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kiyo-cant-write · 9 days ago

Note

Heyya, I have comeback with an idea. I'm sure you'll like it too. Still I will bring this guy up, but you can add your favorite .

So Yuu got sick, heavily sick. The boys sometimes comes to visit and take care of Yuu. i also found out that when someone got sick, they crave sweet and carbs. So imagine Yuu heavily sick, walking down the stair of their own dorm craving sweet. Just to get sweet jam and bread and they seemed to be a brink of passing out, unless they got their sweet jam bread.

As always I bring Silver, but you can add your own favorite character too if you want.

- 🎵 anon

silver & malleus with a sick!reader ✧･ﾟ

Hello anon! I am so sorry this took me so long! My health and uni work always takes precedence but I do love writing for this blog even if I lack the time to do so... ^^

I like writing for Diasomnia, they're silly xD Malleus is my favorite but I love them all sm. I added Lillia as a guest star only but was tempted to make him his own scenario... Maybe next time.

Thank you for requesting!!!

Note for everyone that I have a few requests left from earlier to get done before the close of the year and then everything else sent from here on will not be posted until 2025 January. Please keep this in mind, thank you for supporting me!

Summary: The reader gets taken care of by Silver/Malleus when sick.

TW/CW: mentions of illness/symptoms

Notes: pre-relationship, the reader is Ramshackle Prefect/Yuu, they/them pronouns for the reader, Malleus' "incident" is from canon

Guest Stars: Lilia Vanrouge. Grim

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Silver

Silver has been sick a few times when he was young.

However, he quickly built a strong immune system from having to eat Lilia's cooking and train as a child.

The last time Silver was especially sick was when he was 8 or 9.

Because of his experience with humanity, he knows a bit about treating illnesses. Still, he would rather ask someone to be sure.

Unsure of whether the school nurse would be busy or not, he selects his father (Lilia) to ask. Father is very knowledgeable.

Between Lilia's advice and his own knowledge, Silver is prepared enough and manages to be a help not a hindrance.

He does get into a small spat with Grim, though, for invading Grim's territory.

Silver wasn't sure what was happening, but the pot hadn't boiled over even with his nodding off. Still, he was surprised that the kitchen was still usable. At first, he had planned to tough it out himself when [Name] got sick but he now had the help of his father and Grim (though Grim had initially tried to burn Silver for entering his esteemed territory).

"Isn't it easier to work together?" Silver asked, directing his question to Grim who huffed despite agreeing with the white-haired boy.

"Myaa, I guess so."

Grim's tail flicked in annoyance with the situation. He had become even more irritable since finding that he was not allowed to be a glutton with the soup they were making. It wasn't for him and Grim seemed offended by that fact.

"Silver," Lilia said a moment later, "Are you sure I can't add things to this? I know of some hearty things sure to get [Name] back to good health."

Lilia held up something that Silver trusted less than he'd trust Sebek with a chainsaw. It was a vibrant purple and somehow also a neon green and smelled strange, reminding Silver of the strange things he had eaten as a child whenever he was sick. Lilia cared, surely, but those plants were... bitter and sometimes nauseating to even imagine.

He shook his head. That could not be fed to an already-sick [Name].

They would get sicker!

"No, you know how I feel about your soup. I just needed help chopping things since [Name] might be sick for a while."

Lilia shrugged.

"More for me later then~" he told Silver.

Silver did not ask about that comment.

"Are they going to be okay?" Grim asked, pawing Silver.

"Certainly," the boy assured, "They just seem to have something that will take some time and rest to recover from."

"If you say so..."

Silver wished he was better with words and could reassure Grim of [Name]'s safety. However, he wasn't sure what to say or how to explain it. He was focusing so intently on the soup and on staying awake that little else could enter his mind.

The room filled with the gentle aroma of the homemade soup as the recipe was completed. Silver turned off the burner.

"And I can't have some?" Grim asked, whining.

"You can have some of my veggies~" Lilia told him with a smirk.

"NO! THAT'S POISON!" Grim shouted, ducking behind Silver for protection from the feared veggies Lilia held.

"Surely, it isn't. I promise," Lilia chuckled darkly.

"Father, don't harass Grim," Silver chided the old fae, "And Grim, you can have some but most of it is for [Name] if we want them to recover well."

Grim nodded slowly.

"Fine..."

Silver ignored the continued bickering between his father and Grim as he ladled soup into a bowl. It was warm and filled with all kinds of [normal] vegetables. It should help them!

"YOU JUST WANNA SEE ME GAG ON THAT PLANT!"

"No, no, it's good for you."

"IS NOT!"

"You won't know unless you try it."

Silver placed the bowl onto a wooden tray that [Name] had in a drawer in the kitchen. This would be easy to carry up the stairs to [Name]'s room. Holding a bowl of hot soup might... hurt. It was rather hot, but hot food was good for someone who was sick.

He considered asking Grim to come with him but when he turned to head towards the bedroom, both Grim and his father were gone. Where had they gotten off to? Were they fighting? If they were fighting he might try and stop them...

But he needed to focus on [Name]'s health.

He knocked on the door.

"[Name]? Are you awake?" he asked but he only heard some coughing in return, "Alright, well I'm coming inside."

He pushed the door open and walked up to the bed. There sat [Name], coughing softly with a flushed face and sweaty forehead.

"Hey, Sil," they managed after the coughing subsided, "Is that for me?"

They looked curiously at the tray and he leaned forward to set it on their lap, balancing it so it wouldn't spill and then pulling away.

"I made you some soup to quicken your recovery," he told them.

[Name] looked at the bowl and then at Silver.

"Aww, thank you," they said, coughing a few times because of the strain on their vocal cords, "That's really sweet... of you."

"I hope that it helps, I don't like to see you so uncomfortable."

"You made this for me so it'll help me for sure," they told him with a smile, "I appreciate this."

[Name] tried not to think of the implications of being cared for by someone like this... It was so domestic.

"Ah, well, I'm glad."

Silver offered them a soft smile which they returned.

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Malleus Draconia

Malleus thinks that humans are very fragile. Too much so.

He hates to think that an illness could take [Name] from him.

This fae is also unfamiliar with human illnesses and remedies.

He consults Lilia on the proper way to heal a human.

However, in his inexperience with human technology... some things are lost in translation and what Malleus ends up doing is far from what Lilia meant or what would have helped.

Malleus considers that he should have asked Silver.

[Name], sick as they are, may have to explain what they need to Malleus even if it takes them some energy to do so.

Once he has a clear explanation of what to do... he will do it.

Even if his crazy OP magic ability gets in the way somewhat.

Somehow, through this, Ramshackle is not destroyed.

Malleus wasn't sure if this was right. Looking at the kitchen around him, he feared he might have made things more difficult for [Name]. What would they think when they awoke? The kitchen was in utter disarray, there were pots in the sink and ingredients on the floor.

This was all because of that damned thing.

Truly, Malleus did not have any of the patience needed for these human contraptions. What in the world did they invent them for if they didn't work? He sighed to himself as he imagined how easy this might have been otherwise.

Still, he was a respectful fae and he had promised [Name] weeks before to follow one rule when at Ramshackle: no giant shows of fae magic. At first, he had been insulted, but [Name] (and Lilia) had pointed out that his magic was strong and he could destroy the dorm. It pained him to imagine making them sad, so he had agreed.

"I'd best contact Lilia..." Malleus said to himself, knowing he was the only person in the dorm besides the illness-ridden [Name], Grim, and the ghosts who seemed frightened of him still.

Malleus: Lilia.

Lilia: hmm? what's up, malleus? :3

Malleus: [Name] is sick. What should I do?

Lilia: You can try to make some soup for them.

Lilia: Soup helps when humans are sick.

Lilia: I used to make some fire ones for Silver when he was a boy.

Malleus: Fire? Flames?

Lilia: Human slang. It means "good."

Clicking the picture Lilia had sent of his hand-written list, Malleus noted that these were all what was deemed as "healthy." Was this all supposed to go into the soup? Malleus wasn't sure. Some of it seemed like it wouldn't be the best-tasting soup if it were combined with the other things on Lilia's list.

Pumpkin sardine strawberry liver soup?

As Malleus continued to look through the list, his phone shut the app he was using accidentally. It must have crashed. Fiddling with the phone, Malleus tried but was unsuccessful in bringing the list back up. His frustrations crushed the phone to bits.

Well, isn't that just great? Another one is dead. Always difficult creatures, cell phones.

But Malleus was not going to give up so easily. This illness would not take his Child of Man from him. No, it would not. Putting what remained of his phone into his pocket (he would bother Lilia and Silver about it later), he turned back to the messy kitchen (all his own fault).

"I will make soup or die trying," he told himself, "I promise."

A few minutes passed and an explosion rang through the house.

"Mal... Malleus?? What are you doing?" [Name] asked, standing in the kitchen doorway and coughing from a mixture of sickness and inhaling the smoke from the (minor, in comparison to last time) explosion.

"Making your wellness soup."

Malleus said this as though it was obvious.

"Whatever soup it is, it's probably burnt," they told him, coughing again, "Cooking from scratch is hard, it's why I just have the canned stuff like Grim's tuna."

"Canned..." Malleus echoed.

That might have been easier, at least.

"Yeah, it's microwaveable," [Name] said, walking into the burnt kitchen to find the canned soup from the cupboard.

"Oh, I'm not allowed to touch those things. Lilia's orders."

Malleus disliked remembering that time.

"...What?" [Name] responded head in a cabinet.

Did they hear him right?

"There was an incident," Malleus said as an explanation.

It was not a very good explanation.

[Name] chose to ignore it and sighed. Must be a fae thing.

Holding the can, they opened it quickly and dumped the contents into a bowl in one motion, trying not to cough too much as they did so. If Malleus was going to blow up Ramshackle, it was probably better that they cooked for themselves.

Malleus seemed to be pouting in the background.

"..."

"You tried your best, I appreciate it," they told him.

"I am sorry about your kitchen."

"It's fine, Grim did worse trying to make a casserole with the ghosts. Something about it only needing 3 seconds in the oven if it was a certain temperature?"

[Name] laughed.

If they were smiling like that... How could Malleus stay upset? Besides, there was more he could do to help the sick human, right? Malleus was not going to leave [Name]'s side. Not now, not yet.

"That does make sense though. If it was hot enough would that not quicken the speed?"

[Name] gave the fae prince a look.

"Malleus Draconia, don't make me make a rule about no dragons cooking in my kitchen..."

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Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

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parkerslatte · 9 months ago

Text

Unspoken

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of Beron’s torture. mentions of nightmares.

Summary: Eris had been in love with his best friend for centuries. After a long, tiring day of his duties as High Lord, he just wants to sleep. But he would rather listen to Y/N talk to him more.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The moment Eris entered his own private chambers, he immediately shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. Next were his shoes, he kicked those from his feet and dragged himself to his large bed in the centre of the room. When he was near it, he allowed himself to fall, landing on the soft mattress and pillows. He always knew that being High Lord would be time consuming. But he hadn’t realised how long he would need to be on his feet all day. Eris was sure that he had only been allowed five minutes to rest his feet before he was demanded somewhere else. All he wanted was rest.

Eris closed his eyes and begged his body to drift off to sleep. Of course nothing came of it. Despite the fact that his father was dead, killed by his own two hands, Eris could never fully settle. Afraid that if he closed his eyes, his father would rise from the shallow grave Eris buried him in and come after him. For months, Eris was constantly plagued by that nightmare, his only reprieve from it was–

“Eris!” A voice called through the door. “Are you in there?”

A soft smile fell upon Eris’s face. “Yes, my dear.”

The door was pushed open and in walked Y/N, Eris’s best friend for the past few centuries. Since becoming High Lord, Eris had finally allowed her to enter his chambers for the first time. Always wanting to keep her out in case his father ever got the wrong idea and would use her to make him obedient. Now he had a hard time keeping her out of his chambers. She always demanded that they were much nicer than hers.

“You will simply not believe the day I have had!” Y/N exclaimed, falling next to him on the bed.

Eris moved to lay comfortably on his back and turned his head to look at Y/N. Her hair was simply a mess, sticking up in nearly every direction. Eris chuckled at the sight. “Tell me about it.”

Y/N huffed. “Well when I got to the shop, there was a vile woman already waiting outside demanding to be let in, insisting that the shop hadn’t opened on time. Even though I had written a note, with large bold letters I may add, fixed to the front door that explained that I would be opening an hour later than usual.”

“She sounds awful,” Eris commented.

“That’s not all!” Y/N exclaimed. “When I let her in, she said that the bread I baked was not fresh enough, even though I put an enchantment on it to make sure that it was, and demanded that I make a fresh batch just for her. I don’t have the time for that! I am the only one working at the bakery and there was a large line forming.”

“What did you tell her?” Eris asked.

He had now turned on his side and watched as Y/N told her story, her hand gesturing wildly. Ever since he had met her when she worked as a chef in the kitchens, he had always loved the way she emphasises her speech with her hands. Often when people noticed it she would try to stop, but not around Eris. Never around Eris.

Eris knew that their friendship was unexpected, he hadn’t expected it himself. But after she was sent by his mother to give him food when he was extremely ill, Eris had simply loved her since then. She never cowered away when he glared at her and tried to intimidate her. She never backed away when he spoke cruel words about her job and her station. She didn’t even leave when he dismissed her. She had stayed and asked him what was the matter and that was when the facade Eris constantly had up vanished. No one had ever asked him that before. The softness in her voice, the understanding. It was something Eris had never experienced.

After that it was always quick yet playful glances in corridors. The occasional nudge when brushing past one another. And when Eris had endured another beating from his father, he would make his way to the kitchens. And remain with her. Those few days after the beatings, Beron never expected Eris to make an appearance anywhere so he could be in the servants quarters without the threat of his father coming after him.

Eris remembered the first night he had spent with her. They had only known each other for a few months by that point so Eris hesitated before knocking on her door. He knew that she had a room to herself, it was the size of a shoebox but Y/N was grateful for her own space. When Y/N brought him inside and cleaned the wounds on his back, Eris finally allowed himself to break down for the first time in a long time. Y/N only held onto him, soothing him, as he cried and let everything out. Not once did she complain.

Even when he fell asleep in her arms, Y/N did not complain, she only held him closer. That following morning, Y/N never made him leave, she simply stayed with him the whole day. She took his mind off everything. She made him smile. She made him laugh for the first time in years. It was so easy to fall in love with her.

And he was still in love with her. Even after a few hundred years.

“Eris?” Y/N said, nudging his arm. “Are you still listening?”

Eris smiled. “Yes, I’m still listening. What did you tell her?”

Y/N laughed. “Well first I threw the bread at her and told her to stick it up her–”

“Y/N,” Eris said, laughing loud. “You are going to lose customers.”

“I’ll be glad to lose her,” Y/N said. “She was a prick.”

Eris continued to chuckle as Y/N turned onto her side facing him. His hand twitched to reach out and pull her against his chest. It was all he wanted to do.

“Why would you burden me with running a whole bakery?” Y/N questioned.

Eris rolled his eyes. “I did not burden you. I remember you begging me to buy the building when it was planned to be torn down. And I keep suggesting that you hire more people but you never listen.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Y/N questioned. “Since you bought the building?”

“I gave ownership to you,” Eris said. “It is legally your business and, therefore, your job to hire people.”

Y/N sighed. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about running a business where other people depend on me. The thought terrifies me. And what if they don’t like me, what then?”

“It would be impossible,” Eris stated.

“Me as someone’s boss? Because I agree.”

“No,” Eris said, his voice soft. “People not liking you. You are impossible not to like.”

Something flashed across Y/N’s eyes but it was gone before Eris could even place the emotion.

“You mean that?” Y/N asked.

“Of course I do,” Eris said, swallowing hard. “You are the easiest person to like.”

It is why I fell in love with you, Eris thought. The words he was never brave enough to say.

Y/N smiled and Eris swore his heart skipped a beat. “Thank you Eris.” Her tone was sincere and far from her usual light hearted and playful tone.

“I could always help you,” Eris said. “In the bakery.”

“Eris, you have enough duties here. You already look ready to pass out and the sun hasn’t even gone down,” Y/N said. “And why would you want to spend any more time with me than you already are? I’m sure you are sick of me already.”

“I could never be sick of you,” Eris said. “You are my best friend, Y/N. I will always want you around.”

Best friend. Those two words Eris hated. Y/N was more than his best friend. She was the light of his life. The reason he woke every morning. The reason he breathed. She was a part of his soul even if she didn’t know it. Eris was so inexplicably in love with her that nothing else mattered when he was with her.

Something akin to disappointment flashed on Y/N’s face before it was gone in an instant. “Well you are my best friend too, Eris.”

Eris forced a smile upon his face. She was laying next to him on his bed, yet she still felt so far away.

“I should be letting you rest, I can tell that you have had a long day,” Y/N said. “I don’t think you want me bombarding you with stories from work.”

“I enjoy your stories.” Eris’s voice was quiet and pleading. Pleading with her to stay for just a moment longer.

The smile on Y/N’s face was small but Eris wanted it tattooed onto his brain. “Perhaps tomorrow,” Y/N said.

Disappointment surged through Eris as his hope subsided. Y/N leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “I will see you tomorrow Eris.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N,” Eris replied, his voice unusually quiet.

Y/N slipped from his bed and left the room and left Eris alone once more. The silence was almost deafening. If it weren't from the heat on his cheek from where Y/N had kissed him, Eris was sure he would go insane.

Eris did not even bother to chance into more comfortable clothes, he didn’t even bother to get under his covers. All he did was pull his pillow closer and close his eyes, his mind filled with images of Y/N before drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

#eris vanserra x you #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris vanserra fluff #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra #eris x reader #high lord eris #eris acotar #eris vanserra x reader

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emeraldspiral · 1 year ago

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A venn diagram of the queer/neurodiverse content depicted in Invader Zim. I've already talked about the inherent queerness of Zim and mentioned a few times that there’s a big overlap with autism/neurodiversity but I thought this would make a handy reference. Note that “neurodiversity” isn’t just autism/ADD/ADHD but also includes mental illness, personality disorders, mood disorders, learning disabilities, and anything else that isn’t “neurotypical”.

On the queer side there is actual canon queer rep in the show and comics:

Irkens are canonically aroace and intersex.

Groyna from the comics was confirmed by Eric Trueheart to be a lesbian.

Commander Poki from the comics may be trans, as she has eyelashes normally only seen on female Irkens, but lacks the curled antenna every other female Irken is shown to possess.

Recap Kid's gender is deliberately ambiguous.

There are also many instances of queer-coding that can be seen throughout the show such as:

The homoerotic rivalry between Zim and Dib.

Red and Purple basically being Zim's two gay dads.

Zim and several other characters having campy and dramatic mannerisms.

Zim using Keef and Tak as beards.

Zim and GIR wearing make-up/cross-dressing and generally not concerning themselves with or even being aware of gender conformity.

That time Dib's personality was copied into the body of a female ship which became very distressed at being told it wasn't really a boy and changed its physical appearance to match its brain.

Other queer elements featured in the show include:

Female characters who aren't love interests/show no interest in romance.

Most characters showing a general lack of visible interest in the opposite sex or romance.

The Membranes being a non-traditional family (single dad with no mom, later acquiring two more dads in the form of Foodio and Clembrane). Irken society not being structured around family units at all.

Satirical depictions of nuclear family units (Zim’s roboparents).

Transhumanism.

Kink/Fetish content including tentacles, bondage, domination, tongues, sadism, mind-control, body morphing, gore, food/eating, bodily fluids/fluids in general, Giger-esque designs, etc…

On the Neurodiverse side we have:

Zim’s food sensitivity.

Zim’s germophobia.

Zim’s dislike of being touched or hugged.

Zim seeming to suffer from sensory issues in general.

Zim getting overstimulated on the bus in Walk of Doom.

Zim and Dib infodumping.

Zim’s idiosyncratic speech mannerisms.

Characters having high intellect paired with poor social skills/low emotional intelligence.

Hyperfixations and special interests.

Zim’s struggles with multi-tasking and keeping his priorities straight.

GIR being easily distracted and unable to focus on anything that doesn’t immediately interest him.

Characters having poor volume control.

Characters having mood swings or trouble regulating their emotions.

Zim’s issues with memory.

Dib hyperfocusing to the point of neglecting hygiene.

Zim’s “problem with listening”.

And in the middle where they overlap there’s:

Zim and Dib being outcasts, misunderstood by everyone around them, and only able to connect with other misfits like Gaz, GIR, Keef, each other, and random hobos.

Zim masking his otherness and putting on performative displays of “normalcy” and having a well-founded fear of the consequences of being discovered.

Dib being open about his otherness and looking for respect and acceptance in the face of overwhelming ridicule and contempt.

Dib being pressured by his father to conform in order to please him.

Dib finding that the social benefits of conformity aren’t enough to outweigh the pain of not being his authentic self in Mopiness of Doom.

Dib’s experiences and perspectives being trivialized, dismissed and medicalized as indicators of mental illness.

Dib actually being mentally ill, but only as a result of not being accepted or supported for being different.

The eugenicist dystopia of the Irken Empire, where Zim is labeled “defective” and sentenced to death rather than treated for the mental health issues caused by the society that created him.

Daddy issues/familial rejection/non-acceptance.

Zim and Dib’s struggles with depression.

Zim and Dib’s need to prove themselves to gain validation and acceptance.

Zim and Dib being victims of bullying and in turn bullying others to feel a sense of power.

Dib’s self-loathing.

Zim’s default state being paranoia and anxiety.

Zim and Dib’s self-image issues.

And of course the one thing that binds us all: alternative fashion.

#invader zim #zadr #zadf #zim #dib #dib membrane #gaz #gaz membrane #tak #invader tak #professor membrane #keef #almighty tallest

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aster-wires · 2 years ago

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high tension scenarios w/ the twst boys

starring: Jack Howl and Azul Ashengrotto

authors notes: first time writing in like a year !! im gonna be writing more for twst, so if you see this feel free to request something. ill be setting up more rules later, so for now i hope you enjoy :D (also the formatting took forever please)

Jack Howl ○ The Virtuous Protector

Patching them up while they seem to get flustered by the minute.

“And how did this happen again?” You sighed, taking out your first aid kit. Jack sat awkwardly at the foot of your bed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Got ‘nto a fight with some of my dorm members. It’s nothing serious.” He murmured. He took off his black vest for easier access to his wounds, but your eyes were more focused looking up and down his muscular arms. Snapping out of your small trance, you sighed as you began to disinfect the cuts and scrapes of the fight.

This was somewhat of a weekly routine by now. He’d come in with few injuries and the occasional bruise, but never anything awful. You never pushed the subject as to why he’s been getting into more fights recently, but that’s partly because you never really minded patching him up.

Besides, he’d rather sit on one of his cacti than admit that he’s been fighting for you. A few of his dorm members decided to talk shit about you in front of him, and he wouldn’t just let that slide on their part.

You two quietly for the most part. Jack looked away when you started to bandage his forearms, letting out a small hiss when you applied some alcohol onto the wound. Deciding to take a quick look back at you, he smiled softly at your furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“All done!” You smiled, finishing wrapping up the gauze around his knuckles. Taking a look at the wolf beast-man, you saw him staring back with a light blush. Clenching his fist, he turned his head to the side bashfully.

“What’s wrong? Do you have a fever?” You asked, peering around him to press a hand to his forehead. As soon as you got a good look at his bright red face, you could see his ears flattened atop of his head. His tail was almost moving at mach 10 speeds, as he took his other hand to try and slow it down as best as he could.

“You just…” Taking your hand off of his forehead, he held it loosely in his palm; gently, as if he was afraid to scrape you up himself.

“Nevermind. Thank you for always–”

“Taking care of you?”

“That’s not what I meant.” His hands were wrapped in the gauze you applied; rough, yet softer than people think it is. A bit like Jack in a way, you guess.

“Alright, just no more fights for a while. You’re using up my entire bandaid supply.” He smiled at that, unable to stop the furious wagging of his tail again. But he didn’t mind it so much this time.

Azul Ashengrotto ○ The Benevolent Sea Witch

Doing eyeliner when their face is inches away from yours.

"I don’t know why I agreed to this."

And yet here he was, sitting cross-legged in front of you while you were dipping the brush back into the bottle for more of the liquid substance. Letting out a small exhale at the notion, you began to softly press the tool just below his waterline.

Sure, you were focused on making sure that you don’t accidentally poke your friend’s eye out, but you’d be lying if you said that was all you were focused on.

“I mean, I don’t know why you need eyeliner when your eyes are already so mesmerizing.” You teased, leaning in a little closer to add some more liner in the innermost corners of his eye.

He tensed up at the statement, wanting to pull away and look to the side so that his hair could cover up any small smile that threatened his cool, composed behavior. But with a firm grip on his cheeks, you stopped him from moving away. (And stopped him from messing up all his liner.)

Moving onto the other eye, you decided to continue to tease the poor boy. Think of it as payback for all the times he’s left you speechless with his words.

“Oh I’m sorry, should I have said hypnotizing instead? Or maybe alluring? I mean–”

"Stop it."

He breathed out, the skin of his face was getting warmer by the second the more you held it. You chuckled, having way too much fun flustering him.

Azul, on the other hand, was tempted to hide in his octopot forever.

Deciding that’s enough teasing for one day, you two fell into a comfortable silence as the blush on his face slowly dimmed, but his eyes stayed as sharp as ever.

"Can you hurry up? I have a client I’m meeting later today." He grimaced at the thought of having to leave you so soon, but he has a responsibility of helping those dumb- I mean, poor unfortunate souls.

“Sure thing, hun.”

Yeah. He was really regretting agreeing to this.

┊┊ ˚✧ ┊┊┊┊ ˚✧ ┊ ┊┊ ┊ ˚✧ ┊┊┊┊˚✧ ┊┊

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jack howl x reader #jack howl #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto

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chillypowder · 1 year ago

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Rescued Hearts: A Second Chance at Love

Part 2

Pair: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: After 6 years of marriage, you've finally decided to end it half heartedly. So how did you end on the floor of your house that was once something you called home.

As I sat alone on the couch in our once-luxurious penthouse, the empty room seemed to echo with loneliness. The soft hum of the city outside was the only company I had, and it offered no solace. I had grown accustomed to these moments of solitude, moments when Bakugou Katsuki, my husband of six years, would once again prioritize his career as a pro hero over our relationship.

At first, his absences had stung, the broken promises a constant source of disappointment. But as time passed, I had learned to bury those feelings deep within me, like embers slowly fading into ashes. I had grown adept at putting on a brave face, hiding the hurt that gnawed at my heart each time he missed a date, a celebration, or simply a quiet evening together.

Unbeknownst to Bakugou, I had been carrying a secret that weighed heavier with each passing day. A secret that, in a cruel twist of fate, had driven a wedge between us even further. I had been diagnosed with leukemia, a merciless disease that had already claimed so much of my strength. After a grueling surgery, the doctors had delivered a grim prognosis - I had just a week left to live.

I couldn't bring myself to burden Bakugou with this devastating news. I understood the overwhelming stress and dedication he poured into his hero work. His days were filled with battles against villains, and his nights with endless paperwork and public appearances. How could I add to his burden with my own impending demise? Instead, I had decided on a different path, one that would ultimately make him resent me.

Tonight, as I waited for him once more, I contemplated divorce. It was a desperate attempt to push him away, to free him from the guilt and responsibility of a dying spouse. The courage to have this difficult conversation had taken time to gather, but I had resolved to go through with it.

Just as I steeled myself to face Bakugou and tell him that our marriage had become too painful to endure, a sharp, excruciating pain radiated through my chest. I gasped for breath, clutching at my heart, and then everything went dark.

Six long hours later, the weight of the door closing behind him alerted me to Bakugou's return. I wished I could see his face, explain everything to him, but I was trapped in this agonizing darkness, unable to move or speak.

Then, his voice, choked with panic and desperation, cut through the haze. "What the hell happened?!" he exclaimed, his footsteps racing toward me.

He found me, unconscious and unresponsive, lying on the couch where I had spent countless nights alone. Panic surged through him, and he fumbled for his phone, calling for an ambulance. But it was too late. I could feel my own consciousness slipping away, like grains of sand through my fingers.

As the paramedics rushed in, they tried to revive me, but I knew it was futile. My time had run out, and I had left this world with so much unsaid. I could hear Bakugou's voice, raw with anguish, begging me to hang on, but there was nothing I could do.

In those final moments, I wished I could have told him about my illness, about the love that had never waned despite the distance that had grown between us. I wished I could have told him how much I cherished the moments we had together, even if they were far too few.

And as the darkness closed in, I hoped that somehow, he would find a way to forgive himself, to understand that life had given us both a cruel hand, and that our love had endured through it all.

Note: I'm sorry I changed the original text from the idea to a more evolved version if you want to read the original idea I'll post it separately.

Once again. Sorry 😔

Masterlist

#bakugou angst #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader angst #angst #mha bakugou #bnha angst #my hero academia #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #Bakugou Katsuki x reader angst #my hero academia angst

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lady-harrowhark · 2 years ago

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hello, can you explain to me in more clarity your “waxen” theory regarding Ianthe? I’m not picking up on what this implies but it’s making my brain itch.

Sort of! Totally fair question, I just don't have a lot of clarity myself in that I don't have a fully formed theory lol. There's definitely some links and parallels in verbiage that are pinging on my radar, so I do think something's funky, but I wouldn't say I'm fully on board with this yet. I'm just playing in the sandbox Tamsyn has provided us, tossing out ideas and thinking out loud. But I can go into some more detail, and add some more thoughts that have occurred to me since I posted that last night.

(Here's a link to the post in question, for context)

Anyway! So let's first lay out all the times we get someone described as some type of wax. At various points in HtN, we get the descriptions "a shoddy wax cast of some more beautiful sculpture," a "wax figure in a pink dolly dress," a "wax figure in pale purple chiffon," and "waxen face" for Ianthe. We also see that descriptor used a few other times for other people throughout the series. In GtN, Harrow's parents' bodies are called "waxy" and the first introduction of Protesilaus (as the beguiling corpse) says he was "waxen looking in the sunlight." In NtN, Kiriona's skin is said to have a "weird, waxy quality," then Naberius's skin is called "waxen" when they first meet up with Ianthe, and again a few pages later it again references the "waxen, handsome face". What I'm getting at here is that every time this sort of description is deployed, it's in reference to a dead body that's been preserved, manipulated, and is essentially masquerading as a living person... except for Ianthe.

We also know there are a multitude of times that she's described as looking like a poor copy of Coronabeth. There's that "shoddy wax cast of some more beautiful sculpture" line, her first introduction calls her a "starved shadow" of her sister ("or the first an illuminated reflection [of Ianthe]," and actually, off the top of my head I don't know that we ever see their descriptions framed that way again... I'd have to investigate this more later, but this might be the only time that Corona is described as a "better" version of Ianthe, rather than Ianthe being a "worse" version of Corona, which is interesting), there's a point where it says "The second twin was as though the first had been taken to pieces and put back together without any genius. She wore a robe of the same cloth and colour, but on her it was a beautiful shroud on a mummy," etc etc etc. I know there's more, but I'm too lazy to go pull the rest of the quotes and you get the picture by this point I'm sure. So nearly all of these situate her, at least visually, as a copy or approximation of Coronabeth, and one that doesn't quite live up to original at that.

So now let's pick apart this snippet of conversation we overhear between Silas and Ianthe at Magnus and Abigail's dinner party a bit. Ianthe says she was born via "surgical means," which I'm assuming is referring to a C-section delivery (or whatever the necromantic equivalent is) and notes that Corona is a few minutes older. Silas seems surprised (or perhaps concerned?) that they "risked intervention" and Ianthe says Corona had "removed [her] source of oxygen". At this point Silas says, "A wasted opportunity, I'd think." I had always taken this for him just being a dick and implying he wished she'd died in the womb, but coming back to it with this new angle... well. She says "Corona's birth put my survivability somewhere around definite nil." And I'm wondering if that doesn't tie to Harrow's comment about infant deaths generating "enough thanergy to take out the entire planet." Basically, could Silas have been implying that the Tridentarii's parents wasted an opportunity to use the thanergy from baby Ianthe's death to power up Corona?

Harrow says that twins are an ill omen, but the text hasn't come back to that as of yet. Given the difficulty necromancers experience with pregnancy, I'd imagine twins would could be especially dangerous and that in and of itself could be considered an ill omen. Ianthe's comments certainly suggest that their mother carried the pregnancy, although I don't think we know for certain whether she was a necromancer. I am so intensely curious about the Tridentarii's childhood and their parents; we get so many gestures towards some really twisted family dynamics, but very little in the way of concrete explanations. Particularly relevant here, I'd love to know more about their father wanting a "matched set" and how that came about. Did they intentionally plan for twins from the start? Was it only once they knew they were having twins that that became a factor? What's the significance there?

Outside of those "waxy" descriptors, Ianthe tends to be described as much more sickly looking than even other necromancers. We know that necromancers on the whole tend towards a phenotype of physical weakness, but even still, there's an emphasis on this with Ianthe beyond that. This might be due in part to narrator bias (coughGideoncough) or the direct juxtaposition between her and Coronabeth's vivaciousness, but what really jumps out at me as contributing to this effect is how frequently she's described as being colorless, pale, washed out, bloodless, pallid, anemic, etc etc etc. It very much makes me think of the way the color drains away from Colum (and even the rest of the room and the others in it) when Silas is siphoning. Silas himself is also often described as colorless ("mayonnaise uncle," "milk man") but not so much in a way that implies frailty as much as I read it as implying a stark coldness, in line with the very black-and-white moral authority he presumes to wield, a purported "purity", much different than Ianthe's colorlessness. With Ianthe, you get a sense that her palette ought to have been or perhaps was closer to Corona's, but the color's been drained away; where Corona's hair is described as golden, Ianthe's is "canned butter", for example. Almost like the life's been siphoned out, one might say.

So to kind of circle back around, do I actually think Ianthe is dead or a corpse like the other "wax" figures we've seen? Nah. Between Harrow and Palamedes, and especially Palamedes's medical necromancy, I think we would have heard about it by now if that were the case. But I do think it's entirely plausible that she's had a bit of a brush with death and that perhaps she's never quite fully come back from, and I do think she's being intentionally positioned as somewhat adjacent to death. If their parents were wanting twins from the outset, perhaps they used necromantic means to encourage the conception. Or if the pregnancy was as high-risk as I suspect it was, perhaps she'd died or nearly died at birth and been resuscitated. Their parents may have gone to extremes to keep her alive, to maintain their matched set. Given the themes of this series, I do feel it's necessary to draw a distinction between "resuscitation" and "resurrection" although they are curiously adjacent to one another. For all the text has grappled with dying and staying dead, dying and coming back, dying and choosing whether or not to return... we haven't touched on what something like a "near death experience" would look like. I'd imagine having that sort of experience, even at an incredibly young age, might lead one to be fascinated with, to use Ianthe's own words, "the place between death and life... the place between release and disappearance."

#it was making my brain itch also!#thank you for indulging my meandering rambles lol #I’ve got another ask sitting in my inbox that I’m working on too… I promise I’m not ignoring it!#tlt #tlt meta #ianthe tridentarius #nona the ninth spoilers #ask #mcdreary #two halves dead

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carmyberzattosjournal · 1 month ago

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Therapy Files 2: Splinters in the Water (Therapist)

Summary: Carmen Berzatto is the most interesting patient this psychologist has met in the city. (669 Words)

Warnings: I am not a psychologist; this is not medical advice. Swearing, mention of suicide, mention of alcoholism, mention of mental and emotional abuse, religious references. Feat. Darling (aka fem reader, though the reader could also be the psychologist).

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in the Therapy Files Series and will be tagged with #cb therapy files.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Day 1

It’s too late to be doing this right now, but here we go.

I’ve had a few cases that have stuck out so far—Chicago needs about ten million more therapists yesterday, this city is drowning under crippling mental illness—but Mr. Berzatto might be the most interesting.

He’s a disaster. A wreck of biblical proportions. He’s the broken slats of Noah’s Ark on Mount Ararat. Splinters in the water as it recedes. It’s like he’s held together by duct tape, super glue, and two prayers, this poor young man. Needs about a thousand more. I might add him to the list of patients to pray for, and I only just met him.

He looked like he was going to pass out when I called his name in the waiting room. He had a woman with him; she was holding his hand and rubbing his back. She seems sweet. He looked to her for reassurance, not unlike a small child. I feel like I recognize her, but that’s a problem for later. He was hunched up in his patchwork jacket, almost like he was trying to take up the least amount of space he could, and it wasn’t until he handed me the clipboard of his intake paperwork that I noticed his tattoos. He’s got some novels on his skin. Could be safe topics to unpack if needed. Lipstick print on the left hand, matched the shade his partner was wearing. He kept looking at it every time he locked up during the appointment. Also something safe to ask about.

PHQ-9 is 21. GAD-7 is 18. Suicide risk low; girlfriend is a protective factor. Referral to psychiatry sent.

Full clinical assessment in clinical notes; I keep getting off track with these entries.

Obvious severe anxiety, sure, but he’s softspoken, almost like he’s choking on his words as they come out. I’ll admit, he looked like he would be a difficult one. I know the type, I’ve had several. Significant other or parents or best friends force them to come to therapy hoping it’ll fix the damaged relationship they have, but because they don’t want to be there, the exercise becomes a fruitless endeavor. He’s not one of those. He admitted he needs help, but he’s not sure where to start. Admitted that the idea of therapy was unappealing to him, but that something had to change, and this would be a change. It’s unique. He’s highly logical and goal-oriented but also lacks organization and emotional development. Wavers between extremely attentive and absent. Alcoholic mother, absent father, addict brother who was a suicide victim, high-stress job, mental and emotional abuse. But warm. Vulnerable in his nature. A child forced to be an adult too soon, but more comfortable in that adulthood, even if he lacks the legs for it. Odd.

This kid’s got a lot of skeletons in his closet.

He has the bluest eyes I have ever seen in my life. I don't know if they're real or contacts. I'm tempted to say real because, with the state he is in, I doubt he'd want to put in bright blue contacts, but I'll have to gather more information—could be part of the masking. His hair is a mess, too. It's somehow dry and greasy at the same time, curly, wavy, kinky, some random ramen noodle shapes by his temples because he drags his fingers through it repeatedly. Seems to be a nervous tic. Couldn't hold still. He was uninterested in any of the fidgets I had available.

Prominent stammer. Wouldn't hold eye contact when speaking but held it when listening. Self-soothing face touching. Jerky movements. Mask-like flat expression. Looked tired. Looked like his soul was tired, the kind of tired I’d expect in a middle-aged mother of 4 teenage children, not someone in their mid-20s. Heightened sensitivity to sound and light. Anxious about sitting with his back to the door. It took him too long to answer basic questions—overthinking? Anxiety? Guarded? Why not all 3?

Likely all 3.

Trauma referral sent.

Appointments once a week scheduled for the next 3 months.

So, why the fuck can’t I sleep?

#cb therapy files #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader

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gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 7 months ago

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Medicine

Prologue =-= Previous =-= Next

Author's note: Hura in Husbandry.

Warnings: descriptions of illness, let me know if I need to add more.

Summary: Hura takes care of his Bonded when they get sick.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Hura has been tending to his beloved, darling Bonded human, who's got a wicked cough that has their lungs wheezing and having a crackling, popping noise that herald's illness and discomfort in base line humans. He tends to his beloved, monitoring them and how they progress. Lovingly tending to them and getting them whatever it is they need or want.

He'd insisted that they take time off work- and had encouraged their Supervisor into being more understanding. He soothed his darling human, letting them know that once they recover from this minor Blessing from Grandfather, that they will be able to go back to work if that is what they want to do.

He and his war band can help pull strings to ensure that the roof his human so proudly and carefully works to have is maintained and all that base line nonsense of "paying rent" and "making sure the utilities are paid for" and other such mortal concerns are taken care of. He's humming to himself as he continues to make them lunch, a hearty stew with a mild flavor so as to not upset their delicate stomach.

He tilts his helmet to the side as he hears his human's coughing get worse again and the sudden thundering of feet as they run to the bathroom and he hears the noises they make in it. Oh dear- he'll need to ensure that they get more fluids, as this sickness is not doing them any favors with keeping any kind of food or fluids down.

He's been very careful to make sure that they are taking the medicines that they are supposed to at regular intervals, even if they sometimes fuss at him for the unfortunate flavor of the medicines. It only takes him tilting his head just so and letting out a sad, warbling croon to have his human wilt and take the medicine.

The faces that they make are terribly entertaining at times, and he rewards them with cuddles and purrs. He does do work for his war band, but since he's on light duty since he informed the Captain in charge that his Human was ill, mostly he was tending to them and their apartment to make sure it was tidy. While he didn't mind filth, and indeed, grandfather's blessings took better if it was messier, his human liked things nice and tidy and clean.

Which, he'd honor, even if he struggled sometimes with his Nurglite sensibilities. While in his dear human's home, he does his best to follow the rules that they have for him. The stew is finished and he sets it to cooling, ladeling a bowl full and carefully heading up the stairs to where his human is.

They'd finished using the bathroom and was flopped on their bed, red faced, stuffy nosed and with a bottle of water beside them and a pile a used tissues in a bag beside their bed. He peers down at the towel laying on the ground that would soak up … stuff that comes up when they couldn't get to the restroom in time. He'll take the towel to be cleaned and, lay down a fresh one.

He croons lovingly at his human, "Time to eat love."

They groan and huff and try to take the bowl, he holds it in such a way that can't quite grab it, they huff at him again, and allow him to feed them spoonfuls of the food. He purrs in response as he occasionally gives them nuzzles for being such a good human and allowing him to feed and care for them.

Once they finish the bowl of soup he heads back downstairs and continues to do the house chores that need to be done. A few hours later he checks in on his human, and his hearts beat quicker with fondness, and he chuckles and gently heads into the restroom. His human had decided to take a bath, likely to soak in it for the warmth.

They had fallen asleep in the water and was half curled in a position he knows will cause them pain if they stay in it too long. So with a gentle, loving croon he unstoppers the tube and wraps a nice, warm, fluffy towel around them.

They wake up briefly before falling back asleep. Poor thing, is so tired from the sickness they have as he gently scoops them up and head back to their sleeping area and makes sure to use a second towel to carefully dry their hair with gentle, squeezing strokes as they are gently tucked into bed.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer #adeptus astartes #poor unfortunate souls au #oc: Hura #Death guard #death guard oc #chaos marine #chaos marine oc #apothecary oc

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sleepyorchidmonster · 3 months ago

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As a fun exercise, I went over all the standard banner characters and attempted to think of actual in-universe reasons for each of them to be featured in this group and make us lose the 50/50 by randomly spawning.

Turns out it's quite wholesome!

Jean

Well, for starters, she probably feels a deep sense of gratitude for the Traveler's help with Stormterror, and still thinks they deserve more than just a few posters for their sibling (especially since the knights were already going to do that anyway). Also, she probably stays up at night (not that she actually even sleeps, she's just stressing while doing paperwork) thinking about how Traveler doesn't have a roof over their head, and is traversing a completely unfamiliar world with only Paimon by his side, "What if they get hurt? Can they even heal themselves?"

We get a 50/50 when the worry gets the best of her.

Diluc

Similarly to Jean, he's also worried about the Traveler's well-being and would like to repay them for their help with Stormterror and the Darknight Hero's Alibi. Also he's extremely invested in the Traveler's quest to find their twin.

And he KNOWS the Traveler is going to end up fighting most harbingers, so he's looking for a rematch, and maybe even a chance to punch whoever decided to leave a kid in a foreign land to act as a spy, in the rain, I might add.

His chances of coming home tend to increase whenever he realizes we're befriending the Fatui (I literally lost the 50/50 to him for the first time during Lyney's banner lol).

Mona

She was practicing hydromancy when she foresaw the Traveler was about to suffer a great loss. Despite knowing she can't change the future, she wanted to at least be there for them, maybe try to shield them from the worst of it.

The "loss" she foresaw was the 50/50, thus creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

She's also low on mora and wanted to help out with a few comissions or ley lines.

Qiqi

She once heard Dr. Baizhu go on an hour-long rant about how the Traveler has no regard for their well-being (Chansheng: Pot, meet kettle), stressing over the Traveler potentially dying a gruesome death with their allies being none the wiser, be it from an enemy or simply a disease left unchecked. The fact that they're outlanders who may not have developed immunity for most of Teyvat's illnesses is another concern of his.

Qiqi then wrote a reminder to check up on the Traveler's health, especially since Baizhu couldn't leave the Pharmacy for that long.

There's also an additional note about how the Traveler is always collecting herbs and other olants, so if she can't find any Violetgrass or Qingxin, chances are the Traveler took them all.

She comes to visit whenever she checks the notes and remembers. Hence the high rate of Qiqis.

Keqing

After witnessing the Traveler being 5 hours late for an important meeting because they got sidetracked with quests, seelies and treasure, she deemed it unacceptable and vowed to set them straight as soon as possible. There'll be no procrastination on her watch.

(Also she wants to repay them for saving Liyue, deciding that the posters weren't enough compensation for everything they went through).

Tighnari

He found out the Traveler is worse than Cyno at taking care of themselves and decided to take matters into his own hands.

His methods range from providing medicine and helping out with traversing the rainforest and other difficult environments to simply anihilating the enemies before they have a chance to land a hit.

He may also appear if he thinks the Traveler is getting Cyno's sense of humor.

Dehya

Like the others, she's also worried for the Traveler and wants to help them out on their journey to find their sibling. She's also completely aware that people are scamming the Traveler for commissions and would like to have a small chat with those scammers. Preferably with her fists.

Also, imagine seeing your friend off to a new region and then not even two weeks later there's news about them being arrested, and a gigantic flood. She's CONCERNED.

#genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #jean gunnhildr #mona megistus #qiqi #baizhu #keqing #tighnari #dehya #tighnari once impulsively traversed the entire desert because he just KNEW the traveler had just made an awful pun and had to be stopped #qiqi's note: “Make sure Traveler isn't dead or dying so Doctor Baizhu won't get sick from worry”#jean in a bout of work related insomnia: “I sense the Traveler forgot to bring a healer to a domain”#dehya has already drafted a commission contract for the Traveler to use #stablishing fair prices for each dangerous activity or errand #the “please pick an flower that's three feet away from me” category just says “fuck off”#tighnari also wants to beat up dottorre whenever he gets a boss fight

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suffering-asthmatic-tifosi · 4 months ago

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i’ll explain papaya rules for you!!

okay so after oscar’s over take (and im pretty sure after mclaren’s first pit stop) lando’s race engineer comes on the radio and says

“you are allowed to race oscar, papayas rules”

so everyone was kinda confused because no one knows what said “papaya rules” are. so anyway after the race during the press conference, lando gets asked what papaya rules are and if he thought oscar’s overtake fit into those rules. lando basically said that the papaya rules are that they are free to race, but do not make contact. lando thought oscar’s overtake did fit into the rules but could’ve ended badly if he had braked later. zak brown was also asked about it after the race about what papaya rules meant and basically said the same thing that lando said!! but he said they would have to rewatch oscar’s overtake to make sure it applied by the “papaya rules”.

but then everyone (mostly lando fans) started getting mad at oscar and mclaren for allowing oscar to overtake and for them to race. they think that they should’ve swapped the cars on the last lap to allow lando to close the gap to max in the drivers championship a little more.

another thing, in the post-race press conference lando got asked if he needed help to win the championship and he said that he did have help and that his teammate was indeed helping him. he also said that he didn’t want to win the championship by begging for track position over his teammate. he said it was something the team would have to implement race by race. and oscar had nothing to add to that.

i hope this explained it and i probably added wayyyy to much details!! but it’s very interesting to me as a die hard oscar fan, to see everyone hating on him for racing and not giving the position to lando, even though the team said nothing about giving it up. but ill let you have your own opinion on the situation <3

Anon you’re and actual angel. Like genuinely you deserve a star here ⭐️

This topic now intrigues me more as a lifetime Lando fan and a new Oscar fan. Honestly I think, always thought tbh, that whenever Zak says that there is no number 1 driver, he’s just lying bc it’s Lando, we all know it’s Lando guys.

On that note, I think this Papaya Rules stuff is not very healthy for the future. Like how is this gonna work in a few months when the inevitable is going to happen and Lando is 3 points from the championship and Oscar is only p3. Who are “Papaya Rules” gonna help out at that point?

I get it, racing each other can be dangerous especially considering Lando’s lead. But making a petty kitty papaya rules is not the way guys. I get McLaren is trying to be the new hip team.. (i.e holister merch and like every pr thing ever (I could be wrong but McLaren feels like it like started this wave of F1 merch in American malls bc when F1 merch started rolling out it was all McLaren merch.) (sorry for all the () but on all that McLaren merch, when a driver is put on it it’s ALWAYS Lando. I own Hollister McLaren merch, it’s all Lando. And for the New RB merch at Hollister, it’s all obviously Max bc he’s the number 1 driver. So yeah sry for the Tangent)

.. but I think treating the boys like Kindergarteners with papaya rules is not it. There is a better way guys. I’m like 79.678% sure they aren’t gonna be the next Maxiel Baku 2018.

But I’m an idiot so I’m probably vry wrong. THANK YOU ANON FOR THE EXPLANATION I WAS ACTUALLY SO CONFUSED AND SO WAS MY DAD (another big Lando fan lol)

#asthmatic posts #asthmatic speaks #formula 1 #f1 #lando norris #oscar piastri #papaya rules #thank you anon #mclaren

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 10 months ago

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Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 15

Chapters: 15/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Warning: This chapter includes some detailed smut.

As the upcoming fashion show loomed and your days became increasingly packed, you found scant time to contemplate anything else. However, the emergence of an unfamiliar figure unsettled you.

Note: I needed to write this now, as I won't have another opportunity later to include Desire again until a certain point. I used the Dreamcast audio as reference again for their interaction.

I honestly don't know if smut can be incorporated during the Vortex part, so I thought to add more of it here.

Hob's eyes widened while gripping his tea cup. Following a few moments of blinking to regain his bearings, he gingerly set his mug aside. Then, fueled by a playful energy, he simulated an explosion by placing his hands around his head and even supplied his own sound effects.

With a smile and a nod of your head, you echoed his sentiments. "It's mind-blowing, I know"

"I might be an immortal, Shortcake, but you have your fair share of supernatural roots.”

"We are definitely not your everyday humans," you agreed, bursting into hearty laughter.

"It must be tough though, isn't it? To know that your mother has been around all this time," he carried on, his tone shifting to a more serious one.

"It is. But, now that I can think about it from a different perspective, I can at least understand why they had to keep it a secret."

It took you several days to digest your newfound revelation, but despite everything, you couldn't stay upset with your father who was merely doing his utmost to protect and care for you.

"You know, Hob, sometimes it feels like I've quantum leaped. It’s as if the reality I'm experiencing now is not the one I used to live in. I know it sounds a bit Star Trek-y, but..."

"No, no, I understand. You've undergone such significant changes recently. It makes me wonder if our dear friend had a hand in all this," he mused.

"Maybe not directly. To be honest, I can't even imagine where I'd be without him.”

Hob gifted you a warm smile, looking at you with a blend of care and understanding. "You truly do love him, don't you?”

"Immensely," you affirmed, your voice teeming with genuine sincerity.

"I could see a remarkable change in him, but I'm certain that you're also to thank for that," He noted thoughtfully.

“I didn’t do anything, really.”

"The only time I tried to get him to confide in me, he shied away. I still don't know exactly how you two met, but he adores you. That much is clear.”

A faint blush quietly spread across your cheeks as you savored your tea. Even though Morpheus typically kept a guarded demeanor, it was comforting to realize that his affection for you was evident to others.

However, an abrupt thought caused you to falter, prompting a moment of hesitation before you ventured to raise the subject. You debated whether it could be inconsiderate to mention it, but your curiosity was as potent as the infamous curiosity that led to the cat's downfall, a sentiment frequently echoed by Ella.

And so, you chose to bring it up.

“Hob, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Shortcake. What is it?”

You glanced downward, your grip on your cup tightening. "Wasn't it difficult for you, having to see the ones you loved grow old and pass away?"

You almost chastised yourself mentally when you saw a trace of sadness cross his eyes. Nevertheless, he composed himself and provided you with his answer.

"Yes, it was. But not once did I consider giving up on love."

"So you managed to move on, to fall in love again... and again."

"I know where this is going," Hob interjected, disrupting your whirlpool of emotional musings. "I speak from experience when I say that he will never truly be able to move on from you."

"I know that he won't forget. It's just..."

"It’s not comforting, I get it.”

You stared at the tea, its still surface seeming to mirror your somber expression.

"It's stupid. I made my choice fully aware of what I was signing up for.”

"We may understand the consequences, Y/N, but they won't be enough to deter us from getting what we want," Hob declared, his voice a blend of wisdom and melancholy. “Look at me. I could have left this city, even this entire Country, long ago. I could have avoided undue stress and accusations of practicing witchcraft. I could have ceased the charade of pretending to be my own descendant, and yet... I made the decision to stay. To meet new people, knowing that I would never get old.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you listened.

"What's the purpose of immortality if it means spending your life alone? You could follow in my footsteps and ask to never die. Wouldn't that be an interesting adventure?" Hob suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes, you've brought that up before.”

"Have you given it any thought?”

"No, not yet. I just can't envision myself living forever.”

Could you even bear to remain stationary like Hob did? How would you maintain your friendships, career, and every other aspect of life without the incessant need to explain your lack of aging? You truly admired Hob's perseverance, although it was something you likely wouldn't be able to replicate. The idea of being Morpheus' sole love for all of eternity was enticing, yet the choice to accept immortality was not something you were ready to undertake.

Hob tenderly encircled your wrist with his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. His eyes sparkled with a joyful glint as he regarded you.“You never know, my friend. You never know.”

As more days began to turn into weeks, your workload steadily mounted. The preparations for the fashion show were progressing seamlessly and at a satisfactory pace, yet you could palpably sense the rising tide of disquiet in the atmosphere.

You lost track of the times you had to prevent Ella from nervously scratching her skin. As she repeatedly revised the lineup, her anxiety levels soared to unprecedented heights. The event bore great importance for the company, being the first major show in which the Corbyn&Jones brand was participating. You couldn't really blame her for feeling swamped, considering your situation was quite alike.

Your name was slated to be highlighted as the sole creator of the show's exclusive collection, and Ella had discussed the potential this could have in advancing your career as a designer, along with the enormity of the situation that was just now beginning to sink in.

At last able to take a respite from the organizing, you sauntered towards the lounge area with some coffee, hoping to replenish your energy. As you entered the room, you noticed one of your colleagues, Freya, absorbed in her tablet, barely acknowledging your arrival. She appeared to be immersed in deep thought, sighing from time to time, projecting an aura of concern and distress.

She was known for her vibrant energy in the office. Seeing her so dispirited now, you couldn't help but intervene.

"Hey Freya, are you okay?" You inquired, cautiously settling next to her.

Oh, Y/N," she responded, turning her head and managing to conjure up a strained smile. "Yes, I'm fine.”

Judging by the faint redness surrounding her eyes, barely concealed by her makeup, it was easy for you to tell that the truth was far from what she claimed.

"No, something's off. Would you like to talk about it?”

She let out another lengthy, wavering sigh. "I... it's nothing, really. It's ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous if it makes you cry.”

Freya offered a self-deprecating chuckle, hastily blinking away the tears welling in her eyes before meeting your gaze squarely.

"I've received an invitation to a friend's wedding,” she disclosed. "It’s happening in two weeks. We've been close since middle school, you see… and I just know that if I decline the invite, she'll lash out at me.”

"Is there a specific reason behind your reluctance to attend her wedding?”

Freya sniffled, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She then tapped on her tablet's screen and extended the device towards you.

"This is the dress she selected for all the bridesmaids, including me.”

You stared at the image in disbelief, taking in the red monstrosity displayed in front of you. The design itself wasn't inherently ugly, but to say that it was unsuitable for a bridesmaid would be a gross understatement.

"Wait. You’re joking, right? She expects her bridesmaids to wear this?”

She nodded. "I’d look like shit.”

"That’s not true. The problem here is that such a dress is far from an appropriate choice for a wedding. Does she really want her guests to be focused on you ladies when she's supposed to be the center of attention?”

"She's quite controlling and insists on having everything her way, regardless of others' feelings or opinions. She always had a thing for showy stuff, and her wedding is far from modest too.”

You placed the tablet down. "Have you talked to her about it? If her fashion choices diverge significantly from your style and make you feel uncomfortable, she should respect your sentiments.”

"Oh, I have, but she's as stubborn as a mule.”

She was justifiably upset, but beyond that, you could see how appalled she was at the prospect of potentially having to don an attire that simply wouldn't suit her, or any other bridesmaid with a shred of good taste.

"Freya, this isn't right. A good friend should consider the way you feel. I understand that this is her wedding, but she cannot expect all of you to comply without voicing any objections.”

She diverted her gaze, toying with the golden bracelet that adorned her wrist. "Y/N, have you really taken a good look at me?”

“Yes?”

"All my friends could easily pass for magazine models, while I've always been the black sheep in the group. Quite literally.”

You pursed your lips, feeling a surge of heat coursing through your body. "Freya, you don’t realize how incredible and beautiful you are, do you?”

“You don’t need to flatter me.”

Her voice bore a trace of irritation, indicating that she felt somehow offended.

"It's not a matter of needing to, it's simply how I see you.”

She lapsed into silence.

"Listen, if attending her wedding means that you have to wear something you hate, then don't go.”

“I can’t do that, Y/N.”

"Why? Just because she demands your presence? It's clear that she doesn't value your opinion, or you as a person. So why should you care about her reaction if you refuse?”

"It's..." she hesitated. "...not that simple.”

Witnessing her lack of self-assurance was heart-wrenching, especially considering she was one of the first members of the team who embraced you as part of the family from day one. Freya was kind-hearted, humorous, perpetually cheerful, and tackled her job with a positive attitude every single day. Despite her struggles to recognize her own beauty, you couldn't really pinpoint a single flaw in her.

Consequently, realizing that her supposed best friend was the source of her distress and suffering, fueled your resolve to take action, any action, to restore her joy and self-assurance.

"I assume she's chosen red as the color scheme for all of you?”

"Yes, she wants this thing in red."

"What if you opt for a different dress, one that maintains the elegant yet sexy style and color, but without being as revealing?”

"Oh no, she would absolutely go nuts. She's set on this dress, period. That's just how her mind functions.”

You huffed. "Look, Freya, whether you attend her wedding or not is entirely your choice. But you really shouldn't let her exert this level of control over you. Let me try something, I have an idea.”

Her eyes expanded in astonishment. "Wait, what? You're not planning to design something for me, are you?”

“Why not?”

“Uhh…. because you're already swamped with work between our new collections and the show?”

Getting up from the couch, you dismissed her concerns with a wave of your hand. "I can do it in my spare time, it's no trouble at all.”

"But...”

"No buts. Allow me to do this for you. And if you're not convinced, then I'll let the matter rest.”

Freya found herself flustered and at a loss for words, searching for an appropriate thing to say but failing to find one.

In the end, she acquiesced. "Okay.”

"Just give me a few days, I'll create something for you that will spark jealousy among all your friends. Even the bride.”

As you finished your coffee and exited the room, you picked up the sound of her voice uttering your name. She leaped from the couch with all the haste she could gather, bolting after you, her eyes ablaze with a fresh spark of hope.

"How do you do it?” She queried, her breath labored from the unexpected exertion.

You weren't entirely certain about the implication behind her question. “Do what?”

“You're always attentive and take everything to heart. Even when Maya did all those horrible things, you urged us to forgive her and uplifted our spirits.”

You quietly listened.

"How do you manage to be so compassionate in a world like this?”

You didn't require a moment's thought for that, as the answer was an innate response to you. Now, more than ever, you grasped the foundation of something you had always taken for granted, something that had been ingrained in your being since birth.

And for the first time, after many years of believing it to be your worst flaw that would bring nothing but disaster, you felt a wave of pride in possessing it.

Your smile broadened and your eyes shimmered under the soft lighting of the corridor. "It runs in the family.”

In the subsequent week, your inventive mind remained persistently active during your time at home, outside office hours. You functioned much like a machine at full throttle, failing to switch off, with only brief intermissions for meals or nightly rest. Serving as a maid for Alex Burgess had conditioned you for prolonged hours and demanding tasks. But now, your heart and mind were wholly immersed in the endeavor, and you found immense satisfaction in your accomplishments.

One night, you were so engrossed in your creation that you didn't notice Morpheus silently materializing behind you, moving with the stealth of a cat as he cautiously advanced towards your desk. He tuned into the sound of your pencil gliding across the paper with precision, observing how you swept your hair back and tucked it behind your ear, revealing a portion of your neck that he couldn't help but gaze at. He absorbed your occasional hums as you scrutinized your sketch, and the rhythm of your steady breathing that resonated directly with his heart.

When he softly murmured your name, in a low tone like a tender melody, you lifted your head and partially turned in your chair, discovering the King of Dreams standing near you, appearing contemplative and unsure.

The genuine happiness you felt upon seeing him reverberated throughout your room. "Hi!”

Morpheus pouted. As he typically did. Oh, how much you cherished that expression of his.

“You are not in bed.”

You shot him a puzzled glance. "Uh... no. Wait, what time is it?”

As you extended your hand to grasp your phone, unlocking the screen to inspect the LED, you emitted a startled gasp at the sight that greeted you. The white numbers at the top of the display glaringly read 3 AM.

How could you be so absorbed in what you were doing that you didn't even realize it was well past your bedtime?

"Sorry… I was distracted.”

You closed your sketchbook, pushing your chair back to stand up. Morpheus remained immobile, and as you rose to your full height, your lips came close to his.

“You were not in the Dreaming,” he murmured.

Although this wasn't his first time checking on you for burning the midnight oil, it was undeniably the longest you had kept awake in a considerable while. Knowing his worry about the possible repercussions for you, given his past experiences with Nada, a pang of guilt ebbed at you for not being more mindful.

"I know… I lost track of time. I'm getting ready now, promise. Could you wait for me?”

Morpheus nodded in agreement, but held his position without moving.

You brushed his cool fingers with your own, tenderly taking his hands into yours and placing a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips. As always, he softened at your touch, reciprocating your gesture and holding you tighter, his thumbs gently stroking your knuckles.

It was a repeated exchange to which you had become accustomed, but it never lost its charm. His scent, the paradoxical coolness and warmth he exuded, his voice, his mere presence. You craved all of it as much as the air you breathed.

"I'll see you in a bit," you announced, reluctantly releasing him and unzipping your hoodie. The moment you retreated to the bathroom, washing off your makeup, cleansing your face and slipping into the comfort of your nightgown, he had already vanished, evaporated, awaiting you in his realm.

The moment you sank into the mattress, turning off the light and being soothed by the softness of the covers, it was only a matter of minutes before sleep overtook you. You remembered those times when you failed to surrender to your fatigue, the insomnia that Morpheus' imprisonment had caused. It was all gone, nothing more than a distant memory, a story that you hoped no one would ever have to experience again.

You were eager to reunite with him, deep within the Dreaming. A world that felt like home.

When your eyes fluttered open, you found yourself still lying in your bed, your vision gradually adjusting to the darkness. The lights seeping in through the window began to illuminate parts of your room, but as you rolled over, something felt out of the ordinary.

You were unable to discern exactly what was wrong, as everything seemed to be positioned correctly. However, there was an indistinct fuzziness, a sensation of floating that left you questioning the authenticity of your wakefulness.

A dark silhouette emerged at the end of the bed, but before you could react with a heart-stopping scream, you quickly recognized Morpheus, watching you with a dignified posture. You held your breath, barely blinking, awaiting his next move or words.

Then, very quietly, he moved onto the mattress with the agility of a stealthy predator. Yet, you were far from feeling like a frightened prey.

You propped yourself up, the covers sliding down from your chest. "Am I dreaming?”

"You are," he responded, inching ever closer to your form, his right hand tracing the outline of your covered legs.

"You're not an illusion, are you?”

He offered you a faint smile. "No.”

“Good. I’d be disappointed otherwise.”

His hand reached the hem of the covers, shifting them down, further and further, until more of your body was exposed. The nightgown felt peculiarly warm, enveloping you like a cozy bath.

"I'm intrigued. Why choose this setting?”

"I wanted to offer you something more... familiar, for this occasion.”

You chuckled, biting your lower lip as you could already feel the arousal stirring within you. How could you lose your composure in such a way, just by watching his face inching closer to yours?

"And, what exactly is this occasion...?”

Morpheus looked intensely into your eyes, brimming with hunger and love for you.

"You desire me, Y/N," he revealed. "I can sense it.”

As much as you felt inclined to deny it, you realized just how fervently you needed to feel him against you. Given your work commitments and his responsibilities as the King of Dreams, the time you could allocate for each other was rather restricted, let alone for intimacy. Consequently, you were left to savor quick exchanges of affection that only intensified your craving for more.

It was truly maddening, but it couldn't be helped.

And in a way, it was somewhat exciting.

"I could claim that it's not true, but you're in my head right now," you stated, wearing a smile. "And quite frankly, I would never deny you.”

Morpheus moved closer, nudging you back against the mattress with a mere push of his fingers. Your body was under his enchantment, one that you didn't have the slightest wish to break.

"Please, allow me to attend to you.”

You swallowed, feeling your nightgown being lifted, its fabric brushing against your skin as it rolled up.

"What about you?”

"This is your dream," he replied. "All of this, is for you.”

His hands continued to guide the fabric upward until it reached your breasts, allowing it to rest just above your nipples, while he took in the sight of the rest of your body, completely bare, spread out before him like the most delectable of treats.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered about the whereabouts of your underwear, but you conjectured that he might have conveniently made it vanish. Regardless, you had no qualms about it.

“Morpheus-”

“Shh.”

His lips grazed your cheekbone, tracing a path along your jawline, chin, and down to your neck. You felt his middle and forefinger glide down your stomach, lightly tickling your navel and moving lower past your belly. You glanced down, admiring his long digits as they continued their exploration, but just when you anticipated they would venture directly to your sensitive center, they veered off course and moved towards your thigh.

Your breathing quickened, your heart pounded fiercely, and your legs instinctively parted for him when his hand encircled your knee. Your nipples were continuously rubbing against the nightgown, generating an exquisite friction between them and the silky material. His touch was tantalizing, deliberately slow and feather-light, escalating the tension you felt emanating from your core. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was executing it impeccably well. Never before had you imagined a lustful dream could be so satisfying.

At last, his fingers began to glide forward, and his other hand slipped under the nightgown to cradle the curve of your breast. The sensation you experienced when his thumb just barely swiped over your nipple was electrifying, but the way your body jerked, quivered, and twitched didn't seem to faze him in the least.

Even though your senses were considerably amplified in your dream state, your body had always been especially receptive to a man's touch. Morpheus had ceaselessly demonstrated that your pleasure was paramount above all else, and yet, it continued to feel incredibly mesmerizing. You couldn't tell if it was owing to his magical essence or an exceptional degree of restraint, but his consistent focus on giving rather than receiving was truly exceptional.

Your fingers gripped the bedsheets when he explored your labia, outlining its shape yet not fully delivering the pleasure you wanted. As his other thumb maintained its attentive caress on your nipple, your back curved gracefully. The sensations were so vivid and intense that you feared you might awaken prematurely, preventing the dream from reaching its climax and interrupting what Morpheus had initiated.

You let out a moan, a curse forming between your teeth as his fingers found your clit, establishing a steady, gentle rhythm that you thought would never suffice, but soon produced that familiar tingle that signaled it wouldn't take long for you to let loose. Even with the most tender of touches, with his fingers lightly stroking your clitoris up and down, sweetly, gently, Morpheus was offering you the universe.

Your legs parted even further, his long coat billowing out behind him, as if intending to enfold the two of you. He paused, guiding one finger towards your entrance, probing it gently to reach your delicate spot inside, akin to pressing a switch to light you up. Your pleasure escalated, not quite enough to trigger your orgasm, but sufficient to make your clit pulse and your whole body tremble in ecstasy. He remained so tranquil, so concentrated, so solemn and silent. You felt as though you were one of his masterpieces, sculpted like a work of art, the most exquisite of dream creatures under his guardianship.

He moved back to your hood, lifting it and stroking his moistened fingers over the sensitive bud underneath, yet again, without increasing his pace or exerting any substantial pressure.

The familiar feeling of satisfaction was approaching, teetering on the brink of release, but just barely eluding your grasp. You brought your hand to his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt, and moving to his collarbones. Your lips parted, silently pleading to be kissed, only to be instantly met by his own in a sensual and heated choreography.

The Moonstone pendant served as a beacon, enveloping both of you and your environment in its radiant blues and whites. It was so potent that tiny particles of light emanated from it, creating a protective halo around you.

"You're amazing," you confessed against his mouth. "Has anyone ever told you that?”

Morpheus seemed momentarily speechless, pausing his movements, but keeping his fingers connected to your core.

"That is not a word I have often heard used to describe me.”

Your head flopped back onto the pillow, feeling defeated. "Seriously, what's wrong with everyone?”

"You may be the first to see me as more than just the King of Nightmares.”

"Nightmares? What you’re giving to me right now is far from a nightmare.”

You kissed him again to emphasize your point, reaching for the hand that was securely cupping your breast. "You are Dream of The Endless. My Dream.”

He inhaled shakily as his eyes gleamed, and his fingers resumed their ministrations on your clit. Despite their touch maintaining a consistent tenderness, barely grazing your skin, the rhythm of his movements hastened. Processing it was unfeasible as the slick strokes rapidly kindled the sparks, triggering your orgasm to erupt beneath his fingertips. It surged up to the nipple he persistently stimulated, and dispersed into a serene state of bliss.

It might have been a dream, but it felt unequivocally spectacular.

He patiently waited for your pleasure to subside, and then, he retracted his hands from you. He grasped the wrinkled fabric of your nightgown, pulling it down, the creases miraculously straightening as it outlined the contours of your body.

Your haziness was intensifying, indicating that the Waking World was beginning to reclaim you. You resisted it, maintaining your focus on him as he observed you, clenching your hands into fists and drawing in a deep breath to anchor yourself.

You felt fulfilled, satisfied, and thoroughly cared for.

However, he did not.

Despite his desire to make everything solely about you, you couldn't accept it as fair. Therefore, you shifted yourself into a more vertical position, tugging the Endless towards you by his coat. This movement prompted him to position himself above you, taking care not to impose his entire weight on your smaller frame.

"Y/N-"

"Shh.”

This time, the roles were reversed, and it was you who hushed him to continue.

"I understand that you wanted this to be about me. But, despite it being my dream, we're still in your domain.”

You extended your hand towards the back of his neck, weaving your fingers through his short tresses. "I'm going to wake up soon, but before I do... let me give you something in return.”

You didn't wait for his reply. By the time he parted his lips, your hand was already making its way towards the button of his trousers.

He made no effort to stop you, allowing you to unfasten his garments, unveiling his eager arousal springing forth, ready and needy. How unfair would it be to leave him unattended, untouched, overlooked?

Morpheus was desperate for you, hungering for your touch.

Your nose brushed against his as you maintained your grip around his neck for support (and comfort), and your fingers promptly encircled the head of his member. His legs, straddling you, tensed and stiffened the moment you glided your hand down to the base, only to replicate the motion several more times. As much as it pained you, you couldn't afford the same level of tender and unhurried strokes. At any second, you could be thrust back into your real bed, and you didn't want to risk waking before he reached his own peak.

The way he groaned, so faintly, imperceptibly, holding himself back, was something you found incredibly appealing. You drew him even closer, accelerating your pace, ensuring that all his most sensitive regions were stimulated.

You continued your ministrations, increasing the speed, feeling the pull of the Waking World, akin to invisible ropes winding around you. You resisted once more, concentrating on the moist sounds your hand produced against his hardness, on his lips tenderly brushing yours as soft as a tender brush on a canvas.

You loved every single part of it.

And just when you thought you might not finish in time, that he would be left there alone, unsatisfied, forsaken in his desires, the perfect touch on his tense underside drove him to that delectable edge that you both longed for. His hips jerked forward repeatedly, his eyes clamped shut, his mouth letting out a few low grunts that intermingled with your breath.

In due course, your hand reduced its speed until it ceased entirely, but it remained connected to him as he softened. You gently scratched his scalp with your nails, playfully tousling his hair, and planted a kiss upon his forehead.

You released a joyful laugh when he curved his lips, looking absolutely content and thoroughly satisfied. You went on to pepper his face with even more kisses, whispering about your immense love for him, your fortune in having him, his talents in every possible way, and more.

It was the most delightful awakening you could ever wish for, a grin permanently etched at the corners of your lips as you left the Dreaming behind.

Freya was in absolute shock. She looked at the freshly tailored red dress laid out for her to see, designed specifically to her tastes and body size. Her eyes had sparkled with excitement when you showed her the initial sketch, but seeing her now, tears of joy streaming down her face, made you feel as though you'd accomplished an extraordinary feat. Unbeknownst to her, you had collaborated with the rest of your team to orchestrate this splendid surprise, with Ella's full backing.

You gently encouraged Freya to try the dress on, assuring her that only by wearing it could she appreciate the full beauty of the sophisticated design and velvety fabric. The moment she emerged from the restroom, you couldn’t believe your eyes. She was even more stunning than you had envisioned, making your own creation appear as if you were beholding it for the first time. The full-length sleeves and high neckline imparted the dress with a modest and elegant appearance, while the front opening tastefully showcased a generous portion of her cleavage. The lengthy gown gracefully traced her curves and swept the floor, and the slit on the right subtly revealed her leg.

She even let her voluminous hair down from the usual high bun she wore and touched up her lipstick, the high heels and earrings she selected that day appeared to be an impeccable match.

It was a day to be remembered, truly. The way she embraced and thanked you, as if you'd bestowed upon her the most anticipated reward. The confidence she exuded by agreeing to be photographed in the studio like a professional model, everyone thoroughly enjoying the occasion, showering praise and throwing a genuine party with drinks and snacks in her honor. All of this warmed your heart, filled you with happiness and fulfillment, and reaffirmed that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, Freya mustered the courage to send one of her photos to her bride-to-be friend. She expressed her desire to wear the new dress at the wedding, which understandably caused quite a stir. The woman was adamant that all the bridesmaids should be clad in identical outfits. If she couldn't procure the same dress for the others, then Freya wouldn't be permitted to wear something distinctive. You were afraid that this might dampen her spirits and ruin her good mood, but to your surprise, Freya resolved that if she couldn't wear your dress, she wouldn't attend the wedding at all.

You had crafted it solely for her. She was the only one who had the right to decide when and where to wear it. After the party, she chose to reserve it for the night of the show, using it as publicity for both the Corbyn&Jones brand and you.

"You know, Y/N, I think what you do is quite magical," she told you. "You might not even realize it, but you literally create dreams that have the power to transform others.”

“Really?”

“Of course! I mean, just by trying out this dress today, I feel like a completely different person.”

You found it paradoxical that you, of all people, were being described as someone capable of making dreams a reality.

"Let's just say that I have some good inspiration in my life," you confessed with a smile.

Freya lifted her glass, clinking it against yours in a friendly toast. "Well then. Cheers to your good influence and genius!”

The night of the show was a mere two days away. While everyone was busy preparing and setting things up at the designated location for the event, Ella beckoned you to her side, the printed lineup practically attached to her hand. She looked distinctly terrified, while Oliver was able to maintain a more composed demeanor despite his own nerves.

You'd be lying if you said that the impending occasion wasn't impacting you in a similar way.

"I know this is somewhat last minute, but one of our sponsors would like to meet you in person this afternoon.”

You furrowed your brow. "One of the sponsors? Why?”

"Oh, that might be my doing. I may have boasted about you a tad excessively.”

You shook your head in playful disbelief. "Seriously, Ella.”

"I know! But you are literally our leading figure. It's only a matter of time before more prominent people decide to make their move.”

"I'm just a designer, I'm not the one in charge.”

"Our sales have seen a significant increase these past few months, thanks to you. Come on, let me sing your praises.”

You chuckled. "Fine. When should I expect them?”

"You're scheduled to meet the sponsor in the main hall around 4pm.”

“Noted.”

Ella let out a squeal, which she attempted to suppress due to the many people around, hailing from different brands and sectors.

"I'm genuinely proud of you. You truly deserve all the success that's coming your way.”

“Honestly, Ella, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your call.”

"And I wouldn't have called if it weren't for your email. It's funny how life works, isn't it?”

You found yourself nodding with conviction, reflecting on all the remarkable things, whether challenging or rewarding, that had entered your life since you left the Burgess mansion.

Since you encountered Dream of the Endless. Your beloved Morpheus.

If only you had known that the person you were about to meet wasn't who you expected them to be.

By the time you made your way to the main hall, Ella had returned to the office to finalize the remaining details with Oliver. You had been constantly active all morning, barely managing to squeeze in time for an outdoor lunch, arranging the garments for the presentation, and refining the lineup. You were on the brink of being tardy for the appointment, and you left the backrooms in such a rush that you unintentionally left your phone behind.

Casting a quick glance around the luxurious space, you cleared your throat and adjusted your hair to ensure you looked presentable. You didn't spot anyone who seemed to be waiting, so you opted to sit on one of the vacant couches, taking a moment to observe your surroundings.

You found yourself completely zoned out, watching the staff bustling about and your competitors occasionally strolling past, until a voice jolted you from your trance.

"Why, hello there. You must be Y/N Y/LN.”

You raised your gaze to encounter a distinctive figure standing in front of you. They were attired in a white suit, which exposed a portion of their chest and highlighted an oval pendant suspended from a lengthy silver chain. Their blonde hair was flawlessly slicked back, a pair of round earrings graced their ears, and red lipstick accentuated what seemed to be a sincere, yet cryptic smile.

But what truly captivated you was the color of their eyes, which you couldn't pinpoint due to the lighting making them gleam gold.

"Oh, uh, yes. That's me," you stammered.

Their smile broadened. “It's quite a pleasure to meet you in person.”

Their voice was smooth, calm, and suave.

"Likewise," you responded, sitting up straighter and adopting a more professional tone.

"Do you mind if I join you?" They asked, gesturing towards the empty space on the couch beside you.

"Not at all, please have a seat.”

There was something inexplicably peculiar about this sponsor. They settled themselves next to you, a tad too close for your liking, you might add. Aiming not to appear overly nervous, you swiftly collected yourself and returned their smile.

"I'm surprised that you wanted to meet. Do you have any specific questions you'd like to ask me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. You could say that I'm interested in your... desires.”

You required a moment to process their words.

"My desires...?”

"Look where you are," they declared, sweeping their impeccably manicured hand to indicate the place. "This must be like a dream come true for you, isn't it?”

You had the distinct feeling that they found this thought amusing, leaving you uncertain about whether they were mocking you or not.

"Well, yes. It certainly is. I've worked really hard to reach this point," you affirmed.

"And yet, I can see that you're still searching for something.”

What were they even hinting at?

"There's always scope for improvement," you elucidated. "I may have come a long way in this industry, but that doesn't mean I can't continue to learn as I progress.”

"Is that what you desire? Greater wealth and recognition?”

You were uncertain whether they were attempting to carry out an unconventional interview, or if their words held some concealed subtext. Was this genuinely the sponsor Ella had spoken to you about?

For a moment, a fear gripped you that you might have encountered the wrong person entirely, perhaps someone dispatched by your competitors to probe and expose your vulnerabilities. But as you threw a cursory look around the hall, you didn't notice anyone else seeking you out.

"I wouldn't say that, no. I engage in what I do because I love creating something that empowers the wearer to feel comfortable in their own skin."

They hummed in ponderation. "Well, I guess that's not too far off from what I do.”

“What is it that you do?”

"My dear, I am in search of individuals who are just like you, drawn to those objects of their desire like a butterfly to a candle's flame.”

That was quite an enigmatic and poetic way to respond. You inferred that as a sponsor, they were particularly discerning about the brand and company they decided to invest in. Possibly, as the one fundamentally in control of the main collections of Corby&Jones, they aimed to painstakingly scrutinize your intentions and authenticity.

It was entirely plausible, all things considered. Yet, there was an odd element that was making you feel uneasy.

“So tell me then, what is it that you want? Don't be shy. Or perhaps I should try to guess?”

Alarm bells started sounding in your mind the moment they edged even closer, their fingers lightly sweeping your hair away from your face.

“You want something sensual, or maybe something precious. Or... maybe someone special. Or maybe you want all three. Yes, I think that might just be the case. ”

The last thing you wanted was for your company to lose one of its most significant sponsors, but your patience was already stretched thin and you could not bear any more of it.

Sporting a nervous chuckle, you cautiously lifted your hand to gently move theirs away as diplomatically as you could, using your left leg to redistribute your weight and subtly distance yourself a bit further from them.

"I’m sorry, but I'm afraid your guess is inaccurate.”

“Is that so?”

"I have a boyfriend. I have no need to seek anything or anyone else, as I've already attained everything I've ever wished for.”

You could almost swear their expression transformed into a blend of disappointment and annoyance, even though they managed to somewhat retain their smile.

"Well, that's unfortunate," they proclaimed. "But you see, all humans are creatures of desire, twisting and bending to their whims.”

You were still unable to understand what all of that was about. Regardless of their motive, you had no interest in discerning it.

"I wouldn't want to come off as rude, but I really need to return to my work. Is there any particular matter you wanted to discuss with me?”

Your attempt to abruptly terminate the conversation and depart clearly took them by surprise, as you noticed them purse their red lips and squint their eyes to scrutinize you. The longer you gazed into those irises, the more the notion strengthened that they were indeed gold. But such an eye color was improbable for a human, wasn't it…?

Eventually, they reverted to their initial politeness. "But of course. I was merely curious to finally meet the famous Y/N Y/LN. Go ahead, continue with your work. I won't hold you here.”

With a simple nod of your head, you excused yourself, standing up from the couch and offering your hand in a professional manner, which they accepted. Their grip was firm, warm, and oddly comforting, yet at the same time, a chill ran through your entire body.

What you experienced in that moment was truly bizarre. A part of you felt as though you knew them, or at least, there was a familiarity in their presence that echoed Morpheus and Teleute. A distant voice in your head reassured you that there was no need for fear, that they could calm your spirit and provide the most exhilarating ride you could ever imagine.

And it terrified you.

The instant they released you, you practically dashed off, fumbling in your pocket for your phone to give Ella a piece of your mind about the situation, only to discover that you didn't have the device with you.

And you were oblivious to the way they continued to gaze at you until you were out of sight, narrowing their eyes and resting their fingers on their chin in profound thought.

"My, what a fascinating mortal being,” they commented with a broad grin, before releasing a prolonged, amused laugh through their perfectly white teeth.

The moment you reentered the backrooms, Freya hailed you and advanced with a brisk stride, extending her hand that was gripping your phone. "I found it on the table next to me. Ella sent you a message, I noticed her name flashing on the screen.”

Speak of the Devil…

"Thanks, Freya. I'll check it right away. I'll be back in a minute.”

She nodded in recognition and gave you a thumbs-up, before resuming her task of arranging the chosen outfits on their corresponding hangers.

You unlocked the screen and navigated straight to your friend's chat, freezing in place as soon as you read her message.

You could feel your blood chilling as you recognized that the person you had just interacted with was, in fact, not the one you were initially supposed to meet. You had found them strange, slightly ethereal even, but overall suitable for that specific setting, notwithstanding their flirtatious conduct.

And now, staring in utter disbelief at your phone screen, you could only conjecture about their real identity, how they knew your name, and most importantly, why they were there for you.

The only logical explanation you could arrive at was your initial assumption about a competitor sending one of their own, but you couldn't dismiss that nagging feeling in your gut that they were someone, or perhaps even something, entirely distinct.

Without a moment's hesitation, you tucked your phone into your pocket and sprinted for the main hall, hoping to still find them there and obtain an explanation. Regrettably, they were nowhere to be seen, as you couldn't spot their elegant attire, blonde hair, or golden eyes.

You came to the realization that they hadn't even introduced themselves to you. You had no name to associate with them, no concrete information about their profession or location whatsoever. You were left without any leads, while they appeared to have a clear understanding of who you were. Could you possibly be dealing with an admirer who had infiltrated the showroom solely to see you?

In the end, all you could do was return to your responsibilities and let the matter slide, even though it certainly nagged at you for the remainder of the day.

With all arrangements for the imminent show complete, Ella and Oliver gave their team a well-deserved day off before the grand event, ensuring that everyone could rejuvenate and approach the coming day with renewed energy. Capitalizing on this chance, you planned another visit to your father, as time with him had been scant since the revelation about your mother. The last time you awoke from the Dreaming, he implied there was something he wished to talk about, but assured you it wasn't pressing and could be postponed.

However, as soon as he opened the door to greet you, it was evident that something about him was off again. He appeared hesitant, leaving you lingering at the entrance without fully inviting you in, his countenance displaying unease.

"Dad? What's wrong? Can I come in or are we planning to have lunch here on your doorstep?”

He exhaled deeply, shifting his gaze towards something in the living room. "No, it's just.... there's someone here.”

"Oh... a guest? Would you prefer if I came back next week?”

"No, no, there's no need for that," he paused. "Actually... they're here for you.”

You attempted to conjure a mental image of who they might be. "Huh...?”

At last, he moved aside to let you in, closing the door behind you and assisting you with your jacket. But before you could proceed further, he gently grasped your arm and placed both his hands on your shoulders.

"Y/N, I didn't plan this. Whatever happens, know that I will understand if you decide to leave.”

“Dad, seriously. What’s going on here?”

Reflecting back, you should have realized that there was only one person who would potentially want to converse with you. You had barely interacted with his friends a few times, and he was the sole family you had left. There was no one else who would wish to see you in his house.

Except for someone you believed would never be allowed to come near the two of you, ever again.

When he remained silent, lowering his gaze, you pivoted and ventured into the living room. There, you noticed a woman stationed by the window, her eyes fixed outside, responding to your entrance with a slight flinch.

You couldn't instantly recognize her, but as she slowly swiveled around to face you, your heart abruptly stopped. You found yourself staring at the woman from your dream, the memory that Morpheus had transferred from your father's mind into yours. She nervously fiddled with her thumbs while clasping her hands over her lap, swallowing hard and blinking rapidly to clear her tear-filled eyes.

You felt a dizzy spell coming on, unable to react, as your father slowly moved to stand beside you, nervously anticipating some sort of response from you.

And then it came, your voice shaky, trembling, emerging as a whisper. "Mum....?"

Upon hearing that, she managed a smile in your direction, summoning the courage to take a step towards you. "Hello, Y/N.”

You began to hyperventilate, your ears filled with a loud ringing noise and a dreadful wave of nausea started to swell within you. She repeated your name, but it became inaudible. Her lips were moving, yet no sound was perceptible, as the unbearable ringing in your ears drowned everything else out.

You had reconciled with that she would only exist as a faint echo in the background of your existence, a distant figure you'd never have a chance to see or converse with. Caught completely off guard, you found yourself in her presence for the first time, a moment you had yearned for since your childhood years.

And you were petrified, completely paralyzed with fear.

Your father gently prodded you, trying to elicit a proper reaction that stubbornly refused to surface. Your breathing grew rapid and strained as you struggled to supply enough oxygen to your brain.

Until everything descended into darkness.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 16 ->

#the sandman #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman writing

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loosingmoreletters · 2 years ago

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Title: cut my tongue on the rust of a silver spoon

Summary: Lan Wangji is his father’s son, he marries Wei Wuxian to protect him. He is his mother’s too, he dies as a consequence of his punishment. Thirteen years later, summoned into a foreign body, he returns to Gusu hoping to find Wei Ying and, perhaps, forgiveness.

AN: this is really more of a snippet.

When Mo Xuanyu’s family is laid to rest, Lan Wangji surveys the mansion. He takes what he deems worthwhile and dresses in robes more comfortable than Mo Xuanyu’s. He’s slightly shorter than Lan Wangji used to be and his body is in an ill state. Brushing out his hair leaves him with several strands in his hand. He manages to wrangle it into something respectable. When he leaves the mansion, he finds the Gusu Lan disciples staring at him in open awe.

“You’re really not a lunatic, are you?” Lan Jingyi asks.

“No.”

Lan Sizhui stays silent as he’s been throughout this entire assignment before he lifts his hands in curious motions, Lan Jingyi immediately picking up on them. Lan Jingyi eyes Lan Wangji warily, but then begins to speak. “Sizhui is asking why your family was so insistent you were mad then?”

Was the other boy incapable of speech? Lan Wangji thinks about asking, but deems it rude and unnecessary. The boy has performed admirably on the nighthunt and hadn’t been a liability. If he lacks speech, it speaks well of the education he has received.

“They didn’t like my mother or me. Ensuring everyone knew of unstable Mo Xuanyu meant no one would consider me for inheritance.”

That is Lan Wangji’s assumption at least. Mo Xuanyu’s ritual seemed like something out of Wei Ying’s notes and given that is a problem in and of itself. He’s been dead for over a decade and in the Cloud Recesses, Wei Ying should have been safe and his notes inaccessible to anyone.

Another reason Lan Wangji had to hurry back to the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Sizhui signs again and Lan Jingyi speaks, “We are sorry to hear that. There will be no such discrimination at the Cloud Recesses, I promise.”

There will not? Lan Wangji wonders what happened to his sects in the aftermath of his death, if they are less torn in their decisions nowadays.

“Thank you.”

Traveling with Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi is pleasant. Lan Wangji has no sword, but Lan Sizhui carries him on his own for large chunks of the travel. While in flight, they sign to each other more or less non-stop, having a conversation Lan Wangji cannot follow but finds practical. Every sect has a few hand signs for flight to communicate in an emergency as screaming at each other over the wind is just impossible, but nothing quite this advanced.

It does, however, take a run-in with a yao, Lan Sizhui’s fingers sustaining breaks, before the two Juniors exchange looks and pull a talisman from their pockets.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” says Lan Jingyi. “You saved us, so I trust you’re a good guy.”

Lan Wangji nods, promising nothing. If they’re up to mischief, someone should know. Instead, Lan Sizhui activates the talisman with a light touch and keeps one hand on it.

Thank you, appears in light blue lettering.

“It’s more convenient for me to communicate with others like this if they’re capable of reading instead of relying on Jingyi,” says Lan Sizhui’s writing.

The technique is not a sect secret as far as Lan Wangji knows. At least it wasn’t when he was still alive.

“Are outsiders not meant to know?” he asks.

“Nobody is,” Lan Sizhui answers. “My father developed the talisman for me. Only Jingyi knows.”

“I think Sect Leader Lan suspects,” Lan Jingyi adds. “But as long as he doesn’t say anything about it, we’re not saying anything either. It’s not lying and we didn’t break any rules.”

Lan Sizhui grimaces. “We do break them a little. A-Die isn’t meant to write any talismans.”

“He isn’t supposed to write anything at all,” Lan Jingyi shoots back, sounding like he’s had this argument a thousand times before. “I don’t get it, it’s been ages. All he does is wait for you to visit, cook, garden, and have tea with Sect Leader Lan. He doesn’t even have a core to cultivate, why does everyone—”

Lan Sizhui shoves his elbow into Lan Jingyi’s side, giving him a very pointed look.

“… I’m sorry, Senior Mo,” Lan Jingyi says. “I didn’t mean to speak so out of tune. We should reach home in two days.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head.

#mdzs #lan wangji #lan jingyi #lan sizhui #wangxian #fanfic #mdzs fanfic

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imaginatorcreates · 9 months ago

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Commission for Toast (@sketchy-tour)!

Toast here asked me to make a tune for their Welcome Home OC, Dandy Leon, and the lovable Wally Darling. A sort of love song, if you will. Add on top of that an idea for a written scene between the two and you have this!

(Also I'm eating up your comments in Discord, please know that /pos)

This is my 29th creation. This is for Dandy Leon and Wally Darling. A song of spring, being in bloom, and many references to Dandy's Delights (for this is a tune with Dandy in it!). The goobers are waltzing in the garden and having fun little stumbles, but they're enjoying themselves because the world is in bloom.

Painted Flowers

25 March 2024 — 26 March 2024

Summary: Wally wants to paint someone to day. But who should he paint? Barnaby suggests to him, "Why not Dandy?"

Word Count: ~2.8k words

TW: None

Author’s Note: Enjoy! Also on AO3 as a gift.

One day, Wally Darling woke up and decided that he was going to paint today.

If someone were to ask him why, like his best friend did when the large blue pooch stopped by the painter’s sentient house, he couldn’t explain it. “I just want to paint today, Barnaby,” Wally said in his signature monotonous voice. He pocketed some of his paintbrushes and tubes of acrylic paint in the pockets of his blue cardigan as he added, “I have a problem, though.”

“Eh? What’s botherin’ my lil’ apple today?” Barnaby B. Beagle asked as he leaned against Home’s outer walls. The dark blue ear closest to the front door perked up as he joked, “Ain’t it too early to feel gray? I thought that was Frank’s job!” The dog howled in laughter, then in mock pain as Home lightly smacked him with his door. “Alright, alright! I get it Home!”

Wally laughed a quiet little “Ha ha ha,” even though he didn’t quite get what was funny about the joke. The few times he had asked Barnaby to explain a joke to him, his best friend had groaned and placed a paw over his snout.

“A joke ain’t funny if I hafta explain it,” he had said, “but for you, lil’ buddy, fine. I will.” Barnaby had patted his shoulder to show that he meant no ill will with his tone, but that night and for the next few ones, Wally had tried and failed to squash the thought that he might’ve ruined his best friend’s jokes forever.

“Home, I get it. No makin’ fun of the sourpuss– Home!” Barnaby let out a few more laughs, then thumped at his chest twice as he cleared his throat. “Lil’ buddy, ya said ya had a problem?”

“Oh, yes. I have a problem.” Wally wordlessly gave Barnaby a blank canvas, then his folded wooden easel. The former was off white and lightly textured, while the latter was light brown with splatters of miscellaneous colors. The hinges were squeaky with use and no longer smelled of wood but instead, it smelled faintly of chemicals from the paints he used.

It was bad for him, according to Frank and Poppy, but he found it comforting. Could something that was bad also be comforting? He would have to ask someone about it.

But, that was for later. Another problem for later.

“I don’t know what to paint,” Wally said as he grabbed his palette, stepped outside, and closed the door. He craned his neck up, took a few steps away from his taller friend, then craned his neck a little less. “I don’t feel like painting red apples. But I like painting red apples. I don’t feel like painting you, but I like painting you too.” He fiddled with one of his paintbrushes, running the clean bristles over his fingers as he asked, “What should I do, Barnaby?”

“Well, gee Walls.” Barnaby furrowed his brow as he exhaled through his nose. “How’s about ya paint one of your neighbors?”

“Oh. That’s a good idea.” Wally paused stroking his fingertips with the paintbrush bristles, then resumed as another problem made itself apparent. “But who? Who should I paint today Barnaby?”

“Well, you can’t paint me! You said you didn’t wanna.”

“I still love you Barnaby.”

“Yeah, love ya too.” Barnaby started to thump his foot on the ground, quietly letting out a low growl as he thought. “Who have ya painted?”

“I’ve painted you, Barnaby. I’ve painted Julie, and I’ve painted Frank. I’ve painted Sally, and I’ve painted Poppy. I’ve painted Eddie, and I’ve painted Howdy.” Wally counted off each neighbor on each of his fingers, and he was left with one finger left standing. “I’ve tried to paint Home, but Home is very large and requires a lot of time. I will finish Home’s portrait soon.”

Home creaked an apology.

“It’s okay Home.”

“Huh. How about ya paint one of our other neighbors?” Barnaby asked. “How’s about that one with the sunflowers in their yard? Dandy?”

“Dandy?” Wally stopped brushing his fingertips as the name bounced around his head, trying to attach itself to a face. Sunflowers in their yard…green…brown hat…flowers. But not Julie’s type of flowers. Julie’s flowers were loud and vibrant, brave and running towards what she loved. Flowers attached to Dandy’s name were bright, yes, but they were gentle. They curled away from harsh words and they bloomed in the quiet moments.

The painter gasped. “Oh! Yes! I should paint Dandy!” Almost at once, the floodgates in his brain opened. Ideas flooded his mind, breaking through darkness with shades of green and yellow and red. He almost wished that he was as big as Barnaby so he could walk further with each step. His plans of painting couldn’t wait!

Barnaby let out a howl of laughter and gestured to the main road with a jerk of his head. “C’mon lil’ apple. Let go get your sunflower’s portrait painted.”

“My sunflower?” Wally asked as the pair started on the journey to the gardener’s house. “Barnaby, the sunflowers belong to Dandy. And I will be painting Dandy, not their sunflowers.”

The blue dog snickered. “Alright lil’ buddy.”

Wally didn’t understand that joke either.

The sun shone down on the pair of best friends as they approached the earthy-colored house. Even from a distance, the yellow flowers stood tall towards the sun, almost greeting them with how they were turned towards them. Some were lightly tied to wooden stakes, but they still looked healthy.

Standing next to the sunflowers was a puppet with green felt, short and fluffy brown hair, and squarish glasses on their face. The sleeves of their brown cardigan were partially rolled up as they inspected some of the leaves of the sunflowers, their face deep in concentration as their mouth moved slightly with words that were too quiet to hear.

“Heya Dandy!” Barnaby barked out as the distance between the puppets started to close.

Dandy jumped and looked up from their work. Their eyes widened and they scrambled to dust off their clothes, roll down their sleeves, and step out of the thick of their sunflowers. “Wally! Barnaby!” they called back. “What can I do for y’all?”

“Funny, they called your name first Walls,” Barnaby murmured.

“That was supposed to be funny?” Wally asked.

“Eh.” Barnaby shrugged and turned his attention back to Dandy. “Wally here wants to paint ya.”

Wally watched as Dandy’s gaze rapidly turned to him, hovered for a moment too long, then turned back to his best friend. “Me?” the gardener asked as they pointed to themself. Their gaze turned back to Wally as they repeated, “You want to paint me?”

“Yes,” Wally breathed. “I want to paint you, Dandy.”

“I — ” The gardener's hands started to wave dismissively as their eyes dropped to the ground. “I don’t think I’m good enough to be painted! I’m a mess, and I have dirt on my hands. My hair is messy, and I have to send some flowers to Howdy’s — ”

With one swift motion, Barnaby unfolded Wally’s easel and placed it down nearby. He then patted Dandy’s head and chuckled at the yelp of surprise the gardener let out. “Re-lax Dandy. Walls here ain’t gonna eat cha alive!”

Wally’s fingers tightened around his cardigan for a brief moment. His eyes itched.

Not today. Not today.

Barnaby placed the blank canvas down on the empty easel and patted Wally on the shoulder before he bid the two shorter puppets farewell and walked away. “Peace out ‘n have fun! I’ll be at Howdy’s if ya need me!”

Wally waved goodbye to the blue dog, then turned his attention back to Dandy. “I will be painting you soon, neighbor.”

“Wally,” Dandy murmured. They kept looking at the ground, their voice even quieter than when Barnaby was there. Their brows were furrowed slightly and their mouth was pressed together in a thin line. “You don’t have to paint me. I think there are better neighbors to paint than lil’ ol’ me,” they chuckled. At the last half of their sentence, they sounded a bit like Eddie.

“I want to,” Wally countered. “I really do want to paint you.” He started to take out some of the acrylic tubes and laid them on the excess wood of the easel. He untwisted some of the caps to loosen them up, then carefully squeezed a bit of paint onto his palette one at a time. A bit of black and white in the corner for mixing, then green here and yellow there. Blue as well, and brown was very important.

“I woke up today and wanted to paint,” he confessed. “But I didn’t want to paint red apples or Barnaby, even though I love both red apples and Barnaby very much. Oh, thank you Dandy.”

The gardener blushed as they helped screw the caps of the paints back on. “I can getcha a cup of water for your paints. And a stool, if you want one.”

“A stool for the paint water would be nice, thank you.”

As Dandy hurriedly walked inside their house, Wally made it his mission to stare at the blank canvas with a paintbrush in one hand and his palette in the other. He had the subject, and he had the colors. He had the idea, no matter how faint it was. But now that he was here, with his subject nearby and with his colors laid out, the idea was rapidly vanishing.

His grip on the paintbrush tightened. The pose. How should Dandy pose? And any objects? Should they be holding anything in their hands? How much of Dandy should he paint?

He wanted to paint today, that he knew. But why was it so hard to paint?

“ —lly? Wally?”

The pompadoured puppet let in a sharp inhale of air and turned towards the voice.

Dandy gasped in return, backing away slightly. They bumped against the stool where an old cup filled with water sat, and they cried out to catch it as it wobbled precariously. “Golly! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Wally said. He found his voice again — again; he was losing it…what year was it? — and forced himself to take a slow, calm breath. “I still want to paint you, Dandy. But, I’m having trouble imagining how I want to paint you.”

“Paint me however you want Wally, and I’m sure it’ll look nice.” Dandy’s gaze alternated between him and the ground, and their felt still showed hints of a blush. Pinkish, maybe red.

Like apples.

Wally slowly raised his paintbrush and started to circle it in midair, pretending that the ends of the brush were covered in red paint. He brushed an imaginary stroke upwards to make a stem, then two smooth lines to make a leaf. He liked apples. Those were the first things he painted.

What did Dandy like?

“Oh!” he gasped. “Dandy, can I paint you with sunflowers?”

“Sunflowers?” Dandy repeated. “The tall ones or the ones I picked earlier for Howdy’s?”

Wally paused. He looked at the sunflowers that towered above their heads nearby. Instead of looking friendly, they now looked intimidating. “I want to paint you with the sunflowers closer to your face.”

“My face? Oh, you’re going to paint my face?” Dandy’s hands waved, though not as erratically as Julie. “Can’t I hide behind my sunflowers? I’m a mess like I said and the sunflowers are more beautiful than I am and — ”

“Dandy.”

Dandy stopped.

“I think my neighbors look beautiful on my canvas because I paint what I see.” Wally’s smile widened as he added, “And I think the painting I want to do with you and your sunflowers will be beautiful too.”

If Dandy’s face could turn into a pretty red apple, it would. The gardener sputtered something before they stumbled away and stumbled back with a large bouquet of sunflowers in their hands. Dozens of yellow petals shone outwards, almost giving Sally a challenger for the brightest one in the neighborhood. In their centers, hundreds of seeds created a dark contrast.

In the middle of it all, Dandy’s face was buried in it.

Wally didn’t mind so much. He needed to paint the sunflowers first.

So began the long and slow process of mixing colors to create the right shade, then applying them onto the canvas in gentle strokes. The petals were abstract shapes at first, radiating from a circle of darkness in the center. As Wally switched brushes and added details, the sunflowers gained personality. Individual petals started to differentiate, and someone could pluck out the seeds if they wished to.

He dipped the brush in the murky paint water and started on the puppet. He looked around the canvas and saw Dandy’s face still buried in the sunflowers.

That was no good.

He placed the paintbrush on the stool and slowly approached them. “Dandy. Could you lift your face up please? I need to paint it.”

Dandy hesitantly complied, but most of their face was still covered by yellow petals. “The sunflowers are more beautiful,” they faintly insisted. “They’re in bloom.”

“You are in bloom too,” Wally said. Despite his brush hand smelling slightly of paint, he reached out and cupped his hand against Dandy’s cheek. He gently lifted their warm face up and out of the sunflowers and said, “You are in bloom, Dandy. Like the sunflowers, and the apple blossoms.

“I woke up and wanted to paint today. I wanted to paint, and you are in bloom. Why should I not paint a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers and the neighbor that grew them?”

A long, palpable pause stretched out between the two. Wally wondered if he made a mistake with this. He knew that Frank didn’t like to be touched very often, so what if Dandy was the same?

Then, Dandy slowly smiled. Their smile radiated through the sunflowers, and for a second, Wally thought that the gardener was the most pretty flower he’d seen.

His own smile widened and he withdrew his hand. “This…this is the most! I will paint this now!” He swiftly came back to his canvas and started mixing the right shade of green. The portrait slowly came together. First the general shape, then the details. The highlights came last. A few broad strokes for a blue sky, and…!

“Dandy, it’s done.” Wally placed each used paintbrush into the murky paint water, one by one as he waited for the subject of his painting to shuffle around the easel to look at his work.

On the canvas, were dozens of sunflowers arranged in a strong bouquet intermixed with delicate petals. The sunflowers themselves were made of strokes of yellow and circles of black, highlighted by elegant lines that made each detail pop. In the middle of it all, was a puppet whose smile was the centerpiece of the painting. Eyes slightly squinted shut from how wide they were smiling, a hint of red on their cheeks, and hands that held the entire bouquet together by their stems.

A gasp followed by a squeal of joy. Hand waving and heel bouncing briskly followed, alongside quiet bursts of “It’s so beautiful!” and “The detail on the sunflowers!”

Wally watched Dandy go through several levels of joy and awe, and the semi-permanent smile on his face softened. His partially-lidded eyes took in the small details: brown eyes that sparkled at the work of art on the canvas; the little yellow flower on their hat that never wilted; gentle flowers that reached towards the sun, fingers curling around the drops of light and holding it close.

Quiet.

“Do you want to keep it?”

“I…I shouldn’t.” The light was escaping from their fingertips.

Did he do that?

“I insist. I would be honored if you took it.” Wally gingerly took the still-drying painting and held it out towards Dandy. “I want you to have it.”

Dandy’s mouth pressed into a thin line as they looked down at the ground for a moment, then thrust the sunflowers in front of them. “Take these. I’d feel bad if you didn't have something in return. I can always get more for Howdy, it’s not a big deal.”

The next minutes were spent juggling an exchange; between trying not to touch any paint on the canvas and not dropping any sunflowers on the ground, the two spent an excessive amount of time trying to give each other the items. In the end, Dandy was left holding their portrait and Wally had a bouquet of sunflowers in his hand.

Dandy lightly bounced inside their house, and Wally was left outside with a sunny-smelling bundle of flowers counteracting against the chemical scent of his acrylics. He buried his face within the flowers and deeply inhaled. Between strong whiffs of paint, he breathed in drops of sunlight.

“The most,” he exhaled. “These are the most.”

For the next several days, anyone who peeked in the window of Home could catch a glimpse of a vase filled with cut sunflowers. They were perky and alive, and it certainly complimented a fresh red apple that always sat next to the vase for as long as the sunflowers lived.

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