#fic: something out of a dream

[smallblueandloud]

i need to get out my laptop so i can deal with my email, but i'm avoiding that, so instead i'm going to think out loud

in trying to get back to writing/posting fic, i've realized how.... polished? i expect my own fics to be? like i read any other fic and i'm like "oh my god i love how fluffy/plotless this is" but when i'm writing my own fic, i feel like i CAN'T post it unless it has a completed emotional arc?

which first off, is a personal standard i'm only holding myself to. but also isn't a standard i particularly like? like i've explained to friends that i lean towards plotted fics but i'm trying to focus on plotless things a little more, but i think i was just thinking of like... PHYSICAL plots, where the characters do physical things? instead of my usual EMOTIONAL plots, where there are emotional ARCS happening

but like? it's the same principle??? i can just POST something that i enjoy and not worry about one day coming back to finish it! this is a HOBBY. polishing fic is a lot of fun, yeah, but that means that when it stops being fun i should... stop doing it? wild concept i know.

on that note when i finally get my laptop out i'll put up one of the completed-but-i've-been-sitting-on-it things sitting in my WIPs folder. this is my promise to myself! because like, i love the idea of publishing things like in blackwater woods all the time, but in reality i just. do not have the brainpower to do that these days. and that is ok!!

[lbhslefttiddie]

youve heard of sex flowers get ready for the flower that makes you into a celestial shoujo herione complete with particle effects you cannot turn the fuck off and creates a wifebeam so powerful it can incapacitate and maim and keeps making you burst into tears and fall on your ass which makes the wifebeam More Powerful and you also cannot turn this off either. and is also still, sort of, a sex flower

from one of my favorite fanfictions, Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam, a fic that defies description in the best possible way

[mayhemspreadingguy]

I did these illustrations for @beholdingthegaytimes 's fic 'It's Only Forever, Not Long At All' which is a part of The Endless Big Bang 2023.

[petite-phthora]

Please don't shake the cat

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 13]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Private chat nicknames:

RedHood = Jason

Danny = Danny

---

Private chat

RedHood: *picture*

RedHood: this yours???

---

Seeing the picture of Ellie clamped onto Red Hood’s arm Danny lets out a sigh while rubbing his forehead. He takes a few seconds to look at the picture while deciding on how to reply.

---

Private chat

Danny: you don’t happen to be in Mexico right now by any chance, do you?

RedHood: No.

RedHood: I was out patrolling when I was suddenly bitten by her.

RedHood: Thought it might have been a criminal or stray cat or something like that at first.

RedHood: I was not expecting a feral teenager, but I can’t say this is the first time it’s happened.

Danny: damn, she was supposed to be in Mexico 😕😥

Danny: I guess this is what she was trying to tell me with that cryptic message she sent me huh

Danny: and the stray cat analogy isn’t too far off to be perfectly honest 🤔

RedHood: So you know her?

RedHood: Can you help me get her off? I’ve tried prying but she’s got some sick ass jaw strength.

RedHood: Which would have been pretty cool any other time, but it’s currently not really working in my favor.

Danny: I’m so sorry about her 😓 😓

Danny: we’ve been trying to teach her to ask for consent first

Danny: but it’s still a work in progress 😅

Danny: of course I'll help you get her off!! 😊🙃

RedHood: Great! You’re at your apartment, right?

RedHood: I’ll be there in two shakes.

Danny: please don’t shake the cat 😰

Danny: she’ll get grumpy and might latch on even tighter

Danny: I’ll come to you instead 🙃

Danny: you said you were patrolling, so crime alley, right? 🤔🤔

RedHood: Well, yes, but I doubt you’ll be able to get up where I am right now.

RedHood: Let me at least come down to the ground first and I’ll tell you how to get here.

RedHood: Danny?

---

Jason looks down at his unread messages with a slight frown. He puts his phone away and looks back at the teenager on his arm.

He gives his arm a small shake, causing her to growl at him which immediately makes him stop.

Right… No shaking the cat.

Jason lets out a weary sigh before looking down over the edge of the building to the ground below. He’s trying to think of the best way to get down with only one functional arm when a voice breaks him out of his reverie.

“Hey, Hood. I’m here!”

He turns around, slightly alarmed that there’s a second person who managed to sneak up on him tonight.

Damn, he’s getting rusty

Though from anyone whom he had been expecting to see, he had not been expecting to see the guy he messaged a minute ago standing behind him on the roof.

“How did you get here so quickly? And for that matter, how did you even get up here?” Jason asks confused.

“Oh, I flew” is Danny’s casual response, which gives Jason more questions than have been answered. But before he can decide whether he should bother asking for clarification Danny already moves on to the next topic.

“Anyway, let’s see what we can do about this,” he says, approaching Jason’s arm and the girl that’s hanging off of it.

“Good luck,” Jason says, holding out his arm a little better and watching bemused as Danny and the teen have a stare-down.

“Ellie, what did we say about biting others?”

The teen, Ellie, narrows her eyes and growls at him. Danny just crosses his arms and gives her an unimpressed stare.

“Nah-ah, you have to let him go. We ask before we bite someone. It’s called consent. Don’t make me get Jazz to give you another lecture”

It’s clear to Jason that Danny’s attempt at talking to her isn’t working when the teen proceeds to glance at Jason calculatingly before giving Danny a challenging look and biting down harder.

Apparently, it’s clear to Danny as well, as the next thing he does is let out a put-upon sigh before declaring “Well, I gave you a chance. Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way”

Danny then grabs a hold of her and tries pulling her off of him.

What is his life? Jason thinks as he’s standing there while Danny tries to physically pull the teenage girl, who decided his arm looked like a nice snack, off of him.

Though luckily for him, it seems to work as not a few seconds later Danny has pulled her off of his arm and is now holding the teenage girl with a bloody mouth up by her armpits.

Danny sets her down with a sigh but before he can speak up, the teen crosses her arms and levels Jason with a sharp look that makes him straighten up.

“Thou winneth this round, Red-Helmed Knight of the Night. Though thou should be prepareth, as the upcoming trials will be even more toilsome” Ellie declares while pointing at him, uncaring of the blood on her face.

“And I,” She points a finger back at herself for emphasis, ”Sir Ellie of the Infinite Realms, will—” she gets cut off when a fly enters her mouth.

Danny moves to help her but she holds up a hand to stop him, using her other hand to thump on her chest a few times.

She spits the dislodged fly out onto the floor and glares at it.

“Curse you! Foiling my monologuing once again!” she yells after the fly as it flies off.

Right…

Jason turns to Danny.

“So is she your sister?” he asks curiously. And totally not trying to fish for more information about Danny and his family.

Instead of Danny answering the question though, Ellie cuts him off.

“I’m his love child with the mayor of our town.”

Danny gives her a disgusted look.

“Ellie—”

She looks back at Danny with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Yeah, definitely siblings.

“I love my dads!” she says proudly, her eyes still on Danny.

Danny gives her a deadpan look in response before it changes to a more mischievous one.

“Oh, I’m sure Vlad would love to hear all about how you reclaimed him as a father figure—”

“Oh Ancients, no. Don’t even joke about that” She fake gags at him before turning back to Jason.

“Can I change my answer? I’m his bodyguard” She says, pointing her thumb at Danny.

That makes both Danny and Jason raise an eyebrow at her, though Jason’s can’t be seen through the helmet. They speak up at the same time.

“A bodyguard, huh?”

“No, you’re not, that’s Frighty”

Danny’s statement makes Jason pause and turn to look at him.

He’s got a bodyguard?

Ellie shakes her head happily.

“Nope! I took over the position. My knightly title isn’t just for show, y’know? I earned it fair and square!”

“When did this even happen? And why was I not told?” Danny asks, bewilderment covering his face.

Jason stays silent as he tries to make sense of the conversation.

“About…” Ellie takes a moment to think about it “3 months ago? I think it was when you were dealing with some time chores. And I thought it’d be a nice surprise, so… Surprise!” she exclaims, doing some jazz hands at the end of the sentence.

“What did you even do?”

“I snuck up on him and threw a Fenton Wii remote at his head which knocked him out cold. It counted as a win so I earned the position by right of conquest and gained my knighthood” She says with a shrug.

“Huh… think that would’ve worked for Pariah Dark as well? Would’ve made things so much easier…”

Ellie gives another careless shrug as Danny lets out a small reminiscent sigh. Meanwhile, Jason stands awkwardly to the side.

“Well, either way, I’m proud of you. Do you have a video?”

“Tucker filmed it for me, yeah”

“Nice”

They high-five with grins on their faces. At this point, Jason lets out a small cough which has the Fenton siblings turn around startled and proceed to then give him identical sheepish smiles.

They really look like they could be twins…

“Ah, sorry Red Hood. And again, I’m sorry for Ellie.” Danny says, rubbing the back of his neck with a small blush on his face.

“I’ll take her back home. And uhh… see you next time?”

Jason gives him a smile from under his helmet.

“Sure, if you’re still up for that next date?” Jason trails off with some hope.

His words make Danny’s blush darken.

“Ah uh, yeah! Yeah, of course! The next date! Uhmm, I’ll text you! Or you can text me. That’s fine too!”

Next to him, Ellie rolls her eyes and makes some fake gagging motions. She then grabs Danny by his arm and starts dragging him away.

“Come on, Loverboy. You can and your paramour can flirt later. When I’m not there… and after he’s passed my trials” she says, muttering the latter part low enough that Jason can’t hear. But, judging by the way Danny’s head snaps back to her and how his brows furrow, he did hear.

Just as Jason goes to reply, giving them a thank you and a goodbye of his own, perhaps even an offering to help them get down from the roof, he picks up on movement behind him.

Quickly turning around has him regretting not leaving the rooftop earlier, as he watches the Bats (and birds) land.

Fuck.

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing @i23432i @imsotiredfanficlovertm

[wickjump]

This isn't whump but I had a thought on the way to work about mtt poly + crepic, what if they were all competing for Cross's affection but it's not in a "I'm better you should love me instead of him" way, it's all a big excuse to spoil and fluster Cross as much as they can and they're all in on it

OH MY GOD YES. after being deprived of affection his whole life cross now has 4 boyfriends who love him very much and that’s perfect for him. he deserves it..!!!!!!

cross absolutely freaked out when it first started and he has not gotten any less flustered over the months. because he’s been wrapped up in self loathing for AGES and now all of a sudden there’s four different people flirting with him? his face is like a goddamn grape half the time because of them. they gift give cross a lot,, he deserves to be spoiled by them i think bc we all know his dad never did. he deserves lots of physical touch and quality time too methinks…..

i like them a lot sighs,, i think epic and the mtt have way too much chemistry too which is what spurred this ship on in my mind (and im a fan of mtt poly too,,) I think they should all date and be happy and get to comfort each other through tough times idk

bonus though if there’s some actual rivalry at first even if only for a little. either between all of them or the mtt and epic because they don’t know each other well. epic could think they have bad intentions and doesn’t trust them bc they’re literal murderers and the mtt isn’t fond of an ‘outsider’ being so involved in cross’ life when he’s very able to tattle on them because he lives in the OT.

and then they go “wait. okay you’re lowk kinda hot. what about this. you know what would be infinitely funnier? let’s tag team him” and now cross is their no.1 victim. he’s obliterated any time he enters a room.

i like to think they’d take him on dates he doesn’t realize are dates. but they think he knows it’s a date (i mean, who takes their coworker/best buddy to a nice dinner, drive in movie theatre, and end the day with a bouquet of flowers platonically??). or rather he thinks he’s overthinking everything and taking things the wrong way because his skull is thick as shit.

meanwhile nightmare is aroace and wondering why the fuck everyone is so happy and distracted as of late. please get back to work im begigng you. WHY do i find you all sleeping in the same bed?? .WHY IS EPIC IN THAT BED??? HE DOESNT EVEN LIVE HERE???????? (he’s just subtly moving in at this point)

[mutantmayhems]

literal gremlin. (scrapped from the space set)

[feroluce]

Lucid Dreamer (1/2)

part 2

Gepard notices that it's been. Quiet lately. Like weirdly quiet. TOO quiet. He hasn't seen Sampo Koski in almost a week, which is about the longest he's ever been absent. And he is NOT worried. He's not! So what if they've been getting along more lately! So what if Gepard sometimes looks for him in his favorite hiding places! So what if he's been dreaming about blue hair and green eyes! It's nothing!!

But they're….strange, these dreams. Gepard doesn't usually remember what he's dreamt. It's out of his mind seconds within waking up. But these stick with him, they won't leave him be, they feel different somehow.

He dreams of Sampo bringing food to the frontlines and eating breakfast in his tent with him. Sampo always sneaks him extras. He dreams of chasing Sampo through the alleyways, Sampo sometimes letting himself be caught, Gepard sometimes catching him, and trying to ignore how it feels more like a game now more than anything else. He even dreams that Sampo tags along with him on one of his few civilian days. Sampo runs errands with him, prattles about inane bullshit while Gepard picks out groceries for the week, drags Gepard into some bakery he's never been to but he thinks Serval mentioned once.

And sometimes, it feels so close to reality, that Gepard half expects to see Sampo, shamelessly swaggering into the frontlines with all the guards' breakfast like his wanted poster wasn't only recently taken off the walls of Belobog. He's disappointed when it's always someone else instead. He tells himself his disappointment is ridiculous and if Sampo wants to go prowl around the Snow Plains or wherever he is, then fine. It's not any of his business.

…But it IS his job to investigate any unusual criminal activity relating to the frontlines. And the frontlines are Sampo's usual haunting grounds, and this is unusual activity, and Sampo IS technically a criminal, so it is absolutely part of his duty to look into this - is what Gepard tells himself the entire tram ride down into the Underground.

Natasha tells him he's gone, and Gepard has to steel himself. He knew Sampo made enemies wherever he went, there are a lot of people who would love his head on a platter, but he didn't think-

Natasha corrects him that she means literally gone. As in off-planet. Sampo always leaves her a note before he goes anywhere, so she knows not to expect any supply runs from him. He should be back in exactly two weeks. Thank the Preservation.

Gepard goes back home. He waits.

The uneasiness doesn't leave him.

"Where did you go?" Sampo stops dead in the middle of some story about Seele, and how you'd think someone with as blunt a mouth as her wouldn't have so much trouble asking a woman out, even if that woman IS the Supreme Guardian, and stares at him. He nearly fumbles his cigarette.

"Ahaha, what do you mean, I'm right here?" Sampo smiles at him the same way he always does. Gepard has no idea why he asked. It just popped out. He can never tell when Sampo is lying, anyway.

"I don't know. I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time." Gepard idly mouths at his own cigarette. He almost never smokes, but he wants to ration their stocks of Blizzard Immunity, and it helps with the cold. It's seemed colder lately, for some reason.

Gepard flicks his lighter once, twice, sighs at the third time because a metal prosthetic and thick gloves make the damn things so difficult. Sampo reaches over and wordlessly kisses the end of his cigarette to Gepard's, lighting it. "Thank you."

Nothing happens for almost a full 30 seconds. Something churns behind Gepard's ribcage. Because Sampo never leaves a "thank you" hanging. This is the part where he gives his spiel about how helpful and kind he is and Gepard either brings up how long his rap sheet was before Bronya helped clear his name, or just stares deadpan because seeing Sampo squirm is weirdly satisfying.

"…I'll be back in one more week."

Gepard jolts awake in his cot, mouth dry and eyes bleary.

The hell.

The next dream he has, Sampo looks tired. Sometimes he seems normal. Sometimes he says strange things, like how he wishes he'd gone to some restaurant in Belobog. Ate his favorite food more recently. Brought something with him. Gepard asks why he can't do that now. Where would he bring something? Sampo only shrugs. His rebuttals have less energy.

Gepard doesn't know if he wants to dream more, or less.

He ticks down the days on his calendar. Natasha hasn't told him any different. She promised she would if she got any kind of message. Sampo returns tomorrow, from whatever vacation or seedy business dealings he's been off having. He is not excited about it. He is not looking forward to it. He's not!!

Gepard falls asleep late that night, unable to settle. He dreams again.

He's alone. There are tons of people everywhere, the frontlines are always crowded. But he's alone. They all pass right by him as though he were a ghost. Gepard starts to walk before he realizes his feet are even moving.

He checks the trashcans in the dead end alley. He checks the supply crates that someone always stacks too high because they don't feel like finding more space for them. He pauses to check the soldiers that march past him, watching their footprints in the snow.

He finally finds Sampo on the rooftop along the northernmost wall, the one that looks out over the plains, towards Everwinter Hill, towards where the Stellaron had once been kept. With a full moon and an entire land of white snow, Gepard can almost see clear out to the horizon.

"Found you." Sampo stiffens, and Gepard is almost prepared for him to sprint off the roof. He doesn't. But he doesn't relax either. Gepard sits down next to him and stares out at the wastelands.

"…I fucked up." It wasn't what Gepard had been expecting. Sampo never 'fucks up,' Sampo just gets into incidents that are entirely, supposedly, not his fault and that he just happens to always be within the vicinity of.

"What did you do now?" It must be really bad if Sampo is coming to the Silvermanes for protection.

Instead, Sampo ignores his question completely. "See out over there? Right on the other side of that mountain. There's a safe house that way. It's hidden under a lot of snow and dead trees, but it's there. And in that safe house is a box full of letters. I need you to deliver those letters for me."

Gepard's brow furrows. It's a weird favor to ask. Sampo would never tell anyone where his hidden safehouses were. It defeated the whole purpose of a hidden safe house.

Something is wrong, something is really really wrong.

Gepard turns back to look at him again and startles, all of his questions dying in his throat, because the entire left side of Sampo's head is suddenly matted down, dark and sticky, his skin is dyed red red red-

"In three more months, there's gonna be something big happening." Gepard grabs Sampo's hand and it feels slick and warm against his palm. "I won't be here. So I need you to do my end of things for me." Gepard tries to keep hold, but something is fading, something is slowing, the sun is coming up but the colors are all wrong, everything feels like encroaching fog, Sampo's hand slides right through his. "I was gonna come back with my mask to finish setting the stage, but…" Gepard makes a frantic grab for Sampo's wrist, the air twists, he comes back empty-handed. "They have you. And you're the Iron Wall of Belobog. So it'll be ok."

Gepard finally manages to find his grip, snatches the front of Sampo's dark wet jacket and yanks him forward to hold onto him, and this close up, he can see it better, his colors are bleaching out, leaking outside the lines as if Sampo will become part of the background, as if he's fading into the strange fog that's been closing in on them. His fingers are already starting to feel empty again.

"Wake up."

Gepard jolts awake, uncurls his hands from where they're fisted in the blanket, scrubs the dampness off his face. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Today is supposed to be the day.

He throws on his civilian clothes, and he goes down to the shipyard the IPC had built. He finds a spot where he can see every person that returns to Belobog, and he waits.

And he waits and he waits and he waits.

No one he recognizes appears.

[cuubism]

it's been a while since i've written something that could be described as "literally just hurt/comfort" but well. here it is. i guess XD

--

It amused Hob endlessly that Dream never seemed to sit on his throne. Perhaps he did when welcoming official delegations of visitors, or conducting official business, but Hob had never witnessed it. Every time he had been to Dream’s throne room, Dream had been sprawled on the stairs instead, long limbs all askew, coat flared out dramatically below him, like some kind of panther reclining on its tree branch. Moody, petulant, dramatic thing. Hob loved him so.

He pet up and down Dream’s side as he sat beside him, and Dream, panther-like indeed, purred, pressing his nose into Hob’s throat. He had been about to show Hob something, take him to some new corner of the Dreaming he had created, but as usual they had gotten distracted, necking on the steps like insatiable teenagers. And now they were just talking quietly, one of Hob’s legs slung over Dream’s, Dream’s arm around his waist as Hob kept stroking up and down his rib cage under his cloak.

“I did intend to show you the new gardens,” Dream murmured, but made no move to leave Hob’s side. “You will enjoy them.”

“I’m sure I will,” Hob said, pressing another kiss to his hair. “Enjoying this too, though.”

“Would you like to enjoy more?” Dream asked, suggestion in it now, and Hob laughed.

“If you’re feeling committed enough to get up and lead us to your quarters. I don’t think Lucienne deserves to get an eyeful.”

“I could close off the throne room and have you upon these here steps,” rumbled Dream, grip tightening on Hob’s hip.

“And I could have you over your throne, if we’re doing that,” Hob countered, and a shudder ran up Dream’s spine.

He managed to disentangle himself from Hob and stood, offering a hand. “Come. We will retreat— this time.”

Hob chuckled, letting Dream pull him up. “Not in an exhibitionist mood today?”

“I’d like you to myself.” So saying, he strode down the steps, already summoning a swirl of sand to take them away— back to the waking world, maybe—

when something struck him.

Only there was nothing there. But Dream lurched backward the way the soldiers of Hob’s youth would fall back when lanced through with an arrow on the battlefield—he stumbled on suddenly weak legs, clutching at his chest, and with a cry of pain just—

—dropped

just fell in the middle of his throne room, the very seat of his power. Landed on shaking arms that were already giving out, shoulders curved and head hanging.

It was fucking terrifying.

Hob rushed over to him, fell to his knees by his side. Hands hovering for a moment as he tried to decide if it was safe to touch him. Safe for Dream, that was. Hob hardly cared about what might happen to him. “Dream,” he said, but Dream didn’t respond. He seemed barely able to hold himself up. As Hob watched, blood trickled from his nose and dripped onto the marble floor.

Hob abandoned caution and took him into his arms. Dream wiped at the blood streaming faster from his nose with a limp hand, but only succeeded in smearing it everywhere. “Dream,” Hob said. “What’s happening, love?”

Dream just closed his eyes. “Something…” he murmured, the word slurred and nearly unintelligible, “terrible. Silence. And. Death.”

A tremor rushing through him like an electric shock, and the Dreaming… separated.

Hob felt the schism go through it, felt his own body separating from itself like an earthquake right through the center of existence, the very air trembling. He looked at his hands and saw them in double, looked at the throne room and saw its colors refracting outward in layered planes, and then Dream, in the center of it all, dense as a neutron star.

Then it all slammed back together.

The force of the impact flung Hob across the room, away from Dream. He hit the floor hard, struggling to catch his breath as he scrambled upright, dizzy. Everything seemed to have congealed back into one layer again, but the hall was shaking, and on the other side of the room Dream was trying to push himself up, and failing as his limbs kept giving out on him, blood puddling on the floor from his nose and mouth.

What could possibly make Dream bleed? In his own realm?

Hob raced back over to him, skidding to a stop and crouching by his side so fast he almost fell over. Dream was on his knees, eyes screwed shut, hands pressed to his temples. Hob laid his hands over Dream’s. “Hey. Can you hear me? Can you look at me?”

Dream just let out a pained whine. And then Hob was very glad he was holding onto him because the whole room spun.

Suddenly they were upside down, gravity reversed so down was up, up was down, and Hob was on the ceiling looking down at the endless void of space. They didn’t fall, though, and he wrenched his gaze back to Dream before the vertigo made him puke. And then the room swung upright again, but this time it took gravity with it— Hob grabbed a hold of Dream’s hand and just barely stayed in place but heard things crashing against the palace windows, trees and houses and god knew what else that had been uprooted in the spinning equilibrium.

“Dream,” he said, holding Dream’s face between his hands. “Can you focus? Come back to me, love.”

Dream finally looked at him. His eyes had lost their human veneer and gone starry, but one was utterly black edge-to-edge, like it was dilating wrong in its view of the universe. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but what came out instead was another gush of blood.

“Shit.” Hob hauled him upright, kept him in his arms as he choked and spasmed, blood coming up with each cough, streaming from his nose. The sky had shifted to a glaring red, the stars angry eyes against it, and screaming rose higher and higher from the distant woods outside the palace, a thousand animal voices rising in chorus. “Shit. Alright, it’s okay.” He pet Dream’s hair, kept his voice pitched low and soothing, though his heart was hammering under Dream’s ear pressed against his chest. It most definitely was not alright, but Hob didn’t know what else he could do, other than try to bring Dream back from wherever he was. There was no injury, there was nothing he could fix. “It’s alright, my darling. Come on.”

Dream whimpered in pain and jerked as a lightning bolt of energy raced through him, zapping each of his limbs. Blood had started streaming out of his ears now, too, and past the sleeves of his robe Hob could see bruising around his wrists and trailing up his arms. He yanked up the hem of Dream’s shirt, and found more on his torso, patternless marks of bleeding, and his stomach lurched.

“Alright, alright, let’s get you down,” he said, keeping his voice gentle despite the panic racing through his nervous system. He laid Dream down on the floor, taking off his own jacket and folding it as a makeshift pillow to put under his head. Dream immediately turned and curled up on his side, hands over his ears.

Hob leaned down to try to meet his gaze. “Dream. Hey.” He caressed Dream’s cheek. “Dream. Please. Anything you can tell me that will help. Come on, darling. Talk to me.”

After several long, painful seconds, Dream managed, each word a dragging, pained whisper, “It will pass. I prom—” this was cut off by a horrible scream, animalistic but all wrong, off-pitch, like he was being eviscerated by an electroshock probe.

Matthew careened into the throne room and landed at Hob’s side. “Holy shit, there you are. I thought he was dying in a ditch somewhere, the Dreaming’s going fucking haywire.” He prodded at Dream’s hair with his beak, hopping in distress. “Boss. Boss!”

Dream seemed totally lost to them now, clutching at his head and making an awful whining sound. Hob finally gave up on trying to get him to talk and just pulled him close, laying Dream’s head in his lap.

Matthew perched delicately on Dream’s hip. “Do you know what happened?”

Hob brushed Dream’s hair from his sweaty, feverish forehead. “Not a clue. He said it would pass?”

Matthew tittered nervously. “A whole wing of the library is burning.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Loosh can’t get the fire under control. And a whole mountain range fell into the sea. Is this the apocalypse?”

Hob let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But it this doesn’t get better soon I’m calling his sister for help myself.”

Dream sucked in a huge breath as if summoned back to life by Hob’s words and said, each word a heavy scrape, “She will be far too busy for that.”

Around them, the Dreaming seemed to stabilize, shivering back into place. Everything went quiet again. Hob’s exhale of relief shook his whole body. “Hey. Hey.” He took Dream’s face between his hands and tilted his head up to look at him. “Hey, love. Are you back with us?”

Dream nodded. He looked utterly exhausted, glassy-eyed and with tremors running up and down his frame, but no longer like he was being actively tortured. “That was. The worst of it.”

“The worst of what? Did somebody hurt you?”

“No.” He looked to Hob for help, and Hob didn’t like it but he hauled him upright and helped him sit, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and letting Dream lean against him. “I am,” his voice was hoarse, each word a struggle, “the sum. Of all living minds in this universe. And when so many of those lives are ended at once. I. Feel it. That part of myself. Dying.”

Hob looked around before remembering that he couldn’t exactly see anything from here. “Something happened back home?”

“Your planet is not the only one with life,” Dream said. Hob shook himself before his brain could latch onto that—it was too much to be confronted with in the middle of a crisis. “I do not know exactly what transpired. I will have to ask Death. Only, it was significant.”

“What, like thousands of people? Er, beings?” Matthew said.

Dream’s gaze slanted over to him. He looked horribly sad, underneath the exhaustion. ���Trillions. Not only intelligent species dream. Smaller creatures. Insects. Some plants. All eradicated.”

“That’s why that happened to the library,” Hob realized. All the books of all those lives.

Dream’s eyes snapped to him. “What happened to the library?”

“Apparently it was on fire—”

Dream tore himself from Hob’s grasp and staggered to his feet, rushed through a door that hadn’t been there a moment before. He was listing violently to one side, stumbling off balance, but didn’t stop, and Hob and Matthew chased after him.

They tumbled through the door into an inferno, the towering library stacks crackling and popping in the incredible heat. A surprisingly modern sounding alarm was blaring overhead, lights flashing. Lucienne had found a fire extinguisher and was valiantly attempting to put out the blaze, but she could do nothing against the sheer scale of it.

Dream careened into a table, caught himself just before falling, then thrust out his hands. The room plummeted to freezing in an instant, and Hob’s breath caught as all of the oxygen—to whatever extent that even existed in the Dreaming—whooshed out of the room. His chest went tight, and he was pretty sure it was only the nature of the Dreaming that kept them all from suffocating.

Dream held them in stasis like that until all of the fires had sputtered out, starved of air. Then his arms fell heavily to his sides and he dropped sideways into a chair, panting. Air swung back into the room, and Hob sucked in a deep breath.

“Lucienne,” said Dream, breathing heavily, “what— what is— the damage?”

Lucienne sat down beside him. She looked rather more concerned about the state of Dream himself than the books—his skin was still absolutely covered in blood, his face gaunt and hollow, limbs shaking—but she said, “We’ve lost most of this wing, my lord. What happened?”

Dream squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. “Too many lives felled at once.”

Lucienne laid her hand over his, gave it a squeeze. Hob knelt beside him, laying a hand on his knee.

“My fault,” Dream murmured. “I should have conceived of some protection against this. Or recovered myself. Quicker.”

“No,” said Lucienne, even before Hob could. “I don’t think you could have stopped this, my lord.”

"You can't prevent people from dying," said Hob.

"I can certainly prevent their books from being wiped from the library," insisted Dream, and then slumped, leaning his face on his hand, brow pinched in pain. "Too much strain on the Dreaming at once," he murmured, mostly to himself. "This should not have happened."

Hob squeezed Dream’s knee. “I’m sorry, love. I’m really sorry.”

Dream’s frown didn’t soften, if anything, his shoulders slumped further.

“I’ll see what I can salvage,” Lucienne said, standing upright again. “You should rest.”

Dream didn’t seem to have the strength to oppose this. “Matthew, will you find out if any residents were injured in the destruction?”

“Yup, on it, boss.” He landed on Dream’s shoulder for a moment, preened his hair, then winged away again, out of the library.

Then it was just Dream and Hob.

“Hey,” Hob said quietly. Now that they were alone, Dream had gone nearly as limp as a doll. Hob took both of his hands. “Let’s go rest, yeah? You must be knackered.”

That barely scratched the surface, but bringing up Dream’s moments of weakness—as he would see it—was rarely helpful.

“I am not tired so much as…” he plucked each specific word individually from the ether— “Stripped. To the bone. Like carrion.”

Hob’s heart hurt, doubly so for Dream having actually admitted it. “Let’s go rest then, yeah?”

Dream shook his head. “I do not wish to simply return to my quarters. I do not wish to simply return to my quarters. That is not what the Dreaming deserves after this failure.”

“Somewhere else? You can’t just go and try to fix it all now, Dream. Please.”

“Somewhere else,” Dream agreed, at length. "For a time." He interlocked his fingers with Hob’s. Then the library was swirling out of view, and they reemerged in a familiar grassy dell, sitting in the long, soft grass. Fiddler’s Green, Hob thought. Of course.

Gilbert—for since learning that Fiddler’s Green was a he, Hob couldn’t help but call him the more human name he’d chosen—seemed unharmed by the damage that had plowed through the Dreaming. Dream sat cross-legged on the soft ground and brushed his fingertips through the grass, a self-soothing motion. A warm breeze tumbled through his hair, as if Gilbert was trying to comfort him.

Hob gathered Dream into his arms, and as he did a tree sprung up from the ground behind him, growing from a sapling to a massive oak in moments. Hob leaned back against it, holding Dream close. “You’re a gem, Gilbert.”

The leaves rustled in response.

“Has something like this happened before?” Hob asked quietly, lips brushing Dream’s hair, and Dream nodded.

“Yes. Hence why I should have been more prepared.”

“Not what I meant. I wanted to know how to help.”

“There is… little to be done,” Dream said. “In time, the Dreaming will integrate the loss. Any acute damage, I will fix. It simply requires some… patience.”

“And what about you?” Hob said.

This time, Dream didn’t say something about how the Dreaming was him. He just didn’t respond at all.

Hob held out a hand. “Do you want to help me out here, then, Dreaming?”

A soft, wet towel appeared in his hand. “Cheers.”

“Hob,” said Dream uncertainly, as Hob budged him up.

“Let me see your face.” He took Dream’s chin in one hand, and began scrubbing away the blood with the other, wiping clean his lips, and the corners of his eyes, his chin, his throat.

Dream watched him silently. Hob was still wiping clean the sharp hinge of his jaw when the first tear slipped from his eye. “So many dreamers,” he murmured.

Hob pulled him close and pressed Dream’s head to his shoulder. He still didn’t know exactly what had happened, in some far off corner of the universe. But Dream’s pain was plain enough. “I know, love. I’m sorry.”

“I am used,” Dream said, “to the normal cycle of life and death. I have never considered it a tragedy; it is the way of Time. Death herself is kind, but not all ends are, it is the way of things. But such sudden, and widespread destruction. This feels. Like a tragedy. Not only lives were lost. But whole species. Cultures. A history, too. And its remembrance.”

“And normally you’re the one that remembers it,” said Hob, and Dream nodded.

“Now… I can only remember fragments about those civilizations. Whatever survived in the library, or on the fringes of my realm. I can feel the loss in the fabric of dreaming—but I cannot see what was once there.”

Hob kissed the top of his head. “You care so much,” he said, as Dream’s tears wet his shoulder. “Oh, darling. I’m sorry.”

There was really nothing more to say; he couldn’t make it any better. He could only hold Dream while he processed and regained his strength. And so he did just that, leaning back against the tree in the warm, calming breeze of Fiddler’s Green, and kept Dream close to him. And when it came time for Dream to fix the damage done to the Dreaming, Hob would stick by him then, too.

[screwpinecaprice]

She's on a hospital bed, amnesiac after an accident and she's having a crush on this man who is apparently her husband.

@dragonuva's part on an art trade with them from last year! 🥰 It's based on the first chapter of Chiptune by Newlense.

Guys. This fanfic is my favorite FAVORITE connverse fic and I love it so much I don't care if the last update was in 2020 nor if it's never going to be continued. It's so tender and the angst whalloped my guts in the right places. 😭💕

[magnusbae]

If you're interested, here's a prompt from the ones who just shared:

"Then why did you do it?" "BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!"

No rush hehe I hope you get rest and have fun writing this!

Now, see, I could have taken this as an open prompt and went with something else, but I know you like dreamling and so I was good.

Thanks for the prompt dear! 💖 Also special thanks goes to @cuubism for actually going through it 🌻🌻🌻 any mistakes are me ignoring her wisdom or straight up forgetting to edit it. one of the two.

Dreamling - some flavor of hurt/comfort(?) 'you dare?' kind of situation going on there, 1,394w

▾▾▾

“I cannot fathom why—” 

Dream halts mid-sentence, his outrage rendering him speechless for a precious moment in which Hob tries, fruitlessly, to come up with a way to placate him, to explain in a way that will somehow pass as acceptable to Dream. The betrayal is tangible in the air, so charged that Hob’s hair actually stands on end as if from static. It feels like standing at your front door, still safe but seeing the hurricane on the horizon, knowing that this false safety can and will change in moments. Hob cannot think of a single thing. 

“You.” Dream grits his teeth so tightly that they scrape loudly, the sound of it making Hob’s own teeth ache uncomfortably. “Know.” Dream says each word as if it takes a great burden to even use human speech and not simply burn a hole in Hob’s mind. Given Dream’s past record, which Hob had recently learnt of, perhaps it does. “You know I do not ask.”

“I know.” Hob winces.

There’s no denying that he knew. Knew full well that asking Dream’s sibling for help was a guaranteed way to not only outrage him, but also land Hob a very creative punishment and the end of their long friendship.

He knew that, and did it anyway. 

Would again, if he had to.

He will not apologize for that.

Dream seems to come to the same conclusion, cheeks reddening in a surprising display of humanity, of lack of control over his appearance. The darkness that creeps into his eyes is distinctly not human. Hob shudders but fixes his eyes on Dream’s, refusing to avert his eyes like a reprimanded youth. He did what he did, and he’s not sorry.

''Then.” To Hob’s surprise, Dream seems to level himself, to school the darkness out of his eyes and ask with a calm that is somehow more unnerving than his rage. “Why did you do it?" There is a finality to this question, like a judge asking for one last confession to tip the scale one way or another. There will be judgment at the end of it, Hob knows. 

“Because…” he sucks in a breath, there’s a ball of nerves in his stomach and frustration, surprising him with its intensity, it feels almost like anger.

Why is he here, searching for excuses for something he believes in wholeheartedly? He doesn’t want to learn firsthand of Dream’s notorious pettiness but he’s not here to play these sort of games. 

The outraged huff is stuck in his throat— he didn’t even realize he had raised his voice this much, not until the ring of it strains his ears. He is practically shouting. And he doesn’t care. 

 ''BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.''

There’s anger in it, frustration, a measure of desperation.

“I bloody love you more than I fear you, that’s why.” His own cheeks burn, itch, tingle with the indignation of it all. “Because I’m a besotted fool who would make a pact with the devil if I had to, if it meant helping you.” He gestures curtly at Dream, then spreads his arm in an exaggerated motion of question. “Why else? Seriously, why else?!” He stops at that, breathing harshly. This is not how he had imagined, not even close. Fuck it. And fuck Lucifer, too. And Dream’s all too pleased sibling, on top.

Through his outburst Hob had stopped paying attention to Dream’s face, only his eyes, latching onto them as if they were his anchor in this universe, the only constant thing, in life, in this.

When he finally looks, really looks, he realizes with a start that Dream’s cheeks are no longer red with anger, that his eyebrows are not as tightly knitted, that his pale lips form a small and lax ‘o’. 

His friend looks taken aback, pacified and…surprised.

Like he couldn’t fathom this being the reason for Hob’s supposed betrayal of trust. Like this was the last rationale he had expected to hear, like he, an Endless being of incomprehensible wisdom, is unable to conceive this simple truth. Like he’s at a loss now.

Like he’s a bloody idiot. Hob shakes his head in amazement, his own anger evaporating as quickly as it came. Yet again he wonders how it is possible to be all knowing and yet so blind, so oblivious to such a simple truth, one Hob didn’t even try too hard to hide, really.

“I know you didn’t want me to,” he softens his voice, speaking more quietly “but I really didn’t have a choice. If I could do this on my own, you know I would have, I’d do worse for you.” He smiles at Dream, he doesn’t even try to sound self-deprecating, it’s the honest truth. He would.

His hand drops by his side and he awaits then, for his judgment.

“You love, me?”

Hob doesn't know how to respond to such a simple question other than–

“I do.”

There’s nothing else to add to that, he said it all, he did it all, even Dream must understand this is no passing fancy. One does not risk their immortal soul for something insignificant. Especially not Hob. One does it when it means everything. And in this case, it did. Dream did. 

Dream seems to again, come to the same conclusion. 

He wilts, shoulders sagging. He looks both much older and much younger at the same time, like this knowledge has stricken him, hurt him.

“You shouldn’t” is all he says. 

“But I do.” Hob answers in return. 

“I see that.” Dream’s voice is a whisper carried by the breeze, gentle, endless, aching. He looks torn in that moment, the judge whose scales no longer measure in any understandable manner. He casts his gaze down. 

“Just let me,” Hob says. He did not come here demanding boons, nor love, only to help Dream. “Forgive my impudent human inclinations to save what I love, and let us continue as we were. Friends. “

“Friends…” Dream repeats after him, as if in disbelief.

Dream opens his mouth to say more—to accept or refuse, Hob doesn’t know—but in that exact moment Matthew half-crashes, half-lands on Dream’s shoulder, a flutter of black feathers and barely muffled curses.

“Boss! Oh for fuck’s sake— I mean cracker’s sake— I mean what the hell— I mean you’re fine—you’re actually okay, I was sure that this time you’re like legit—” he notices Hob then, and cawing loudly he curses again “You actually did it you son of a bitch— you really did!” His wings open excitedly, brushing against Dream’s face, covering it up.

“Matthew.” 

“Uh-” Matthew folds his wings immediately. 

Hob looks at Dream then, the moment is decidedly broken but he has to know if he’d see him again, he can’t just go on not knowing, it’ll drive him insane. “Dream—” he starts, but Dream speaks over him.

“We will discuss this—” Dream’s lips tighten, eyes flicking to Matthew and then back at Hob. “At a later time.” He concludes rather curtly, seemingly deciding that addressing exactly what they will be discussing is not something he wants his Raven to be privy to.

“Right…” Hob murmurs, not speaking further of the topic either. It’s one thing to break Dream’s boundaries over life and death, another entirely over his own impatience and need to know. Dream wanting to see him again at all is already a damn good sign, and Hob will take it, gladly.

“I’ll see you later then, Dream” He uses the name even while not being sure he is still permitted to, that he did not lose the privilege. Dream tilts his head but doesn’t object, instead he nods once and disappears in a swirl of golden sand.

“Show off…” Hob murmurs into the empty air, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a good feeling in his gut, he should probably be worried but he has a feeling that things will work out, that it all will be just fine. He can’t explain it, but he has learnt to trust his gut over the years. After all, it once led him to believe that he would never die.

It was right then, and it’ll be right now too. He and Dream will figure it out and will be better for it. Just like the other time, just like always. 

[bluishfrog]

Inspired by "let's make this night last forever" by alisonsomething and dizzy (@alittledizzy)

Fic Art Friday - event tag - event description

[smallblueandloud]

happy five year anniversary of me posting my first fic on ao3! that first fic was doctor who, and therefore entirely unrelated to this fic, but i figure this update is pretty on-brand anyway ;)

chapter 2 of the fsk dog park au, at long last! chapter 3 is already written and will probably be posted in a few days <3 love you all

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson Characters: Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons, ODC (original dog characters) Additional Tags: Meet-Cute, Final Mission Rarepair Exchange, they all have dogs! and they meet at a dog park! it’s really cute!, Fluff, Flirting, daisy has a little bit of a meltdown but it’s okay! Summary:

“Oh–” says Daisy, wavering, before she realizes she wrapped up everything interesting on her phone five minutes ago. “Sure,” she decides, turning around. “Hi.”

He grins. He’s cute, with curly hair and a bit of a beard. “I’m Fitz,” he says, waving sort of awkwardly. “I’m an engineer. I’m here with Rose, uh–” he gestures vaguely at the rest of the park. “She’s out there somewhere.”

“Nice to meet you, Fitz,” says Daisy, smiling back. “Yeah, it’s my first time here, Edward’s old owners moved and left him with me. I was their neighbor. Uh– I’m not really sure about this whole dog park… thing…”

(or, daisy meets two cute people at a dog park. written @genderfluid-and-confuzled for the final mission rarepair exchange!)

[the-kipsabian]

wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

[petite-phthora]

Can I kiss you?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 1]

Next >>

Ao3

---

“—so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to kill him! It was an accident! He just jumped me out of nowhere and I have had bad experiences with clowns in the past so when I saw it was a clown trying to kidnap me I kinda just panicked and punched him! I swear, dude, I didn’t mean to hit him so hard—“

Jason, much too calmly, likely in some form of shock, rises from the crouched-down position he had been in to check the clown corpse’s pulse.

He had seen the poor, still rambling, twink getting grabbed from a distance and was about to step in as Red Hood, not even having been aware it was the Joker who —shouldn’t he have been in Arkham? There has been no announcement of him breaking out yet— had grabbed the guy until he had run close enough to the scene.

Which was after the guy had already been startled so badly by the Joker trying to kidnap him that he sucker punched the Joker into the wall of the alley so hard the clown died.

Said twink then realized what he had done and that he had a witness, that witness being Red Hood himself, and had started his frenzied speech on how it was an accident and to please don’t take him to jail he’s only just started his scholarship at Gotham U. and he can’t have murder on his track record yet.

Breathless, Jason looks at the nervous twink in front of him, who's still trying to plead his case, and who just obliterated the Joker with a punch.

Before his brain can catch up to his mouth, he’s already cutting the distressed monologuing off.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts out.

Danny, taken off guard, breaks out of his panicked—oh, Ancients, I just killed someone— stupor and lets out a startled laugh.

“Take me out to dinner first” came the automatic joking reply, Danny still largely in shock of what he did.

Jason, either not picking up on the joking tone or ignoring it, nods seriously, already trying to come up with the best place for a dinner date with the cute twink to thank him for his service to the city.

Danny, who has calmed down slightly by now, glances between the red-helmed vigilante and the clown corpse. His gaze lands on Red Hood and he hesitantly speaks up again.

“So, uh, what happens now? Do I need to go to the station to make a statement orrrr?” He pauses awkwardly.

Jason, who’s still trying to figure out whether the Bat Burger would be a good place for a first date or not, doesn’t reply.

“I’ve got school in the morning and I only have like,” he pauses to check his phone for the time, “3 more hours before I have to be up for my first lesson. Soooo, I’m just gonna go. That cool?”

Again, he waits for a reply. But it doesn’t come.

“Right. Cool cool. Uh, see you later? Mr. Red Hood dude sir?” Danny gives a clumsy and awkward salute before turning tail and speed-walking away.

It’s not until 30 minutes later, once Jason has finally decided on the perfect place to take the guy to dinner to, that he realizes the twink is gone.

Fuck, he forgot to ask for the guy’s name.

…

And number.

[lelianasbong]

do you ever think about the fact that sera's adoptive human mother convinced her AS A CHILD that a total stranger hated her because of her race - to protect the woman's own pride, mind you!! it wasn't even true!! racist AND self-absorbed!!!! (which tbqh the venn diagram is a circle) - and the ramifications of sera cutting herself off as soon as she starts to say, "i hated her, and i hated- (myself)" and how ungenerously the fandom interprets her pain and makes it all about their picture perfect elf oc. because i do.

[plusultraetc]

I've accepted that this fic will probably never be finished (although parts of it may be repurposed for future stories), but this exchange still makes me :')

+ bonus bc it made me laugh all over again