#destruction of the endless fanfic

[just-some-random-blogger]

I'm nervous about requesting this since I don't know if it's a good idea, but here goes: Reader goes camping for a weekend and decides to invite Dream to do typical camping activities (canoeing, swimming, hiking, etc) with them on one of those days. Can be pure fluff/slice of life (though I wouldn't mind a little bit of smut too).

Marshies

Dream of the Endless x Reader + Destruction of the Endless x Reader

Summary: "Pardon," Dream shakes his head, "how were you two acquainted again?" Destruction and you turn to each other as you bring your chocolate marshmallows closer to the open fire. In unison, you reply, "Didi."

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: gender neutral reader, camp instructor!reader kinda, unbelievably mopey!dream, puppy!destruction, fluff, jealousy, bro vs bro?, typos, etc.

A/N: HELLO MY BABY LOVE FANGIRLMARY. I AM SO HAPPY YOU CAME TO MY INBOX I DO A DANCY DANCE. I LOVE YOUR URL UR DP AND YOUR REQ SO MUCH I GIVE YOU AN EXPRESS PASS. I havent had a req like this at all i think AHHAHAHA. It's so, how you say, simple and cute which is a great thing to start with for me. n ur like me fr cos i get nervous sending asks T_T so if you're still nervous lemme hold your hand. anyway, it kind of spiraled, and I felt like adding an endless sib so i did and I HAVE A SOFT SPOT FOR DESTRUCTION OK 😫 i hope you don't mind huhuhuh and hope you like it my love <3 i think i've used this gif before but its too perfect for the fic not to reuse HAHHAAH Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

You were a rainstorm and Dream was a sponge, except he didn't know it. With every opportunity he had to be around you, he took you in until he was overcome with an uncomfortable heaviness. He was leaking with grimy emotions. And he was awfully spineless.

Matthew had been croaking from his shoulder, telling him he was a ridiculously wet sponge, and that he had to pull himself together and wring himself up because he was, frankly, disgusting.

That did not bode well for the bird. But this is not about that.

It's about how the lord of dreams did get thinking that. Perhaps, he should in fact act upon these weeping urges, for it was painful to be around you yet not have you.

It was unclear who was more shocked when you suddenly invited Dream for a weekend away, Matthew or Dream himself.

And so with the thickest, greasiest, smuggest smirk, Dream accepted the invitation. He made it known that he was graciously making room in his labor-filled schedule to accommodate your request, but accommodate your request he surely would do.

For the days building to that weekend away, Dream would study all the spectacles that involved camping. He would be camping with you and you would be camping with him; it will be lovely. He visited the dreams of those who enjoyed the leisure, and those who were objectively good at it, soaking in all the things he could learn, much like the sponge he was.

You can only imagine how shocked he was to find that the precious gift of the precious free time you, in your humanly nature, prized so much, was not even a gift to him at all, it seemed. For a gift was not typically shared, not meant to be shared, much less with some 20 other people.

"HEY DREAM!" you beamed, grinning ear to ear as you raised a hand and waved at him the moment you spotted him.

You promptly jogged over and huffed through your smile, "I'm so glad you decided to come! You'll like the people here, I promise."

Dream looks at you as a toddler busts a lung out crying. He cannot find himself to smile, though you do, for a corrosive jealousy was ripping through his stomach. You begin to explain that most of the people present were from the same circles as you,and that you did most of the planning for the weekend. You reiterate that it will be fun.

And yet as your expression softened and your brows raised while you assessed his form, he could not not smile at the sight of your doe eyes.

A dark cloud thunders above him.

He begs to disagree.

"You didn't bring any bags? Any equipment... at all?" you tilt your head.

Dream places his hands behind him, "I find no need for it. After all, anything you can posses comes from nature, does it not?"

You pull your head back and chuckle, "wow, okay, nature man," you grin, "I'm glad you at least dressed for the woods. I would have told you off if you kept your trench coat on."

Dream needlessly brushes off his tank top then places his hands in the pockets of his jogging pants, "I am capable of dressing cordially to the setting."

What he was incapable of doing though, was sharing. But you already knew that. At least he thought you did.

You introduce him to many people, he nods in regard but does no more. When someone calls for your help to set up some things, Dream immediately swoops in and makes sure that he would be the one to help you as you help.

"I must say," Dream starts as he lends you a hand whilst in building some tents, "I thought that today would be a more... intimate setting."

You turn to him as you poked a stick through the fabric, "it is. This is the smallest number of people I've hosted for a weekend at this site."

Dream's eye twitches, "but I had thought," he turns to you with a stern expression, "the invitation was exclusive to me."

To be honest, you were too preoccupied with setting up to notice how serious he was about it. The moment you caught the glint in his eye, your stomach dropped. Your lips part at the grave expression etched across his face. "Uhhhh," you clear your throat, "well, I mean, you're the only person I invited, if that counts for anything."

Dream sucks in a breath as he finishes doing his side of the tent. He walks over to you and helps you with your side. He does not look at you as his hands take yours but he knows in his bones that your eyes were on him. He also knows there was a heat blossoming in your cheeks.

He mutters, "I see," he spares you a moment's glance, "then I am glad."

That didn't last long though.

The next thing he knows, he's made to sit with a group of men, all somehow bearded, laughing over the 'good ol days' over some beer in between scolding the human spawn they had with them.

After that, he was doing yoga with some mothers that were giggling over embarrassing stories, and how good looking he was in between scolding the human spawn they had with them.

And then, well, he was holding a leash of dogs who were eager to run off but not allowed to because their masters where setting up, and so they ended up barking at the human spawn they had with them.

Then, like a true omen, he heard the laugh of the prodigal.

How did he know it The Prodigal? Well, considering the earth shook beneath his sneakers and the flock of birds fled from the trees, he was certain it was him.

Normally, he'd be glad to see his little brother, but when he saw his giant frame next to your smaller one, well, let's just say everyone who was in the middle of a nap at that moment woke up from a terrible nightmare.

"Brother," Dream interjects your giggling conversation.

Dream, needless to say, was salty to see your temperate exchange. He had gone above and beyond to socialize with the people in this camp, and yet here you were with the wrong Endless.

You and Destruction turn to him mid-catching your breath. All Dream could think about was how you had your palm on Destruction's bicep.

Was the temperature dropping?

Destruction perks. He raises his hands and steps forward, "brother!"

Dream is sealed into a tight embrace and is lifted off the ground in the process. His eyes are on you as you look between him and Destuction.

"You two are brothers?" you ask in surprise.

Destruction turns to you as he sets Dream down, "we are!" He slaps Dream's back, making his body flinch to the side. The older of the two grunts where the younger one smiles, "he's my big bro!"

"Oh!" you say with wide eyes. You tilt your head, "well then that explains the odd names."

Destruction gives a hearty laugh. Dream eyes him hotly.

Destruction sighs, "I'll know to call you if I ever did you get my brother to agree to come out somewhere."

Dream grunts.

You shake your head, "I'm equally surprised to see him here, honestly. Most of the time I'm not even sure if he enjoys being around me."

He turns to you upon hearing this.

"He's a tough nut," Destruction retorts, pulling his brother into a side hug, "but he's not hard to crack."

Before Dream can even respond, his brother rakes them both over to the lake, "now, how about we go canoeing!?"

Destruction couldn't have offered a more terrible idea.

The canoe boats were not suited to carry the Endless, much less two at once.

Destruction, ever the gentleman, did not hesitate to plunge ankle deep into the lake, only to ensure that you get into the boat safely. He held your hand as you stepped in, and Dream bristled as he watched.

When his brother turned to him, offering out a hand in order to do the same for Dream, the older of the two practically seethed in annoyance.

He turned his cheek and crossed his arms.

Destruction sighed, "oh, come now, Dream. The canoe awaits!"

Dream is adamant and stays put.

Destruction presses his lips into a line and decides to get in with you.

"Come on, Dream," you urge upon seeing his pettiness, "canoeing is fun! I promise."

One of the many promises you've made thus far.

Dream lets out a breath upon hearing your voice and the yelp-turned-giggle that you release as your tiny canoe rocks because of his massive brother.

Dream holds back an eyeroll as he watches you clutch onto Destruction, as not to rock the boat further. You giggle again, as does his brother.

"Very well," Dream says, walking over to you both.

It was futile however; every attempt in joining the already crowded canoe lead to only disaster.

It was clear Dream could not join in the canoeing, at least not in the same boat.

So the two of you rowed deeper into the lake, and Dream followed after in a separate canoe all by himself. A miserable predicament.

He could hear your soft voice, droning about all the nature facts you knew. It was audible, your excitement. He could not see you, not with his physical eyes at least, but he knew your face was lit up. It always did in moments like this. Destruction listens intently as you speak, though undoubtedly, he knew most of what you were talking about already, being a nature buff himself.

He reacted with excitement accordingly. He gasped, and laughed, and inquired further in all the right moments. He made your voice lift into further enthusiasm. He made it sound so easy. And perhaps it was to him.

Dream then rowed faster, so that, finally, your rides were side by side.

Destruction talked to you about the old sprites and spirits that used to live in these parts. Dream catches how you lean in to listen to his words. His eyes practically burn when he catches the flower in your hair, the same kind of flower that was in Destruction's.

Dream felt like jumping into the canoe across him, but that would hardly put him into your good graces, so he doesn't.

Before he realizes what he is doing, Dream clears his throat then loudly speaks, cutting his brother off, "you know I am friends with the queen of the fairies."

Both you and Destruction turn to him.

Dream ceases his rowing and allows his boat to drift next to yours.

There is a long silence between the three of you.

You turn from Dream to Destruction, jaw turning slack.

Why are you looking at him?

You push your shoulders back and tilt your head, "ah..." you smile at Dream, "I see."

Dream clenches his jaw. That was not the reaction he expected. But then again, he was unsure of what he was expecting.

It's Destruction that diffuses the thickening awkwardness, "he commissioned Shakespeare to write for the queen, you know."

You pull your head back then chuckle, "ah," you smile brighter, "he did, did he?" You turn back to Dream, "and which Shakespearean work would that be?"

Dream lifts his nose, "I have inspired the bard to write a great many plays. Two of them however are specifically for me."

You lean back in laughter, clutching your chest in delight, "ah, is that so? Let me guess, is one of them A Midsummer Night's Dream?"

Dream smiles, "precisely."

You laugh louder, shaking your head, "that's seems about right. I must admit," you sigh as you level your breathing, "I haven't really read that story at all. I... don't think I have the brain power to."

"No shame in that. I personally prefer painting over plays," Destruction notes, claiming your attention once again, "I admit, my attention span is not so suited for long winding plays."

You laugh again but Dream does not enjoy it, "yeah. I don't mean to offend the dead, but I can't really understand Shakespearean at all, so. The language is too outdated for me."

Dream accidentally (intentionally) hits the side of the other canoe. He feigns ignorance for a moment but then turns to the two of you, offering a wry smile, "apologies."

He was not at all apologetic.

In the end, Dream was situated between yours and his brother's shoulders in front of the large campfire most of the people on this wretched camp trip were circled around.

The explosiveness of the day had melted into a solemn and warm nightly gathering. Everyone was doing their own thing, cooking food, passing said food around, sharing stories. There was a strong sense of community. Dream, yet, felt like he did not belong.

The nightmare king, as he was talked over by the two of you, passed the 3rd plate of pie, rhubarb this time, to the person past you, then sunk deeper into his spot.

You were oblivious to him, he thinks

You were not. You noticed he was sulky ever since the canoeing. You offered a stick of animal shaped marshmallows to Dream mid conversation with his brother. He declined and sat up straight.

"Pardon," Dream shakes his head, "how were you two acquainted again?"

Destruction and you turn to each other as you bring your chocolate marshmallows closer to the open fire. In unison, you reply, "Didi."

Ah, Death. That made sense.

"Wait," you raise a finger, turning to Dream. He immediately perks up. Finally, he has your attention.

"If you're related to Didi," you start, "then that means you're-" you point to Destruction, "related to Didi."

Destruction grins, "my big sister!"

"Ah," you smile, "being sweet must run in the family."

"I have had enough!" Dream blurts, standing from his spot. He does this so abruptly that you drop your marshies and it calls the attention of other camp goers, not that he cared at all at this point.

He fails to realize that you did very much care.

You feel the hair at the back of your neck prick as you look up at fiery Dream. He pipes, "you told me it was I that you invited, I and only I, and yet you have done nothing but speak to my brother the whole day!"

Destruction can feel the agitation radiating off you for being put in the spot like that. He raises a hand, "Dream-"

"You are not being spoken to, Destruction," he turns to his brother, "know your place."

Not that you looked, not that you wanted to, but you could feel everyone's eyes burning into your body.

Destruction raises his hands in defeat. He turns to the crowd and sees a few of them were looking on in their direction. He turns back to you then the next second decides he knows what to do. Destruction looks out to the cliff from not too far off, then with the slightest tilt of his head, it falls with a loud splash into the lake.

It effectively distracts everyone who was looking your direction and everyone who wasn't.

"WOW!" Destruction points and stands, "that was a rock falling!"

You stand as well, looking to the people moving over to see what had happened to what, but Dream's grip on your arm keeps you from following.

"Please," he mutters, making you turn to him. His face is mystical in this light. It is shadowy yet so beautiful. "Speak in earnest. I cannot take this any further. I wish to know who between us has your heart."

You are effectively winded by this talk. It came out from seemingly nowhere.

"Is it I or my brother that you want to be with," Dream mumbles lowly, making your entire body freeze.

Your breath hitches, "b-be- what?"

"Must I speak more plainly? You can only have one. I am not particularly generous, and I certainly do not like to share what is mine," he raises his hand. You hold your breath in fear of the sound of your shaky breath when he brushes his fingers against your shoulder, "what I want to be mine," he whispers. "I especially find it difficult to release something that I want-- tenfold knowing what I want could well end in the arms of one of my siblings."

Your heart was echoing in your ribcage and your eardrums at this point.

The thumping would have excited Dream had he not been so green with envy.

"Destruction is dear to me," his soft lips move ever so slightly, "but if it comes to it, I will fight for you."

You nearly choke on your breath and your spit. A fight? One between Dream and Destruction? It sounds like a primordial event. A shiver runs down your spine. You shake your head quickly, "please don't."

Dream knits his brows and shakes his head more surely than you did, "I will."

Your breath hitches, "to be honest-" you blurt, "I didn't realize you- you... liked me like that."

Dream watches as you gather your thoughts.

"You... you do pop up in the strangest places, but I chalked that to something of fate or... proximity," you give a nervous look, "and you're not very good at showing emotions... I normally convince myself that if you didn't want to be around me, then you wouldn't."

He steps forward and places his hand on your cheek. "Allow me to make myself perfectly clear then," he rubs your skin with his thumb. Your skin pricks with goodbumps.

"Think back to the first moment we met. Every moment after, all instances that you have seen me was not coincidence. That was me purposefully reaching out to you, wanting be near you, wanting to see you, wanting to hear you, wanting to be with you, wanting you."

Both his hands are on your face now. His thumbs ghosts over your lips, "I want you."

You gulp.

"Do you want me too?"

You can't speak. You cant think. You can't breathe.

He doesn't let you when he leans in and kisses you. Soon enough, he gets his answer when you grab onto his top and kiss him back.

The forest trembles beneath your feet. Neither of you notice.

There, behind a not too far off tree, Destruction watches.

Matthew, in an announcer voice: In a total 180, the Dream rizz reaches maximum capacity, and in the end, he gets what he wants.

[awwsd]

Would they wear a dress? Endless siblings edition

(TLDR, yes. All of them.)

Destiny

Will wear a dress but ONLY if it has a hood. I think he casually sports one of these bad boys

Death

Surprisingly most resistant to dress-wearing. She will but not if there’s another option. She enjoys being able to move her legs independently of each other, and has moral objections to fancy clothes.

Dream

He basically wears dresses all the time, but a prerequisite is that the dress must be so ridiculously over the top that it distorts the laws of physics. And also it has to be black.

Desire

Yes.

Despair

She’s just as likely to wear a dress as she is to wear anything else, which is to say of course, not likely.

Destruction

Would absolutely, as he is comfortable in his masculinity given that he is not a human nor a man.

Delirium

She would try, but the dress would turn into a pantsuit then overalls then a swarm of bees then an incomprehensible eldritch horror that makes your eyes bleed. For what it’s worth, she did her best.

[spockandthings]

Dr_Lecteur's Sandman Fic Masterlist

I have, surprisingly, written a fair amount of different pairings for this fandom, so I thought I would compile what I haven't compiled yet here!

For my Dreamling works : Dreamling Bingo 2023 & Dreamling Masterlist

For my Corinthienne (Corinthian x Lucienne) works : Corinthienne Masterlist

Hoblethros (Hob Gadling x Destruction of the Endless)

AO3 Collection

Know my heart still has a suitcase, but I still can't take it through

3.2k words ; Teen ; No Archive Warnings Apply ; Unrequited Dreamling, Established Hoblethros, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

"His sand was barely dispersed, the hardwood floors of Hob’s living room coming under his leather boots before a shiver ran down his spine. There, naked with only a towel around his hips, stood Destruction, his long-lost brother, Olethros. The two stood frozen as they made eye contact, their mind spinning around with the questions the other’s presence brought." Or Morpheus comes to realisation that he loves one Hob Gadling, but when he goes to confess to the immortal, he might just find that he is too late.

·

My hands around your throat / Won't leave me alone

952 words ; Explicit ; No Archive Warnings Apply ; Marking, Pain Play, Blood and Injury, Consensual Kink, Size Difference

Hob daydreams about all sorts of (past, present, future) marks Destruction leaves all over his body

·

'Cause I could never hold a perfect thing / And not demolish it

1.8k words ; Explicit ; Graphic Depictions of Violence ; Temporary Character Death, Choking, Relationship Issues, Domestic Violence, Idiots in love

1969 When Destruction learns that Hob plans to leave the country without telling him a word of it, he confronts the man.

Hob Gadling x Destiny of the Endless

I swear that I'll be yours forever / 'Til forever falls apart 

1.2k words ; Gen ; No Archive Warnings Apply ; Established relationship, Domestic Fluff, Witch!Hob

Destiny visits Hob as the witch is working.

·

Black Snuggie 

618 words ; Gen ; No Archive Warnings Apply ; Established relationship ; Domestic Fluff, Teacher!Hob

Hob comes back from a tiring day at work to the sight of his lover in a peculiar accoutrement.

[ilya-halfelven]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: The Sandman (Comics), The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Calliope/Dream of the Endless, Delirium of the Endless & Destruction of the Endless, Desire of the Endless & Rose Walker Characters: Rose Walker, Delirium of the Endless, Orpheus (The Sandman), Dream of the Endless, Calliope (The Sandman), Destruction of the Endless, Death of the Endless Summary:

Orpheus tells his story of finally being freed from the Temple - by two unlikely characters. A retelling of Brief Lives, but what if none of the Endless wanted to help Delirium find Destruction? What if she had to enlist the help of her niece, Rose Walker? Be warned: shenanigans ensue.

[symphony-calamity]

More ideas for the Nighclub!AU? More ideas for the Nightclub!AU. Welcome to part 2: performances.

As I mentioned previously, all the Endless siblings perform at Endless Nights, which is not so much the kind of nightclub where college students get wasted as a relatively refined, exclusive space that caters to mostly upper-class clientele.

1. Destiny used to do public fortune readings, but stopped shortly after Destruction left. He only does them in private now and only if he takes special interest in someone.

2. Death does a show with shadow puppets. Don’t ask why, it just felt right. It seems strange to a lot of patrons at first but is actually a fan favorite event.

3. Dream tells stories (duh).

4. Destruction, before he left the business, did one of those shows where people build robots and make them fight. People were very sad when he left.

5. Desire does dance routines and occasionally plays piano.

6. Despair sings. Really pretty, heartbreaking ballads.

7. Delirium does stage magic. Which is unusual, as there is actual magic in this universe, but she’s very good at it.

[tiabritana]

My hobsbandverse inspired fics are also on ao3.

[tryan-a-bex]

Tom, Dick and Harry; or, the Watsonian Explanation

Why is Destruction called Joe?

Read on ao3

“I will help.”

Joe looked up from his painting at this pronouncement from his brother, Dream. Usually Dream was happy enough to sit and talk while Hob cooked, but today it seemed he desired more active participation. Shaking his head, Joe glowered at his current painting, hoping the coming kitchen shenanigans wouldn’t make it harder to focus than it already was. Something was off, maybe just there… Shaking his head again, he dabbed his brush on his palette.

“Ah! Oh! What is that?! My eyes! My eyes are stinging!” With a clatter, Dream threw down his knife and ran for the bathroom to wash his face, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You didn’t warn him?” Joe glanced askance at Hob, who was looking after Dream in mild concern.

“You know Dream!” Hob chuckled. “He was sure he would be the only one in history immune to onions.” Shaking his head, he turned back to the counter.

“Gotta get these all in quick now,” he mumbled, as Joe returned to his painting. Ah, yes, maybe that would do it…

Joe was vaguely aware of Dream drifting back into the kitchen, as Hob scraped one pile of cut veggies into the wok and turned to the counter for the next.

“Dream! Fuck!” At the yell, Joe glanced up, seeing the unexpected tableau of Hob holding a large kitchen knife to Dream’s gut.

“Behind! If you’re coming up behind someone who’s working in a kitchen, any kitchen, you say ‘Behind!’ so they don’t accidentally stab or burn you!”

“I’m sorry!” Dream raised his hands as Hob huffed and darted around him for the next pile of chopped veggies.

“Maybe you should just go for a walk, mate,” Joe suggested. Between the onions, the knife, and the scolding, Dream looked like he was finished in the kitchen.

“Oh, it’s okay, love, you can stay,” Hob countered, stirring the veggies with one hand as he reached for sauce ingredients with the other.

“I could use some fresh air,” Dream lowered his hands, and Joe glanced up again, amazed that his brother was in tune enough with his own emotional state to know when he needed a bit of space to calm down. Hob really was good for him.

“Be back soon, duck, the food will be ready in 20 minutes.”

“Yes.” Looking warily at Hob’s hands and feet for signs of sudden movement, Dream leaned in for a quick kiss and then headed out the door.

“I found a place.”

Dream came in the door just as Joe was setting the table and Hob was bringing the food over. If it had been anyone but his brother, Joe thought he might have heard excitement in his voice.

“Lovely! What did you find?” Hob asked, pulling Dream’s chair out.

“Perhaps. Perhaps I will show you, rather than tell you. After dinner.” Dream sat, gazing up at Hob with that sappy look that Joe usually found so cute but was, once in a while, totally annoying. (Today it was cute. He was glad the knife scene earlier hadn’t hurt their relationship at all, not even with the onions and the scolding.)

The dinner was delicious, as Hob’s always were. He had definitely put his immortality to good use. Joe was a decent cook too, he thought, though sometimes it felt like Hob’s compliments were a bit extravagant. They were always glad when Dream took them out to eat on his nights.

After cleaning up, which Dream had a bit more practice helping with, Hob smiled inquiringly at Dream.

“Well, love, are you ready to show us your new place now?”

“Yes,” Dream confirmed. “But, I want it to be a surprise for you. Will you wear a blindfold?”

This was an interesting development, Joe thought. He wondered how much Hob trusted his brother. He knew he would hesitate before putting himself in Dream’s hands quite that entirely. Not that he thought Dream meant him harm, or even mischief. Just that he was a little… spacey sometimes. Like with the onions. And the knife.

“Of course,” Hob gazed up at him tenderly, and took his arm as they adjourned to the bedroom to search for some appropriate piece of material. Joe shook his head, and took the brushes he had been soaking to the bathroom sink for a good rinse. Should be just enough time before the two lovebirds were ready to go, and it didn’t look like he’d be painting any more today.

Finished with the brushes, he donned his jacket and shoes just in time for Dream and Hob to come out of their bedroom, jackets on and some length of something in Dream’s hand.

“We will walk to the corner first. You will hold Hob’s other elbow.” Joe nodded in agreement, glad that Hob had negotiated for a bit of extra security. It wasn’t every day, anymore, that Dream walked into lamp posts because he wasn’t paying attention, but, well. It had happened. More than once.

At the corner, they stopped for Dream to put the blindfold on Hob, and then Joe and Dream took his elbows and they continued on. As they rounded the corner, Joe spotted a pub, about halfway down, called the Black Horse. Ah, yes, that looked like his brother’s type of watering hole. Hadn’t he met Hob in a place like this? That would explain the excitement, and the anticipation for Hob’s reaction that had led to the blindfold rigmarole.

They entered the pub, Joe making sure Hob didn’t get banged on the doorway, and Dream making sure they were placed at just the right spot for maximum impact when they took the blindfold off. With a flourish, Dream removed the fabric, and Hob’s face lit up with a gratifying degree of wonder.

“It’s just like the White Horse! Oh, how clever of you!” he exclaimed. Dream blushed, as Joe thought wryly that it wasn’t particularly a clever thing to have done. But it seemed to have paid off, as Hob and Dream were about drowning in each other’s eyes.

I’ll just get myself a drink, Joe decided, giving up on anything reasonable coming from the lovebirds. There was a nice looking whiskey on the top shelf, and he pointed at it as the barkeep approached.

“I’ll have some of that.”

“Sure thing, Dick,” answered the barkeep. Joe, so taken aback at the casual insult that he took an actual step back, managed to crash into Dream.

“Behind,” Dream said, in his very driest tone.

“The same, on the rocks for me,” Hob requested, not having heard the barkeep’s response to Joe.

“That’s a twenty year old whiskey, Harry, you can’t have that on the rocks,” protested the barkeep. Hob confusedly placed his hand on his chest, where Joe noticed a couple more buttons were undone than earlier. Dream slid between them and put his arm around Hob’s shoulder, dangling his hand into the same little patch of hair that was showing between the open buttons.

“And what for you, Tom?” the barkeep continued, looking at Dream.

“My name is not Tom,” Dream stated, frowning at him mildly.

“Ach!” the barkeep exclaimed, “if I tried to keep everyone’s name straight in here I’d forget how to pour drinks!” He set the shot glasses in front of them and reached for the whiskey bottle. “Every Tom, Dick and Harry who comes in here is Tom, Dick and Harry to me. That last guy was Tom,” nodding at a table across the pub, “so that makes you Dick,” pouring for Joe, “you, Harry,” pouring for Hob, “and you Tom again,” pouring for Dream. “Hope you wanted whiskey too,” he added, with a look that seemed to warn Dream not to not want whiskey.

Joe relaxed, suddenly realizing the perceived insult that so surprised him hadn’t been intended at all. He raised his glass to the boys, chuckling internally as Hob removed his self-conscious hand from his chest and Dream settled his in there a bit further.

“Well, Brother, I guess that means you’re Not Tom, same as I’m Not Joe, eh?”

Dream raised his glass and clinked it against Joe’s, shrugging.

“I guess so, Brother.”

“Well, then, Tom,” Hob said with a smirk, raising his glass, “let’s get this celebration started!”

Next

After notes:

The Doylesian explanation is of course Tom Sturridge.

The kitchen scene and lamp post troubles were inspired by this post by @softest-punk

Thank you to @greebledrat (discord) and AnneMcSommers (ao3) for beta reading

[maelstroms-blog]

Chap 4 is up, we meet some new characters, and Hob’s sixth sense is burning up

Enjoy

[lightdancer1]

Another thing that's been surprisingly little noted or mentioned:

The show and the comic both have Death either walking out or reaching the brink of so doing, and then Destruction makes the same decision that she does. Death walking out almost unravels reality, or even did unravel it for a time. Destruction doing so leads to his function existing without any control at the helm and that things are a little off, but nowhere near the catastrophe.

I think that Death going through the same crisis, and in her case explicitly having it rooted in depression that was never really addressed, would be why of all the siblings she would know what Destruction is going through and encourage him to do it. I can see her reacting poorly to the tripwires (which I also think given what they do she would know about and accordingly have from it an idea of where he is) and I have that as a particular argument and a moment of regretful and hateful words exchanged between them that make things just as awkward as with Dream and Destruction.

But, ultimately, when he was an active part of the family I see him and Death alike working to keep the family together, and that Destruction's greater ease in certain aspects of personing next to Death would promote at least some resentment that bubbles over into that argument that in my backstory is their last interaction before he leaves.

It is not specified, or made clear, exactly, but in the absence of evidence I treat Death and Destruction as being at least as close or closer as Death and Dream and closer still since their functions are so closely interconnected. Basically what Dream and Desire might have been if not for their whole feud with each other. And in Destruction's absence one of the key bits of her support network is gone.....and the difference between Death and her siblings is that she encourages Destruction in what is ultimately a very selfish, and destructive, act and respects his choices even when she does miss him regardless of the cost to her when none of her other siblings would be willing to make the same decision in the same way.

This in turn reflects that out of all the cosmic entities Death is the most human (yes, even Destruction is fundamentally inhuman in multiple ways she is not) and that she can and does act with that in a way none of the other entities like the Endless can really conceive of doing even if it was theoretically possible that they would.

[zorawitch]

the destruction piece is back up!

[levshany]

Tandem, this is an AU in which the Collector possesses Philip, and there are a lot of things happening afterwards. but now we’ll just retell how it basically started

@angstyhikka drew a couple of arts and helped me with coloring

This is an alternative development of events after the ending of the fanfic “At The Dawn of The Light” (it's not finished yet, but there is already an AU from the ending, yes). The idea belongs to @lasymit, and I (Lev) picked it up :3

Before King's Tide, all events take place according to canon. And then the following changes occur: the witches capture Philip and lock him in a cave in the Titan's skull. The draining spell is stopped without the help of the Collector, but he himself is not found. His mirror remains lying at the bottom of the pit.

For 10 years, Philip was under a sleeping spell. Everything would be fine, but when the Hexside squad wakes up Philip to make him help them with one super important problem, not only does he become mischievous but he also has problems in his head now. Luz and the team think that Philip is manipulating them (you can't blame them for this, Philip is Philip, even with a leaky memory and a leaking roof, he manages to be such an asshole), and therefore they torture him to force him to cooperate with them.

While Philip was sleeping, a cozy corner appeared in his head, in which there was nothing but a green hill, a small house and an apple tree. There, Philip, in his child form, lives with Caleb, who is a figment of his sick mind. During his 10 years in this mindscape, Philip convinced himself that this was reality. And the Boiling Isles, the cave and the witches who torture him are an endless nightmare. Because, on the Boiling Isles, he sometimes remembers that he killed his brother. But this simply cannot be reality.

At some point, Luz and Hunter realize that Philip is not pretending that he is seriously ill and no matter how much he denies it, he needs help, and they soften towards him somewhat. Although both have rather mixed feelings towards their dementia grandpa.

Even in the moments when Philip remembers himself fully enough, his attitude towards the Boiling Isles, Luz, Hunter and even his own mission has changed greatly in any case. He no longer cares about the destruction of witches and revenge for his brother. Philip is tired. Deadly tired. All he wants to do is sleep. He slept for ten years, and this was perhaps the first time in decades of his life that he felt peace and happiness.

While he is in this state, it happens that he encounter the Collector. This is a difficult meeting for both of them, but it all ends with the forgiveness of all grievances. They both don't want to lose each other now. The collector is still locked in the disk, but Philip has the opportunity to let his friend into his subconscious. Seeing the deplorable state of Philip's mind, he decides that he must help - after all, Philip is still his only friend. Collie asks Philip not to go to "sleep" forever, but Philip replies that he has no joy in waking up here. All he dreams of is never returning to the world of the Boiling Islands. The collector, frightened that his only friend is about to leave him, possesses Philip and promises him that he will get them both out of this nightmare.

This is how Tandem's story begins

a huge amount of detail has been omitted to avoid spoilers for "The Dawn". if you wanna learn more go check the fanfic *wink wink*

[secondjulia]

AAAAA! This is an essential addition to the warprize Hob AU definitely.

screams i didnt save it...... i should really. start doing that? in case of tumblr eating things or button accidents??? but instead i simply enter your ask box and type nonsense in a fugue state and send it before i think about things like backups rip

-🐈‍⬛

AHHH don't worry my love it's my silly fingers that are at fault here. I'm going to do a little bullet point fic and hopefully I'll get the gist of what you put in your prompt!!!

Hob is captured in battle and given to Destruction (which makes total sense since he's the warlord of the whole Endless fam and was actually responsible for their victories). Destruction himself obviously has this reputation for being an insanely powerful soldier and it's fair to say that Hob is a little intimidated when he's handed over to the enormous man.

But. Destruction is a very gentle and kind person, and while Hob is moved into his quarters and fully expects to serve his new master, Destruction doesn't make any moves to use him. His only request is for Hob to pose for sketches. It's actually really nice and sweet, and they begin to relax in each other's company bit by bit. Destruction shyly asks to be called Ollie, and Hob just melts because he's absolutely falling in love with this gentle giant.

Their life together is pleasant and they keep dancing around their obvious attraction to each other, until an assassin makes an attempt on Ollie's life. They get as far as aiming to stab him, but Hob doesn't even think twice about putting himself between the knife and the man he loves. He ends up in a bad way but the wound isn't enough to kill him.

Ollie is so mad that Hob would do such a thing and gives him a proper telling off as soon as he's conscious. Hob just grins loopily and says he'd do anything for love. Ollie obviously has to return the sentiment (but he says that if Hob ever puts himself in danger again, he'll kill him).

During Hob’s long recovery the horniness is EXCRUCIATING. Apart from kissing and some light petting, all sexual activities are off the table. Hob literally begs Ollie to finger him but his fingers are so thick... they have to stop for fear of impeding Hob’s healing. On the plus side Ollie does promise to put his whole hand into Hob as soon as his stomach muscles have healed up 100%... Hob has been thirsting over those huge hands and he is very eager to have those sword calluses inside him.

Ollie's sketches of Hob are VERY spicy these days. Hob can't believe that he really looks like that - Ollie's close-up sketches of his widely spread hole are particularly beautiful. Ollie even tries to draw Hob while fucking him, and while they're not the most accurate depictions, Hob treasures them all the same.

That's all I have for now!!! But I definitely think this version of warprize hob needs to go places!!! I love it so much already.

[fortunxa]

The symbol

Jinx x fem!reader

summary: “Piltover saw her as a terrorist, and Zaun’s rhetoric had twisted her into a martyr while she was still alive. She was a ghost haunting two cities, a myth both sides needed alive or dead.” Jinx. The loose cannon. The symbol.

cw: angst, >4k words, buckle up

author’s note: This whole fanfic is based off of ONE (1) clip of Jinx looking sad in the s2 trailer, call me dramatic.

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At first, it was animosity that sparked between Jinx and you—a collision of egos in a city that thrived on confrontation. You weren’t a stranger to her troublemaker reputation, nor were you safe from her seemingly endless pranks. Your every encounter was charged, filled with barbed comments and sharp glances. She reveled in your irritation, finding joy in ruffling your feathers.

Yet each time you clashed, you also learned a little more about each other. Your differences started sparking curiosity instead of just annoyance, and beneath the surface, something began to shift. There were moments when you caught a glimpse of the vulnerability that lurked behind Jinx’s bravado—a fleeting expression that hinted at a deeper story.

As the weeks turned into months, the sharp edges of your relationship began to soften. Your bickering became more playful, the insults laced with laughter rather than anger. Slowly, what had once been hatred turned into friendship. You became an unlikely duo, navigating the mayhem of Zaun side by side. Jinx introduced you to a world of spontaneity and mischief. She taught you how to embrace the chaos rather than fear it. In return, you grounded her, offering a safe space amidst the storms of her life—a place where she could let her guard down. Where she was wild, you were steady; and together, you balanced each other out.

It was only a matter of time before your friendship gave way to something more complex, of course. You spent countless nights together, talking until dawn, revealing pieces of yourselves you had long kept hidden, and sharing dreams that stretched beyond the gritty streets of Zaun.

Jinx carried a lot of scars, some visible, most hidden. You never pushed, never demanded to know the whole story, never made her relive it, never asked for more than she was ready to give. You had a quiet understanding of her, a patience that she found both infuriating and comforting. She wasn’t used to people sticking around, and she didn’t think she could care about someone like that again. But you made her believe, if only for a moment, that there was something more to life than just survival. You would sit beside her, stitching up wounds in silence, your touch gentle and reassuring. You knew how to handle her moods, the unpredictable bursts of frustration. You never tried to fix it. You just were. And somehow, that was enough.

But that was before Jinx blew up half the council, and everything went to shit.

“You have the chance to rally the undercity together.” You can still recall Sevika’s words. “You’re a symbol.” And you almost scoffed at the idea. Your Jinx becoming a symbol for the city that villainized her to no end? They didn’t deserve that. How could they, after already dooming her once before? But sticking inaccurate labels was their forte. In the end, this one stuck, too.

And so Jinx disappeared beneath the weight of their faith.

For Zaunites, she had become more than just a rogue with a penchant for destruction—she really was a symbol, a rallying cry against the oppression of Piltover. They thought she fought for them, for a cause bigger than herself.

But she never asked for any of it. She never wanted to be anyone’s icon. You knew that better than anyone.

To her, it was just noise.

Your Jinx never cared about the revolution—not in the way people expected her to, anyway. She wasn’t in it for justice or freedom. Her motives were rooted in something far more personal: revenge. She had no grand vision, no dreams of liberation. All she had was the cold satisfaction of making Piltover suffer the way it made her suffer. She wanted to tear apart the illusion of perfection that cloaked the grand City of Progress, to make its citizens feel the same fear and destruction that had once consumed her. It was the only time she felt in control. In the chaos, she could forget the nightmares, the past, and even herself for a while. She could become the whirlwind, unstoppable and feared, rather than the broken girl who used to beg for things to make sense.

Yet now, Zaun saw her as its hero. Its champion. And Jinx couldn’t stand it. The citizens looked to her like she had some grand plan, like she would lead them to independence. The weight of their expectations pressed down on her, suffocating her more than any chain or cell ever could.

On the flip side, the enforcers wanted her dead. Posters with her face plastered the city, patrols hunted her down relentlessly, and there was nowhere left to hide. She was clever and cunning, but there were only so many laps she could run around them before her lungs would give out.

So, you did your best to push Jinx to stay one step ahead of everyone trying to either kill her or claim her. You dealt with the little things—finding safehouses when it was too dangerous to stay in one place, gathering supplies, and making sure she had somewhere to disappear when things got too heated. You were resourceful, calm under pressure, and always thinking ahead. But how could you be anything else in those dire times? You couldn’t afford to falter. Not now. Not when Jinx needed you to stay afloat. You had unwavering loyalty despite the harsh words that slipped past her lips when her emotions overflowed. Beneath it all, she was still the same girl—the one who still dreamed of something better, who still laughed with you in the quiet moments, who still loved you.

You could see her exhaustion, the way her mask would crack just a little when she came back home bruised from another close call with the enforcers. And you’d hold her during those times, let her cry and sob and shake in your arms. It was just the two of you—she was safe. But no matter how real and vulnerable she was in the small hours of the night, the morning always came, and with it, the chaos behind Jinx’s name.

And in that chaos, she would live. And in that chaos, she would die, little by little.

Piltover saw her as a terrorist, and Zaun’s rhetoric had twisted her into a martyr while she was still alive. She was a ghost haunting two cities, a myth both sides needed alive or dead.

And in all of it, Jinx wanted nothing more than to disappear—to vanish from the world she had once desperately tried to belong to. She wasn’t anyone’s leader or scapegoat—she didn’t even want to be remembered. She was just tired. Tired of running, tired of being the person they all demanded her to be. You could see it in the way she looked at you sometimes, like she wanted to say something, like she was planning a way out that didn’t involve pulling you down with her. But you had made your choice a long time ago. You weren’t going anywhere, you wouldn’t walk away from her.

“Whatever happens, I’m here,” you’d tell her when the world outside felt too loud. “I’m not leaving.” And the tension in Jinx’s body unwinded, even if just a little, as if those simple words were the only thing keeping her grounded. It was in those moments that you knew you were doing something right, even if you couldn’t fight her battles for her.

At night, when the adrenaline of violence faded, she was haunted by the memories—ghosts of those she’d lost, faces of the people she had once loved, and the echoes of a life she could never return to. The nightmares were relentless, dragging her back to the moment when everything fell apart. She would wake drenched in sweat, hands shaking, reaching for a gun or a bomb that wasn’t there. No amount of chaos in the streets could drown out the chaos in her own mind. The terror that gripped her in her dreams was not something she could outrun or fight. It clung to her like a second skin, a constant reminder that no matter how much destruction she caused, it would never be enough. She was still the broken girl beneath the explosions and the mayhem. Or that’s what she thought of herself, at least.

And there was no way out. Not anymore.

“It almost feels like the only way for you to find peace is through death,” you worriedly whispered once as you cradled her in your arms. “And I can’t have that,” you added, but Jinx’s mind was already reeling. Unbeknownst to you, she had thought about it more than once. Ending it all in one final explosion, letting the flames consume her just like they had consumed her heart so long ago. It would be easy. One pull of the trigger, one detonation, and it would all be over.

But even death had a bitter edge, and the question that haunted her, night after night, was whether even death would be enough to set her free. Or would they find a way to twist that, too, turning her final act into another legend for the revolution? Paint her as the glorious martyr who died for Zaun’s freedom?

Jinx didn’t know.

And that uncertainty kept her alive, if only for a little while longer, though she didn’t know why—she couldn’t even die on her own terms. The irony made her laugh sometimes, in the moments when the absurdity of it all was too much to bear.

If she was going to die, she would make sure they all remembered why she had never been their hero, why she had never fought for anyone but herself.

And so it started with a bang—because of course it did.

But this time felt different. There was something almost methodical about the way Jinx moved, the way she set her traps, as if she knew this was the last time she would walk these streets. The last time her bombs would rip through the orderly facade of the City of Progress.

She didn’t laugh as much that day. The usual gleam in her eyes was dimmer, her movements more controlled. The sun was setting, casting a harsh golden glow over Piltover’s spires as Jinx climbed to the top of a high rooftop, overlooking the heart of the city. This is where it will happen, she thought. The grand finale. She had spent weeks preparing. Every bomb was precisely placed, every escape route meticulously planned. The city was on high alert—word had spread that Jinx was planning something big. But no one knew exactly where, or when, the storm would hit.

The first explosion tore through the night just as the clock struck midnight. Fire lit up the streets below, throwing debris into the sky while the enforcers scrambled to contain the damage. Then came the second explosion, larger, closer to the city’s industrial district. Smoke filled the air as panic spread through Piltover like wildfire. The citizens ran in every direction, knowing that when Jinx was involved, no place was safe.

She stood on the rooftop, watching the chaos unfold beneath her. She felt nothing. No excitement, no satisfaction. This wasn’t the same thrill she used to chase. Her fingers hovered over the detonator for the final bomb—the biggest one, the one that would make the others look like fireworks. She had rigged it to collapse an entire section of the city, to leave Piltover scarred in a way it would never forget.

But tonight wasn’t about the explosion. It wasn’t about the destruction.

The enforcers were closing in. She could see them swarming through the streets below, moving toward her position. They had found her. They always did, eventually. Jinx glanced at the timer on the last bomb. She had set it for just long enough to make her escape—or so they would think. But the truth was, there wouldn’t be an escape tonight.

When the enforcers reached the rooftop, they found her standing there, framed against the night sky, the city burning below her. The air was thick with smoke, and in the chaos, they barely noticed the subtle smile that crossed her face.

“Time’s up,” she said softly, her voice lost in the wind.

She pressed the detonator.

The explosion was deafening, a wall of fire and debris engulfing the rooftop in an instant. The force of it sent the enforcers flying, tearing through the structures around them. When the dust settled, the building was gone—obliterated along with everything and everyone on it.

The news spread fast.

Jinx is dead.

There was no body left to recover, no remains to mourn, and no trace of her. Just the rubble of the building she had destroyed and the twisted wreckage of her devices. The enforcers confirmed it—there was no way she could have survived.

“Target neutralized” were the words bitterly spoken through the ranks with a cold efficiency. There was no name attached, but everyone knew who it was about. The official statement came shortly after: “A threat to the city has been eliminated.”

Days passed and Piltover began to rebuild, as it always did after Jinx’s attacks, the destruction slowly being replaced with gleaming new structures. Streets were cleared, debris removed, and life returned to a semblance of normalcy. There were no coffins for the fallen enforcers whose bodies were lost to the fire—only statues erected in their names, cold monuments serving as both tribute and reminder of the price paid for order. The city moved on—or at least tried to. Some celebrated, cautiously, though few were willing to believe the news completely. There had been too many close calls, too many times they thought they had her. But this time, it felt different. This time, the destruction had swallowed her whole, leaving behind an eerie silence where her chaotic laughter once echoed.

Zaun, on the other hand? That was a little bit more complicated. For the people who had seen her as a reckless force that harmed their city as much as Piltover did, her death came as a relief, and her absence promised a fragile peace, however fleeting. But to others, the more sensitive ones, tears had to be shed, heads shaking in disbelief. Candlelit vigils appeared in the undercity, graffiti of her wild grin painted on the walls. People would whisper, looking for the next symbol for their revolution—anything and anyone they could place their hopes on. Amidst this emotional turbulence, a third reaction emerged from the more organized factions who saw it as the opportunity they had been waiting for. With Jinx gone, they could finally rise to the storefront. The power vacuum left in her wake ignited their ambitions, and the streets buzzed with the promise of a new era, one that could either heal the wounds of the past or plunge the city into an even deeper turmoil.

The cities spoke of heroes and villains, grappling with the complexities of Jinx’s legacy—a legacy that blurred the lines between destruction and freedom, chaos and control.

That being said, everything unfolded exactly as she had predicted, but the victory felt almost hollow.

“It almost feels like the only way for you to find peace is through death.” And it really was, so she had faked it perfectly. The plan was reckless, audacious—everything she embodied. The explosion had served as the perfect cover, and in that moment of chaos, she had slipped through the cracks, hidden among the shadows of her own creation.

For Jinx, this was not just an escape; it was a calculated act of liberation. Her liberation. The city that had once been her playground had turned into a gilded cage, and she had grown tired of the endless games of cat and mouse.

Now standing on the edge of the city, Zaun stretches out before her like a memory she can’t quite shake. Her eyes trace the tangled streets below, the dark alleyways, the flickering lights, and the twisted pipes, burning the sight into memory. She inhales deeply, her nostrils filling up with the familiar smell of smoke and oil. A wave of nostalgia washes over her. She can almost hear the echoes of laughter and the distant sounds of explosions that had once filled her days with exhilaration. A tear wells up in her eye, but she blinks it away, wiping at her eyes quickly, almost angrily. Jinx doesn’t cry. Not for anyone. Not for anything.

Not anymore.

With a heavy heart, she grips the railing tighter, her knuckles turning white as the memories swirl like smoke around her before she relaxes—a conscious decision.

“I’ll miss you, you filthy, broken place.” She chuckles dryly. She had spent years running wild here, feeling untouchable. But now, it’s time to go. “You were everything, and yet, you were never enough.” The words hang in the air, a promise to herself that she would carry the spirit of Zaun wherever she went, even as she turns her back on it. Her heart clenches, a strange ache settling in her chest as she realizes this could be the last time she’d see it—the city that had been her home and her battlefield.

“Are you sure you want to do this?" you ask, your voice soft and gentle. “You’d be leaving everyone behind.” The blue-haired girl knows exactly who you mean by that.

Vi.

Jinx could almost see it—her paling face when she heard the news, the way her fists clenched and her heart broke, crumbling beneath the grief, believing that her little sister was gone forever. The thought cut deep, deeper than Jinx was ready to admit. Vi had been her everything once. And after everything they’d been through, after everything they’d lost, Jinx hated herself for causing her more pain, for inflicting yet another wound—and this time, it’s a wound that’ll never quite heal, the cruelest cut of them all. A part of her wanted to run back. To find Vi and tell her the truth. To stay.

But Jinx knew that wasn’t an option.

Not now.

So why does it feel like she’s tearing herself apart?

The soft touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her back to the present. She turns, meeting your gaze. You stand beside her, quiet but steady, the anchor she didn’t know she needed until she had found it. She takes a shuddering breath.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” you ask again, your voice filled with nothing but understanding. You know how hard this is for Jinx, how torn she really feels.

She swallows hard, glancing back at the city one more time. It all feels so distant, yet so close—like she can reach out and touch it, like she can run back and undo it all if she tries hard enough. But she can’t. She pictures Vi again, her strong, fierce sister who had always fought for her, always believed she could be saved. Jinx hated the thought of what this would do to her, of the hole it would leave in her heart. But deep down, she knew she couldn’t be the person Vi wanted her to be. Not yet. She had tried. She had failed. And now, she has to move on, even if it means breaking the last connection she has to her past.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” Jinx whispers, her voice catching in her throat. You nod, your expression softening even further as your hand intertwines with hers, and the warmth of your touch reminds her why she’s leaving—for a chance to start over. To be something else, someone else, outside of the chaos and violence that had defined her for so long.

Vi would survive, like she always had. She would grieve, but she would move on. And in time, Jinx hoped that she’d understand why she had to go.

“I just don’t want her to hate me.” Her voice is small, almost fragile as the confession falls from her lips before she can stop it, the rawness of her words cutting through the silence. You frown as you take a step closer, pulling her into a gentle embrace.

“She won’t hate you,” you murmur against her hair. “She’ll hurt, she’ll be angry, but she’ll never hate you. Vi loves you, Jinx.” She leans into you, burying her face in your shoulder for a moment, letting herself feel the comfort she so desperately needs.

“I just wish I could explain.” The angry tears threaten to spill out again. “I wish I could tell her why I had to do this.”

“She knows.” You can only hug her tighter now, hoping it’ll keep her from falling apart.

Slowly, she pulls back, her breath still shaky but steadier now. “I guess it’s too late to change my mind, huh?” she asks with a weak smile, though her heart isn’t in it.

“This doesn’t have to be permanent, you know? We can always come back when the time is ready.” Jinx nods, but the guilt still gnaws at her, sharp and relentless.

Turning fully toward the road ahead, her hand finds yours again as she laces your fingers together like an unspoken promise. “Let’s go,” she says, her voice almost resolute as if she’s still trying to convince herself that this is the right thing to do.

Jinx’s heart aches for what she’s leaving behind as the both of you walk away from Zaun. But then she glances at you, walking calmly by her side, and—albeit briefly—she feels a sense of peace. For the first time in a long time, she isn’t running alone. She isn’t running from something either, despite the way it seems. She’s running toward something—a life she could build, not destroy, with someone who sees her for more than the broken pieces. Someone who’s willing to leave everything behind to be with her.

You give her hand another gentle squeeze, pulling her out of her thoughts. “We’re almost there,” you say softly, gesturing toward the darkened outskirts of the city where the world feels smaller, where the noise of Zaun fades into a distant hum. Beyond it, freedom awaits—freedom from the past, from the wreckage you’re leaving behind.

The night stretches out before you, vast and uncertain. Jinx had never been good with the unknown; she thrived on chaos, on knowing how to manipulate it. But this? Walking away from everything she’d ever known, stepping into a future that isn’t filled with explosions and destruction—it terrifies her.

But it’s also the only thing that makes sense anymore.

You lean closer, your warmth cutting through the chill of the night. “You don’t have to look back if you don’t want to.” She wants to look back. She wants to go back. But she knows it wouldn’t do any good. So she straightens up, fixing her cloak and pulling the hood further over her head.

“I’m not going to,” she replies, her voice firmer now. “I’ve spent enough time looking back.” You nod in understanding. You had talked about this moment for weeks now, about what it would mean for Jinx to truly let go of Zaun, of everything she had once believed she needed to hold on to. It isn’t easy, but it’s necessary.

Finally, you reach the edge, where the lights of the city flicker out entirely, swallowed by the darkness of the wilds beyond.

This is it. The point of no return.

Jinx turns to you, searching your face for strength, for the resolve she so desperately needs. And there it is, shining back at her. She feels the tension in her chest begin to loosen, the weight of her decision finally starting to lift. She can almost taste the adrenaline, the sweet rush of possibility that awaits her beyond the city’s borders—no rules, no limits, and most importantly, no one hunting her down.

The two of you step into the darkness together, the twisted streets and memories of Zaun falling away with each step until all that’s left is the quiet sound of your breathing, the crunch of gravel beneath your feet, and the sense that something new is beginning. She feels something unfamiliar, something almost foreign—hope. It flickers faintly deep inside her, small but real, growing with every step she takes.

Jinx doesn’t look back. She doesn’t need to. She’s finally moving forward.

And as you disappear into the night, a thought echoes in her mind, settling like a truth she can’t ignore.

Nothing ever stays dead.

[spockandthings]

Cause I could never hold a perfect thing / and not demolish it - an Hoblethros (Hob x Destruction fic)

Please be mindful of tags and triggers on this one!! Enjoy~

[ilya-halfelven]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Sandman (Comics), The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Calliope/Dream of the Endless, Delirium of the Endless & Destruction of the Endless, Desire of the Endless & Rose Walker Characters: Rose Walker, Delirium of the Endless, Orpheus (The Sandman), Dream of the Endless, Calliope (The Sandman), Destruction of the Endless, Death of the Endless Summary:

Orpheus tells his story of finally being freed from the Temple - by two unlikely characters. A retelling of Brief lives, but what if none of the Endless wanted to help Delirium find Destruction? What if she had to enlist the help of her niece, Rose Walker? Be warned: shenanigans ensue.

[cocoacat323]

Scum Villian Fic Recs

So, I've been reading fanfiction for a long ass time, longer than I've been on Tumblr and have always loved fic recs, and now I realize I can make my own(yay!), so here it is. None of these are explicit or anything, but they are super good.

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk Into The Bamboo House Summary:

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate. Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

Unveiling The Imposter Summary:

While tracking a suspicious fortune-teller, Shen Qingqiu falls unconscious. The fortune-teller extracts a glowing orb from his body, telling Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge that this Shen Qingqiu is an imposter, and they can see for themselves if they don't believe it.

Alternatively, the Demon Lord and Peak Lords watch Scum-Villain's Self-Saving System.

Characters Watch the Series fanfic. Post-Canon.

High Mountain, How I Long Summary: Shen Qingqiu, after enduring his trial, is placed into Luo Binghe’s custody at Huan Hua Palace.

meta madness Summary: Looking at SVSSS through the eyes of the universe left behind when Airplane and Cucumber died. (Note: Not a fic, but a series, but every fic in it is so good so definitely check it out.)

it's only shameless if you had any shame to loose in the first place Summary: They have not told anyone about their marriage, and at Shen Qingqiu's request, they will only do so once the wedding preparations are done. No one will have time to nag!

But in the meantime, Luo Binghe, demonic lord or not, is only an alpha. He must do something to show off his claim or he'll go insane, he really will. He'll qi deviate terribly, see if he won't.

Fortunately, as thin-faced as he is, his Shizun does not care much for proper dynamic etiquette...

love's worth running to Summary: “Shizun,” he purred, darkly calm despite the anger oozing out of his mock-respectful smile. Luo Binghe's grip on Xiu Ya's blade tightened, and he realised with belated horror that his blood was running down the sword and dripping by Shen Qingqiu's feet. His sword had to be held at an upwards angle now, to reach the place where he pierced him back then.

Shen Qingqiu felt sick. There was something wrong in this dream.

“I ask you again. Do you regret it, Shizun?”

//

Shen Qingqiu can't answer whether he regrets betraying him. Luo Binghe wants his Shizun to understand how he suffered, and drags Shen Qingqiu into his dreamscape of the Endless Abyss that night.

The only problem: Shen Qingqiu isn't waking up.

We Are Not Wise Summary:

When Shen Qingqiu drew Shen Yuan’s soul sword, it felt like being burned from the inside out. The fire wasn’t cruel, but it was still fire—hot and destructive, searing the softest pieces of him.

When Binghe’s fingers touch the hilt, he is ready for pain.

Transmigrated into a version of Proud Immortal Demon Way where cultivators manifest their own souls into spiritual weapons, Shen Yuan finds himself sort of kind of…accidentally blackmailing Shen Qingqiu into taking him on as a disciple before Luo Binghe joins the sect.

That should give Shen Yuan plenty of opportunities to make sure nothing goes wrong for his favorite protagonist, right? RIGHT!?

A story of twists, turns, hope, despair, and soul swords. Written for the Bingqiu Reverse Minibang 2023, illustrated and conceptualized by the incredible Suzu!

The Cultivating Force Summary: In which a Master and a Padawan run into a Shizun and a... Sith?

and judgement is just like a cup that we share Summary: The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?”

"Proud Immortal Demon... Protection Squad?" Summary:

[ REWRITTEN 2023 ]

in which shen qingqiu, the nation's scum villain, doesn't perish from a qi deviation and instead, after dying tragically in his pathetic, sickly, 20 year-old body because he ate some definitely rotten yogurt he mistook for cream cheese like the absolute knob that he is, shen yuan wakes up to find himself in the body of a child, in the middle of a forest, and with absolutely no clue what world this shitty system had dropped him into. he decides to just go with the flow, one step at a time.

what could possibly go wrong?

(the answer is: everything)

(Shen Yuan Might Die Often but His) Old Habits Die Hard Summary: When Luo Binghe asks about his spiritual veins in the Holy Mausoleum, Shen Yuan's chest feels so funny that a lifetime of being chronically ill and reassuring his loved ones that, actually, he's fine kicks in. It is fine, really, because every problem in Airplane-bro's world can be solved by something that's penciled regularly into Shen Yuan's schedule at least eight times a week now.

Except the cure for Without a Cure doesn't work, and Shen Yuan's unlucky enough that Airplane-bro's plot device for winning over a tsundere via 'walking a mile in each others' bodies' hits him before he can figure out an alternative to telling Binghe that actually his five years of rebuilding Shen Qingqiu's spiritual veins diligently failed to cure him.

Luo Binghe is, of course, less than impressed to discover through personal experience what Shen Yuan, with his pain scale so skewed by years of chronic pain, never did during all his time poisoned: that, actually, having spiritual energy forming blockages and blood stagnating in your body hurts like hell.

Anyway, that's all that I've got for now. I hope that if you do take my recs you enjoy them, and remember to read all of the tags. Have fun reading!