#i want to continue my fic

[rk9]

You're literally stopping writers and artists from creating when you leave negative comments.

Positivity is free and is more of an inspiration than you think.

Please, for the love of god, please don’t be this person. No matter how long it’s been since an update, no matter how many unfinished stories are sitting on their account, no matter what - do not be this person.

Not only is it insanely rude, but you also do more damage than you think be being such a self-entitled ass about something someone created for free and for fun. “This author” can see what you say.

RIP decency indeed.

[choccy-milky]

insatiable clora and (barely) resisting seb from my latest chap🌡️💕

[blenselche]

you can only take so many hours of ancient aliens before u snap tbf

[benevolenterrancy]

@hereticcryptid I appear to be slowly but surely developing an entire series about how Hensheng and Baxia apparently get fed up with their owners' inability to express their feelings and take matters into their own hands...

[wallabywhump]

Inspired by this gifset, and people in the tags saying "yoga teacher Tommy anyone?"

So, uh, please accept this offering of Season 1!Buck and Yoga Teacher!Tommy 😊 I haven't spell or grammar checked this, so please excuse any errors, I will do that before I put it on ao3 (maybe as a first meeting AU for BuckTommy week?) later lol.

Rating: Mature (esque), Buck is having some not safe for work thoughts about yoga teacher Tommy >.< (and Buck's own arousal 🤤)

Word count: 1.9k~

Enjoy!!

Buck slides through the half-open fire door at the yoga studio without double checking back down the alleyway he walked down. He's on the third yoga teacher from this particular studio, her name is Jewel on Tinder, and they usually fuck in her empty classroom.

She'd leave the door open; he would make his way through half empty hallways and dodge any actual pupils from her classes, and then they'd leave the door unlocked and-

So, he's not feeling like he needs to double check himself as he makes his way to her classroom. He keeps his head high, because if he bumps into Tiff or Kailey, he's not going to say no to them joining either, and saunters his way into Jewels classroom.

Buck feels wrong footed when he opens the door, and there is a man standing at the front of the class. He takes half a step back to check the room number on the door, and it's definitely 217 which is the number Jewel had texted that afternoon when he'd been sexting her from his bunk.

Buck knows he should probably turn around, leave, get out of there, because he has plans with Jewel, except he can't seem to take his eyes off the back of the head of this guy's head.

He's big, and burly, with arms that look like they could do some damage, rivalling some of the bigger men at the Firehouse. They're shiny and look near throbbing, in the way that Buck tends to see from the men at the gym who've just spent an hour working out, beads of sweat along lines of muscle. The kind of men he spends hours talking to about their routine, their protein intake, what weight they've made it up to.

Men who like and appreciate a good workout. Men whose physique Buck admires. Men who Buck looks up and down and commits to memory for inspiration when they're sweaty and their gym clothes no longer hide anything.

And, well, Buck can see from across the room that mystery male yoga teacher is covered in sweat. The guy's tank top isn't hiding anything, stuck to him, and Buck sees his shoulder muscles outlined by the dark fabric.

There is a towel slung over his shoulders that looks equally soaked, catching the beads that roll down his neck.

Buck follows the towel down the planes of the guy's back, the tank top clings to his waist and Buck wants to suck the sweat out of it.

The thought feels like a bucket of water over his head, and he blinks.

What?

Buck's mouth feels dry, and his mind is spinning, completely caught off guard by the desire to quench himself with a strangers sweat, and he's still staring at the guy's hips. He can't stop his eyes drifting lower and over those shorts that are obviously for modesty's sake but are achieving nothing because they've risen up between the guy's asscheeks and are cupping them perfectly.

Buck wants to blame having come here already half-horny and ready for a fuck for the way that his blood is rushing.

A good ass is a good ass.

And mystery male yoga teacher has a delicious looking one.

Buck takes a step back, committing mystery male yoga teacher's back profile to memory, and ready to find Jewel and not think about this.

But then the door swings closed against Buck's ass, and he stumbles forward into the room.

Mystery male yoga teacher jumps up and spins around and, God, Buck kind of wishes he hadn't.

The guy's front is just as gorgeous as the back, hair sticking to his forehead. His pecs are incredibly perky, yet another thing that Buck notices in other men when he's at the gym, and the tank top has risen up slightly to show off a hint of his abs, and the start of the 'v' down towards his groin and Buck would love to get his tongue in that and-

"Can I help you?"

Buck's head snaps up to look at mystery male yoga teacher's face and becomes aware that his mouth is open, and he's been looking at the poor guy like he was a tall glass of water and Buck parched.

Buck unsticks his tongue from his bottom teeth, and swallows. "Hi."

Mystery male yoga teach does not look impressed. He raises his eyebrow, - Buck wonders how someone can have such blue eyes, he could get lost in them - and tilts his head to the side.

"Want to try that again?" He asks.

Buck nods, a little numbly, and now he's looking at the guy's face, he can't stop. Buck kind of wants to kiss the guy's cheek bones, nibble along his jaw, lick the cleft of his chin. Buck's vision whites a little, as he tries desperately to steer his thoughts away from horniness.

"I," Buck starts to say, and his voice cracks so harshly that Buck has to stop and clear his throat. Maybe he was thirsty. "I was here to see Jewel."

"Jewel?" Mystery male yoga teacher says, eyebrows furrowed, looking so adorably confused as his face scrunches up. "Jewel...I don't..." Tommy's face goes completely blank for a second. "Ah, right, Julie. You mean Julie, kid?"

"Sure," Buck agrees, because he doesn't know Jewel as Jewel, but he's fairly certain Tiff and Kailey hadn't used their names either.

Mystery male yoga teacher rolls his eyes. "She went home with the flu just before her last class," he says, "sorry, kid."

He turns away, leaning over to start packing the bag at his feet, and Buck can't help but look at the guy's ass again. Bent over, it only makes those shorts ride up even more, and Buck imagines crawling across the yoga classroom floor and burying his face between them.

Can't be much different than with a woman, right?

Buck kind of wants to be smothered by them, wants to let the guy use his tongue, to feel strong thighs around his head. Buck swallows, and runs his tongue along the inside of his mouth.

"Anything else?" Mystery male yoga teacher asks still bent over.

Buck shakes his head, and then breathes. "No, nope, I'm just-" admiring the view? "I'll be leaving," Buck settles for.

But he doesn't get the chance to move, because mystery male yoga teacher chooses that moment to squat, and his thighs flex and Buck's vision has full on spots dancing in them now, with how easily the other mans legs bend, and how flexible he looks fully squatted, but strong and so in control, because his ass is just inches from touching the ground.

The man bounces when he reaches the bottom of his squat, just slightly, two bounces with his legs spread and his ass dropped, and, fuck, Buck hates that Jewel has flu.

He's going to need to borrow the studios showers to douse himself, for sure, because there's no way he makes it home with how hot he feels right now.

"Look, kid, need me to pass on a message to Julie?" Tommy asks, twisting around - still squatting, how flexible is he? - and looking at Buck.

Buck fumbles to pull his phone out of his pocket. "Nah, I can just-" He clicks the button, only for the screen to stay black. Well, that explained why Jewel hadn't messaged him that it was off. "Damn," he mutters.

Mystery male yoga teacher raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, actually, can you just tell her that..." Buck trails off, and his face feels warm, because she's not going to know his name, but he can't just tell this adonis his tinder name, and he doesn't tend to tell people outside his job that his nickname is Buck. "Tell her Evan stopped by."

Mystery male yoga teacher bounces on the balls of his feet and stands up, his bag slung over one shoulder, and shakes his head. There's something to his expression, mild disappointment, but also understanding. "Julie's not going to know you as Evan, is she?"

Buck wishes the floor would swallow him up, because this man has him pegged. Or maybe he just knows his coworker really well. Could be either. Buck refuses to be embarrassed by it though, and he shuffles on the spot, puffing out his chest a little, and swallows to steel himself.

"It's, uh, Firehose."

Buck braces himself for ridicule, maybe a laugh, but mystery male yoga teacher doesn't laugh. He smirks instead, and his eyes drift down to Buck's body, lingering on Buck's chest for a few seconds before landing on half-hard cock.

Mystery male yoga teacher's eyes go half lidded, his tongue runs along his lips, and he swallows before tilting his head to the side. Buck wants to preen because he just got checked out. He just got checked out by a hot guy, and based on the reaction, the hot guy liked what he saw.

"Is it now?" Mystery male yoga teacher's voice is just as dry as his expression had been earlier, and something about that flat tone, the obvious flirt in it, does something for Buck.

"People like to tell me it is, at least," Buck flirts back with a wink.

Mystery male yoga teacher's grip on his bag makes his knuckles white, and the man nods. "I guess if it's peer reviewed," he says, finally looking away from Buck's groin to his face, and raising an eyebrow.

"By many people," Buck says, and then flounders a little because he knows he wants to flirt, but he hasn't flirted with a guy before, is he doing it right? "Very good at putting out fires, the pressure has five stars, definitely who you want to call for your emergencies."

The guy barks out a laugh, and maybe Buck missed the mark with that one, but the way mystery male yoga teacher's face scrunches up as he smiles is something Buck wants to treasure.

"Okay, well, down boy," he says. The words send a sharp bolt of electricity down Buck's spine, his skin feels like it's on fire, and he inhales sharply. "I'll let Julie know Firehose was here for her, okay?"

Mystery male yoga teacher is moving closer, clearly ready to leave, and Buck knows he'll probably never see him again if he lets him leave.

"Or, or, you could not," Buck says, quickly, it rushes out of him. "I mean, I-"

All Buck's smoothness is gone, and mystery male yoga teacher is barely two feet away, and now Buck can smell him. He sways on the spot, wants to chase that smell, press his nose into it and smell it forever. Most men at the gym don't get this close, but Buck thinks the gym might be ruined forever if he ever reacts like this again.

"Jewel didn't even give me her name," Buck says, and steps closer to him, "can't have been that serious, you know?"

"You didn't give her yours either," the man points out, unimpressed.

Buck nods, shaking his head in a 'good point' motion. "Okay, but I gave it to you."

Mystery male yoga teacher laughs again. "When I asked you." The lilt to his voice is like a sirens call, and Buck wants to make him laugh again.

"I don't give it to just anyone." Buck tries his best to look up through half-lidded eyes, bites his lip in a way one of his older flings used to like, and softens his eyebrows to appear just a little bit younger.

It works like a charm.

"Jesus Christ," Mystery male yoga teacher whispers, "you're something else, Firehose."

"Evan," Buck corrects, and smirks, because hook, line, sinker, he's bagged himself another yoga teacher.

"Well, Evan-"

Holy fuck, Buck is fairly certain he could come from this man's voice alone, his name in this man's mouth is a weapon.

"-I'm Tommy."

[linddzz]

Dreamling is at its best when it's either "we met three days ago and the wedding is next week (the wedding is a formality, Morpheus already tied our souls together don't ask how)" or a multi century slow burn where the burn is really just a long fuse leading to a cartoonish stack of gunpowder barrels and nothing in between

[aaron-romave]

My Only Sunshine

It was a quiet night in Gotham, when suddenly the coms crackle to life, with a voice, that seemingly none of the bats recognized. That is all but one. Damians blood ran cold as he heard something that should not be possible. He had never even let himself think about it, because even recalling the mere memory of it would shatter him. 

The other night, dear

As I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you 

In my arms

Batman's voice was the first to come over the coms “oracle who is this? Where are they?”

“I’m working on it B.” She crackle back in her slightly mechanical disguised voice.

When I awoke, dear

I was mistaken

So I hung my head and I cried

Oracle may not have known where it was coming from, but he did. He knew it as he knew the heart beating in his chest and the air within his lungs. Without thinking he leapt off the building, grappling across the city that his father loved, but he has never thought of as his true home.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy 

When skies are gray

He was vaguely aware as Batman cried out for him, but that didn’t matter. His blood was rushing too quickly through his ears. Any protest or question simply ignored. He had somewhere he needed to be, and he needed to be there now. 

You'll never know, dear

How much I love you

Please don't take 

My sunshine away

“Oracle location!”

“I’m trying B! But these people are good I can’t work faster than I am!”

Was the last thing that came over the coms before he reached up and muted everyone, everyone but the voice he was focused on. The world had narrowed down to the wind whipping past him, his heartbeat in his ears and the one voice that he had wish to hear again for so long.

I'll always love you and make you happy 

And nothing else could come between

His lungs burned as Wayne industries came in to view. Why? Why of all nights was he on the outskirts of the city?  He needed to move faster, faster, please be fast enough. He begged to himself, to whatever god was out there be fast enough ….and for him to be there for this not to be some sort of cruel trick.

But if you leave me to love another 

I’ll support you as you follow your dreams

It was him. It had to be him. only he knew to sing it that way.  His brother quietly singing and holding him as he silently cried. He was never good enough for grandfather, he will never be good enough to be the heir to be excepted never daring, hopeing to be loved, but it was never like that with his brother. His brother loved him more than anything, and he couldn’t stop anything as grandfather ran his sword through the heart of the one person he truly loved. Through the heart of Damien’s one weakness. 

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy 

When skies are gray

Even at the end, when his brother knew grandfather was coming for him, his too kind brother never forced him. Always giving him a choice and he had failed his brother when he was willing to give up everything for someone as weak and pitiful as him. He wasn’t strong enough to run. He wasn’t strong enough to protect the one person who loved him above all else. 

You'll never know, dear

How much I love you

Please don't take 

My sunshine away

He was so close three minutes out. Almost there the highest spot in the city, the best place to see the stars. 

Northstar, I’m so happy you made it out. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you.

My Northstar please stop blaming yourself. This was my choice. It was always my choice and I don’t regret a second of it so neither should you. You are without a second of doubt the best thing to have ever happened to me. 

Damien felt a pit open up in his stomach.  Less than two minutes to Wayne enterprises

You have to let the others in Northstar. Being family to them, loving them it’s not replacing me or dishonoring me. Quite the opposite Northstar it’s keeping me alive; In a different way, but I’m still with you. 

Go on brother adventures with Dick, try things that make you uncomfortable, but know that he will keep you safe. 

Spend time with Babs in the library, read books that let you travel to fantastical worlds that we could never dream of.

Go to Jason for advice. You two are more alike than you even know, lean on each other, use that. 

Try photography with Tim. Take pictures of all those animals that you love.

Less than one minute

Pull pranks with Stephanie. Let yourself be a kid and laugh at stupid and dumb things. 

When things get too much go to Cass for quiet and understanding.

Go to Duke and ask him to take you out shopping at a regular store or to go to the mall to buy a toy for yourself. Enjoy the normal quiet moments.

Go to Bruce for comfort, he is Batman but he is also our dad don’t forget that, let him be a dad.  

The world went blurry. There is no one on the roof. 

Northstar I’m gone. I really am gone. You know how magic is Northstar your big brother had a few tricks up his sleeve, but I’m afraid this used the last of it. In the future in the far, far, far, future when you come join me in the hereafter, I’ll be waiting for you with open arms. I love you, Northstar now let our family love you in my stead. 

As his feet made contact with the roof of Wayne enterprises a small, glowing object made it self known in the center of the roof. It appeared that stars itself littered and sprung from the object, beckoning him forward. 

He was vaguely aware of the rest of the bats and birds joining him on the roof, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that his shaking hand was reaching out to grab the old dog stuffed animal as the last glitters of Stardust left the plush.

A drop of water fell down and landed on the left ear of the love worn dog. Reaching up and touching below the domino he realize that he was crying. When did that happen? When was the last time this happened?

As he clutched the dog plush to his chest, a frivolity that would have never been allowed in the league, but still his brother who he loved most in this world snuck it in for him. Hiding it behind a loose stone in the wall. Bringing it out for him to hold as his big brother comforted him and told him stories of a better life that they could have. 

The demons heir, Robin, Damien sobbed, cried for the injustice of the world, for his brother who even waiting for him in the hereafter was still looking out for him. 

His body shook as wave after wave of agony and despair ripped through him. Years of repressed grief tore through his body sharper and with more deadly aim than any blade. The floodgates had been opened. His big brother had given him this one last gift. 

So when Batman, his father, his dad crouched down in front of him concern showing through his usual stoic expression he does not ignore what his brother has given him and leaps forward, clutching onto his dad and weeping for the brother that he lost and the son his dad will never get to know.

( inspired by this)

[myokk]

😇

[imnotditzy]

The what ifs

Captain paused, as they touched the ground of the ruined park, a consequence of the ended battle.

“What did you say?” Billy asked, Captain nodded in the shared interest.

 The person whispered, quietly.

“I'm sorry, I can’t understand you.” Billy admitted, a small tinge of upset budded within himself. He paused, bringing his attention to Marvel. 

There was a loose smile laid on Captain’s face which seemed to indicate Marvel understood as much as Billy did. 

“Who are you?” Billy asked.

They replied, but he couldn’t hear.

The loose smile fell into a nervous one, and Billy was beginning to feel redundant, “I’m sorry…Can you please speak up?” He asked, timidly.

“𝔶o҉𝔲…҉ f҉𝔦n҉𝔞l҉𝔩y҉ t҉𝔥e҉ w҉𝔦n҉𝔡 𝔥a҉𝔰 𝔢c҉𝔥o҉𝔢d҉ t҉𝔥e҉ w҉𝔬r҉𝔡s҉ o҉𝔣 𝔱h҉𝔢 𝔲n҉𝔦v҉𝔢r҉𝔰e҉, 𝔱h҉𝔢 𝔰n҉𝔞k҉𝔢 𝔥a҉𝔰 𝔟i҉𝔱t҉𝔢n҉ i҉𝔱s҉ t҉𝔞i҉𝔩.҉ t҉𝔥e҉ e҉𝔫d҉ w҉𝔦t҉𝔥 𝔱h҉𝔢 𝔟e҉𝔤i҉𝔫n҉𝔦n҉𝔤 𝔞s҉ t҉𝔥e҉𝔶 𝔢x҉𝔦s҉𝔱 𝔱o҉𝔤e҉𝔱h҉𝔢r҉ i҉𝔫 𝔦m҉𝔭e҉𝔯m҉𝔞n҉𝔢n҉𝔠e҉…” They whispered.

Captain narrowed their eyes as they tried to decipher what the unknown voice said.

 “Uh…I…I’m sorry, you’re confusing me.” Billy paused, “Impermanence? Did you say that?”

“𝔡a҉𝔯e҉ i҉ s҉𝔭e҉𝔞k҉ l҉𝔬u҉𝔡e҉𝔯?҉ y҉𝔢s҉ i҉ d҉𝔬 𝔡a҉𝔯e҉, 𝔦n҉𝔡e҉𝔢d҉. 𝔫o҉ r҉𝔢g҉𝔯e҉𝔱s҉ m҉𝔞y҉ r҉𝔦d҉𝔡l҉𝔢 𝔪y҉ f҉𝔲n҉𝔠t҉𝔦o҉𝔫l҉𝔢s҉𝔰 𝔟o҉𝔡y҉…”

Marvel blinked again, eyes widening too, almost in registration. 

The words made Billy wonder if he was hard of hearing or just too light in the head. His confusion was interrupted as the odd voice spoke again. 

“Iḿṕéŕḿáńéńćé, ӳőú áńd í. Áś ẃéĺĺ áś ćőńtŕádíćtíőńś, főŕ í éxíśt főŕévéŕ áńd ńő évéŕḿőŕé. I bŕéáthé thŕőúǵh ḿӳ hőńőŕ áńd áḿ śháṕéd thŕőúǵh thé ćŕúéĺ ẃőŕdś— I, á tőŕtúŕéd śőúĺ, ḿáӳ ńévéŕ ŕéśt. Bút ít íś áĺĺ I ćáń dő…á ŕéśtĺéśś ḿíńd, á áćtíőńĺéśś bődӳ. Téĺĺ ḿé, á féĺĺőẃ ṕŕédíćtéd śőúĺ, thé ẃáӳ ẃé fúĺfíĺĺ thé díŕéćtíőń őf thé úńívéŕśé. I ẃőńdéŕ íś thé úńívéŕśé át thé éńd őf thé śtŕíńǵ?”

Billy started to feel like a fool. The words, Billy didn’t get what any of them meant. He wanted to frown, despite his incapability to do so at that moment, he had too many questions and no way of answers. Goodness, the words didn’t make any sense anymore.

“Captain?” 

Captain Marvel’s head swung toward the voice, and their eyes landed on Superman.

“…Yes?” They muttered, sheepishly scratching the back of their neck. The look in Superman’s eyes and the furrow of his brows made Billy want to squirm, and Marvel began to fidget on their feet. 

The voice spoke up again, no more coherent than the last, “Thé štörÿ thé qüîłł háš ćréátéd áñd šîgñéd för ÿöü, îñtrîgüéš mé. Wîłł ÿöür démîšé bé áš hörrîfîć áñd grüéšömé áš thé pášt wéré? Wîłł ît bé bÿ ÿöür öwñ háñd, á háñd töö šîmîłár tö mÿ öwñ? Ör šháłł ÿöür špîrît ñévér röám thé Röćk öf Étérñîtÿ, —för étérñîtÿ… Î šháłł wáłk wîth ÿöü, îf ñöt.” The voice paused, “Ör wöüłd wé škîp? Höwévér háš thé évéñt bééñ šćrîptéd? Öh, pérhápš théÿ’d áłłöw mé tö táké á péék. Thé hörrîbłé šîght ćöüłd błéšš mÿ éÿéš áš Î göügé thém áftérwárd…” The voice droned, a smile present in their tone.

Billy sighed internally, and Marvel did the same.

“Ñéw Ćhámpîöñ. Ćhámpîöñ. Thát wáš mÿ tîtłé öñćé, ñö ñümbér, ñö łégáćÿ tö öwñ. Î ám thé réášöñ för ÿöür éxîštéñćé, béćáüšé Î ám á fáîłüré. Fáîłüré, áłł Ćhámpîöñš áré fáîłüréš, máÿ Î fáîł. Máÿ ÿöü fáîł. Máÿ thé ñéxt fáîł šö théré áré öthérš tö fáîł. Fáîłîñg îš á ćöñšéqüéñćé öf bréáthîñg, áñd thîš îš öñłÿ trüé bÿ mÿ áćtîöñ. Łîštéñ tö mé, łîštéñ tö mé.” The voice repeated that last part over and over and over and over an—again. 

Billy wanted to frown, the voice was wearing him down like an old shoe. The person was still speaking nonsense, or was it nonsense, yes it was nonsense. And Billy started to feel bad for the voice, despite the reasons why he shouldn’t have because he knew their words were rooted in reality, they seemed out of it.

Billy decided to focus on someone else, and shifted his attention to Superman. He was looking at them, oddly. 

“Captain, can you hear me?”

What a silly question, of course he could. Adults often did a thing where they asked pointless questions to him, maybe Superman had entertained the habit, too. 

Billy responded this time, “Yes, Superman. You’re perfectly heard, fine, for sure.” And they gave him a toothy smile.

That didn’t stop the look. “I…” He cut himself off, “Okay, Captain.” 

Good, Billy thought, maybe he understood now. 

Captain smiled wider.

Something landed in the grass before them and their eyes focused on it. The shiny golden liquid began to drip onto the ground as if it was watering the grass at their feet. 

The golden substance seemed familiar. 

The liquid continued to drip past their eyes, and rain onto the floor.

“Captain?” 

“Hm?” Marvel looked up, staring Superman in the eyes.

His tone became…harsher, “Are you alright?” He said.

Marvel nodded, which caused something to trickle down their forehead and down the sides of their head. 

Did they move their head into the gold rain?

Superman spoke, “Captain Marvel, can you look at me?” 

Billy was certain Superman was doing the thing now, the adult thing.

So, Captain Marvel laughed. “I am.” They replied.

As they laughed, the liquid shook down their head and fell down their neck. 

Captain raised their arm, and tapped their forehead.

They stopped, eyes wide.

It was covered in thick gold.

[crybaby-bkg]

asking nerd Bakugou to give you a ‘pearl necklace’ and he starts grumbling about you tryna drain him dry but instead of pulling out his cock, he pulls out his phone to actually search for a pearl necklace </3

and to both his surprise and embarrassment, his phone is quickly tossed away in favor of you showing him what you’re actually asking for. he’s not mad though—not when you end up looking so pretty covered in white, grinning, and asking for another necklace <3

[choccy-milky]

clora teaching her doggy some restraint 💞🐶

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Totally innocent question but how old is everyone in TDSB and roughly how tall are they? (If you’ve answered this before I’m sorry)

Oohhh I had not awnsered this before actually!! So ill do a lil Height/Age range

Bruce- He is around late 40s, and standing strong at 6'3 Alfred- Immortal. (he's in his mid to late 60s) and is 6'1 Dick- Twenty five going on twenty six (still insists hes in his early 20s), and is a reasonable 5'9. Barbara- Never ask a lady her age!! (she's twenty nine), And is 5'11 Cass- Twenty (she doesn't know, but is around Jays and wanted to be older), She is 5'2 Jason- Nineteen going on Twenty, and just a hair taller than Alfred (canon timeline, he's taller than bruce- but not in dsb) Tim- Cursed to be seventeen (will he make it to 18 this time around??), Hes 5'5. Steph- Also seventeen, and she is 5'7 (insists she's just shy of Dick) Damien- He's thirteen, and is currently 4'11 (and mad about it) Duke- (included because big change) Fifteen, but he's already 5'11

Chart for comparison!!

[essektheylyss]

Open, non-exhaustive list of content I would read/watch in a heartbeat about the political situation in Rexxentrum post-Solstice:

One-shot or mini-arc of the Nein going full National Treasure level heist on the Cerberus Assembly records management department before a Ludinus simulacrum can reach the burn boxes

Faux Trump aide exposé-style novel of Athesias Uludan compiling and publishing The Dirt in the aftermath as part of his apology/comeback tour

Colville-run Dirty Dozen one-shot or EXU of Oliver Schreiber dragging some particularly unruly ex-Scourgers out of semi-retirement (read: house arrest) to take Ludinus out once and for all in exchange for full indemnity

Found documents a la Midst appendices of the Cobalt Soul documentation and evidence compiled about the incident

The Archmage: An Autobiography by Martinet Ludinus Da'leth (discovered and published posthumously) [1500 pages and riddled with exaggeration and inaccuracies, the last 20% has clearly been written by AI a simulacrum]

Lorekeeper rundown Youtube video from Dani Carr

Yet another novel: Wildemount's most (in)famous and (un)reliable documentarian smelled a story (Taryon's version)

Literally just a main campaign episode of the Nein infodumping to Allura at a war council meeting with the Hells present. I need this information so badly. I am fucking begging.

This sounds like it runs the gamut in level in terms of seriousness but I would like it stated for the record that I would unhinge my jaw to consume any item on this list.

[benevolenterrancy]

Congrats, now all I'm going to be able to think about all day long is Chifeng-zun being stunned into silence by the sight of Meng Yao's braids, the same as if he had never left. His hand reaches out and clenches in mid-air, while Jin Guangyao stands shell-shocked and panicking, or blissfully oblivious to how Nie Mingjue's world is tilting on its axis. He could be mad, the rage that almost let him call the Unclean Realm home making Hensheng thrum: because what right does Nie Mingjue have to want him now, when he finally has a place he belongs? And why does want to quit it all for him?

Anyway, now you can share in my brain worms~

In that moment, something was communicated

unfortunately, neither knew exactly what it was

[five-and-dimes]

Next to Nothing

Dream knew that retiring from Endlessness to live a human life with Hob Gading wouldn't be easy. He wasn't expecting Hob to laugh at him so much though. (In which there are misunderstandings, Dream hides things he shouldn't, and being human is hard.)

AO3

Lately, Dream has been experiencing nightmares.

He says ‘experiencing’ instead of ‘having’ due to the nature of his sleep. Despite making the difficult decision to become human, to share an immortal, human life with Hob Gadling, certain aspects of himself have remained. One of those aspects is that he simply cannot be overtaken by dreams. He is always aware of when he steps into his former realm- like returning to a house he no longer lives in but still remembers which floorboards creak and how to open tricky doors. He is incapable of not recognizing himself, even from the other side of the mirror.

Some nights are dreamless- The new incarnation of Dream of the Endless, Daniel (and Death, once she learned of his lucid dreaming), worried that being in a constant state of awareness would prevent him from properly resting, which was the whole point of his retirement in the first place. As such, half the time he floats between realms, peaceful and relaxed. But sometimes dreams or nightmares are drawn to him. And while it had been awkward at first, his former subjects standing before him like any other mortal, he encouraged them to fulfill whatever scenario they had been driven to. Even if he could not be lost in it, he knew they were drawn to him when he was feeling something he needed to face. That was their purpose, and he would always be proud of them for fulfilling it. 

And so it was that for the past week and a half, Dream had entered his former realm and been faced with nightmares about Hob’s laughter.

Despite himself, he jerks awake, dragging himself back into the Waking, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he gasps in the dark, the echoes of laughter still ringing in his ears. He brings a hand up to his mouth, stifling his heaving breaths, berating himself for being so affected despite knowing it was a dream. As his breathing evens out, he turns his head on his pillow and finds himself nearly nose to nose with Hob Gadling. His best friend, his partner, his lover.

The subject of his nightmares.

Luckily, Hob has always fallen deeply into the Dreaming, and so his snores remain steady and undisturbed by Dream’s restless awakening. Letting his hand drop from his mouth, Dream turned fully onto his side, gazing at the sleeping immortal. He brushes a lock of hair away from his face, letting his fingers caress Hob’s cheek softly, taking comfort in the way he nuzzles against his skin even in his sleep. Dream has been human for just shy of two months, and Hob has been a kind and patient guide in his new life.

Hob also laughs at him a lot. 

He had no disillusion that adjusting to human life would be easy. He had fought with the decision for ages before Hob had finally taken his hands, kissed his face, and begged for him to stay. He could not be Endless anymore, could not stand it, was rapidly approaching an edge that he had no qualms throwing himself over. But Hob. Hob had pulled him back. And so he had let himself be separated from his Endlessness and fell into Hob’s arms to start his new life, and he had expected difficulties, he had . But he had not expected the laughter that followed.

Laying in bed with Hob now, Dream reflects on his time as a human. 

There had been the night he attempted to help Hob with dinner and burned his fingers on a hot pan. He had shrieked, staring horrified at the way the skin had bubbled and turned a vibrant red. Hob had held his hand under a stream of cold water and laughed as Dream stutteringly questioned if his skin would fall off.

“Might peel a bit, but nothing you won’t recover from. Afraid it’s a common happenstance in a kitchen this small. No need to be so theatrical about it!” He teased and laughed and Dream had flushed with embarrassment, scrambling to pull himself together.

He came close to hyperventilating when he got a splinter from the stair railing leading up to Hob’s flat, and Hob had laughed as searched for the tweezers.

“That’s nothing, Love, nothing at all. Just a bit of wood, not the end of the world, yeah?”

And Dream had bitten his tongue to silence himself but all he could think about was that there was something inside him. Something foreign shoved beneath his skin, he could see it, and it felt wrong wrong wrong like a parasite, like a poison. For the next two days he struggles to eat, to drink, he gently rebuffs Hob’s attempts at love making. He does not want anything inside him, does not want anything outside to invade the meager shelter his body provides.

A day out at a fair gives Dream some sort of sickness, whether flu or food poisoning they couldn’t be sure, but Dream spent hours in the restroom, curled over the toilet. His stomach clenched painfully, violently rejecting any attempts at drinking water or ginger ale. He kept heaving, even when he was sure he must be empty, hollow, so sure that the next thing he would vomit would be his organs. There was nothing left.

Hob laughed.

“You won’t be coughing up your stomach tonight Love, I promise,” he kept a hand on Dream’s back, rubbing soothing circles only ever broken up by his chucking, “It all feels far more dramatic than it actually is. You’d probably feel better if you focused more on breathing than catastrophizing,” he grinned.

He hits his elbow on the edge of a bookshelf and nearly screams, a kaleidoscope or sensation and pain shooting up his entire arm, and he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand, he’s bumped into things before, he’s experienced bruises (experienced the horror of blood pooling under his skin, spilling out of his veins and spreading in vibrant colors across his flesh) but this is different, like needles have filled his arm all the way down to his hand. Hob rushes in, sees him curled over, clutching his elbow, trying to make the sensations stop, and bursts into laughter.

“Oh, oh Love, you’re alright,” he pulls at Dream until he is standing up straight, running a hand soothingly (patronizingly) over his arm as he giggles, “Discovered the funny bone, have you? Probably one of the worst designs of the human body.”

Dream wants to cry. It’s not funny to him. 

Strangers keep putting their hands on his shoulders or back as they move around him, and he jumps and flinches and glares and Hob laughs and laughs and laughs, “No harm, Love! Folks can be a bit casual about physical contact these days, no danger in the market, darling.”

Every time, even all these weeks later, the laughter hurts. It cuts him in a way he knows he would be judged for, would be chastised for, would be despised for. His undesirable, loathsome, insufferable pride clearly just as much a problem now as it was before. It is a stinging, aching pain to be laughed at, jeered at, mocked. 

And yet… 

His biggest fear- the thing that makes him tremble and cry deep in the Dreaming where no one can see him, the thing that makes him hide his face in his pillow and hide from Hob even as he sleeps- is the thought of what will happen when the laughter stops .

When he stops being a joke and becomes just a burden.

At least now he is able to provide amusement to Hob, no matter how much it makes his chest clench with shame. But surely the novelty will wear off. Eventually, Hob will come to resent Dream’s weakness, his fumbling, his stupid, worthless helplessness. He cannot be happy having to constantly take care of his lover, always having to guide him through situations that should be simple and easy. Hob shouldn’t have to constantly hold his hand.

Dream lifts his head from his pillow, ignoring the damp spot where his tears escaped despite his best efforts. His nightmares have meaning.

He has to do better.

~~~

When Hob wakes, he grins and leans in to give Dream a kiss.

“G’morning, Love. Sleep well?”

Dream nods, leaning his forehead against Hob’s, “Yes. I slept just fine.”

~~~

Dream and Hob are on the couch, curled together and watching something that Dream stopped paying attention to a while ago. There is a pressure in his head, throbbing and painful and the light of the television only makes it worse. He wants to press his fingers against his skull, wants to dig into the sides of his temples until the pressure is released, wants to hold his head in his hands until it feels less like his skull might split down the middle. He knows what a headache is, but the knowledge does not comfort him. He still feels his breath catch at the idea that there is something wrong with his brain .

Hob shifts next to him, “Alright, love?”

Closing his eyes, Dream nods, “Yes. I’m just. Tired.”

~~~

Hob has taken Dream out to a bar tonight, always excited to show Dream places outside of the New Inn. And Dream doesn’t mind, truly. Even before becoming human, he had been trying his best to view the world more as Hob did- as experiences and opportunities and curiosities. It is easier with Hob beside him, always open and eager to share his love for life. 

They are moving through the crowd hand in hand, making their way towards an open table in the back, when Dream feels a hand grab his arse.

Sucking in a breath, he whips his head around to try to find the offender. It is a warm night, and Dream had left his long coat at home, comfortable enough at the time with just a long sleeved shirt, but now he wishes desperately for the shield of more fabric, shivering in his own skin. Only… only Hob was supposed to touch him there. Hob, who was always gentle and considerate, never possessive or threatening like this touch had been. He cannot identify the culprit in the mass of bodies around them, dozens of people whose dreams and intentions are lost to him, and suddenly everyone feels like a threat.

He wants to go home.

“Dream?” Hob tugs at his hand, drawing his attention back from where he had frozen in the middle of their journey, “Everything okay?”

Hob’s eyebrow is raised, and his lips twitch at the corner, like the laughter is already building in his throat, just waiting for Dream’s latest foolishness, ignorance, stupid, stupid, stupid Dream.

“Yes,” Dream forces a smile, “it’s nothing.”

They continue to the table.

~~~

It is still dark out when Dream wakes, not from a nightmare, but from an intense, sharp pain in his leg. 

He gasps, curling up and frantically grabbing at his calf, feeling the way the muscle has tensed. Tears spring to his eyes as he grips his flesh, desperate to get the muscle to release. He doesn’t understand, it doesn’t make sense, he wasn’t doing anything, he was sleeping, why is his body doing this, what did he do wrong ?

Slowly, too slowly, he feels his leg begin to relax, though the echoes of pain remain. Beside him, Hob sleeps on, and part of Dream wants so badly to wake him, wants to know what happened and why. He wants, very badly, to be hugged. 

He turns away from Hob, keeping one hand on his leg, bracing for the pain to return at any moment.

Sleep does not return that night.

~~~

Hob is covering a shift at the New Inn, and he encouraged Dream to join him downstairs, excitedly going on about karaoke night and what fun Dream would surely have.

So far, Dream is not having fun.

There are bright, colorful lights illuminating a small makeshift stage, and everyone sings so loudly. Dream thinks the microphone must be unnecessary yet each person who takes a turn bellows directly into it, the speakers around the space thrumming with noise. When Hob manages to step away from his work to check in on Dream, they are forced to lean close to each other and yell, actually yell, Dream feels his throat becoming raw as the night goes on, his own voice carving him up.

He smiles at Hob and insists that he is having a good time.

When the night finally, finally ends, and Hob and Dream make their way back upstairs to the comfort of their flat, Dream almost stumbles when he realizes that the noise hasn’t stopped. There is a ringing, and he doesn’t just hear it, he feels it, and it’s inside his head. They step inside and it is silent but it’s not, the ringing follows him, like something from the evening has wormed its way inside his ears. He wants to press his hands against his ears, wants to scratch at them, to get whatever has invaded him out . 

Hob yawns and smiles at him, “What a night, huh?”

Dream smiles and nods and bites his tongue.

~~~

At one point, he actually bites his tongue. 

The pain is sharp and abrupt, quickly accompanied by the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth, and he doesn’t know what to do, that’s his blood , spilling into his own mouth, warm and sickly. He wants to spit it out, wants to press a hand to his tongue, wants to cry out just to know that he can, that he hasn’t damaged himself and invited another hundred years of silence with his own teeth.

Hob is in the next room.

Dream swallows.

~~~

When Dream wakes up, he feels… wrong.

He feels warm, but not a comfortable warm. Not the warmth of his perpetually cold body being bundled in blankets and Hob’s arms. No, it is an internal warmth, he feels like he’s radiating it, like the temperature of his blood has risen and now his skin is too tight. He has the strange compulsion to remove his shirt, to expose his arms and stomach to release some of the warmth. Sitting up, he blinks at the strange feeling of heat behind his eyes, and he realizes that his mouth is dry. He feels like a desert. 

The solution feels easy enough, though, and he stands to make his way to the kitchen. His limbs feel a little… floaty. But surely that too will be fixed by the glass of cool water he pours for himself. He gulps it down, and it hits his stomach heavily. He does feel better, but the heat has yet to dissipate. 

It probably just takes time.

He is filling his second glass when Hob wanders out of their room, rubbing his eyes and looking gorgeously sleep-ruffled. 

“Morning beautiful,” he greets, moving next to Dream to kiss the top of his head, “Ah, I had the same idea,” he grinned, grabbing a glass for himself to fill with water.

Dream sighs internally. Yes, this is nothing. Just another nothing.

The morning continues as normal, but Dream still feels… off. He cannot quite bring himself to finish the breakfast Hob has so kindly laid before him, and still the heat in his body persists. He finds himself drinking more water, his mouth drying rapidly each time he puts the glass down. Hob seems to still be waking, yawning between bites and grumbling about doing more zoom classes next term and sighing in relief that tomorrow is the weekend.

“You alright, dove?” 

Dream nearly flinches, hating that Hob had noticed anything. “Yes. I simply find I do not have much of an appetite this morning.”

“Want me to make you something else?” Hob offered.

“No, I’m fine,” Dream shook his head, “I will eat more once I’m more awake,” he insisted.

“Hah, I know that feeling,” Hob grinned, “Any plans for yourself today?” he inquired.

Currently, all Dream wants to do is go back to bed, but he tries to think of what he would do on a normal day while Hob is out, “I think I might go to the library. I have some books on hold that have come in.”

“Oh, lovely!” Hob grinned, “In that case, would you mind stopping by the market on your way home? There’s a couple things I keep forgetting to grab.”

Dream inexplicably feels like crying. Now he has to leave the house, he cannot claim later to have changed his mind, Hob has asked something of him and he cannot refuse him. Not after everything.

Smiling, he nods, “Of course. Just make a list for me, please.”

It feels like the blink of an eye and then Hob is kissing Dream chastely on the lips and hurrying out the door, leaving Dream alone in the quiet of the flat. For too long, he simply sits at the kitchen table, staring at nothing, wanting to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away but knowing that he can’t. That he shouldn’t.

It’s nothing.

Finally, he steels himself and stands, getting dressed on autopilot and tucking Hob’s grocery list into his pocket. As he steps outside, he pulls his jacket tighter around himself. His face feels warm, but his body is shivering, no matter how he tries to make it stop. The walk to the library feels longer than usual, and when he arrives he finds he has no desire to wander the shelves or to sit and read as he usually does. He simply collects the books he has reserved and turns to leave.

By the time he reaches the market, he feels nearly out of breath, and his body aches in a way that it does not usually after a mere walk. Deep in his chest, Dream is frightened. He feels like his body is simply failing him, like a machine with rusted gears and sparking wires. 

He shakes his head vigorously. This is nothing. It’s nothing . It is a human thing and he is overreacting, worrying for no need and acting like a scared child.

Hob would laugh at him. And Dream would deserve it.

Straightening his back, he tries to force normalcy upon himself, grabbing a basket and swiftly collecting the items Hob has requested. He pushes through the discomfort in his body, telling himself that the faster he finishes, the faster he can return home. 

When he exits the market, the sun is shining, and he thinks the weather must be warm, they are approaching summertime, and yet still he shivers. Gripping his bags tightly, he grits his teeth and makes his way home. He has always had strange temperature regulation, he often feels cold, this is nothing unusual. The persistent heat behind his eyes is nothing. The way he occasionally sways as he walks is nothing.

It takes him too long to climb the stairs to the flat, but eventually he makes it. He uses the last of his willpower to put the groceries away, hands trembling slightly. He realizes he is breathing heavily, and there is a rattling sensation in his chest. 

Stumbling into the bedroom, everything feels wrong. He wants to take his clothes off, can feel the fabric sticking to his skin from sweat, but he can’t stop shivering. When he breathes in his lungs feel like they’re crackling, like the soft tissue of his insides have hardened and begun to crumble. His body hurts, like he has fallen down the stairs but he hasn’t done anything, he doesn’t understand .

He never understands.

Crawling beneath the covers, Dream curls up and berates himself. This is nothing, just his new human body doing strange human things and Dream being a fool, like always. He will fall asleep, and when he wakes it will have passed, and he will continue on as he has every day. Even if he doesn’t understand , he knows , he knows he has to be better. The point of his becoming human was for him to change, to be less overdramatic, less petty, less prideful, less, less, less .

Dream has been a human for nearly three months and he is still too much. No amount of humanity can change that, it seems.

So the least he can do is conceal it. Folding in on himself beneath the covers, too hot and too cold and aching and afraid, he takes a breath and pretends that nothing is wrong. He falls asleep hoping he can pretend hard enough.

~~~

Dream feels worse when he awakes.

The heat is overwhelming, and he is not sweating, his skin dry and tight and hurting. His chest feels like it’s cracking with every inhale, and he aches down to his marrow. Distantly, he hears a door open and close. Blearily, he glances at the clock next to the bed and sees that it is mid afternoon, around the time Hob returns home and-

Hob.

Hob is home.

Even through the haze that feels like it’s smothering his thoughts, Dream still manages a panicked lurch to sit up. He can’t let Hob see him like this, he has to pull himself together, he has to be better -

“Honey, I’m home!” Hob calls out cheerily, the same teasing greeting he gives Dream every time he returns from anywhere, regardless of how long he had been gone. Swallowing, Dream struggles to force a response out.

“Welcome back,” He winces at the scratchiness of his voice, and the pain that came with trying to make himself heard. He hears footsteps approaching the bedroom and forces his legs over the side, trying to pull some semblance of normalcy around himself.

When Hob opens the door, he is smiling, “Afternoon nap kind of day?”

Dream nods, smiling, “It was. How were your classes?” His voice is still scratchy, but it can easily be explained away by having just woken.

“Pretty mellow all things considered-" He flips the lights on idly, Dream flinches minutely, the lights seemingly stabbing his overheated eyes, and as the room becomes illuminated Hob’s eyebrows raise.

“You look a little flushed, Love,” he smirks mischievously, “Sure you were just napping?”

Oh, Dream can’t even think about sex right now. He’s trying so hard not to shiver violently in front of Hob and he feels like his insides are boiling and everything hurts and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Almost without thinking, he lurches to his feet, “I’m just. A little warm. From the blankets.” The room is spinning, it must be, because he is certain he is walking straight and yet he suddenly finds himself bracing himself against the wall.

If his thoughts weren’t so scattered, he might have noticed the smile fall from Hob’s face.

“Woah, hey, are you-“

“It’s nothing,” Dream gasps, pushing himself forward until he is stumbling past Hob out of the room, “I just. Need water.” Water made him feel a little better earlier, right? He clumsily bats Hob’s hands away when they reach for him.

“Hey, Love, are you feeling alright? You don’t seem-“

“Everything is fine,” the whole flat is swaying like a ship on the sea. He keeps one hand against the wall as he makes his way to where he thinks the kitchen is. He’s so hot. He’s so cold. When he blinks he sees the sink in front of him and veers towards it.

Hob is not laughing. He does not know if that is a good thing.

“Dream…” Hob follows closely, and Dream can’t see it but panic is starting to shine in his eyes, “Love, tell me what’s wrong-“

“Nothing!”

“Dream, hey, just let me-”

“It’s nothing!” Dream snaps. He is dimly aware that he can no longer hide his shaking, that he is clutching the kitchen counter desperately. 

Hob moves closer, hands held out as though approaching a wounded animal, “Dream, you’re not-”

“ Do not laugh at me .”

Dream had meant for it to be a command, but what comes out is a plea . Voice thready and weak, and there is water on his face and he does not know if it is sweat, or tears, or both. His knees buckle, and suddenly he is on the floor, Hob’s arm around his waist to keep him somewhat upright. 

Sobbing, he is too tired to even try to disguise his desperation, “ Please ,” he begs, he begs, “please do not laugh at me.”

Everything feels blurry and fuzzy. He thinks he feels Hob pulling him into his arms, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face, wiping at tears and speaking in a soft voice. And as he feels his vision darken at the edges, feels everything start to fall away, his last conscious thought is that he still cannot hear Hob’s laughter.

And he still doesn’t know what that means.

~~~

The first thing Dream becomes aware of as he drifts back into consciousness is the gentle sound of water. His brow furrows, and he wonders if he has somehow landed on the Shore of Dreams. A shiver runs through him, and he becomes aware that he is wet, submerged in cool water from his shoulders down. There is a band of warmth though, holding him securely around his waist, keeping him from falling under. His back is pressed against something firm and soft. The more he wakes, the more he recognizes it.

Hob. 

It takes more effort than he thinks it probably should, but Dream forces his eyes to open. His eyelids feel heavy, and his eyes feel warm, but he manages it. Glancing at his surroundings, it feels like his brain is running at half speed. He is in a bathtub- Hob’s bathtub- their bathtub- the lights are dimmed, and he is naked- no, he’s shirtless, his boxers are still on. His breaths are raspy and loud in the quiet, and when his head flops forward on his neck, he sees two strong, hair covered arms holding him around his middle.

Hob.

He blinks slowly, wants to say something, an apology, he thinks, but another shiver wracks his body and a soft whine escapes him. Hob pulls him closer, shushing him and whispering next to his ear.

“You’re alright, Love, everything’s alright. I know it feels cold but it’s not, I promise. We just need to get you cooled down, alright? I’m right here, dove.” He brings a hand up to pet softly down one of Dream’s limp arms.

“Wha-...” Dream’s tongue feels heavy and dry in his mouth, the words catching until he can’t remember what he was going to say in the first place.

Hob hushes him again, jostling him slightly as he reaches outside of the tub to a glass of water placed on the floor next to him. He holds it up to Dream’s mouth, gently tilting his head back when Dream’s arms continue to be uncooperative.

“Just take small sips, alright? Come on, sweetheart, just a little.”

Dream still feels… far away. He can’t decide if his body feels heavy or weightless, full of cotton or full of lead. But with Hob’s encouragement he’s able to drink some of the water, loosening his tongue and soothing his throat that he hadn’t even realized was sore. Hob places a couple pills in his mouth between sips, and Dream swallows them meekly, too consumed with trying to pull his thoughts together to be anything but docile and pliant in Hob’s hands.

Finally, as Hob places the glass back on the ground, Dream manages to ask weakly, “What happened?”

Hob swallows thickly behind him, his arms tightening just slightly around him as he leans down to speak against his skin, “You passed out. You had a very, very high fever, Love.” There’s a long pause, perhaps waiting for Dream to respond, but Dream doesn’t know what to say.

“Sweetheart,” the word is choked out, “why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

And this, this cuts through to something in Dream, and he pours all his meager energy into explaining, “It’s nothing. I know-... I know it’s nothing. Nothing. Won’t make a big deal over nothing. It’s nothi-”

“It’s not nothing ,” Hob interrupts, voice almost sharp, “Dream, I almost took you to the hospital. You were burning up, I was afraid you’d have a seizure or something!”

Dream’s eyes are burning, and it’s not until he feels the tears drip down his face that he realizes it’s not the fever. “Didn’ want to overreact,” his breath hitches, “‘M always overreacting. Always getting it wrong,” and here, he dips his head to his chest, his mind too muddled and miserable to filter, “Didn’t want you to laugh at me again.”

He regrets the words as soon as they pass his lips. He has already burdened Hob with his weakness, and now he will be disgusted by Dream’s pride, so fragile he cannot stand the joke he has become. Against his neck, he feels Hob inhale shakily a few times, gathering himself, and Dream wonders if this is the moment he finds out he is too much for Hob, just like he was too much for everyone. Maybe he finally found the limit of Hob’s love.

“Dream,” Hob’s voice is soft, heartbroken, ashamed. He tightens his arms around Dream’s chest, placing a gentle kiss to his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

Sluggishly, Dream shakes his head, because no, that’s not right, “No, Hob, you-”

“Listen to me,” Hob interrupts, voice pleading, “I swear to you, I was never, ever laughing at you.” 

It is a sick kind of irony that Hob’s words make Dream laugh. It is rasping and weak, and dissolves quickly into sobs.

“You should laugh at me,” he confesses, “I failed as an Endless, and now I am failing as a human.”

“That’s not true,” Hob sounds devastated, “That’s not true at all-“

“I should have known that becoming human wouldn’t fix me,” Dream barrels on, barely taking in Hob’s words, “It’s me, I just- I’m always failing, I cannot do anything right -“

“ Dream .”

He chokes on the next sob. His whole body still hurts and his head is still fuzzy but something in him manages to break at the harsh way Hob snapped his name. Hob so rarely got angry. Maybe this is something else Dream has ruined.

Dream can feel the way Hob’s chest expands with a deep breath, Dream’s own body moving with it, the water rippling around them. Hob’s arms loosen and more tears spill down Dream’s face at the sensation of being let go.

Only for a moment though.

“Dream…”

There is no anger this time. Only a deep, deep sadness. Hob adjusts his hold, gently maneuvering Dream in the tub until he is curled loosely in Hob’s lap, one hand guiding his face to press against the crook of his neck. His other hand sweeps up and down his spine soothingly. Dream sniffles weakly, so relieved to be held and still not understanding.

“You’re not failing,” Hob whispers into his hair, “You didn’t fail as an Endless, and you’re not failing now, I promise.” There is desperation in his voice, “Please, love, you have to believe me. You’re doing wonderful. I’m sorry for laughing. I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you weren’t succeeding. You chose to do something very different, and just because you struggle sometimes doesn’t mean you’re doing badly.”

Dream swallows thickly, eyes burning with tears of disbelief. Hob rubs soothing circles across his aching back, tucking Dream’s head beneath his chin as he whispers, “The truth is,” his voice drips with sincerity, “The truth is that being human is scary . I’ve been doing it for 600 years and it still frightens me sometimes. I can’t die, but there’s still the pain, the illness, the uncertainty of it all. Everytime I think I know what I’m doing I feel like the whole world gets flipped around and I end up stumbling to reorient myself.”

A quiet sob breaks through his words, and it takes Dream a moment to realize that it had come from him. He doesn’t know when he started crying, but he knows that what Hob is describing is… familiar.

It is how he has felt every day since becoming human.

Hob kisses his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, pulling Dream impossibly closer, “I thought… maybe laughing would make it less scary,” he confesses, “I only ever laughed because I thought maybe it would comfort you. I thought if I laughed, if I made light of the situation, you’d see there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. That I was there, and we were together. I just didn’t want you to be afraid.”

There is deep regret in his voice, “But that doesn’t change that being human is scary, and it is hard. I never should have minimized that. And I’ve never, ever , thought you anything less than the bravest person I know.”

This time, the sob is not quiet. Dream clenches his eyes shut, dipping his head as more sobs escape him, his chest heaving with them as he shakes in Hob’s arms. If he had the strength he would curl up around himself, pull away from comfort he does not deserve, but he is too weak and so Hob keeps them pressed together.

“I do not feel brave,” Dream chokes out, “I feel… pathetic . And weak, and, and useless . Just a dead weight for you to carry.” He feels his face growing hot, and he does not know if it is the fever or the overwhelming shame. He does not know if it matters.

“One day… you will stop finding it funny. You will lose patience, you will grow tired of caring for me, you will grow tired of me , I can’t-” Hob tries to shush him, but Dream shakes his head, his words becoming breathless as he tries to speak through his sorrow. His fear.

“I can’t keep burdening you,” he gasps desperately, “I can’t lose you-”

“You won’t,” Hob interrupts, his voice gentle and firm, “Not ever. Dream, Love, it’s not a burden to care for you. I want to help you. You chose to stay with me, and I’m choosing to stay with you.”

It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel possible that Hob would choose this. But his tears have sapped what little energy he had, and Dream finds himself sagging in Hob’s arms, and Hob holds him like he means to stay. Like he doesn’t plan on letting go.

“Hob,” he croaks out, a shiver wracking his frame, “I don’t feel good.”

“I know. I know, sweetheart,” Hob presses kisses against his hair. 

He holds him tighter.

~~~

Dream dozes against Hob’s chest for an undetermined amount of time, only waking when Hob moves to drain the tub and dry them both off. Blinking, he finds his head is clearer, and while he is still warmer than usual, he no longer feels like he is burning from the inside. He feels more in control of his limbs as well, but Hob still insists on helping him dress.

“The meds are definitely helping. You can have some more in a few hours, but for now I think sleep will do you a world of good.”

Sleep does in fact sound amazing, so Dream nods amicably. 

When he’s better, Hob will gently pry all the things Dream has held back for weeks out of him. Dream will cry and confess to all the things he doesn’t understand, to all the things that scare him, and Hob will not laugh. Hob will share stories of his own fears, past and present, the things he still doesn’t understand himself even after 600 years of being human. When something new and strange happens to Dream, Hob will start asking him to explain what he’s feeling, to explain his fears, and Hob will talk him through it until, by some miracle, eventually they are able to laugh together about this strange thing called humanity. Time will pass and Dream will grow into his new life with Hob beside him, and they will be scared together and they will be happy together and they will live together.

Tonight, Hob holds Dream through his fever, and Dream sleeps, and his nightmare doesn’t come because he is not afraid.

[thedeerman]

hi! i binged 75 chapters of ur amazing fic within a week, so have some art of a scene i particularly enjoyed. have a great day deer

NO FUCKING WAY 😩😩😩 this is beautiful and i love it!! genuinely gonna make me cry tears of joy lmao thank you so much for enjoying my writing and for this amazing art!! do you mind if i link it to my masterpost??

seriously tho i fucking LOVE THIS and i’m so honored 😭❤️