#dream literally STOMPING into desire's house and screaming at them

[cuubism]

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

[ cat screaming crying . jpg ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream glares at them, but does not speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he storms out of the Threshold.

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

--

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

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

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

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

He has now, quite royally, messed it up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he kisses him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Myling Around || Morgan and Miriam

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: The Archive

PARTIES: @meflemming & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Miriam and Morgan go looking for leads to Morgan’s ghost problem and scare up an entirely different one in the process.

Even with her muted senses, Morgan couldn’t help but run her fingers over the stacks and breathe in the smell of old books in the Archive. “You ever miss the smell of old books?” She asked her companion. “Or do you have the smelling problem? Is everything still roses and lavender in your garden of un-earthly delights?” She steered down another aisle in the stacks and checked the titles she’d written down again. They had to be somewhere around here. “Thanks for coming, again,” she said. “I know this is up your special interests alley, but you don’t have to do anything for me. This is personal, not principle. And you are more than just my rent-a-witch-killer call, even if I’ve been kind of bad about showing that. You’re more, Mim. I believe that, even if I did drag you out to The Archive for a research field trip on ghost torture.”

“I have heightened senses,” Miriam murmured as she looked at another shelf, taking in the Archive. She believed that the last time she’d been in this place, she’d been alive, looking for some obscure book for Gilly and paying for it, of course. “Though, I wouldn’t say it’s all roses and lavender. You wouldn’t believe how much worse certain things smell now. Some of the colognes the kids wear these days? Disgusting, truly.” She wrinkled her nose at the smell of some teenager that had walked in her store the other evening. She had smelled his acrid, chemical scent from her office. “Of course, dearest, I’m happy to come.” She was happy to see how things had changed, certainly, and happy to see if there was anything around that she could add to her own home library. Miriam had grown quite the collection of books on magic. She liked seeing it get even larger, though it was mostly from trophies. She looked up at Morgan, an eyebrow raised. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that you think much more of me than just a witch hunter. I appreciate it.” Even if it did seem that all they did together these days was hunt witches and then discuss the moral implications of her continuously hunting witches. “Color me curious about the ghost torture, though.”

Morgan wrinkled her nose at the thought of smelling teenager body odor and cheap cologne, or even Deirdre’s carcass hauls with their odours dialed up to eleven. They were almost comforting to her with the way she was, sweet in their decay, but not enough to turn her stomach. At least, not in a bad way. “Maybe we should hold off on the sensory swap, then,” she sniggered. “Although I do have a literal garden with roses and lavender you could smell, if you wanted. You can remind me what they smell like. Hey, does this mean you can smell things you couldn’t before? Is there anything, like, surprising?” She glanced over at Miriam as she spoke, noticing the small upturn of her lips and the brightness of her eyes and she looked the place over. She was interested, engaged, almost alive. “The thanks still stands. I wouldn’t have thought you’d enjoy a place like this with all the, you know. But then, I guess I only know you a little well after all.” She stopped as she came to one of the titles on her list and hefted the book in her arms as the flipped through the contents. “I just...want to make sure you know that I’m not all talk. We can do normal things too, you know. I would even prefer that, maybe.” Or, also, not. Morgan couldn’t pretend to herself that she tried to keep her distance at least a little. She knew Mim was dangerous, that she could never be brought close enough into her circle to know who the Vurals were or about the coven that had thrown them out. But she did care for the vampire, and wondered how many people she had who bothered with her beyond what she had designated herself to ‘do.’

“I mean, bookshop trips are kind of normal,” Morgan went on quickly,  “But I’m not really here just to browse, although we could, if you want, once I knock this out. And as for my purpose, well, as I said in my message when I lured you out here, I’m trying to torture a witch that’s already dead. And there’s not much that can hurt a ghost. But if I know humans at all, someone, somewhere, came up with something truly horrible for just that purpose.” She flipped back to the index and skimmed quickly, then put the book back, dissatisfied. “She’s the one who killed me, Mim,” Morgan said quietly. “The same one who cursed me. Well, me and my entire, miserable bloodline going back a hundred years. And she still can’t leave me alone. What’s up with that, right?”

“What?” Miriam asked in mock surprise. “You don’t want to smell all the wonders that White Crest’s population has to offer?” Some things, places, people smelled lovely. Some smelled wretched. “I have a nice garden myself, but I’m sure yours is far better. I don’t actually tend to mine.” She sometimes thought she should. It wasn’t like she had a problem getting her hands dirty. “Of course I wouldn’t mind describing rose and lavender to you. I might not be as descriptive as you’d like, but I certainly can.” She cocked her head a bit, thinking. “People who are sick smell different. Then, there are certain chemicals released when people are excited in any sort of way that I can smell if I’m close enough. And, if there’s spilled blood, I can smell the difference is species. All of my senses are heightened. Not to the sort of level as other supernaturals, but definitely a major difference.” She ran a finger along the spine of a book, old and brittle. “I can smell ink on pages, sometimes.” It had been far more overwhelming than she cared to admit, when she first turned, the heightened senses and emotions and urges to kill. Now, though, Miriam couldn’t remember what life was like. “Well, then, you’re welcome, of course.” The thanks settled in improperly. She didn’t really feel like she should be thanked for much of anything. “I do know that. Unfortunately, this town, what we are, doesn’t really agree with ‘normal.’” She laughed. “I don’t even know what that means, at this point.”

Miriam shook her head. “We don’t have to worry about browsing today. This is more important.” Both for Morgan and for herself. She’d been trying to… control herself, be a bit more discriminatory on how and off who she fed. And it was leading to her being more… irritable, at times. Anxious, but not anxious. She felt like she was slacking a bit, like she was denying an itch that begged to be scratched. “We’ll find something, I’m quite sure of it. It’s like you said: it has to exist somewhere.” She narrowed her eyes at Morgan’s quiet words before she gave a sharp nod. “Then we’ll make sure she suffers.” If she thought about it too hard, she knew that it could be her that all this quiet, simmering rage was directed at, this desire to hurt. She would have killed Morgan without a thought. Even though she’d liked her, liked talking to her, she would have done it, and there would have only been the slightest pang of guilt. She wouldn’t have allowed herself anything more.

“Why have a garden if you don’t tend to it?” Morgan smirked. “I mean, some weeds get a bad rep that they don’t deserve, but, don’t tend at all? Really? We need to get you a better hobby, Miriam. You deserve more than sad, lonely flowers. Maybe something with a group, like a book club, or sports. You kind of look like the volleyball amazons I ogled in high school.” But Miriam was right, this wasn’t a bookstore and coffee Instagram sort of outing. Constance hated her enough to tear down her life before she went in for the kill. For all Morgan knew, she was hiding around the next corner, waiting to throw down a shelf of books and grind her to pieces. Morgan shuddered at the thought and picked up another book. “We will,” she agreed, oddly strengthened by Miriam’s assurance. She flipped through the contents again, scanning as carefully as she could in case she missed anything. Lots of notes about exorcising ghosts in the abstract, or simplistic, but not about making them suffer on the way out. She was sure she’d read or heard something about the word ‘harm’ being attached to this or ‘to the ...something.’ Certainly not death. Morgan’s thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream.

“MOMMY SAID NO HITTING!!”

“Wow, someone’s having a really bad da--”

“MOMMYYYYYY SAAAAAID!” It was one of those ragged wails that threatened to break the sound barrier. Morgan looked and...found most of the store looking at the walking child corpse with dazed bewilderment. Did anyone else hear that? A little kid, right? It’s probably someone watching a movie without headphones. Weirdest thing. But she was there, right there, and she was pointing at Morgan and Miriam like they had personally stomped on her Barbie dream house. She stomped towards them, screaming again.

“Because it’s something nice to look at. Besides,” Miriam said, a bit defensively, “it’s a bit difficult to only garden at night, you know. Better to just hire someone that knows what they’re doing in the day.” She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Volleyball amazon, huh? I’ve never been the best at group activities, you know.” She tended to enjoy taking charge and doing the work herself. Besides, team sports didn’t suit the image she’d made for herself in her youth. It was a shame, really. She wished she’d had a better outlet for all that rage. Miriam began her own excursion into looking through books, hoping to find something that might help Morgan, occasionally skimming to see if there was something that struck her own fancy. She was startled out of her browsing by a child screaming. Her head snapped up to look at it, wondering who would leave a child unattended in a bookstore, when she saw it.

The child was clearly dead. Greyish parlor, vacant eyes, dirtied dress (something that looked similar to what Miriam herself might have worn as a child), and no discernable heartbeat made it impossible for Miriam to do anything more than stare, for just a moment, as the child stomped towards them. Then, she panicked.

“Morgan. Morgan, what do we do? Morgan?” she hissed out, eyes wide as she stared at the advancing little girl. Miriam liked children. She did. She had always wanted a child. She… did not know how to handle children, especially not undead ones throwing temper tantrums. “Hitting what? Books? Isn’t that all metaphorical?” Who was she talking to? Herself? Morgan? The toddler? She didn’t know. Miriam backed herself a bit into one of the shelves, her heels making clicking noises as she tapped her foot. She was at a loss on what to do here.

It took Morgan a moment to compose herself. When she first saw the spectral image, she froze, fearing Constance had found her. She knew what she should be doing: she should be pulling the iron rod out of her bag. She should be dumping lines of salt around them, or running for the door. But she couldn’t find her feet or her grip. The child was shambling towards them on broken legs that might’ve been made of gauze, for how she wobbled on the airy shapes. Morgan was sure she would have remembered her face if they’d met before. She didn’t make friends with all the ghosts in town, but those younger than her tended to stick out, it just seemed so much more unfair. This girl couldn’t have been more than seven at a generous guess, and Morgan wasn’t sure she had it in her to strike the dead girl. Which was looking...really unfortunate, since the Bad Seed didn’t look like she was going to be putting herself in time out anytime soon.

Miriam’s voice snapped her out of her fear. She’d never heard Miriam be afraid before. She had to do something. Now. “Get behind me,” she said, moving in front already. “Also, maybe uh--” She considered passing Miriam the rod, wondering if she’d have the nerve where Morgan faltered. Guilt gripped her at once and she fished into her bag for the salt. “If she gets too close, throw some of this,” she said. “I’ll just, uh…” See what she wants? “Hey, sweetheart…” she cooed, “You okay there?”

“I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!” The girl bellowed. “MOMMY CONNIE TOLD ME WHAT YOU DID!”

“Oh, shit. Mim, we gotta--” She was pushing them towards the door when the shelf they were next to cracked. The ghost girl waved from the other side of it, smug as a loony toon as it toppled down on them.

“I don’t need to get behind you, Morgan,” Miriam snapped in a hushed voice, though she moved a bit anyway. “I’m not scared of a child, dead or not.” Part of her ached for the little girl tottering towards them. A slightly larger part of her was still panicking, though, so unsure about how to handle this situation that she was more than happy to allow Morgan to try and handle it. She took the bag of salt, though she wasn’t convinced she could even possibly begin to use it. She watched Morgan try to deal with the little girl, her voice soothing and syrupy sweet. And she watched as the little girl brought the shelf down.

“Fuck,” Miriam snarled, eyes flashing red in panic as she used a burst of speed to try and maneuver her and Morgan away from the toppling shelf. It was coming down on them, there was no stopping that, and it was definitely going to hurt. It was a good thing that both of them were nearly impossible to kill. She grunted as the shelf fell, trying to support it as well as she could. “You’re the brawn, darling, you’re going to have to help me lift.” Why did fucking books weigh so much. “This child’s a brat,” she said through clenched teeth.

Morgan didn’t remember falling. She was trying to run out of reach, squeezing Miriam’s hand, then she was on the ground, wood digging into the small of her back and books crushing her limbs.

“YOU HIT MOMMY CONNIE!”

Morgan grimaced, struggling to push herself up on her arms. “Getting fucking kids to your work for you, Constance?” She hissed under her breath. “Because that’s so mature…” Her back burned with effort. She didn’t remember moving being this hard when she was alive. “Mim--” she grunted, rising a little higher. “I’m doin’ my best here. Still not exactly the Hulk.” But she had braced herself well enough to lift an arm, give herself a little extra push. Morgan hissed through her teeth. “How’s this sound? We get out from under here, run off with whatever looks useful that we can see, and go literally anywhere else. Maybe Al’s, they’ve got those giant salt shakers!” Morgan could just about sell herself on the idea when two little oxford shoes crept into view. “Or maybe we just go home. Push on three, okay?” She looked over at the vampire as best she could, hope just brimming through her grimace.

“Mommy Connie,” Miriam said, her brows furrowed with thought and effort in trying to help lift the stack off of them both. “Morgan, if this is about that witch bitch of a ghost that killed you, then, truly, count me in. One, two--” Instead of saying three, Miriam started to lift with all that she could with Morgan’s help, lifting the shelf off of them both. “Sounds lovely,” she said, feeling out of breath even when she didn’t have to breathe. “You grab what you need, and we can go to my place if you’d like. I’m going to--” she looked to where the child was, unsure and a little pained, “--to try and give us a bit of time.” She took out the bag of salt.

“I don’t want to do this,” Miriam told the little dead girl. “I’d rather not salt you. I like children, as hard as that is to believe. I don’t like brats, though. You seem like a bit of a brat. You could have hurt someone.” Dead things can’t be reasoned with. Still, here Miriam was, trying to reason with a ghost child. Fuck, she hoped Morgan got what she needed and soon. “Did you see my friend here hurt your… mother?” Could this child even answer a question? Or was she too far gone, just another creature that acted on instinct. Miriam clenched the bag of salt tightly, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it but ready just in case.

The little girl’s screams were starting to devolve into sobs. “M-my--Connie--TOLD ME!” If she’d been alive she would’ve started turning color. Every word ripped from her dead throat, raw, shrill, and choked. “She--!” The little girl pointed a chubby, trembling finger at Morgan, “Wants to make her go away! And I. WON’T. LET HER!” Her scream made the glass over the overhead lights buckle. Lights sparked and flicked.

Morgan, meanwhile, scrambled out from under the shelf and waded through the mess of books for anything that had Exorcism in the title. If she didn’t get anything useful out of them, she’d just return them. She kicked the other tomes out of her way, following the last of the panicked customers through the doorway. Some college kid was running backwards, phone out, trying to capture the spectacle. Morgan slapped it out of her hand and shouted, “Run, you idiot!”

“My phone!”

Morgan pushed the girl next and bolted out the door. She skidded to a halt and looked over her shoulder. Miriam was still in there, trying to...reason with the kid? “Mim!” She opened the door and held out her hand.

“NOT UNTIL YOU PAY FOR HURTING MY CONNIE!” The little girl smacked down another bookshelf, starting a cascade.

Morgan grabbed Miriam’s wrist and pulled. She couldn’t die again, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get hurt either.

Miriam’s eyes widened as she took in the sobbing child, her undead heart cracking just a bit. Maybe the little girl could be reasoned with. But then she started pointing her finger and screaming, and Miriam gritted her teeth. “Oh, bite me, you little brat.” She jumped back as another bookshelf fell, reaction and instinct taking over to push herself away. For just a moment, she considered throwing the salt, ending it. She… couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Instead, she ran to the door and allowed Morgan to yank her out of the destroyed bookstore. Brushing an errant curl back into place, Miriam huffed and looked over to her zombie companion. “Never a dull moment with you, is it, sweetness?” She let out a breathless laugh. “My god, that bitch Connie really hates you.” It wasn’t funny. She didn’t quite know why she was laughing. She sobered a bit, gave Morgan a nod. “If you’ve got the books we need, then let’s get to researching how to get rid of this wannabe undead bitch.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m the only one that gets that title.”

“Yeah, that’s me!” Morgan said, laughing shrill. “Always one for adventure.” She checked herself over as much as she could with one arm and edged away from the doors. Nothing looked permanently damaged, but there was more debris than shelves in there, and in the middle of the room, the dead child with the broken legs continued to wail, heaving her dead lungs for a relief that was never going to come. “I never took you for much of a maternal type, Miriam.” A smile of amused wonder spread as she edged them further into the night. “You really are full of amazing surprises.” And just as quickly, the smile faltered. “I should tell you, though, the Constance pain in my ass was only nineteen when she died. “I don’t want to trick you into anything you’re not up for, but I can give you the rest of my sordid story back at your place, or tomorrow. Maybe next week?” She laughed again. “After all that, you’re the only dead girl I wanna deal with today.”

[topimagines]

Tip Toes

Summary: I’m on my tip toes, trying to see past my ego. Reaching for something more than this feeling of being important. Leaving my heart behind is bleeding, but my pride is screaming. My future will listen to me, listen to me.

Warning: I wanted to write angst, but this came out. IDK how to label it. Listen to tip toes by half alive while reading. issa long one

Y/n had not dated much. Actually, she did not start looking for a relationship until her freshman year of college. By then there weren’t many people she talked to and considered a friend; therefore, the idea of dating someone, being close to someone that was not her friend, did not pique her interest. Around the time she met Brendon and Sarah, she had lost all hope in a romantic relationship. It almost seemed too good to be true, a truly happy relationship seemed unattainable.

This feeling came in waves, making her feel nauseous like she was on a boat in a hurricane. It became truly difficult to accept a happy reality that ended in kids of her own and a husband or wife, but she knew it was just about impossible. Her best friends were a married couple and a gay man (who was also in a happy relationship), they always rooted for her. But they didn’t understand, she was a twenty-something-year-old who had no idea how to even kiss someone. Everyone always told her (especially her friends) that it was admirable that she held out for so long like she was waiting for the right person or something.

In other words, y/n would describe herself as the biggest virgin on earth, and it genuinely was from a lack of trying.

It almost felt as if her own future didn’t belong to her.

Some days were better than others, just like the day Sarah asked her to come to hang out at her house. y/n had just gotten done with finals, so she had basically a month of sitting around and waiting for the Spring semester to finally start. Sarah and Brendon cuddled on the couch, y/n on the chair in the corner of the room actually watching the movie and trying to not pay attention to the couple that was no doubt finger banging each other under the blanket they shared.

“I think I should go,” y/n said, “I have to work in the morning so I can’t stay up too late.” She stretched her arms and legs when she got up from the chair. Sarah seemed to be frightened out of a daze when she looked up at her friend.

“Oh, okay!” Sarah chirped, pushing Brendon away from her, “Do you want me to walk you out?”

y/n shook her head, “no thanks, I’m fine.”

“Well… I’ll see you later?” Sarah asked. Y/n didn’t really want to. It wasn’t that she didn’t like hanging out with them, they always made her feel lonely. And sad. But mostly lonely.

“I don’t know, I have a busy week at the hospital; I will text you when I get time,” y/n said before bidding the couple goodbye and leaving the house.

Sarah looked at her husband, who had gotten entranced by the movie in the five minutes since he was trying to sneak his hand into her pants. “You are such an idiot.”

“What did I do?”

-

Y/n got home that night very confused about her feelings. Her brain was spiraling out of control with delusions of being married and having someone who would dote on her the same way Brendon did Sarah. At the same time, she never really paid attention to them behind the scenes, so maybe they’re dysfunctional and she never saw it.

That didn’t make sense, if she knew one thing about the couple, it was that they talked about everything. And Sarah told her everything, every fight they had, Sarah would go to y/n’s apartment and sit until Brendon sulked his way over.

Every time she thought about the couple, she got a weird sensation of butterflies in her stomach.

No, she thought, I am not developing a stupid crush just because I’m sad and lonely.

That night she couldn’t sleep; it didn’t help that she knew she did have work in the morning and the hospital was unforgiving when the lab techs were late. By the time she finally stopped swimming in her thoughts, she had dreams of her friends, holding her hand and kissing her on the forehead.

It was 6 AM before she knew it, and she had to get up and get ready for work.

Hopefully, tea would help wake her up before she got to work and did a piss poor job.

-

Y/n had never been more appreciative of the hospital. She had fond memories of staying there, almost dying, meeting so many different doctors that she just didn’t have it in her to leave.

Sarcasm, that was the key to understanding her outlook on life. Constant use of sarcasm.

But she would be lying if she said that today, and every day for the past week, she was so glad they had a week full of emergencies and a trip planned for a conference with Lab Technologists across the country. This trip would take her to Boston and all she could think of was the idea of seeing every museum she could for one full week and going to a conference full of people who had a thorough understanding of microbiology and hematology. It was almost enough to make her come in her jeans.

What she did not appreciate, was Brendon coming to visit her while she was supposed to be working. She had just gotten a lab sample to test for any drug she could when Brendon waltzed in with In N Out in his hand. He greeted her with a hug and handed her the bag.

“Sarah is at work,” he sighed, “she doesn’t get a lunch today because she’s busy or something, so I thought I’d visit my bestie.” She was too distracted to notice what he was saying. Brendon tried to call her name, the third time she snapped.

“What do you want?” she half yelled, looking away from her specimen.

Brendon looked taken aback; he didn’t even know how to reply when he has never seen her so angry before. Her coworker, a younger man by the name of Jeremy Ren, looked up from his microscope and stepped over to her area.

“L/n, you go take your lunch break, I’ll take care of this shotgun,” he took the test tubes and brought them back to his microscope with him, still eyeing the two.

She scoffed and stomped out, ditching her lab coat at the door. She led Brendon to the hospital cafeteria and sat down with him in the corner.

“What’s wrong? You usually aren’t so…” Brendon trailed off, “Are you still being overworked? Have you talked to your boss about time off?”

Y/n shook her head, “I’m just… fine, I’m fine.” Internally, she cringed. If she talked to him about it, maybe she could resolve the war she had inevitably put herself into.

But the idea of not telling him anything was far more appealing. Nothing had to change.

“Are you sure? You look tired, have you been sleeping?” He reached over and grabbed her hand, tracing his thumb over her knuckles.

God, Brendon, she thought, Stop being so caring, it’s not helping my situation. She pulled her hand away and tucked it under her pants. This couldn’t happen. She did everything she could to give herself a reason not to develop a stupid crush on the man in front of her. She could only come up with two.

1.       He’s married to her best friend

2.       He definitely wouldn’t see her the same way

Number two made her heart bleed. Not literally, she knew the severity of an actual bleeding heart, she worked in a hospital for Christ’s sake. But if she were to imagine the pain, this would be it.

“I’m just… excited for this trip to Boston next week,” she confessed. It wasn’t a lie by any means, she stayed up all night a month ago when she heard she was going on the trip, planning what she wanted to pack. This didn’t change the stare he had on the table where her hand used to be, and his hand still sat.

“Oh, that is coming up, isn’t it?” he put a smile on his face, trying to quickly recover from whatever feeling he felt. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit off today. We haven’t seen you all week, we miss you at the house.”

She frowned. There was an impulsive need in her to put her hand back and comfort him. But she knew she shouldn’t do it because she knew it would only make her feel worse.

“I’ve been busy with work, had a lot of emergencies and stuff,” she explained, ��I’m free this weekend, I’ll try to come over before I leave for the airport on Sunday.” That was not what she wanted to say, why did she say that?

“Sounds like a plan!” he seemed happy with that suggestion though, so maybe she didn’t have anything to worry about.  “How has your week been, then? What kinda emergencies did you get?”

She and Brendon talked for a while, she told him about the guy who came in with necrotic tissue on his arm from heroin, and he told her about his charity live stream and how proud he was of everyone who donated.

Watching him so happy as he explained what happened, she felt herself swooning. They sat in silence for a few moments after he finished speaking, both focused on eating their food. One of the surgical nurses walked passed them with a smile on her face.

“Y/n, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend!” Brendon smirked and opened his mouth to explain that they weren’t a couple, but the nurse continued on, “you’re always going on about how lonely you are! It’s nice to see you’re finally getting out there.” Y/n’s eyes were wide, and a blush crept across her cheeks.

“Uh… thank you, Andrea,” she said with a shaky voice.

“So proud of you, my dear,” Andrea smiled brightly t the two before she walked away, bidding them goodbye.

“You’re lonely?” Brendon asked when Andrea was out of earshot.

y/n couldn’t speak as she stared at her fries, the only response she gave was a small nod.

“Why are you lonely? You never date… or expressed a desire… to date.” Damn you, Sarah, she thought, that was supposed to be a secret.

“well… lately, it’s been a bit different,” she sighed, “I’m almost 30, I’ve never been on a real date or…. Done anything, really. I thought I’d at least have a boyfriend by now.” That was easier to get off her chest than she thought.

“You’ve never done anything? Not even like… a kiss?” Brendon knew he was badgering her now, but this was so unbelievable to him. She was so smart and beautiful; how could anyone look passed her?

She shook her head, eyes still on the fries that were no longer steamy, “Can we drop it please?”

Brendon took in the shakiness to her tone and decided to drop it like she asked. This topic would definitely come up later with Sarah, though. He had so many more questions.

When they parted ways after lunch, Brendon couldn’t hold back a smile as he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. She blushed harder than she had at lunch when she said bye to him. No one, besides her parents and grandparents, had ever kissed her on the cheek.

She kind of liked it.

-

Sarah told Brendon everything he wanted to know. She didn’t know why, at first, but he explained what happened during lunch.

“But you can’t badger her or make her feel bad,” Sarah emphasized, “She always felt self-conscious about it, even after we became friends.” Brendon understood, even though he never had to deal with stuff like that. He had lost his virginity early on, and everything just came naturally after that.

“I would never.”

-

“So, what’s with you never dating anyone?” He had promised not to pry, but now it was late at night in y/n’s apartment and he had more than a few drinks in his system. Sue him, he wanted to hang out and she brought out the wine.

“I just… don’t do it?” y/n had a few drinks in her too, the wine was making her feel like being truthful. If she were sober, she wouldn’t be telling hi anything, but maybe she needed to get it off her chest? Drunk y/n thought so, anyway. “I didn’t get my first boyfriend until my freshman year of college, and before that, I only had minor flings with girls from my school. I don’t know, dating always makes me anxious.”

“And you’ve never done anything?” He knew her answer already. This was beginning to get repetitive and even drunk y/n was fed up with it.

“Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because it’s… it’s so rare! You’re like a unicorn!” he laughed at his comparison. She shook her head, she felt kind of offended, but she knew what he was saying. He hadn’t meant it to be an insult at all, he was kind of proud of her, even with pressures that a woman date and be married by her age, she didn’t feel that. She was unabashedly herself.

He didn’t know what came over him when he opened his mouth next, “I mean, I can always help you.”

y/n looked into his eyes, and she swore that if she were a meme, she would have question marks floating around her head. “What?”

“I mean if you ever want your first kiss… or something else… I can always help you,” he didn’t know why he was saying it, but he couldn’t help but offer. The offer was outlandish, yes, but he knew Sarah would be alright with it. She had mentioned before how much she liked y/n, in a more than platonic way.

Before this whole topic came up, Brendon was planning on asking her to be their third, if she wanted to be. However, she told him she hadn’t dated someone very seriously.

“But… wh- h- Sarah?” y/n was blushing, her face and ears were bright red. This was not how she expected this to go.

“She would want to do the same thing, she has a thing for you,” drunk Brendon was an honest Brendon, apparently, “was gonna ask you if you wanted to go on a date with us the other day but obviously I didn’t.”

Y/n didn’t know what to say. Like, of course, he had to do this when she was drunk and couldn’t very well keep her thoughts to herself.

“Um…. Are you asking me now if I want to go on a date with you and Sarah?” y/n asked.

“Well, that wasn’t my first question,” Brendon leaned closer, and cupped her face with his left hand, “Tell me to stop if you want me to stop.” He continued leaning in, slowly but surely. He waited for her to protest; when she didn’t say anything, he finally connected their lips. If he were to compare all of his other kisses to the one right then, she wouldn’t be the worst. She was inexperienced, but her lips were soft and tasted like peppermint from her seasonal chapstick.

When she pulled away, he almost chased after her.

For the rest of the night, he explained the logistics of kissing, and eventually, they both fell asleep on the couch after he went on the the longest tangent on what kind of guitar he would get now that his “cream dream" was gone.

-

She left for Boston after saying goodbye to Brendon or Sarah. She had also talked to Robert (her other best friend) the day before the trip; he yelled at her for not telling him right away about everything that had been happening. To be genuinely honest, she needed this vacation after her night with Brendon.

It was a relief when Brendon left in the morning after they had kissed. The memory of her first kiss still burned in the back of her mind, but she didn’t want to focus on that. Right now, it was her time to relax.

That was until Brendon texted her asking what hotel she was at. She told him, just assuming he wanted to make sure she got there safe. Why would she think anything else?

She should have thought of something else. Now she was sitting in her room, scrolling through the TV when she heard the knock at the door.

He didn’t, she thought, please tell me he didn’t.

She opened the door and saw the couple standing in front of her with giant smiles on their faces.

He did.

“what are you doing here?” she said instead of greeting them.

Sarah let herself in, “we wanted to surprise you! You’ve wanted this vacation for a while, and we thought you’d want company!”

She really didn’t want company, but she put a smile on her face anyway.

-

After spending the whole week with Brendon and Sarah, y/n was exhausted. She only got a real break from the two when she was at the conference. They had both wished her luck that morning and went back to giggling under the blankets of their shared bed.

Now she was back in Los Angeles, and she was so fucking happy to go back to normal.

However, they didn’t necessarily go back to normal. Brendon spent a lot more time at her apartment than he used to. He started to initiate cuddling, press kisses to her cheek and hairline, and hugging her more than he used to. She started to see more of Sarah, as well. She did it more subtly. She bought y/n drinks and take her to fancy restaurants, surprises her with jewelry and takes her shopping, anything really.

All y/n wanted was for one of them to say something.

And when she least expected it, Brendon did.

“Have you ever wanted to lose your virginity?” Brendon asked during a movie one day. y/n shrugged, she couldn’t say she was surprised, she knew he would ask eventually.

“I guess,” she sighed, “its just not something I really let myself think about. I never thought anyone would… y’ know, want to. And I’m 28, no one wants to date a virgin at my age.”

“Don’t say that,” he took her hand in his. Recently, it had been his sign of comfort to lace his fingers with hers and rub his thumb along the back, “I already told you, me and Sarah love you…”

y/n couldn’t look up at him, she only stared at her fingers. She didn’t say anything, either.

“you never answered, you know,” he whispered, “let us take you on one date. A fancy restaurant, or a movie, whatever makes you least anxious.”

y/n shook her head. The feeling of drowning, even before saying yes, was obvious. She felt like she couldn’t breathe and had to remind herself how to focus on the feeling of his hand in hers.

“or, we can keep it low key, not label it… just the three of us?”

“um… okay..” y/n thought, “no labeling, just… just us. Let’s go see the new Jumanji.”

“That sounds perfect,” Brendon smiled down at y/n.

Maybe her future did belong to her.

[anythingstevenuniverse]

*SUF Spoiler* Dreams

“In Dreams” was a favorite of mine because of the psychological components of Steven’s dreams. I am a huge enthusiast of psychology and even graduated with a major in psychology. Now I am no expert on psychology and had to research a lot about Steven’s dreams and dreams in general. Thank goodness a lot of SU theorists did the same which helped with dream interpretations. Psychology has studied many theories on dreams and is still being studied today. “In Dreams” gives great importance on dreams and how it can affect people’s well-being.

Psychological theories on dreams hypothesis dreams allow people to sort though problems, events of the day, or things requiring a lot of our attention. Sigmund Freud, infamous psychologist in the early 1900s, thought dreams were repressed desires unacceptable in real life. Freud’s apprentice, Carl Jung, agreed but added dreams are a reflection of our waking selves and helped solve our problems or think through issues. Those two were the basics of dream theories and more psychologists/researchers started to study dreams. Allan Hobson and Robert McCarley hypothesized that dreams result from electrical brain impulses that pull imagery from experience and memory. Once someone wakes up, we try to make sense of certain imagery and create stories without realizing it. This is known as Activation-Synthesis Hypothesis. Unfortunately, most of us forget about our dreams. According to L. Strumpell, we forget because dreams are usually vague and unique. We only remember and learn about our dreams by association and repetition. There are also other ways to remember dreams. Lucid dreaming is the ability to control our actions in our dreams. This takes a lot to master but is possible. There is also a type of control to dreams called Dream Incubation. Dream Incubation is focusing on a specific issue when sleeping. The difference is Lucid dreaming can be random in controlling where was Dream Incubation is focused on one thing before dreaming. Then we have two different types of dreams: nightmares and recurring dreams. Nightmares are dreams so distressing and terrifying they wake us up. They are usually caused by strong negative or traumatic events. Recurring dreams are repeated dreams and happen when we do not acknowledge something in life causing stress. They are also associated with traumatic events. The study of dreams has been prominent in the field of psychology and are still being researched today.

I am going to try to interpret Steven’s dreams as best to my ability as possible. Two SU theorists, Awestuckvox from Roundtable and Deepcut from Cartoon Universe, did amazing jobs at interpreting Steven’s dreams and I will be using their interpretations as well as my own. We can all agree Steven’s dreams are related to his current issues with being left behind and his trauma starting to surface. However, Steven keeps having these dreams a lot and it’s stressing him out. They change once him and Peridot want to redo their favorite show but gets crazy as his unresolved issues start to show. Let’s try to interpret these dreams.

The first dream is Steven going to the Beach House and seeing the Off Colors, the Crystal Gems, Connie, and Onion dancing inside. He wants to join but the door disappears as well as the windows and he knocks on the door to let him in. The Obsidian statue suddenly has a Cookie Cat head and tells him they don’t need him anymore so why is he still here. The porch opens up and Steven falls. Lars and the Off Colors are represented of his friends leaving and the rest are the friends still in Beach City. They are having a party without him representing they have moved on and are living a happy life. The door and windows disappearing and the Cookie Cat head talking to him are Steven’s insecurities of being left behind and losing his purpose. From both theorists, falling is associated with losing control of your life meaning Steven is losing control of his life. This first dream is very specific and shows Steven’s insecurities of people leaving him behind and losing his purpose in life.

The second dream is a remake of the Camp Pining Hearts reboot. We see Steven in his CPH persona and nothing happens at first. Until he starts becoming real life Steven and sees Yellow Diamond as a pineapple, Blue Diamond as a dolphin, and White Diamond’s feet and suddenly goes Pink. The CPH dreams seems to be an example of dream incubation as they are focusing on one specific topic. According to Awestruckvox, a flying dolphin represents expressing your carefree and childish side, a pineapple represents great fun, and feet represent moral standards. The Diamonds are associated with positive symbols in the dream but are also associated with Steven’s trauma of CYM. This could mean Steven’s conflict with wanting to be happy with the Diamonds, however cannot do so because of how close linked they are to his trauma. Steven’s pink form and him screaming “not again” could be his fear of losing control of his powers and the dream happening. Now his dreams are starting to show what is troubling Steven.

The rest of his dreams start out as Camp Pining Hearts reenactment but start to show other insecurities. The third time shows Dogcopter flying away which could represent Steven’s childhood leaving him or losing his childhood. The fourth time shows the Crystal Gems flyig away which is Steven’s fear of his family moving on without him. The fifth one shows Spinel’s injector in the background when we see Rodrigo canoeing which is Steven’s trauma related to Spinel and baby Steven which could be a sign of losing his control of his powers like when he was a kid. These dreams are really starting to affect Steven’s mental health. With these recurring dreams, Steven is suffering from night terrors, episodes that make his heart race and become disoriented when waking up. From the dark circles under his eyes and jolting up from his bed, these dreams are starting to cause him mental exhaustion and issues.

The last dream starts with Steven reenacting CPH but instead of canoeing with Rodrigo, he is on an island about to kiss Jasmine. However, Jasmine turns into Connie and Connie turns into Obsidian about to stomp Steven. Connie is the only person who has Steven feels he has not lost and the Obsidian about to crush him could be the events of CYM starting to be too much for him. Suddenly Steven is in his old room and trying to talk to Peridot but sees her visor with SMPTE color bars and static noise. Being back in his old room could be him unconsciously wanting to go back to his childhood. The SMPTE bars are seen on TV when a signal is altered meaning Peridot’s visor having them could be their relationships altering or being disconnected. Then we are back at the Beach House and Peridot is starting to walk to the party meaning Steven is afraid of losing Peridot. He jumps out of the way to avoid falling meaning he is trying to take control of his life. Then he talks to Peridot about how he can’t be friends with anyone unless they need his help, is getting tired and can’t do it anymore, and wants to still be Peridots friend. This happens with the SMPTE color bars again showing more disconnection with Peridot. Steven feels he is losing his relationship with Peridot because there is nothing to fix. The last dream and literally his last one that we see shows Steven’s fear of losing his friends and family and feeling disconnected with everyone unless he helps them. Thank goodness Peridot reassures Steven that they can still hang out without any excuses and watch their show even if it’s bad.

This episode was a favorite of mine due to my psychology side. However, it did show the importance of dreams and how it can affect us. Dreams have been a research topic many fields for many years. It has been related to psychical, social, and psychological issues. Most dreams can be silly and forgetful but “In Dreams” shows how recurring dreams can cause us stress if not dealt with. There have been incidents or records of people who sleep walk, suffer from night terrors and nightmares, how the body can react to dreams, and the negative harm it can cause. Dreams are not to be taken lightly. This episode was great in portraying how dreams show the our subconscious fears and designs without hinderance and the affects it can have on us physically and psychologically if left unresolved.

[jckierey]

The Forbidden Tattoo (Tony Stark x Reader!Daughter)

Age: 17

"Dad!" You shouted, stomping your way down to the garage and finding your father invested in repairing another suit. "What's up, kiddo?" He asked while carefully soldering wires. "Since it was recently my birthday, and I haven't decided what gift I want, I finally know!" You exclaimed, giving him a cheeky grin. He stopped soldering and turned to look at you.

"A puppy?" "No," "A lizard?" "No-" "Is it an animal?" "Dad!"

You rolled your eyes. "I want... a tattoo!" You whipped out your phone and showed him a picture of your most desired tattoo. He took the phone from your hand, observing the picture before handing your phone back to you. "No." he bluntly said before turning back to his suit.

"What do you mean no? It's what I want!" You protested, crossing your arms. Tony stayed quiet, continuing his work. You grabbed his shoulder and swung him around to face you. "Dad, please! I really want this tattoo, I've been dreaming about it since I was 16!" You cried, trying to get him to side with you.

"And you can dream about it 'til you're 18!" He countered, trying to return to his work but you kept grabbing his shoulder. "This isn't fair! You got a tattoo of a monkey eating a banana on your lower back when you were 17!" You sneered.

"I was drunk and stupid, Y/N! You're not getting a tattoo, end of discussion" He said, swinging himself back around. "But dad!" you whimpered. "Y/N, not another word" He sternly replied. You groaned loudly and turned to walk out of the lab, before looking back and seeing your father continue to work on the suit.

You gritted your teeth together, and walked towards the circuit breaker and switched off the electricity for the entire lab. Tony shouted your name at the top of his lungs and jumped out of his seat, stomping over to you. "You are grounded, Y/N! Go to your room!" He bellowed, pointing towards the lab door.

Holding back your anger, you didn't even think of snapping back at him with a snarky comment. You ran upstairs and hid away in your room. You slammed the door and began pacing back and forth.

You angrily threw yourself on your bed and covered your face with a pillow, screaming into it and letting out all of your anger before hearing a soft chime echo throughout your room.

"Miss Stark, is everything alright?"

You removed the pillow from your face and sighed. "Yeah... No, Jarvis. I want to get a tattoo for my birthday, and it's not like I was to cover my whole body in them, I just want one!" You shouted, holding the pillow close to your chest.

"If only I could just get a tattoo in secret, like, going to a different state and getting it!" You jumped up from your bed in excitement with your idea. "J, what states can you get a tattoo at 17?" You asked. "According to several different sources, Nevada has a rule where 17 year olds may get a tattoo with the consent of a parent or guardian, but Miss-"

"This is great! I could just get someone to sign it an-" "I don't recommend you going to Nevada all by yourself for a tattoo, maybe you should listen to your father and wait until you're 18" Jarvis replied. "Nah" you smirked.

Grabbing your laptop, you began to search for different tattoo parlors that would be willing to work with you. You called over 10 shops and got emailed a bunch of parental consent forms. You printed and filled them out as if you were Tony, but one thing was giving you trouble; forging Tony's signature. No matter how hard you tried, every attempt looked fake.

You gave up out of frustration, before thinking of another plan. You stealthily exited your room, tiptoeing around your house before sneaking into Tony's room and going through bins of his old office supplies that were in his closet. You searched for his old office stamp that said "Signed from the desk of Tony Stark" and had his signature at the bottom.

You rummaged through bins and bags before finally coming across it. Before you could make your exit, you heard footsteps approaching Tony's room, and you quickly closed the closet doors and hid behind the piles of boxes.

"Pep, she got so mad at me that she literally walked over to the circuit breaker and turned the power to the lab off!" Tony exclaimed. You pushed past the boxes and peeped through the tiny slit between the doors, watching him pace back and forth while he was on the phone.

"No no, you don't understand, she did this because of a dumb tattoo that I'm not allowing her to get!" He said, walking over to his watch box and taking off the current one he was wearing, placing it in an empty slot. "It's not as dumb as your monkey tat" you angrily whispered to yourself, using his words to fuel your internal anger and desire to get your tattoo.

Tony used one arm to take off his shirt, before sighing into the phone. "I don't know, Pep. Maybe when you get home you can try and use your feminine powers to try and talk her out of it. Anyways, I'm going in the shower. If you get home fast enough you could probably join me" Tony giggled. You gagged.

He walked into his personal bathroom and began to play his usual loud music. You immediately ran out of his closet and back to your room, grabbing the permission form and firmly pressing the stamp on the signature line. You held the paper up to your face like it was the Baby Jesus staring right back at you, and you couldn't help but laugh menacingly.

"Jarvis, book me a flight for Vegas and a driving service, because I am getting my tattoo!"

~~~

Pepper walked through the door, and the smell of burnt food hit her right in the face. She coughed as she wafted thick smoke away from her face, only to walk into the kitchen and see Tony struggling with his cooking.

"Tony!" She exclaimed, rushing over to see if he was okay. "It's fine, the fire's been out. For, 5 seconds now" He said, throwing the blackened pan into the sink and letting out a sigh of frustration. "I'm gonna just order take out, can you go upstairs and ask Y/N what she wants? And maybe have the talk with her" Tony winked, and Pepper rolled her eyes.

"Are you really this upset by your daughter wanting a tattoo?" Pepper asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Pepper, she is 17 years old. She should be wanting a boyfriend, not a tattoo!" Tony spat, growing angry as he watched Pepper laugh at him. "Tony, teenage girls are unpredictable. This is just a phase and it will pass over in about a week" Pepper began to walk away, but Tony grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"Please just talk to her about it" Tony took her hand and pressed it to his lips as she nodded and walked upstairs to your room. She softly knocked on the door, and called out your name. There was no response so she knocked again, before trying to open your door.

Pepper jiggled at the locked handle, calling out your name one last time. She walked downstairs and shrugged. "She must've fell asleep, her door is locked and she's not answering" Pepper said. Tony's eyes widened, confused at Pepper's words. "She never locks her door" Tony muttered to himself. "I'm gonna go up there and talk to her" He said, walking past Pepper and going upstairs.

"Don't be mean, please!" She shouted after him. Tony marched up the stairs and knocked at your door. "Y/N. Pumpkin, please open the door. I really wanna talk to you" He whined, waiting for some sort of response from you. There was nothing.

Tony began to grow worried. He didn't hear the water running, so you definitely weren't in the shower, and there was no way you couldn't muffle his voice with a pillow over your head. "Y/N, open this door. Right now" Tony knew that angry tone would've pushed you to realize he's not kidding around anymore, but you still weren't answering your door.

He thought of the worst, that something bad could've happened to you, and began to ram your door with his shoulder, and that sent Pepper running upstairs. Tony barged into your room, running to your bed and seeing a post it note stuck on your pillow.

Dad, I'll be back later. I had to take care of something. Love you always!

Tony threw the post it back onto your bed and looked at your opened window, which had a black rope ladder going down the side of the house. "Oh my god," Pepper gasped, watching as Tony tried his best to control his anger. "Where did she even get a rope ladder from?!" Pepper pondered as Tony pulled the ladder inside.

"Happy got it for her for her 14th birthday, just in case Rhodey and I fought and blew up that house again she can make an easy exit" Tony said, frustratingly running his hands through his hair. "Jarvis," he started "where did Y/N go?".

"Miss Stark is currently on her way to Las Vegas"

Tony and Pepper looked at each other, both were very confused. "Why?" They asked simultaneously. "Miss Stark read that 17 year olds can get tattoos in Nevada just as long as they have parental consent" Jarvis stated. "She doesn't even have my consent, how did she-" "Tony, look" Pepper gently tapped his arm, picking up his old office signature stamp. Tony took it from Pepper's hands and fought the urge to hurl it at the wall.

"I... am going... to kill her" Tony took deep breaths in between his words, charging past Pepper and rushing downstairs. Pepper followed Tony, trying to grab his arm and get him to stop and calm down. "Tony, I know you're mad-"

"Oh, I'm not mad. I'm just going to kill her" He said, going into his lab and ordering Jarvis to open up one of his suits. "You cannot just go and yell at her, okay? Just go and get her and bring her back home and we can talk about this, together. Okay?" Pepper gave a weak smile as Tony got into the suit and stared right at Pepper.

"I'm going to kill her"

~~~

You sat in the waiting room of the tattoo parlor, shaking your leg like a cold chihuahua. There was no doubt you were extremely nervous to be in a different state without your father, getting a tattoo behind his back. For all you know, he could be coming to get you right now, which you hoped for deep down inside.

It took you a few minutes to build up courage to step outside and lean against the building with your phone in your hand. You swiped through the contact list, thinking of who to call first that won't scream at you until your ears bleed.

Pepper: Shes with Tony, no way. Rhodey: He'll offer you good advice, but will call Tony right after you hang up. Happy: Will tell you to call Tony but then he will definitely call Tony even after you hang up. Tony: No.

You groaned in frustration, turning your phone off and sliding down the side of the building. "I'm gonna be in so much trouble" you sniffled, curling your legs in towards your chest and resting your head on your knees. For a split second, you thought you were dreaming, until you heard the all too familiar roaring of the Iron Man suit land right next to you.

Not even lifting your head, you could feel Tony's eyes heading down upon you like you were his prey. "Go ahead, yell at me, tell me I'm a horrible kid for running away to get a tattoo" You grumbled into your knees. Tony exited the suit and sat next to you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"You're not a horrible kid" He sighed, looking at you with your head between your knees. "C'mon Pumpkin, look at me" he pressed, but you protested. "I'm sorry," you wept softly "I'm really, really sorry".

Tony wrapped both of his arms around you and gave you a big hug. "I know you are, but sneaking out to Las Vegas to get a tattoo? You know better than that. How did you even pay to get here?" He asked. You lifted your head and looked at him with tears streaming down your face.

"I used your credit card" you confessed. Tony bit his bottom lip before shaking his head.

"Y/N, I am very disappointed in you. But, we both need to try and see eye to eye when it comes to these types of things. I suppose I wasn't being fair to you by disagreeing with your tattoo right off the bat, but you also need to respect me as a parent and understand that when I say no, reacting like a child isn't going to help" Tony tried his hardest not to cry with you, and he used his hands to wipe the tears off of your face.

"I just," you sniffled. "I want to go home, now".

Tony nodded and stood up, holding his hand out for you, which you gladly took and stood up besides him. "Well, since we are in Vegas... How about we go get dinner before heading home, and before you're stuck in your room for the rest of your life" Tony smirked, and you laughed. "Yeah, I kind of expected that... What about Gordon Ramsay's restaurant?" You offered.

Tony grinned. "Deal." he said as you two began to walk away, before Tony gasped in realization that he was forgetting his suit. "Okay, give me a hand carrying this guy!" he commanded. "Dad, really? Why don't you just get in it?" You whined.

"You're the one that decided to run away to Vegas for a tattoo, don't even start!" he said, picking up the suit by the arms. "Get the legs!" He shouted. You unwillingly picked up the suits legs as you both began walking to the restaurant. "Look at this, daddy daughter bonding!" He happily exclaimed. "More like daddy's first round of daughters punishment" you growled.

"Oh no, sweetheart. This isn't even comparable to your punishment" He snickered, causing you to stop walking and look back at him. "I'm not gonna have to clean the entire lab again, right?" You asked. Tony shrugged before furrowing his eyebrows together and shrugging.

"Don't worry, you'll find out tomorrow."

[jetfuel-cantmeltsteelbeams]

I’ve got a thing for (a)U.

Chapter 01: Day 01/07

Scene: On the first day of their freedom from parental control, Rue comes down after a week of hell doing Blyze’s grunt work.  Characters: Rue Demmekke, Renegade Demmekke, Daniel Nightengale, Caydin Blythe

"I ain't ever gonna dance again; these guilty feet have got not rhythm..." Rue rolled his eyes the music assaulted him the second he pushed open the front door. He'd spent the past week in his father's office- literally, his cot had been set up on the floor behind a desk- as per the agreement his parents had come to. It seemed like these days he'd only had one single say in any of this; and since he'd confirmed that he wanted to become the next Dark Leader, everything else had been taken out of his hands.

Every other weekend he spent at the angel compound. Week nights, if it wasn't Midterms or Finals, and every holiday. It was like soccer camp- but with more plays and matches. And way, way more carnage. Even his classes had been changed; Karsyn had booked him for more Otherworld History courses than he could keep up with, and he didn't want to think about the fit she'd throw when she finally saw the grade of his Trig III final.

But with the Academy shutting down for two months of summer, he'd thought he might catch a break. But while his brothers were whisked off on family vacations and trips to expansive realms, he'd been handed a cot and the latest statistics of the recon missions spanning six months back. He'd probably spent half the week buried in his history books, comparing war strategies from this ruler to the next.

All so Blyze could walk in, scan the report that had taken him three days to type up and format, toss it to the desk and wave him out.

He was still simmering when he'd picked up Ren a few hours later, honking the horn of his Wrangler until Charlotte came out with garden shears to cut his breaks if he didn't stop.

And the redhead had come galloping out of the front door, pecking his mother with a kiss on the cheek before barreling into the Jeep so hard, Rue was sure they'd topple over.

"Remind the strung out cunt to take her meds."

Renegade stuck his entire head out of the passenger window as Rue began to pull out of the drive. "Your vitamins are in the fridge beside the OJ- Love you!"

"Why do you call them vitamins?" Rue murmured as his half-brother returned his entire body mass inside the vehicle.

With a grin, Ren tugged at the seat-belt. "Because the last time Dad called them her cure for the Benzo Blues, she threatened to send us all straight to the Hell Realms, flaming asses first."

The young leader rolled his eyes as he took the long, waving road away from his half-brother's large estate. "Have you talked to her about Sythe?" The other day, while Rue was locked up in their father's study, Renegade had come in to supposedly help the silverette. Instead, they'd found classified documents locked safely in Blyze's desk drawer with an entire dossier on Charlotte.

Under confirmed paternal link was Sythe's name.

"Nah, she's been locked up in her bedroom all weekend." Fishing in his duffle, Renegade withdrew his aux cord and began hooking it up to Rue's stereo. "Is Ray gonna be at the house?"

Struggling to suppress his instinct to stomp his brother's dreams, Rue just replied. "We're all restricted to the grounds; Maman set the security bounds before she left this morning." She'd known whenever they checked in to the estate, and when they left- the nosy ass. "And you know we've all been told to keep you two separated. You're supposed to sleep in my room every night."

But Renegade smiled at his phone as he scrolled through his music to find a song to play. "That would be the good, Catholic thing to do, I guess."

At the long gaze Rue shot his brother, the redhead actually had the audacity to look appalled. "Oh, don't you dare get high and righteous with me. Caydin? Really? Dude, you live together. You're practically brothers."

And just like that, the silverette turned back to the road. "Don't say that. We're not brothers."

A snort as Renegade turned back to his phone. "What would you call it then?"

Santaria began to play on the Wrangler, and despite himself the angel's heart began to speed up. "Roommates."

-

...-All I really want to know, I already know. And all I really want to say, I can't define. It's love that I need...-

Daniel lowered the red solo cup so Rue could read his lips; "Eight grand says they fuck before we even make it to bed."

The angel rolled his eyes away to the sight of his brother on the couch. No matter where Raychl Cross seamed to stray around the room, Renegade's gaze followed the curve of her ass. It'd been about two hours since the toddlers were put down, and even with the two sleeping demigods in the next room, his brother just couldn't seem to keep it in his pants.

"Thirty bucks. He'll sneak in her room first night. The rest... he won't even bother pretending he's not taking that bedroom for the rest of the week."

The snickering from his best friend was enough to draw out a sickened grin from the angel. It was horrible, really. Them betting on Renegade's self-control.

But it wasn't like they all weren't painfully aware of the elephant in the room. Renegade and Raychl had been raised together; there were pictures framed in the hall of the two of them in a bath as two year olds. The fact that they weren't technically related meant nothing; the two families had lived as one for too many years for the two to find each other attractive.

...-My soul will have to wait, 'til I get back and find Heina of my own. Daddy's gonna love one and all. I feel the break, feel the break, feel the break. And I got to live it out, oh yeah...-

From the corner of his eyes, Rue felt more than saw Caydin come into view. With his hair held back by one of Karsyn's headbands and her apron tied around his front, the blond was bustling away in the kitchen to make brownies of the green type.

For the past month or so, the feeling Rue felt for the other had begun to worry him. The strain of his instinct to grab him, bury himself in him, hold him so tight he left bruises on that pale, alabaster skin... The fantasies that came to mind were enough to turn even his stomach.

An itching in his canines made him shift in place. And damn him, Daniel noticed. "Looks like I'll be the only one in this gods damned house sleeping alone tonight. Fuck. Me."

As his friend chugged the last of his drink, Rue couldn't help but agree.

-

Laying in his bed was the hardest thing he'd ever done. Agreeing to sign his life away to end a war his father had begun? Nothing. Waiting to see if Caydin made the first move by joining him in his bedroom? He was lucky the bed wasn't shaking half as hard as he was.

The door to his room opened, but it was Daniel's dark features looking in to find him. "Is Ren in here with you?"

"No. Why?"

"Raychl's door is locked."

"How do you know Raychl's door is locked?"

"Because I tried to open it."

"Why did you try to open it?"

"To see if Ren is in there."

"Are you trying to see my brother's ass?"

"No, but if our dads find out-" The demigod paused, turning to glance back behind him into the dark hall. "Caydin? What are you doing?" The blond must have mumbled his answer, because even from the bed Rue could spot the change in Daniel's demeanor. "I'm so tired of being the only one in this gods-damned household not getting any ass!"

-

Chapter 02: Day 04/07

Scene: Rue is contacted by Blyze to go to the estate to receive a mission that’s returned early, which carries with it an added guest.  Characters: Rue Demmekke, Caydin Blythe, Sargent Jasyn Rogue, Drig’uhl Dav Iyra

Rue set his phone down in the center console of his Wrangler, a scowl set hard in his face. Beside him, the petite blond didn't comment on how fast he was taking the dirt road, or the jostling it gave the two angels.

He kept telling himself he'd brought Caydin along because he needed the company. That the blond could entertain him on the long car ride between home and the compound. While his instincts screamed to keep him close enough to touch, to see or smell, he held firm on the desire to control himself.

"What's so important that he sent you to receive a mission?"

Over the last few weeks, Caydin had grown more and more interested in the role Rue had agreed to inherit. Venting to him had been so easy, and the angel had been curious enough to ask questions for better understanding.

"Adler's mission should have taken another week at the least. He's back ahead of schedule."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Unease brewed in his gut. "Could be. Either he was one lucky bastard and completed his mission early, or everything went to shit and he had to run back."

-

As soon as he came through the double doors of the compound, the council surrounded him. Among the many war generals and foot commanders, Sargent Rogue appeared on his right to fill him in. Behind them, Caydin walked in Rue's wake as the crowd hurried up the main stairs. "Commander Adler returned at 14:57 on the West pad with all of the original party that accompanied him." Papers were shoved into Rue's grip as the Major took over. "-And some additional party members."

That wasn't particularly abnormal. It wasn't unusual for their teams to go in with a set goal, and while conducting the mission were able to bring slaves back to the compound. He'd done it himself a few times- whenever he could chance getting to them.

But the summary of his report wasn't adding up. Slaves only had one surname with no definitive family mark, so why were there multiple...

As they came up on the door to the briefing room, Rue lowered the papers to glance over the faces of his council. Behind him, Caydin listened. "Hold on." He scanned through the papers one more time, a frown contorting his features. "Does that mean Adler..."

"Was successful."

Rue's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard against his sudden dry throat. "How many?"

"Five, Sir."

"Five." From where he stood, Caydin could see the blood leave Rue's face as he watched the Major beam with pride. Confusion brought the blond's own brows down as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. They'd managed to bring back five slaves? That was good news- so why did Rue look like someone had taken the floor out from under him? What was on that paper?

To the left, a Lieutenant stepped up. "If you would rather we wait until the Dark Leader returns..."

Rue’s face twitched with the desire to fire back at the obvious disrespect, but his eyes were locked on the door to the council chambers. "I'll handle this, Rickman," he mumbled before turning the knob and stepping in. 

But once Caydin could see what was waiting on the far wall, he had no idea how the silverette could force himself to take another step. 

"Dark Leader," Commander Adler mumbled, bowing his head in respect to the young silverette. Rue's eyes never strayed from her face as he walked to address the commander, nodding his greeting. And from the door, as the other members of the council filled in around him, neither did Caydin’s. "The eldest female of the Royal bloodline; Drig'uhl Dav Iyra of the Dirgulian household."

She'd been forced to kneel on the concrete floors; the dress skirts of her gown torn and muddied by the harsh Drigulian tar. Caydin could barely see the white blonde of her hair beneath the black paste, or her pale skin beneath the dirt. Her eyes were shut tight beneath a dirty veil of hair, but he could see her lips moving silently as she prayed.

20. She couldn't be older.

I'm young and I'm foolish, I've made bad decisions. I block out the news, turn my back on religion. Don't have no degree, I'm somewhat naive, but I've made it this far on my own.

Maybe to save Rue the embarrassment of asking himself, Sargent Rogue spoke aloud. "What do we do with her?"

The dark leader's gaze never lifted from her face as a general in the crowd answered. "Blyze would throw her to the soldiers. Give them her royal ass as compensation for the slaves she's sent to death." 

But lately, that shit ain't been gettin' me higher. I lift up my head and the world is on fire- there's dread in my heart and fear in my bones, and I just don't know what to say.

At the man's crude words, the princess's eyes closed even tighter as her body began to rock back and forth. She seemed to throw herself into desperate prayer, her mouth moving too fast for Caydin to make out what she whispered. He managed to catch one word that fell from her lips again and again; “Doukr.” Mercy.  

Maybe I'll pray, pray. Maybe I'll pray

"How would you like that, bitch? Your father raped my sisters before throwing them to the guards-"

Just as the Sargent lifted his leg to kick the princess, Rue moved. His hand snatched up the chains binding her wrists together to give a tug. The boot barely grazed her back as she stumbled to keep her balance. "Then we'll wait for Blyze to come back from vacation to decide. Until then-" Turning to meet Sargent Rogue's pale features with his own, he handed off the chain. "There's holding cells on ground floor B for this. Put a dozen rotating guard on her at all times, and keep them segregated from gen pop. I don't need a mutiny during my first week in command."

I'm not a saint, I'm more of a sinner. I don't wanna lose, but I fear for the winners.

"Yes, Sir." A glint of relief burned in Rogue's gaze as he hurried to lead the princess out of the room.

Caydin stood there, frozen to the ground as she came closer and closer. His eyes couldn't move from where she'd been kneeling- a princess. Drigulia was a patriarchy; she had no say in their laws.

But when her eyes opened to see the doorway coming closer, she began to fight the restraints. Rogue gave a sharp pull to jerk her through, but her hands found the wooden frame and refused to let it go.

Her eyes found Rue's from across the room, and then the most beautiful accent followed on foreign words she screamed at the silverette. Caydin's frown deepened as she spoke. Why do I feel like I know what she's saying?

"Vroat- dr kl'rbuor!"

The blond's gaze found the dark leader as Rue wet his lips. His answer was short, clipped."Vlouo auo raiu kl'rbuor?"

"Rai kaax klod."

If possible, Rue's face got paler. He nodded once to Rogue and the princess was tugged from the room, screaming in that strange language the entire way down the hall.

The room was quiet then, after her screams faded out. The tension Caydin could feel twisted his gut- there had been too much disrespect in the past few minutes for Rue to let it go without recourse.

"First Sargent Rickman, you can go."

For a second, Caydin couldn't understand why the offending officer's face flushed with rage at the dismissal. It wasn't until the man had hurried out the door that he realized Rue had just demoted the Lieutenant with nothing more than six words.

"Now, gentlemen; excuse me while I make a call." Without waiting for any confirmation that they'd heard him, Rue snagged Caydin's arm as he led them out. Before he knew it, Rue had released him once they'd traveled far enough away to find a deserted office.

One with a trash can. Rue's entire body jerked as he heaved into the bucket without waiting for Caydin to rush the door closed behind them.

-

Chapter 03: Day 06/07

Scene: On the back porch on the estate, smoking Karsyn’s weed. Characters: Rue Demmekke, Daniel White

Rue plopped down on the amber lawn chair, sinking deep into it's cushion as he propped his feet up. Without looking away from the flatscreen streaming a vine compilation from Daniel's phone, he set his hand out to the side for the raven to pass a joint over.

Beside his chair, Daniel was in his own little world. Two dozen blunts bursting with their mother's stash sat perfectly aligned in a tray, with a pipe and multiple lighters. He'd come out here hours ago, when the others began settling the toddlers into bed. Not because he didn't want to put his sisters to sleep, but because the demigod switched off with Karsyn with caring for the girls when Night was away on business.

"...-I said, 'whoever threw that paper; your mom's a hoe.'"

As Rue drew a deep pull to hold, Daniel chuckled beside him. When the silverette turned to raise a brow, the raven shook his head. "Dude, you're so fucked."

Grey eyes rolled as Rue slowly exhaled. "Not compared to the heathens upstairs. I've barely seen Ren eat or piss over the last few days. There are times I forget that they’re actually here with us in the same damn house."

Daniel's head shook as he lit a second blunt. "They'll be fine. Uncle Nate's too guilty over those years Ray spent in Bristol, and Ren is Blyze's favorite son."

"So you think they wont care? There's a picture in the hall of both of them in the bath together as babies."

Daniel shrugged over Rue's cough, letting the smoke leave his lungs on a slow push. "They'll be pissed, but it'll blow over. Six figures says they'll be hitched by this time next year."

"No dice," the angel choked out. His fist came down hard on his chest a few times as he eyed the joint with suspicion. "What the fuck is Maman smoking? This shit is deadly."

"No idea," Daniel mumbled, struggling to keep his chest tight to keep from coughing. "But I want her dealer."

For a while, they both lay in silence as the television flickered. "...-Is there anything better than pussy? Yes; a really good book."

"What are you gonna do? I mean, are you ready for the..."

"Calenhai." It took him a moment of mulling the question over in his mind before he could answer. "No. No one will tell me anything about it. For all I know, it's a ceremony that they cut each other's dicks off with a rusty spoon."

Daniel's snort sent them both into hysterics as the image appeared in their minds. "Maybe," the raven heaved through a gasp, "They paint their cocks grey and sword fight."

Another round of muffled screams as the brothers lost their minds in hysteria. "What if it's a carwash? Just a fucking carwash."

"Blyze in a bikini-"

"-Scrubbing the windshield with his ass!"

"Dark Leader Booty, reporting for duty."

-

Chapter 04: Day 09/07

Scene: Inside Night’s personal office on the estate, discussing the angel’s war.  Characters: Danicious (Daniel) Nightengale, Dyatose (Night) Nightengale

Night shook his head, eyes glazed as he stared into the woodwork of his desk from where he stood clutching the edges. "We don't intervene, Dani. It's crucial you understand that." Even as the words left him, Night's chest caved with emotions. Anxiety, fear, desperation- things no father wants his son to see.

Well, my goodness gracious- let me tell you the news. My head's been wet with the midnight dew.

From across the room, Daniel's face flushed with rage. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the tremble that had taken his balled fists- something he knew Night had noticed. "You can't tell me that you're just going to sit by."

-I've been down on bended knee, talkin' to the man from Galilee.-

"It's not right to take sides. We must remain impartial in these issues."

"Da', he's my brother. He's your son."

-He spoke to me in a voice so sweet, I thought I heard the shuffle of the angel's feet.-

"It's not just Rue. He's leading thousands of souls into an event we cannot influence."

"What if it was me?"

"Daniel."

"-What if it was me, Da'? Would you turn your back and let me die? He already had one father who did that to him, he doesn't deserve another!"

"It wouldn't be you, Danicious."

-He called my name and my heart stood still, when he said "John, go do My will!"

Night's words tightened as he struggled to soften his tone through gritted teeth. "Any war you wage will be a battle of Gods, not natural souls. Gods, who have a fighter's chance against your powers. Not mortal-born beings who will fall before you as lambs to slaughter if you fight by your brother's side. Thousands of pure lives that will be tainted by our influence- do you understand that? We cannot influence the lifelines of men outside our means, or the Balance will shift."

You can run on for a long time,

Silence. "Does he know you're not going to fight with him?"

"Rue and I have spoken many times on the subject. That neither of us will be able to intervene if-"

"-Fuck you."

"Excuse me?"

Run on for a long time,

"Fuck you. If you think that you can stop me from defending him-"

Run on for a long time.

He didn't have a chance to finish. Night's guards pushed so fast, so hard against Daniel's that the raven felt his chest cave. There was something in his father's eyes, something deadly, that promised he wouldn't be moved on the subject.

"Remember who you are born from, Danicious, and what power brought you here." The pressure lifted just as soon as it came, giving the young god a chance to breathe.

But sooner or later, God'll cut you down. Sooner or later, God'll cut you down.

[myvelouri]

18 page love letter

February 2, 2019

_________________

My day yesterday

The day before we parted ways forever as I still want her back but she doesn’t, we can’t be friends, its too painful for me. She wants me to remain a platonic friend. It kills me she can even see me that way and wish for it. I can’t be around her without being lovey and affectionate. She only fell out of desire for me within 5 days and it’s only been a week or two now.

I couldn’t take it so I wrote 18 pages of feelings and promise to make our relationship better, a new chance, start over.

I wrote all day. I finished. I drove down to her area, called her, she was out with that guy Regan that she had originally cut out for me, but now decided to hit up. It felt like betrayal and I guess they’re hanging out one on one now often. It disturbs me. The whole meaning of it. But she said she’s with him downtown. I composed myself, and I talked normal. Acted cool. Asked her when she’ll be back. She said 7 to go meet up with Victor and Greg. Of course. I said okay I’ll see you then. It was 5 at the time. She told me she smelled a candle that smelled like me that day. It feels awful that she’s with him for that. But I’ve force blocked it all as it was traumatizing for me how she hit him up. He caused so many fights in our relationship cause she couldn’t stop giving him so much attention and comparing him to me. I don’t forgive it now

Anyway. I was still feeling okay. I forced myself to. I went to a bar. I drank and I called her and told her to come meet me here when she’s done. She said okay. I drank for about two hours. And she never made it. She went to Victor and Greg instead. Sure, they were plans with them before I came. But I felt like I wasn’t a priority. She told me to go meet her where she'll be with them. I said I would when I'm good to drive.

At the bar during my two hours this older couple were having a date. The wife, Sara looked at me and said she loved my sweater and it looked so comfortable. I eventually opened up to them about how I’m sitting here waiting for the girl I love and to try to get back together with her. And that I wrote an 18 page letter for her. Made some jokes about it and friends references. They were so sweet. I finally asked, how do they handle if Sara had guyfriends or if she goes out alone with them for hours at a time, going around many places, eating, close, intimate. And sara said “oooohhh, i wouldn’t do it.” She said she works at a law firm and she works with men a lot but she she doesn’t go out hanging alone with them. I asked the husband, Leon, how he’d feel if she did. He said “uhh, welllll…” Sara interrupted him and said “oh he would NOT like it hahaha!” And yeah he looked like that was the truth. It is for me too. I told Sara where the girl I’m trying to be with is and how she gives her number out to guys or how she goes to hang out with a lot of guys. Sara said “welll… Yeahhh, that’s… Hm…. Isn't there any OTHER girl you like?” I said I understand. She was disapproving of it and said everyone wants to be loved by everyone but you can’t have EVERYBODY. I told her I trust the girl I’m after, but I have no choice and as a last resort I'm adopting a new outlook, basically, I don’t care whos she’s with as long as she comes home to me. Sara said “thaaaaaaats being a little toooo open minded” I knew it was. But I’m fighting my own inner morals/ethics/views just to be with the girl I love, I love her THAT much I guess. They said trust is important but follow your heart. But more importantly follow your heart AND your head. Sara was basically telling this was a huge no go, the behavior of someone who is supposed to be your girl. That’s how I’ve always felt too. I mean that’s why I got upset enough to block her once, that and didn’t feel cared about cause I got no check up call from her. Sara and Leon paid for my drinks! I said thank you so much! I appreciate everything! Sara also said if the girl I love is going out together with someone then why not it be with you?

Anyway. I drank. New people sat next to me. A lady with another lady, in their 30s and 40s. We eventually started talking too. Again we talked about the same thing. I opened up. She said to me that you just don’t do that in a relationship, and we both together said “because it’s disrespectful” at the same exact time and I screamed “YES!!!” People UNDERSTAND exactly how I feel and have felt about guy friends and those situations. It's disrespectful. It is. It made me feel okay but not really. Cause it doesn’t change anything. Finally, the girl I love is just not coming, she said to meet her. I drove to her and Vic and Greg. They finished eating already. I sat. I was being pretty funny. I think my personality can be fucking amazing at times. We joked. I was uneasy cause I still had to give the girl I love, Kat, the letter I wrote but I've got to wait to be alone with her. We all joked and I said I’m down to go drink with them at Vic’s place in the future. It seemed okay. But I’m not with Kat… I acted like it cause I’m not used to not being her man. Still too abrupt. In fact earlier when Leon asked how long ago we broke up I said “like 2 weeks ago” cause that’s when I felt we broke up cause otherwise I felt we were still together. Its so fucked up.

So we leave. I go to her house. I parked and got stuck in the mud! My car is stuck! Anyway she comes and I read her off my letter. Its so honest and genuine, trying to be with her, it was good. But in the end she said at this time she still wants to be separated. I said okay. She needs space she said. I said that’s okay too. But then she said she’s not making any promises. Which to me just hurt and I felt like are you just trying to say no? And then it comes out “what if I’m wrong” she wants to be with someone else. Yup. She really wants to try someone else, why? I don’t know? She thinks they may be better for her? She said someone who won’t hurt her. Well then. I felt awful. A trial boyfriend. Just nothing. Not real. I’m just a toy, she said she’d come back to me if she was wrong about the other guy, as if. As if that’s something you say to someone. To feel like an option to someone who has been with you for 3 years...

Anyway though. I tried. I keep being rejected for a guy who doesn’t even exist. That’s embarrassing. We were together 3 years and literally just a week or so ago she still wanted to be with me. So yeah. It’s strange.

It’s so hurtful. I never thought my babe could be this way to me. It’s really… Not okay to go through. It is excruciating torture. Do you even know?

Also, I promised to put up with her guyfriends and her going out alone with them in my letter. But its been rejected so I’m done too. I’m done. You don’t embarrass me this many times. You’re lucky I put in this much effort for anybody. You don’t stomp on my pride. You don’t. So yeah. She hung out with Zach that day too. Who always flirted with her during our relationship and I told her that shit was uncomfortable but she took his side always. Yeah well she hung out with him, watched Clerks? And she said he tried to fuck her, he tried before that birthday party I went with her to meet Zach at. Yeah. I thought Zach was aight. But I remembered. When we went to that party a week or two ago she pulled up his messages to get his address and I saw just how much they actually message each other. I was bothered a bit. I asked her what they talk about? She said “I had bad dreams, talked about dreams.” I mean clearly there was more than that but I trusted her and looked away. Well, last night she just told me zach tried to fuck her BEFORE the party. So when I asked her THE DAY OF THE PARTY what do you and zach talk about, she conveniently forgot to mention he tried to FUCK her, and just wow. I thought we were honest with each other. And also this is why I could not deal with her shit. She allows guys like that close to her. She fucking STILL hung out with him. Omg. The disrespect. Honestly it’s worse than that. We weren’t together I guess but she would have done the same shit if we were. She did say she shut him down. But it didn’t feel fully honest because of everything I just said. I don’t know if he tried anything with her last night either, I mean you went to a guys apartment alone that you -know- wants to fuck you. Right on. That could even be dangerous if its someone you barely know. Or you do know.

I’m just taken aback.

Here I am, saying I’ll put up with this shit too, and I'm rejected. Well, honestly, after hearing all that, and that she hung out with Regan downtown for hours, you know, the guy she cut out for the better of our relationship but (spitefully?) Hit up after two fucking years of nothing. And then left me waiting at the bar to never show, then went to Vic and Greg. All these things give me feelings. They’re not good.

Originally why I blocked her. But I thought she’d come to me to fix it.

But I came to fix it.

But no. I’m done. I don’t want you anymore. You disrespected me, betrayed me, hurt me over and over again. Yet I’m the only one saying sorry and trying to fix it all, and trying to change myself for you. I don’t know what you’re doing. Really looking for another guy. Be safe. Guys are dangerous. Don’t go into apartments alone with guys. Don’t do sketchy things. I tried to protect you from shit like that. It still hurts someone else will hold you, touch your face, get to joke with you, flirt with you, fuck you, love you, see you, be with you. I never gave up. I’m shocked how abruptly you did. I’ve said sorry for my mistakes and promised to change for the better, like you do in relationships as relationships grow. But you’re somehow done with me. There must be something I don’t know. Nah I do know. But still, you’re risking losing me to have a maybe better relationship with a guy who doesn’t even exist yet. While I'm here. Being great to you. Over and over.

It’s so shocking that these were two times were I supposedly left your life forever. You were unaffected and went out with the guys that affected our relationship. That is… That says a lot.

And then after rejecting the love letter you referenced me saying I'd go to Victor's place to drink in the future, which meant us as a couple like we always have been... And you said "...we can go to Victor's place.... Some...times..."

Wow. "Sometimes" and said with such hesitation. It's so hard to hear the girl that's loved you for years talk about going somewhere to you in such a disdainful, held back, nearly disgusted voice... To think the girl that loved you so much and was hype to go with you everywhere is now grossed out by being close with you and actually not wanting to go with you to hang out at a friend's place. I'm not kidding, all these things are traumatizing to me.

My car got stuck and had to be towed at until 4am. I’m tired. Tired of it all. Tired of being taken for granted. You can’t have me when you just feel like. I’m still in shock honestly, just a while ago we were still deeply in love and working towards being nurses together. I never thought a day would come where I was denied your affection. Together 3 years. I don’t see you the same anymore. I refer to you as Kat now. Not b. Someone I used to know. I don’t know if you’re holding off for me in someway, you full well know I’d never talk to you again if you had sex with someone else, yet that’s exactly what you’re trying to do, be with another guy you haven’t even met yet. Bargaining imaginary man over REAL life ME that’s been good to you for 3 years and bettering himself. I have indeed been replaced by a multitude of other guyfriends. I hope all of them collectively can equal one of me.

Goodbye.

[hamelin-born]

#dream literally STOMPING into desire's house and screaming at them#desire being like why are you hitting yourself? while wacking him in the head#truly sibling behavior#dreamling#the sandman#dreamling fic#dream of the endless#hob gadling#desire of the endless#my writing#i made dream like. way too self aware in the first draft of this. then i had to go back and make him LESS self aware lmao#like first draft dream: hm i think perhaps i am doing this because of my past trauma 🤔#me: babygirl u are not that self aware try again#as per usual. this started as a short little drabble. and got much longer. and much more serious XD

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

[ cat screaming crying . jpg ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream glares at them, but does not speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he storms out of the Threshold.

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

--

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

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

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

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

He has now, quite royally, messed it up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he kisses him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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