leaving and dropped his eyes down in resent, a huge contrast to your relaxed and calm state. 

You moved backwards until your back threatened to be burned by the heat. 

“Here’s to loosing all those attachments you mentioned.”

Dream’s head snapped up from your words, but before he could attempt anything further, the Netherite divider rose and separated you both. The lava parted as you approached the platform, Sam visible from across the entrapping moat. He watched closely in regard to your safety and anything Dream might try with your back currently turned. 

Approaching the stone platform once deemed safe, you turned to face him a final time as the contraption slowly pulled you away. Your chin was raised, and your tears were dry in satisfaction to your found closure.

“You were right,” you affirmed, “we did make promises, and this is our end.”

Bonus:

Tommy had been tormenting Dream for the past few minutes or so, his obnoxious taunts a sign of recovery from all the trauma he had dealt with from his young age. He hid behind his humor, but was strong when confronting his abuser with no uncertainty then. 

“Who do you miss the most?”

Dream paused from fiddling with the leather of the book covers from the simple question. His hand began to curl around the thick material, and he drowned out Tommy’s rambling from behind him.

A familiar scent filled his senses, an old and precious memory uncovered from the oppressed depths of his mind. He pulled the book in hand open to a random, but intentional page, his callous fingers tracing over the stained ink.

He wasn’t an artist, and it easily would have been passed for messy, nonsense doodles, yet the drawing practically burned the paper as a reminder of his failed objectives.

The innocent azure bluets insulted him despite being his own creation.

Dream was done playing into Tommy’s confidence, and spoke lowly as his head turned further away from the boy.

“… I think you should go, Tommy."

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 7

I’m now getting to the plot bits of my @goodomenscelebration fic, and felt it was appropriate to add a title and also start posting each chapter separately.

You can read the previous sections here. This section is CW for aftermath of some pretty heavy violence.

(I’m also posting to AO3, but it will likely take until this weekend to get my posting schedules synced...)

Alternate Universe

Aziraphale cut off his conversation with Crowley, not a moment too soon. The ground raced towards him and he snapped his wings open, almost too late, the wind resistance straining the bones and the feathers nearly to the breaking point.

The force of the wind propelled him back up, tumbling end over end, until, twisting and flapping, he finally managed to right himself and started drifting over the ruined land.

Great cracks rent the ground, flowing with lava or magma or some such term. In between, everything was dried to the point of petrification. It might almost have been some other world entirely, except now and then he recognized a valley – flooded or burned; a river – polluted beyond recognition; even a hill – bare of trees and grass. And not a living creature to be seen.

It smelled of sulfur, and brimstone, and lightning, and death.

He glanced up, but the hole in the sky was gone. At first, he thought it had closed, trapping him in this mad landscape forever. But no. He’d drifted, and without a familiar point of reference, he didn’t know how he could find his way back.

Wheeling, he spotted the coast, the tall buildings of Brighton coming quickly towards him. He could see it in his mind now; the little brick-faced townhouses of the outer towns, with fields and parks weaving throughout; the steel buildings, rearing to the sky; holiday-makers lying along the beaches or gathered on the pier. It was too early, really, for sea bathing, but the weather had been warm and humans could be determined.

Had been nice. Now the sky was the color of an old bruise and the clouds stretched uninterrupted from horizon to horizon. And the city itself…

He flew down the flooded main roads, past townhouses and shops flooded to their first-floor balconies. The church in its little park had been torn to pieces, the telltale burn marks of lightning and worse on the few stones standing above the waters. A few larger lorries were just visible as well, and the streetlights, most snapped in half like toothpicks.

The tallest buildings had been shattered, pieces broken off and dropped onto the homes and shops below. He circled one, apartments, hoping the unbroken windows would show some sign of habitation – no luck. There were few of those, and the rooms behind them looked abandoned.

Even the pier was gone, the top of the rollercoaster still just visible, one car eternally suspended on the highest hairpin curve.

Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.

Aziraphale landed on the top of the Grand Brighton Hotel, where he and Crowley had come for lunch just the week before. Far too many oysters, followed by spicy beef, and fresh Halibut, truffled mash and the marvelous chocolate peanut butter cake. They’d laughed over the idea of getting a room, only a few miles from home, just for the novelty, the sea breeze, the fun of playing tourist.

Now that same sea breeze ripped through Aziraphale’s feathers, flapping his coat behind him. He could see some sort of storm brewing in the distance, towards France, lightning flashing almost continuously. The corner tower had been sliced clean through, too neatly for any human tools. The Metropole next door had fared little better, brick face cracked and crumbling, the “We Love Brighton” across the roof unreadable.

Easing himself over the edge, Aziraphale drifted through the hole in the face of the Grand Brighton, inspecting one of the rooms. Nearly all the furniture was gone – white carpet black with mold, bed little more than a tangle of once-luxurious sheets beside rotten wood that had once been a headboard. The walls had been burned, too, then submerged, then burned again when the waters receded.

He passed through the room slowly, folding his wings back out of reality. Only as he passed the remains of the bed did he realize there was something solid in amongst the fabric. He folded it back to find…it had once been a person, huddled deep in a leather jacket that would have been too big even before decay set in, bloated face leaving no discernable features. Aziraphale placed a hand on the shriveled arm, as if to feel for a pulse, but of course there was none – the body was cold.

He shifted the human anyway, to lie in something like repose, and pulled the sheets back over the face.

How many more were there? In a city of half a million people, how many survived?

The lightning flashed out at sea, again, again, catching his eye as it grew brighter, closer. It looked familiar, somehow, or nearly so. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it filled Aziraphale with a fear he hadn’t felt in years.

He watched the roiling mass of light and dark approach, enveloping everything in its way.

It couldn’t be lightning, he realized. The light was too continuous, too many places at once, never actually going out, just darting from cloud to cloud. Now and again two blasts struck each other, and one might fall into the sea or rise into the sky.

Dark shapes fluttered between the lightning, like birds. Only too large, he realized as the storm finally devoured the pier, bearing now on him. Much too large…

The first angel darted past, flaming sword in hand, golden ichor dripping from wounds. “Retreat!” they called, wings beating a frantic tempo. “Retreat!”

Then more, hundreds, thousands, hosts greater than any Aziraphale had seen assembled since the Fall, so very, very long ago. They screamed, to intimidate, to show fear, it mattered not, the sound was constant. And hot on their heels, riding hellhounds and wielding glowing balls of Hellfire…

An angel crashed to the floor in front of Aziraphale, jacket torn to shreds, kilt soaked with enough ichor to completely obscure her platoon’s tartan. Some of it was hers, pouring from a wound that cut through one wing – white feathers tipped with gold – and across her shoulder, deep and nasty. A human would have lost all consciousness long ago.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, bending over, stretching out fingers to inspect the damage.

She leapt to her feet, sword cutting a wide arc that sliced through the wall as if it were an illusion, blade halting just before Aziraphale’s nose. “What are you doing here?” She demanded.

“I suppose I could ask you the same,” he began.

“Why aren’t you in uniform? Where is your sword? Identify yourself!”

“I – I – I – I’m Aziraphale!” he managed, stumbling a few steps back. “Principality of Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

“Nice try, deserter,” she snapped, grabbing him by the waistcoat. “If you’re going to give a false name, next time try one that isn’t known to every angel, human and demon in the world.”

“Wh…what?” he managed.

A blast of horns – the war cry of Heaven – shook the city, trembling the floor beneath their feet. Suddenly, the armies moved the other direction, pale shapes of angels flashing out to sea, while the dark demons retreated, lobbing Hellfire over their shoulders. Where each blistering ball struck, all was destroyed – buildings, streetlights, angels.

“Find the Beast!” someone shouted. “He has fled the battlefield! Find him!”

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale demanded, ignoring the blade in front of him to stare as an angel and demon, locked in combat, careened into the Metropole, blasting a hole straight through to the other side. “What beast? Why are they fighting?”

“What do you mean ‘what beast?’ The Beast. Their leader.” At his blank stare, she rolled silver eyes. “Who else would lead the army of the demons in the final days? The Antichrist.”