#remember how i said eggs was hard to draw

[slugghee]

made trace talksprites!

why is this bitch so hard to draw

[beatcroc]

comic planning/roughs on the clock at work 👍 ok. this one's still a few posts out though

[tofixtheshadows]

I should've made this in the first place to go as a reference to my post about Kabru rarely being shown eating (and when he does it, it isn't pleasurable) and linked it somewhere. I didn't feel like I needed to go through every example and based on people's tags I do think everyone gets it ... but I'm compiling this anyway because I find it really interesting from an artistic/writerly standpoint.

Like, Kabru obviously is eating meals in the abstract sense. But as I said, Kui almost never actually draws him putting food in his mouth. At first I assumed that she was avoiding it to save on space because he needs to be shown talking instead, but as I've looked back, I've noted that she doesn't usually shy away from giving characters speech bubbles even when they're chewing or they have utensils in their mouths. Unless they're Kabru.

This would realistically be the best time to actually show him eating, since it's a normal meal at a normal restaurant, but no. He doesn't actually put food in his mouth in this entire scene. They show him taking a bite in the anime, so I almost forgot, but honestly the manga just makes it look like he's picking at his food. Again: I'm sure he does eat this meal. My point is that I think it's a deliberate choice to keep that off-page, to contrast all the other characters who get to both visibly eat food and enjoy it.

As mentioned, Kabru is only shown drinking wine while his party eats the snacks in chapter 32. I think it's possible to infer that he doesn't actually eat any food here at all.

The harpy egg omelette bit barely counts as eating lmao we all saw him struggling to even swallow a bite down. Let's move on.

Quick sidebar:

Are we all going insane over this panel or is it just me? Okay continue.

Like with the omelette, it gets a checkmark for actually going into his mouth but no checkmark for enjoyment. He hates this. He's being spoon fed bad cake and patronized.

Next:

Literally the worst meal in Dungeon Meshi lmao.

Barometz:

He does actually eat this. Rare Kabru mastication panel, not clickbait. But it's kind of a sad moment when you remember that he was looking forward to a cultural dish of his mother's- literal comfort food from his childhood- and instead got the weird godless crab-meat-plant that is the barometz. This may be the only time Kabru goes looking for comfort, and he's pointedly denied it.

Next:

Yeah he isn't drawn eating during this entire scene either. Only drawn holding the food and his utensil.

As stated: still never shown eating. Deliberately shown getting Mithrun to eat instead. Kabru, the call is coming from inside the goddamn house.

Bavarois is next, and once again it gets a checkmark for actual on-page chewing but as we see, he still hates it and has to concentrate very hard and block out all thoughts of what he's doing in order to swallow it down without making a scene.

Okay. Faligon feast. Kabru does canonically spend days eating for the sake of Laios and Falin! Yay! Caloric fucking intake! Clean plate club!

And yet.

Literally shown stopping himself before he can put the food in his mouth.

Mickbell is so real for this. No one needed to hear a lecture from Senshi more than Kabru.

Anyway. Given how surgically precise Kui is with everything else in this story, I just feel the choice to constantly show Kabru focusing on his worries during mealtimes, instead of drawing him just enjoying food, was purposeful.

[deadbeat-motel]

ᗩᒪᗩᔕTOᖇ ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ

I finally got to the design I hate the most, Alastor.

I'm not a fan of my design simplified to meet the cast's more cartoony style. I tried my best but might draw him some other time with my actual style.

Anyway, my thoughts are under the cut:

My issues with their Original designs:

What can I say that hasn't been already said by so many others?

Red overpowers his entire design and he barely stands out of the background, sometimes he blends with it at times.

Supposedly a mixed person yet the average audience member who watches the show with no context can't tell that he is. I don't want to hear about how mixed people can be pale-skinned because he was never written as a white-passing poc in mind. His Creole background was an excuse to use voodoo in the show and merchandising.

Another Vivzie character that dons a shoulder-padded suit. I believe he's one of the 5 others that has this repeating design trait (Angel Dust, Charlie, Pentious, Lucifer, Valentino, Vox)

His hair bothers me a lot. A 1930s man having a scene kid's haircut? I have a hard time believing that for the sake of the show. Also, not to mention he has that awkward undercut that ends up making him a scuffed Willy Wonka cosplayer.

Twink...

Personal tidbit, but I'm not sure what his staff's design even is? an egg with a microphone in it?

The thought process:

First of all, gave him a darker skin tone, that light grey doesn't cut it for me, unfortunately.

Also heard that his inspiration was Dr. Facilier and with that in mind, I wanted to make him look like him a bit more like him.

The mostly grey and black color palette was inspired by 99monchrome's take on Alastor. Teddy's take is pretty amazing.

If I remember, there was something about him being hunted and shot at like a deer while escaping the authorities. The headshot manifests as a small red X on his forehead.

Gave him a pencil moustache since I wanted him to look like a grown man in the 1930s. Plus, there is a seemingly noticeable lack of facial hair on every male character in this show. (If you're showing me an example of the opposite, please do not give me some background character or any Helluva boss character.)

An extra set of teeth will appear within the slits on his mouth, forming to prevent Alastor from being ever able to frown.

His mouth is also constantly bleeding.

A small detail that would be easy to miss but his eyes are radio dials.

He has a tail and fur on his body because I think it's cute.

Sort of like Velvette in the series, I do want to have Alastor drastically change hairstyles from time to time. Dreads, Twists, Straightened, Buzzed, etc.

A little detail just important to me is that his eyebrows go from thin to thick at its ends.

He does have fur all over his body.

[panlight]

Hi! I don't know where else to drop this but I - imagine being the new kid in Forks, you go to the high school and you have happened to forget your lunchmoney and then you see this weird Cullen kid with an actual bag of eggs? And like - can you imagine the conversation of like hey I forgot my lunch can I maybe have an egg? Because what else can you do, he doesnt seem to be eating them and it is food? And Emmet just like gives you the whole bag??

(This has been on my mind for days now and I had to share it somewhere)

I hope you have a nice day!💜

Another thing to imagine:

The first time Emmett brought a whole bag of eggs to school, they weren't even cooked.

He had heard that humans eat eggs to get that protein in there and get jacked, so it seemed like a plausible thing for him to be eating if he's trying to convince people his 20-year-old, 6'5", beefy AF self is like, a 17 year old who just lifts, bro.

But he forgot they had to be cooked, so he plopped the bag down on his desk first period and broke them all. "Aww, damn," he said. And thus he sealed his reputation as the class himbo.

After that, Esme showed him how to hard boil them.

Some days he asks Edward if any kid is going hungry and then approaches them to offer them some or all of his eggs.

Someone called him "the most swole Easter Bunny of all time" and Emmett thought that was hilarious. He wanted to get a headband with bunny years on it but Rosalie was like, "babe, no, we're trying not to draw attention, remember?"

[bunnysbrainrot]

If You Change Your Mind - Ch. 3

Relationship: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Content: explicit sexual content, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (no glove, no love. be safe!)

Summary: After resolving some of the tension between you and Dean, you’ve made your way to his room. Finally, with the moment you both had waited for, he can take his time with you.

A/N: hi everyone! thank you for all the support on chapters one and two. i hope this serves as a good final chapter for this little series. my brain is soup, so i didn’t proofread, but i can later.

In your gut, you had a feeling this would happen eventually. Well, maybe not precisely like this. You and Dean held pent up tension with one another for months now. For the both of you, it had been excruciating. Your brain had been swimming in thoughts over the intimacy with the eldest Winchester brother; would, and should, things go back to normal after this?

But now, you couldn’t collect yourself to think about it. Not with the way Dean was touching you, his rough hands gliding gently over your thighs and ass. Your lips had been locked with his neck for minutes now while he toyed with you equally so. His skin tasted of salt and his woodsy musk. It drove you mad. Dean’s occasional breathy moans told you you were doing this correctly, the perfect way to egg him on.

Dean’s voice mumbled against your ear, “What are you doing to me, baby?”

You couldn’t hide the smile against the soft flesh under his jaw. A trail of kisses later meandered to his earlobe. You caught it between your teeth, suckling and tugging until Dean’s breaths quickened.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you said softly, tangling your fingers loosely in his hair. While on one hand, you wanted to take things slow; you wanted to draw this out, to remember it for as long as possible. To feel every inch of your skin littered with his kisses, to be lapped up achingly slow between your legs.

On the other hand, the tense feeling in your sex begged for more. For things to go faster, to finally have Dean in the way he always desired.

Dean wouldn’t waste this opportunity, whether this was the only time or simply the first. With the urgency of your kisses, he knew you had grown impatient all this time.

A stray hand had snaked from Dean’s hair straight to his waist, but it was soon tugged away. You whined in protest against his skin. If he wanted this, too, why was he stopping you?

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart,” Deans’s voice vibrated against your ear. You sat up fully, using his hard length to move your hips in slow thrusts.

Through a groan, Dean explained, “We both want this, I get that. But, I need to take time with you.”

Between panting breaths you questioned him, “Dean, we’ve been… waiting for this… for so long. I don’t wanna go slow.”

Truly getting a sense of your impatience had Dean debating on how to continue. A devilish smirk tugged at his lips.

“We’ll have more time. Trust me, with the way you’re kissin’ me, ain’t no way we’re doing this just once,” Dean’s fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt. God, you had never looked tempting. Your flushed face, pebbled nipples poking through your shirt, your bare legs wrapped around his hips and grinding on his cock. Absolutely breathtaking.

You began to reach for your shirt, peeling it off of you to reveal yourself to him. Dean spoke in a gentle whisper, tugging your hands back down.

“Slow it down, babydoll. We gotta teach you some patience.”

It was one of the most excruciating virtues, patience. Every fiber of your body wanted him now, there seemed to be no point in waiting.

“Trust me,” Dean assured you, sliding a hand up your bare thigh. You arched your back, slowly falling apart as his hands worked their magic. “Just lemme take my time, I’ll give you everything.”

Acquiescing, you slowly tugged your shirt over your head and dropped it at the foot of the bed. Dean’s eyes glued to your body, taking in your naked form. If he had any less self control he would’ve taken you then and there, flipping you over and devouring every inch of you like it was his last meal. He steadied his breathing and let his hands move up your torso toward your bare chest.

“This is what I had been missing out on this whole time. Damn, I’m a dumbass.”

You laughed, “Well, at least you can make it up to me, right?”

“Oh, I fully intend to, don’t you worry,” he replied enthusiastically. Dean delivered a slap to your ass, giggling when you yelped in response. You gave him a glare before rolling your hips on his, reminding Dean that just how equally you could rile him up.

“C’mere,” muttered Dean, tugging your face down to his. With your bodies flush together he ground into you, his cock providing you the gut-clenching friction you craved. You moaned into his mouth, drowned out by way your lips tangled together.

Dean trailed a finger down your back, past your ass, and inward toward your aching cunt. Your hips bucked into his touch, earning you another soft laugh from him. At this point, your desperation for him wasn’t shameful, it was his call to action. Painfully slow with his movements Dean dipped a finger between your slick folds, growling lowly into your busy mouth.

He pulled away enough to taunt you, “Oh, honey, you’re soaked. Just from me touchin’ you, huh?”

You whimpered in agreement as his fingers explored further. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire. Every sensible thought had left you, only driven by the primal need in your throbbing sex. Dean dipped a finger into your entrance, easily slipping into your warm walls.

Desperately grinding against him, Dean formed another idea. He wove his free arm behind your back and pressed you tightly against his solid chest. Another whine escaped you as you wriggled against the pressure. Regardless, Dean was intent on your pleasure, curling his digit to strike your g-spot. Adding a second finger stretched you out further - Dean needed to make sure you were ready to take him fully.

The new sensation pulled a filthy moan from your throat. His mouth curled into a raunchy smile against your own, before slipping his tongue past your lips and explore you further. Each passing second made it harder for you to contain yourself; it was torture in the best way imaginable.

After a few moments, Dean picked up his pace to a steady rhythm. You mewled sweet noises into his mouth, against his chest and neck while his fingers took you over. A familiar coil tightened as you neared your first climax, your hips frantically moving against Dean’s fingers to release it.

“Come on, baby girl, that’s it. Show me whatcha got.”

His voice sent you entirely over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like lightning. The strokes against your walls never stopped; the overstimulation left you helpless, biting into Dean’s shoulder to ride it out.

“Attagirl, good job,” cooed Dean. The praise drove your senses absolutely wild.

God, if this was just from his fingers, you couldn’t last long.

To your dismay, Dean removed his fingers, now soaked fully in your juices. He loosened his grip on your torso and placed the fingers he had used to make those sweet sounds to your lips. You took them in happily, swirling your tongue to taste the way he made you feel. He groaned, eyes half lidded in pure desire. The way that your mouth wrapped around him was mystifying.

“If you gimme the same treatment somewhere else, you might just break me, honey.”

You removed your mouth with a small pop, “If that’s gonna break you, then I don’t think you could handle me.”

He gave you a full smile, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to prove ya wrong, then.”

Dean set his thumb to your bottom lip, coaxing you to open your mouth. Your lips parted to let him set his thumb on your tongue - it was smooth, intuitive feeling to give this finger the same treatment. Making Dean’s face change into something more desperate fueled you like a fire.

“You got such a pretty mouth, sweetheart,” said Dean, “wonder what else it could do.”

Smiling, ecstatic for a change of pace, you left Dean’s thumb and shifted downward off of his legs. A shake of the head from Dean told you that this isn’t where he imagined you taking him into your mouth.

He stood, walking to the foot of the bed, with just enough room for you ahead of him. With him standing it was evident what the foreplay had done to him. His pants strained and warped around his erection, with Dean slowly pumping its length at the sight of you now crawling over to him. You kneeled at the perfect height; you were at the perfect spot for Dean to relish in the way your mouth looked wrapped around his cock.

You gripped onto his pajama shorts and awaited Dean’s instruction. If that was going the be the dynamic, there would be absolutely no issues for you. All you had imagined with Dean was letting go of the stress, for him to take control, and to let yourself lose your mind while he did so. He could have every morsel of your being and you would never refuse. By all means to you, you were utterly his.

Dean’s fingers raked through your hair, greeting you with a suave smile, “Never could’ve imagined how pretty you look like this.”

The praise was foreign, filling you with a sense of pride that issued you the perfect amount of confidence to reach for the drawstring on his pants. Gazing straight into his eyes you tugged his pants down, springing him free.

Just as you had thought, he was big. The sheer sight of him made your sex ache - ample length, sure, but the girth of Dean’s cock sent a hover through you. Eager, you licked a wide stripe up his length, drawing out a deep groan from him. Your lips wrapped around his thick head, tongue meeting the underside and delivering some special attention.

Fuck, at this rate, Dean was falling apart, self control diminishing with every bob of your head and intent eye contact. The hand he tangled into your hair tightened its grip, urging you to keep going. You hollowed your cheeks to give more suction, followed by another string of muttered sweet nothings from Dean.

“Fuuuck, that’s good.”

“Attagirl, just like that.”

“Good girl, taking me in like that.”

Everything he said worsened the situation between your legs; one hand held the rest of his length your mouth neglected, the other reaching down to your throbbing cunt. Panting now, Dean lifted his shirt and discarded it in some unknown place. You paid no mind, it seemed impossible to keep track considering the position you were in.

Your fingers drew small circles over your swollen clit, making you moan around Dean’s cock. He let out a breathy moan in reply.

“Playing with yourself? Dirty girl.”

You couldn’t decide which you liked better from Dean: his sweet praises or teasing degradation. Either way, your stomach tensed at his words. His grip on your hair tightened enough to bring a sharp moan around his length. Dean’s hips bucked forward, the head of his cock prodding the back of your throat.

Determined on his pleasure you pushed yourself onto him further, his size making you gag and your jaw ache with soreness. None of that discomfort mattered when Dean’s face twisted into that breathtaking expression. Eyes snapped shut, mouth agape and panting, head tilted back in ecstasy.

You worked your mouth on Dean for minutes on end, taking the occasional break to regain your breath. Every time, he coaxed you gently to take your time, that you could take it easy. You took his advice, readying yourself more fully each time you resumed.

Although you couldn’t get enough, it was Dean who needed you more desperately now than ever. He tugged you slowly off of him with a pop of your mouth, wiping the spit that coated your chin. You gave him a proud smile. Dean leaned over, crashing his lips into yours with fervor. His hands meandered to the back of your thighs, lifting you from your kneeling to wrapping your legs around his waist.

————

Sprawled open in the middle of the bed, your clenched legs invited Dean closer. Without his help this was the easiest way to give yourself the friction on your needy clit. Dean’s lips peppered kisses up the length of your thighs, leading himself to where you needed him most.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, tugging your heat ever closer to his mouth.

“Dean..” you breathed, “Please… I need you.”

“I know, sweetheart. Just be patient for me,” he smiled at your urgency, licking a wide stripe through your soaked folds. You whined at his touch, his lips suckling around the sensitive nub with a quick tongue lapping up everything spilling from your pussy. Dean groaned in response to each moan, every one higher and higher pitched than the last as he worked you closer to another climax. You shuddered, your cunt fluttering around nothing, to your disdain. You needed him - something, anything, to fill you.

The way Dean inserted a finger into you left you convinced he was telepathic. Each of your wishes, he fulfilled as if reading you like a book. A whine left you while Dean curled his finger upward like he had done masterfully before, pushing you to the brink. Your orgasm reverberated through you, that shattering feeling making your walls clench onto Dean’s finger.

“That’s it,” he muttered, breaking away from your drenched pussy, “There we go, honey, come for me.”

You gazed down at him breathlessly, his eyes never leaving yours. Still in the shockwaves of your orgasm you rolled your hips into his finger as it slowly pumped in and out of you. The wet sounds coming from your entrance were lewd, borderline filthy. Dean’s cock throbbed with each wanton moan you sang into the room.

He needed you, and it killed him to wait any longer. Dean left your pussy empty and made his way up your body, wiping his chin of your slick juices.

He gave you a smug smile, “You feelin’ okay, sweetheart?”

Too breathless to reply you gave him a quick nod. Dean lowered himself to your lips, the thick head of his cock teasing your entrance. You desperately bucked your hips, teasing his through across your slit to your swollen clit, shockwaves roiling through you.

Your tone matched the desperation of your aching cunt, “Please, Dean. I cant wait anymore…”

He simply smiled, eyeing you carefully as he pushed his hips forward. Inch by inch, he filled you slowly. You both let out a long winded moan as Dean stretched you out, stuffing you with his length to the hilt. You had never felt more full than you did with Dean now. Fuck, this is what you had been missing out on?

“God damn, you’re fuckin’ tight, you know that?” Dean panted, “Perfect little pussy, taking me all the way like this.”

His praise had you clenching around his cock, drawing another groan from the both of you. Dean’s hips moved in a languid pattern of slow thrusts, followed by deeper strokes that struck your cervix in a mind-boggling wave of pleasure. With each moan he picked up the pace, desperate to hear each sound that came from your slacked mouth. His lips met yours, taking in each moan while you took every thrust, each one harder than the last until the only sound in the room was the wet slap of your hips colliding.

He broke away from your mouth, your mewls echoing around the room.

“I know, sweetheart. Feels good, huh? Stuffed nice and full with cock.”

You whined in response, your walls fluttering around him as another climax took over your vision, tunneled in pleasure.

“Perfect little fuck toy, taking me so well.”

Like a thunderstorm, your orgasms were relentless, completely wracking your body. You nails dug into Dean’s shoulders, pulling a growl from his throat.

“Dirty girl, gettin’ off from that,” he uttered, “desperate little slut.”

That was all it took to push you to the brink, wrapping tightly around his cock as you came once again. Dean’s hips sputtered more with each thrust, fully falling apart while your walls fluttered through each orgasm.

“Shit, baby, if you’re not careful-”

You couldn’t help it - the way you tensed around him, every muscle working to pull him further into you, to feel each thrust slam into your cervix. The way he stretched you made you sore, but the way the head of his cock struck your g-spot left your head spinning.

His thrusts became sloppier, verging on animalistic. Each stroke sent the two of you closer and closer to that final release.

With a sharp moan, you clenched around Dean’s length while you came again, harder than ever before. The way he was crumbling above you sent a thrill of pride to your gut. Unraveling Dean Winchester to the breaking point was no easy feat, but your warm walls were threatening to milk him dry.

“Shit,” Dean said urgently, quickly pulling out of you with a hiss through his teeth. He gave himself a few quick strokes and finally fell apart, thick ropes of his seed spurting across your stomach. He rode out his high, breath trembling as he gained his composure. Your chest heaved as you slowed your breathing, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin.

Dean settled himself and stood, headed to an adjoining bathroom. A moment later he returned, a warm washcloth in hand. He did you the favor of cleaning you up, doing so gently and expertly so. Now completely clean, the two of you laid side by side, catching your breath.

You broke the silence, “You’re right, you were a dumbass for waiting this long.” Dean laughed out his reply.

“Trust me, I’m already kicking myself in the ass for it. Won’t wait it out anymore, though.”

His fingers tangled into yours, squeezing reassuringly. You turned to him and gifted him a signature grin. Dean didn’t know what it was about your smile that made his insides turn to jelly, but he promised himself a while ago that he would do anything in his power to keep you smiling. To see you happy.

And now he had the chance to do that every day; the thought made him match your grin with one of his own, lopsided and giddy with pure joy.

You tugged the blankets over the two of you, scooting yourself flush with Dean’s chest.

“Can I stay here tonight?” You asked softly.

Dean planted a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading. I worry that my wording may have become redundant and repetitive, so I apologize if this didn’t read very well. I’m still working out some kinks from when my brain short circuits and I can’t switch things up. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! My requests are open - feel free to give series ideas, oneshot concepts, or simply to ask a question!

much love,

- Bunny

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 7

Summary: Still reeling from the traumatic events of the night before, you struggle to figure out your next move. Your suspicion and fear of Shane continues to grow, and aren't ready to face him or Daryl after the night's events. This chapter follows the last episode of TWD S1 pretty closely, but we do veer off towards the end.

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, abusive households.

You creep down the hallway, your steps quickening, until you pull open a storage door on your right. It’s the first room you see and hope is empty. As you shut the door behind you, you slide to the floor, your back against the cool wood. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you press your hands to your face, rubbing your eyes hard enough to see flashes of color. The events of last night replay in your mind, and you reach up, gingerly touching your sore neck, hoping there aren’t any visible bruises.

There are gaps in your memory—flashes of Shane standing in the doorway with Lori, the yelling, and then him choking you. You can’t fully remember what he said, just the way you felt after. Hurt, betrayed... hollow. The last thing you recall is him dropping you to the floor, and everything blurring until you drifted off to sleep.

What you don’t remember—what sends heat flooding your cheeks—is how you ended up in that bed. You have flickers of someone picking you up, the faint scent of cigarettes and musk surrounding you. At some point, you were lying on something soft, but the details are foggy, slipping away as quickly as they come. Letting out a heavy sigh, you lean your head back against the door.

When you open your eyes, you notice a suitcase on the floor, clothes scattered around it. It doesn’t belong to anyone from your group, but the clothing is definitely women’s. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you crawl over, sifting through the fabrics. A grin spreads across your face as you realize someone must’ve packed this knowing they’d be stuck here for a while. You could use a new pair of shorts and a clean shirt.

You pull out a pair of denim shorts, a black band t-shirt with a faded Queen album cover on it, and—thank god—a clean pair of socks without any holes. The clothes look a little big, but manageable with a belt. Quickly, you change into the new outfit before stepping back into the hallway.

You make your way to the bathroom, less panicked now. Standing in front of the mirror, you inspect your neck. No bruises—just tender, reddened skin. You splash cold water on your face, trying to calm the burning heat rising to your cheeks as memories from the night before resurface. Pulling a comb from your pocket (thankfully found in the luggage), you run it through your hair until you're satisfied.

Back in the hallway, you slide on your black boots, quickly doing up the laces. Voices drift toward you from the left, drawing you toward the cafeteria.

Inside, a few people glance up and murmur good mornings. You spot Glenn slumped over the table, looking more than a little green. Smiling, you notice that most of them look a little worse for wear.

Rick comes in behind you, his hand brushing the small of your back to let you know he’s moving past. “Morning, everyone,” he says with a raspy voice, sitting beside Lori and Carl.

“Are you hungover?” Carl asks loudly. “Mom said you would be.”

“Mom is right,” Rick admits, smiling despite his hoarse voice. Lori murmurs something about it being one of her annoying habits, earning a grin from Rick and Carl.

“Eggs!” T-Dog calls, carrying a pan of scrambled eggs over to the table. You didn’t know him well until yesterday, but he’s friendly, his gap-toothed smile endearing.

“Powdered, but I do ‘em good,” he says proudly. “Bet you can’t tell.”

Glenn groans next to you, leaning into Jaqui as she tries to stifle her laughter. “Don’t ever, ever let me drink again,” he moans, eyes half-closed.

Your smile fades when Shane enters the room, offering a brief “Hey” as he passes. You watch him intently, taking a sip of coffee Jaqui poured for you. After murmuring a quick thanks to her, you keep your eyes on Shane, tracking his movements behind the cup.

“Feel as bad as I do?” Rick calls over to him.

“Worse,” Shane mutters, grabbing himself a cup of coffee.

T-Dog squints at him. “The hell happened to you?” he asks, noticing the angry red marks on Shane’s neck.

Shane walks over to the table, sitting diagonally across from you. He doesn’t meet your gaze. “Must’ve done it in my sleep,” he says, his voice low.

You glance over at Lori, catching her eye just as she quickly looks away, her face pale and tight with tension.

“I’ve never seen you do that before,” Rick says, concern lacing his voice.

“Me neither… not like me at all,” Shane grumbles, his wide-eyed gaze shifting to Lori. You stare at him, waiting for him to look away from her, but he doesn’t.

Just then, Dr. Jenner enters the room, greeting everyone as he makes his way to the coffee pot. The energy in the room shifts, the tension still thick but more manageable.

Dale clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I don’t mean to bring up questions so early,” he starts, but Andrea cuts him off, saving him from the awkward moment.

“We didn’t come here for the eggs,” she says, her eyes fixed on Dr. Jenner.

He looks at all of you, taking a long sip from his coffee before setting it down. “Come with me,” he says.

You all file out of the room, following the doctor down the hall. You stray behind, trying to match Lori Grimes’ stride as she walks out. She has her arm around Carl’s shoulders as you match her pace. 

“Lori, I–” but she cuts you off, her eyes hard as steel.

“Don’t,” she looks over at you with hard eyes, “I’m fine, everything is fine ,”

All you can do is nod under her glare, falling silent as she walks ahead.

You trail behind, watching Shane as he walks up front, his head turning every now and then to glance over his shoulder at you. You ignore him, keeping your eyes down as you continue down the hallway.

A door opens to your right, and you look up to see a sleepy Daryl stepping out of his room, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. He pauses, looking at you for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the change of clothes. His cheeks flush a light pink.

“Nice shirt,” he murmurs with a half-smile, his voice low and groggy.

All you can manage is a small nod, barely smiling back, your heart fluttering as you walk past him into the main control room.

You stand silently as Dr. Jenner shows the group his Test Subject 19 on the large screen. You already have a basic understanding of brain synapses and the different lobes from your first year in college, but you notice how invested everyone else is in what he’s showing. The screen lights up with a scan, taking you deep into someone’s brain, showing the electrical pulses of a living human.

“It’s a person’s memories, experiences, life,” Jenner explains, his voice quiet but profound.

“You don’t ever make sense?” Daryl grunts, crossing his arms, clearly unimpressed.

Jenner explains synapses and brain function, his tone patient. But the realization hits—the group is about to watch someone die on screen.

“This was someone who was bitten... infected,” Jenner continues, the sadness thickening in his voice. “They volunteered to let us record the process.”

He scans forward to the “first event” watching the virus invade the brain. The person on screen is dying in front of you. Conversations murmur around the room as people mention their own lost loved ones, faces tightening with grief. You glance over at Andrea, who looks hollow, her face drained when Amy’s name is mentioned. Your heart clenches for her.

Jenner pauses the video, asking his AI to fast-forward. What you see next makes your breath catch, your eyes widening as you stare at the screen.

In an hour, one minute, and seven seconds, a flicker of light appears on the brain stem. The rest of the brain is dark, lifeless—dead—but this flicker sparks something. It brings the person back to life, or at least what’s left of them. But just as quickly, a sudden flash blows through the brain, and the movement stops. Carol reacts first, asking what it was.

“He shot his patient in the head… didn’t you?” Andrea says. Jenner powers down his station. Jenner powers down the station, his face grim. More murmurs break out, trying to grasp the idea of something that brings people back only to turn them into mindless killers. You glance over at Daryl, and he’s already looking at you. The two of you lock eyes, almost like having your own silent conversation from across the room.

“So there’s nothing left anywhere, nothing?” Andrea says and you turn to watch the doctor. He says nothing. You stand there, processing the truth. The person may technically come back, but they’re not truly alive. Not in any way that matters. They don’t think, don’t feel—just walk aimlessly, driven by the need to consume. Nothing else.

“Man,” Daryl mutters, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I wanna get shit-faced drunk--again.” He walks away, leaning heavily against one of the computer desks, frustration etched into every line of his body.

The room is still when Dale speaks up. “Dr. Jenner,” he says cautiously, eyes filled with concern, “I know this has been hard on you, but I’ve got one more question.” He points to the large clock on the wall. “That clock… it’s counting down. What happens at zero?”

You all turn to look at it: 60 minutes remain.

“The basement generators—they run out of fuel,” Jenner replies quietly.

“And then?” Rick asks, the tension in his voice clear.

No answer.

Rick asks the AI what happens when the power runs out, and she explains: “facility-wide decontamination will occur,” her robotic voice making it sound even more ominous.

The silence is replaced by movement as Rick, Shane, Glenn, and T-Dog rush toward the basement to check the generators for themselves. The urgency is palpable.

You start to follow them when Daryl’s hand grips your arm, pulling you back. His grip is firm, his eyes searching yours. You glance around, noticing the others filing out of the room, but Daryl doesn’t budge. He looks back at the group, then pulls you into the hallway, steering you toward the room where you woke up earlier that morning.

“What happened last night?” he asks, his voice low, a rough whisper meant just for you.

“What do you mean?” you try to deflect, feigning confusion. You’re not sure you’re ready to face the truth of where he found you or how you ended up there. His eyes narrow, scrutinizing your face, searching for answers that you’re not ready to give. The hallway falls eerily silent. You realize the air conditioning has stopped, leaving the air heavy and still. When you glance back at Daryl, he’s still watching you intently, waiting.

You sigh, your shoulders slumping. “I… well… Shane…” You trail off, shaking your head, unsure how to even begin explaining the weight of last night. Before you can continue, the lights flicker and go out, plunging the room into darkness.

You and Daryl peek outside as the group surrounds Dr. Jenner, bombarding him with frantic questions as he walks briskly down the long corridor. The tension is palpable, the fear growing with each second that ticks by.

“Energy use is being prioritized,” Jenner explains, his voice distant and detached, walking faster than anyone can keep up. “Zone five is shutting itself down.”

Your heart skips a beat as the realization hits. “What the hell does that mean?” you shout, quickening your pace to catch up with him. Panic bubbles up, but you fight to keep your voice steady.

Daryl, more forceful, charges up beside you. “Hey, man, she’s talkin’ to you!” he shouts, voice rough with frustration. “What do you mean it’s shutting itself down? How the hell can a building do anything?”

Jenner barely looks back. “You’d be surprised,” he mutters flatly, his answer offering no comfort.

The group exchanges nervous glances as you follow Jenner back into the main control room. Anxiety spikes, your thoughts racing ahead, searching for an escape route, a solution—anything. You can feel the tension mounting, tightening in your chest. You hear Jenner suddenly bring up the damn French, rambling about how they were the last to try and hold out for a solution, only to run out of power, just like here.

Rick’s voice breaks through the noise, cutting sharp and clear. “Everybody get your things. We’re getting out of here—now.”

The air seems to shift as Rick speaks, the urgency in his tone making it real. The AI system blares an alarm, and the robotic voice announces coldly, “30 minutes until decontamination.” The words hit like a physical blow. A frantic urgency overtakes you, spreading through the group like wildfire. Before you can even react, Jenner rushes to his computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. You and the others start to make your way toward the exits, but suddenly, the thick, metal doors slam shut, cutting off your escape. The heavy thud echoes in your chest, and a cold sense of dread settles over you.

“Did you just lock us in?” Glenn’s voice trembles, panic lacing his words. “He just locked us in!”

Your eyes dart to Daryl, and in an instant, he charges at Jenner. “You son of a bitch!” he bellows, his fists clenched, fury etched across his face.

Chaos erupts. You sprint after Daryl, desperate to stop him, but Shane gets there first, grabbing Daryl just as his hands close around Jenner’s shirt. Shane throws Daryl off, sending him crashing into a desk. People are shouting, screaming for Jenner to open the emergency exits, demanding answers. But Jenner, eerily calm in the storm of panic, shakes his head. His voice is too steady, too cold.

“I told you, once that front door closed, it wouldn’t open again,” Jenner says, pointing a finger at Rick. “You heard me say that.”

The room falls into a deafening silence, the weight of his words crushing down on you.

“It’s better this way,” Jenner says quietly, a hollow certainty in his voice.

Rick steps forward, eyes blazing. “What is? What happens in 28 minutes?” he demands, his voice rising. Jenner looks away, refusing to answer. Rick grabs him, his hands fisted in Jenner’s shirt. “What happens?”

Suddenly, Jenner starts screaming, breaking his eerie calm. He's explaining that this place can’t let things out when the power goes out–small box, ebola, viruses that could wipe out humans. The HITs prevent organisms from getting out. There’s questions on everyone’s faces. But you know what that means. Organisms. No organism can escape this place for the safety of the planet. Your brain clicks into place as your heart starts pumping harder. 

The AI, “VI” defines HITs to the room. All you can make out over the pounding of blood in your ears is explosives. The air catching on fire. Absolute devastation makes your skin crawl.

“It sets the air on fire. No pain. End to sorrow, grief, regret…everything,” Jenner whispers.

There’s a deafening silence in the room as you all stare at him. Suddenly Daryl starts throwing things at the door, using hammers with Shane against it to open it. You join them with more weapons, trying to hit the door as hard as you can. You don’t back down from a threat. You know better. The Dixon brothers taught you better. You feel like a caged animal being backed into a corner. All you know how to do is kick and scream and fight . It’s the only thing that’s kept you alive all this time. The adrenaline in you is pumping so hard that you’re in fight or flight. You use all your strength to continue pounding on the door with the sledgehammer in the room. 

“Those doors are designed to withstand rocket launchers,” Jenner says from behind you, his voice infuriatingly calm.

Daryl turns and charges again, “Well your head ain’t!” Everyone goes for him, holding him back. You watch, your heart hammering in your chest, knowing Jenner is your only hope. He’s the only one who knows the code. The only one who can let you out. But he’s given up. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. There’s no way out unless he decides to let you live.

“There is no hope,” Jenner says, his voice soft but heavy with finality. “There never was. This is what takes us down. This is our extinction event.”

The room erupts again, voices overlapping, but your mind zeroes in on Carol, who’s clutching Sophia tightly, her face streaked with tears. “You can’tkeep us here!” she screams, her voice cracking, her sobs growing louder.

Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked cuts through the chaos. You whip around to see Shane, his shotgun aimed squarely at Jenner. His face is contorted in rage, eyes wide and wild. Rick rushes forward, shouting for him to stop, but Shane doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s like a rabid dog, on the edge of losing control completely.

But Shane turns, you’re not sure if it’s Rick that was able to turn him or he did it himself to shoot the machines all over the room. You duck behind a table across the room. Rick is on top of Shane, about to punch him with the butt of the gun, “you done now?” he asks. He turns and after a long moment, says he thinks the doctor is lying about no hope. He had to be here working all this time for something.

“I made a promise,” the doctor stands, “to her, my wife.” he’s pointing at the large blank screen.

“Test subject 19… your wife,” you say, standing now. Jenner continues to explain how intelligent and amazing she was, and that she died for this. Because of this. But his wife didn't have a choice.

“All we want is a choice–a chance,” Rick says quietly.

Carol pleads, “Let us keep trying. As long as we can.”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Jenner hesitates. Then, with a resigned sigh, he punches in the code. The doors unlock with a loud hiss.

“Come on!” Daryl shouts, his voice like a battle cry, and the room explodes into movement.

You sprint to your room, adrenaline fueling your every step. Grabbing your gun and knife, you scan the room for anything else you might need. There’s nothing. Just the clothes on your back and the weapons in your hands. You tear back into the hallway, your heart pounding.

But where is everyone? You whirl around, checking each room, panic clawing at your insides. They were just here—where the hell did they go? The building feels like a maze, but you refuse to leave without Daryl. Not until you know he’s safe. So you keep running, searching every room, every hallway, your pulse racing as the clock ticks down. Time is slipping away, and with it, any chance of survival.

But you won’t leave without him. Not now. Not ever again.

Daryl

Daryl rushes toward the main entrance, hammers gripped tight in both hands. Shane’s right beside him, charging up the stairs with a gun in hand.

“Daryl!” Shane yells, holding out his hand. Daryl tosses him one of the hammers without missing a beat. They both start pounding the windows, desperate, each hit echoing in the dead air. T-Dog joins in with a chair, slamming it against the thick glass. Suddenly, Carol steps forward, trembling, and walks over to Rick. Her hand shakes as she digs into her bag and pulls out a grenade. Rick pauses for a second, eyes wide, then snatches it from her quickly. His movements are sharp as he pulls the pin and places it at the base of the window.

Daryl backs off fast, instincts kicking in. What the hell is he waitin’ for?  he thinks, watching Rick linger too close. Then the realization seems to hit Rick, too.

“Oh shit,” Rick mutters, bolting away from the window.

“Get down!” Shane yells. Everyone drops just in time as the explosion rocks the room, the blast shattering the window.

It worked.

Everyone scrambles to their feet, grabbing their things in a rush. Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder and leaps through the broken window, hitting the ground outside. One by one, the others follow, pouring out into the night. They’re running, sprinting through the maze of dead bodies, the stink of decay thick in the air, walkers already stirring, drawn by the noise.

Daryl’s foot catches on something. He stumbles, crashing to the ground. When he looks down, his heart stops. The lifeless body beneath him is wearing nothing but tattered, bloody pants and a Queen band t-shirt...the same shirt you were wearing. His mind reels, blood roaring in his ears. The image of your face flashes before him. No, no, no.

“Y/N,” he breathes, his chest tightening with panic. He’s wrenches himself to his feet, eyes wide, whipping his head around to search for you. His breathing is ragged, frantic. You’re not with the others, you’re not running ahead with the group like you always are. You’re not beside him. You’re nowhere.

Rick and Shane are screaming at him, their voices a blur in his mind. He can’t hear them. Can’t hear anything but the pounding in his skull. All he can think about is you. Where the hell are you? How did he lose track of you? His fists clench tight. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He knew better than to let you go off alone. Should’ve waited for you, should’ve been with you. Always together, always watching each other’s backs. He promised he’d keep you safe, and now… now…

Daryl spins around, ignoring the shouts from behind him. He bolts back into the building, his legs moving before his mind can catch up. He’s shouting your name, his voice raw, desperate. He passes Dale and Andrea—they’re trying to call him, but he doesn’t stop. Won’t stop until he finds you. His throat burns from screaming, his vision narrowing. He knows time’s running out, but he can’t think about that. Not now. Not when you’re still inside. 

He pauses for a second, gasping for breath, trying to pull himself out of the panic. He can’t do this. Not like this. He forces himself to stop, closing his eyes for a second, trying to clear the fog. Focus, track her. You’re good at that. You know how to find her. His mind sharpens. The noise, the chaos fades into the background. He listens. And then he hears it—your voice. Faint but there. Screaming his name. Daryl’s head snaps toward the sound. He sprints down the hallway, his heart pounding. The doors are all open, rooms emptied out. And then, at the end of the hall—you.

You’re running toward him, panic all over your face, your skin flushed. His own chest is tight, matching the terror he sees mirrored in your eyes. For a split second, everything stops. Just you and him.

And then you’re running again, full speed toward each other. He grabs your hand, his grip tight, pulling you with him. Without a word, you’re both sprinting, racing down the stairs, out the shattered window, feet hitting the ground hard. The cool morning air feels like a slap, but there’s no time to think about that.

In the distance, you both hear the others—Rick’s voice, Shane yelling—but it’s all a blur. Daryl knows they’ve only got seconds. Maybe two, if they’re lucky.

He shoves you down behind a pile of sandbags, throwing himself on top of you. His body covers yours, his arms hovering protectively over your face and neck, his breath quick and shallow against your ear. The ground shakes beneath you, the sound of the explosion deafening. The CDC building behind you bursts, flames erupting from the windows, shattering glass and sending a wave of heat and pressure through the air.

Daryl holds on tight as debris rains down around you. His body shields yours, his arms bracing against the force of the explosion, his heart pounding in his chest. For a long moment, all he can hear is the roar of the fire and the pounding of his own blood in his ears.

And then… silence.

Daryl’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he lifts his head slightly, looking down at you. His hand is still gripping yours, tight, but he loosens his hold, blinking away the dust and ash. Your face is pale, but your eyes are wide open, staring up at him. Alive.

You’re both alive.

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against yours for a brief second, the tension finally breaking. You’re safe. You made it out.

For now.

x Flashback x

Young reader & Daryl 

It was a cooler day, the crisp bite of fall in the air, when Daryl showed up at your front door. You were maybe six or seven at the time—having only met him a few days ago. When you opened the door, you found him standing there, quiet and pensive, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he was working up the nerve to say something.

“Hi,” you greeted shyly, waiting for him to speak. After a long pause, he finally looked away from you, fidgeting with his hands.

“Wan’ come hunt squirrels?” he mumbled, twisting his fingers together, still avoiding your gaze.

A grin stretched across your face, showing the gap where you’d just lost a baby tooth. His shy grin mirrored yours, growing wider as he waited for your reply.

“Yeah!” you agreed, stepping outside to join him. Daryl’s grin got a little bigger, his shoulders loosening as you walked off the porch together.

“Don’t you gotta tell your mama and papa?” he asked, stopping you halfway down the stairs. The smile faded from your face as you glanced back at the door.

“Daddy ain’t here no more,” you said quietly, your eyes dropping to the cracks in the worn wood of the porch.

“And your mama?” Daryl asked again, softer this time.

You shrugged, turning away. You knew she wouldn’t notice you were gone. She rarely did these days, spending her time either asleep in bed or out late, reeking of booze when she stumbled back in the early hours. You doubted she even realized you were still in the house most of the time. Once in a while when she was conscious she would look at you with her nose crinkled or swatted a newspaper at you.

Daryl walked in stride beside you as you left the house, the cool wind picking up around you. The woods were nearby, the sound of a small stream trickling as you approached the trail. Daryl had a large crossbow strapped to his back, way too big for a kid his size, but he carried it like it was the most important thing in the world.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at the weapon slung across his small shoulders.

“My pops’ old huntin’ crossbow,” Daryl said proudly, puffing out his chest a bit.

“Wow,” you whispered in awe, your eyes wide. Daryl’s chest puffed up a little more, clearly pleased that you were impressed.

“Darylina!” a voice called from behind, interrupting your conversation. You both turned to see a lanky teenage boy on a beat-up bicycle coasting up to the curb. He had messy dark hair and a smirk plastered on his face.

“Who’s this, Darylina?” he taunted, jumping off his bike and walking over with a swagger. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Daryl’s face flushed, and he stared at the ground, the confidence he’d had moments ago disappearing.

“Stop callin’ me that, Merle,” Daryl muttered, kicking at the dirt.

“Aww, did I hurt your w’ittle feelin’s?” Merle sneered, crouching slightly as he leered at his younger brother. “Is this your girrrlfriend?” he asked again, this time directing his smirk at you.

“How ya doin’ little lady?” Merle approached you with a swing in his step, “I’m Merle. This kid’s big brother,”

 You had been around a lot of bullies in school–those who’d taunt you about your dirty clothes, your greasy unwashed hair, and sometimes even followed you home off the bus to taunt you about living in a trailer park. Merle seemed just like them. Your face was turning red, but not out of embarrassment. It had been a long while since you let other kids embarrass you. 

“What’d’ya want?” you stood straight, arms crossed. Daryl shot you a glance, eyes wide with surprise at your boldness.

“Ooohoo hoo! We love a girl with some spunk, don’t we, Darylina?” Merle said, whistling through his teeth. He looked back at Daryl, who remained silent, but his eyes never left you.

“Go away,” you said confidently, standing a little straighter.

“Or what? What’re you gon’ do, little lady?” Merle teased, taking a step closer. “What’s yer name, anyway?”

“None of your business,” you shot back, folding your arms tighter over your chest.

Merle’s leer just gets wider, looking you up and down, “I like you, Daryl needs someone to be his backbone for once,” 

That seemed to be enough for Daryl. “Get outta here, Merle. We’re huntin’ squirrels,” he said, turning his back on his brother, clearly wanting you to follow. But you stayed put, watching Merle closely, daring him to push you further.

“Aww, ain’t that cute—this your first date?” Merle laughed, his voice sing-songy. “Should I mark the date on my calendar for the weddin’?”

You stare up at the teenager, your mouth tightening into a thin line, eyes narrowing. He’s leering down at you too, waiting for what you’ll do next. You honestly think he might actually like your spunk, but you can’t be sure. You knew many bullies like him. But you make up your mind and turn your back, following Daryl.

“Darylina and his girlfriend, kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I–” you hear behind you, and you stomp back over and kick your foot out, hard into Merle’s shin.

“Ow! You little–!” he shouts.Without missing a beat, you grabbed Daryl’s arm and bolted into the woods. You could hear Merle cursing behind you, but the two of you veered off the path, ducking under branches and weaving through trees where Merle couldn’t follow on his bike.

When you were sure you’d lost him, you both collapsed into laughter, breathless and exhilarated. Bent over, hands on your knees, you looked at Daryl, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“He might kill you,” Daryl chuckled, still trying to catch his breath.

“I’d like to see him try,” you shot back, straightening up with a defiant smile. “Now, you gon’ show me how to hunt squirrels or what?”

Daryl’s grin returned, and he pulled the crossbow from his back, holding it like a badge of honor. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You and Daryl made your way into the woods, and kept telling you to keep quiet.

"Your fat feet keep scarin’ everything off," he muttered, glancing back at you with mild frustration. "You wouldn’t last a day on your own if you had to hunt fer yourself."

You whipped around on him, and he staggered to a stop, “Ain’t you s’possed to be teachin’ me?” you snapped, hands on your hips. he rolled his eyes at you, then pointed to your feet.

“You’re muckin’ up the trail, come here,” he said, pulling you back. You backed up so you were right next to him, following his pointed finger.

"I only see dirt," you said flatly, squinting at the spot he was so focused on.

“Look closer,” he whispered, leaning down to the ground. You squatted next to him, your face inches from the forest floor. That’s when you noticed it—subtle gaps in the leaves, some pressed down, others left undisturbed. It looked like nothing at first, but then you saw the faint shape of a footprint.

“Prints?” you said, heart swelling.

Daryl stood up quickly, a rare smile flickering across his face. "Yeah," he said, nodding, then turned to lead the way again. His sharp eyes tracked the trail effortlessly, pointing out when the path veered or when the prints led up onto a tree. His focus was intense, like this was second nature to him.

Suddenly, he stopped, scanning the branches above. His posture tensed as his eyes flicked to his right, across a small clearing. That’s when you both heard it—the chattering of a squirrel, hidden somewhere in the trees. Daryl glanced back at you, pressing a finger to his lips to signal silence. Then, with practiced precision, he raised his crossbow. Despite its size, the weapon seemed like an extension of him. He took aim, waiting for the right moment. When the squirrel ventured down to the center of the trunk, Daryl released the arrow. It flew through the air, striking the target with deadly accuracy.

"Wow!" you whispered excitedly, running up behind him as he approached the tree. "Where’d you learn to do all this?"

Daryl crouched by the tree, yanking the arrow free from the squirrel’s chest and tying the small creature to the strap of his crossbow with a piece of rope. "Have to eat somehow," he replied quietly, his voice distant.

You paused at that, his words sinking in. Sure, you had to fend for yourself most days, but you always managed to find a way to get food. Your mom was a mess, but there were usually a few crumpled dollars in her purse you could get away with stealing. But Daryl…Daryl didn’t seem to have that luxury.

"Your parents...?" you started to ask, but trailed off when Daryl’s eyes met yours, hard and cold.

"Pops always said if we couldn’t figure shit out for ourselves, we’d never learn," he grumbled, tightening the rope around the squirrel. "Ain’t old enough for a job. Merle’s barely around since he turned 16."

A heavy silence settled between you. Daryl stared down at his hands, fingers fumbling with the rope, his face tense.

"Sometimes I steal my mama’s money out her bag to buy somethin’ from the corner store," you admitted quietly, glancing away. You didn’t know why you said it—it wasn’t something you told anyone. But with Daryl, it felt like you could share that secret.

Daryl’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, then quickly darted back down. "If I ever tried that, I’d get whooped," he whispered, his voice tight. The weight of his words hung in the air, the reality of his life sinking in deeper.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything, standing there in the middle of the woods, two kids with too much weight on their shoulders. Finally, Daryl cleared his throat and looked up at you, trying to change the subject. "You got a crossbow at home?"

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. Daryl let out a long breath, nodding. "Right. Well, let me show ya how to make a snare, for the little guys like this. For when I ain’t around."

The way he said it—for when I ain’t around—made your chest tighten, but you just nodded. You followed him closely, watching his every move as he showed you how to set a snare, feeling, for the first time in a long while, like maybe you weren’t so alone.

[reasonsmandy]

Anytime Soon

Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader

✧.* requested by anon — Could you do prompt 22 “You're mine, all mine... But not in a possessive way, dammit, that sounded like an asshole, right? I was trying to be cute. Nevermind” where the reader says it to Eddie Roundtree?

✧.* summary — The band was growing, and with that, strategies on how to maintain this fame and use it to the band's advantage came. Which, unfortunately, became a hindrance to their relationship.

✧.* warnings — none

✧.* word count — 1.9k

✧.* 🎸 — Eddie's masterlist

You hear a loud noise coming from downstairs, which makes you jump in fright and as soon as you pull yourself together, you run after what had caused it. As soon as you enter the kitchen, the image of Warren standing on the chair hugging a plate, avoiding Eddie for some unapparent reason.

“Get away from me!” Rojas protests, still protecting his plate from the bassist.

“Cami said it was one for each, give me my egg now!” He jumps to try to reach it, but he can't.

“What the fuck is going on here?” You say rubbing your eyes, trying to escape sleep.

“He lost the bet and now he doesn’t want to accept it” Warren says, adjusting the sleep shorts he was still wearing.

“Today of all days do you want to collect this bet? Seriously?” He rolls his eyes so hard you swear they could go through his skull.

You are intrigued by the statement, but decide to break up the fight before asking.

“Warren, can’t you bet on something other than food?” Tired, you say between a yawn.

“But I really like Cami’s special eggs.” He protests, almost like a sulking child.

“I’ll make a point of asking her for extra tomorrow, okay?” You help Roundtree who thanks you with a look.

Rojas jumps out of his chair, and you're shocked at how he can balance his food in one hand. He hands you the plate.

“Fine.” He sits on the chair he was previously standing on, and watches you, waiting. “But you cut it, to be fair! He always takes the biggest one.”

After calming down the drummer, he leaves towards the balcony to eat, leaving you and the bassist alone with just the sound of the wind between you. He cracks a smile, clearly happy to see you, to be with you.

“How was your night?” He says getting closer, you roll your eyes playfully, knowing that he was teasing you.

“Perfect, and you know it.” You say, getting closer to him, kissing his lips tenderly.

“Glad to know that…” He says, still close to you, which tempts you to kiss him again.

You sit together at the small table, watching each other and chatting idly. One of his hands caressed yours on the table, while the other held the spoon he used to eat his eggs.

“So what happens today?” You ask curiously, drawing inanimate things on his hand with your fingers.

“What do you mean?" He returns the question, in fact, lost.

“You told Warren ‘today of all days’” You mention what you remember from the phrase, observing the window.

“Oh that.” He seems to understand now, pausing to chew and then answer you. “Today a woman from the record company came to see us here at home, I think she's going to take care of our marketing... Something like that” He says shrugging.

“Do you mind that Cami and I are here?” You ask in a velvety voice.

“Of course not, pretty girl.” He says kissing your forehead, getting up to wash the dishes.

You go to him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back, enjoying his presence and from time to time kissing his shoulder. When he finishes, he turns to face you, kissing you and holding your hands on your face, you feel his skin cold from the water.

“I need to go get ready” he says between kisses on your lips.

“I’ll see you when I’m free?” you ask, leaning your body against the doorframe.

“For sure.” He winks at you, turning to access the balcony when he shouts: “Hey Warren! Let's go.”

…

Eddie and the rest had been gathered in the living room in advance by Billy, everyone was talking waiting for the woman sent by the record company, you and Cami took advantage of the delay to spend more time with everyone. You sat on the arm of the couch, one of Roundtree's arms wrapping around your waist as the doorbell rang in every ear in the place.

“I’m on it!” Graham jumps up, heading to the door to receive the visitor. “Hey” He greets her.

“Hello Graham.” She says asking for permission to come in, he gives her space.

As the door swung open, Valentina entered with an air of authority. A strand of raven hair fell perfectly out of place, framing a face adorned with subtle yet commanding features. Behind her glasses, her piercing gaze assessed the room, exuding a sense of unwavering control. Every step resonated confidence, and her polished heels echoed a rhythm that seemed to march to the beat of her own rules. The clash between her poised elegance and the band's laid-back atmosphere hung palpably in the air as she crossed the threshold into their world.

She feels tension when she enters, but instead of feeling uncomfortable she feels powerful. You lightly squeeze Eddie's shoulder, saying silently that you would leave so as not to disturb the meeting, then you and Camila head to the kitchen.

“So Val, what have you got ready?” Billy asks, looking not so friendly.

“Don’t call me that, uh- I have some things to pass on to you.” She takes some papers out of the briefcase she had with her, causing curiosity.

Warren leaned over, getting in front of Graham so he could see what she was showing, repeating a push from the younger Dunne to get him to quiet down.

Little by little the small fight grows, and Eddie - who also shared a sofa with the two, pushes them both with the strength he had, little by little everything becomes alarmed. Karen rolls her eyes and sighs deeply, Billy tries to ignore it but the discomfort grows in him.

Valentina clears her throat irritably, in order to get their attention, "I don't have all the time in the world, gentlemen, and miss..." She says to Karen, as if saying that she doesn't understand why she was there at all. “Now, can we continue?”

Like children who had been scolded by their teacher (which was perhaps the situation) they fell silent, Graham looked down, Eddie tensed his body in silent protest and Warren shrank back.

Valentina unfolds her plans with an air of meticulous precision. Each document presented is accompanied by a concise explanation, her tone unwaveringly professional. The boys, seated on the sofa, exchange glances, picking up on the gravity of her intentions. The weight of her scrutiny makes them subtly shift in their seats, a collective unease settling in.

As she projects charts and graphs, she casts a discerning eye over the room. Her attention, like a laser, dissects not just the details on paper but also the nuances of their reactions. A sense of judgment, though unspoken, lingers in the air.

The atmosphere becomes almost oppressive, and the band members, despite their casual exterior, feel the weight of Valentina's expectations. Then, with a pause pregnant with implication, she breaks the silence, looking deeply in each one of their eyes.

“Another important topic.” She says gathering the papers. “I already know Billy has a daughter and a wife, but what about the rest of you? Do you have a relationship?”

Silence, as she seemed to already want a negative answer to that question. Karen and Graham look at each other, but no one notices.

“Uh, no.” Graham responds, looking at everyone. “I mean, Eddie?”

Roundtree exhales cigarette smoke, coughing a little as Warren looks at him with a smirk.

“Yeah, I have a girl actually…”

She clicks her tongue in disapproval, writing something down in her notebook. The bassist didn't understand anything, so he just raised his eyebrows, however, Rojas couldn't help but say "What?”

“It’s not good for your image, especially as a band on the rise.” She clarifies, as if it were obvious and they were idiots.

“Why?” Graham asks, his voice was so quiet that the woman had to adjust her glasses to see his lips better.

“Isn't it obvious? It breaks the connection with your fans, they want to be close to you, they want to delude themselves into thinking that they can be part of the band or date you.”

“I dont care?" Eddie is direct, and she seems to bubble with disrespect.

“Well, you better start caring.” she says, in an almost threatening tone. “If you want this, to get somewhere”

The silence is broken by the voice of the band's lead singer, he looks directly at Eddie. “She has a point Eddie.”

Eddie lets out an angry look, rolling his eyes tightly. “You've gotta be kidding me.”

“You have to think about the band...” Billy reinforces, and tension gradually sets in.

“Look who's talking.” He clearly rolls his eyes, filled with anger. “You're not going to break up with Camila, are you? So why do I have to do it?”

“He has a point Billy.” Warren comes to the bassist's defense. “I don't see how it affects us that much, I mean, everyone already knows from our songs that you're married. We're not hiding anything”

Valentina disapproves of Rojas' speech with a clear denial with her head. Billy doesn't respond, he was irritated at being contradicted.

"I'll discuss this with Teddy," she declares, her departure leaving Eddie seething. "I'll reach out when there's a decision. Think about what's at stake here, gentlemen."

As the door closes behind her, Eddie's frustration hangs in the air, the clash of personal convictions and professional expectations echoing in the room.

The bassist storms out the room without sharing any other look with the others, he heads to his room to find you peacefully drawing in your notebook, you look up at him to find his face tense until your eyes meet.

He comes to you almost as if begging for support, you welcome him into your embrace without questioning too much, you knew he didn't always experience good things in this band, especially with his devaluation.

“Wanna talk about it?” You mutter after a few seconds of silence.

“He's such an asshole, I'd punch him in the face now." He blurts out, and you already knew who he was talking about.

“What did he do this time?"

“The woman at the record company is an asshole, she basically said I needed to break up with you.” The information shocks you, you don't know how to react. “Of course, I protested. But that stupid Billy agreed with her. Of course he agreed, right? He's not affected, he's not the one who's going to break up with Camila.”

“Hey, breathe." You ask him, observing carefully you noticed that his knuckles were stiff with so much anger. “But what does our relationship have to do with the band?”

“The woman said that it breaks the connection with the fans, because they want to feel close with us and bla blá blá.” He says rolling his eyes, you frown.

“She wants you to be a single to deceive your fans?" Now, you adjust yourself on his lap.

He nods, and it's your turn to roll your eyes.

“There’s no way!" You protest, kissing him affectionately. You can feel him lose all his angry face under your touch. “You're mine, all mine... But not in a possessive way, dammit, that sounded like an asshole, right? I was trying to be cute. Nevermind”

He laughs, wrapping both of his arms around your waist to get you closer, he kisses you once again. Intensifying your kiss with a touch of need. You stroke the strands of his hair, and he smiles into the kiss.

“No matter how crazy this all drives me, as long as I have you... Everything will be fine.” He whispers against your lips, kissing you tenderly once again.

“I love you" you say, watching the bassist smile. "And fuck Billy and that woman, we're not breaking up anytime soon.”

Eddie Roundtree: And she was right, we didn't. *says showing his wedding ring*

...

Hi, I hope you enjoyed it... If you wanted to ask for something my requests are open, and if you want to ask and don't have any ideas check out my prompt list :) xoxo

Want to be tagged when new stories come out? REASONSMANDY'S TAG LIST

Taglist: @Jaidaschampagneproblems @boredshit-shadow @warrenrojaswife @o1iv3 @hopelessromantic727 @eddiesaurora

[mothpawbs]

random, but do you have any headcanons about the dragonets of destiny?

indeed i do! i've been obsessed with the dod since i read the first book (IN 2012!!!) so i've had a lot of time to think about them. mostly i have design headcanons though, since it's harder for me to think up personality/character headcanons, but here's a short list!

CLAY

i headcanon mudwing bigwings as having tattoos of their troop's talonprints on their wings, so he has the other dod's talons on his

he has to wear a leg brace after the dragonbite viper wound, as he has permanent joint/nerve damage and some muscle atrophy

also, he became interested in medicine while being treated for the viper bite, and enjoys it as a way he can protect those he loves without hurting others <3

he and sunny are also enjoying learning to cook together!

TSUNAMI

she may have coral's colors, but she bears a striking resemblance to gill. she also has pink accents, as i headcanon that as a major trait in the seawing royal family

she wears a shell earring in one ear to remember her seawing family. i don't think she'd enjoy wearing pearl strings, they would get in the way too much

has nightmares not only about killing gill, but about being restrained and unable to protect the other dod. i think being chained to a rock while glory was going to be killed/fighting in the arena did a number on her.

is the big protective den mama of the jade mountain winglets. no getting past her to her students!

GLORY

dull scales, but that helps her blend into shadows more than other rainwings, who are used to hiding in the splendor of the rainforest, while she learned from hiding in a cave.

is trying really hard to connect to her heritage. this includes attending lessons with friends and dragonet classes to learn rainwing crafts and skills. she likes trying out different fruits.

i think it would be neat if she made a co-council of rainwings and nightwings for leading both tribes, and had a nightwing ruler alongside her. who that would be, idk.

has been working with a lot of queens to establish trade agreements and things, which gives her a lot of hot goss on the other royal happenings. i think her favorite to work with would have been glacier before she died.

STARFLIGHT

WEARS GLASSES!! had terrible eyesight growing up, the guardians managed to get some glasses for him from one of the other Talons. still wears tinted glasses after he was blinded, even though his eyes were inucleated, because the weight is comforting

also has black teardrop scales next to his eyes, which would have been silver if he'd hatched under three moons

autism incarnate

ends up teaching science classes at jma, with fatespeaker handling the library while he's teaching

SUNNY

i need her to have brown colorpointing and black freckles and stars on her wings you don't understand

dune put two and two together on thorn being so cagey about her boyfriend and quickly realized sunny is a hybrid. lied to the other guardians and said 'oh some sandwings just look like that. yeah see even blister has black markings. oh the tail? uhhh her egg was damaged or something idk'

sunny was really like a daughter to dune, not just because she's a sandwing but because she's thorn's kid

she has a LOT of hobbies, and wants to learn how to do everything! she's pretty good at drawing and cooking

aroace!! and probably some range of nonbinary as well

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 3: Secrets

Dipper POV

My grunkles thought it would be a great idea to take everyone out to eat. They claim it would bring us closer together and catch up on what me and Mable been up to since we left. We are at the diner where Susan works.

I stare out the window with my chin resting in the palm oh my hand. I feel as if something bad is going to happen while I'm here. I just want to go home.

"So how has it been with you two kiddos?" Stan asks while looking at us, mainly Mable.

"School was so much fun, grunkle Stan! I met so many guys, but they were all jerks. I made many friends that I'm still in contact with, too! Prom was so much fun too. I had a pink dress and my date was so cute! Oh, and waddles had kids with another pig, but we had to give them away...." Mable said, pouting at the end.

"Well, that's something. I would've given those boys that did you wrong a knocking to! Haha!" Stan said while trying to flex the muscles that he barely has.

"What about you, Dipper?" Ford asks while writing something about a two-headed squirrel.

"Grow any chest hair?" Stanley jokes.

Mable giggles, "I highly doubt he has. I still have that small curly hair in my scrapbook."

I groan as I begin tapping my leg. "You know I'm not a fan of chest hair nor any kind of hair except the hair on my head and face."

"Oh come oooooon Dipper! Lighten up." Mable pouts while nudging my arm.

I tense up and turn my head, giving her a warning look. Just how many times do I have to remind her not to fucking touch me?!

Mable stops, nodding her head. "Sorry, dip dot."

"What happened just now?" Ford asked.

"Oh, nothing! But yeah, Dipper, do you or do you not have chest hair? I bet it's still the same as it was when we were 12!"

Mable and Stan laugh while Ford is to focus on that damn squirrel. I groan, pulling my hoodie off in front of them. I look at their blank expression, my lips in a thin line. "Happy now?"

Mable and Stan look shock while Ford stares at me. "Oh wow, Dipper, I didn't know you had abs!"

"Well damn kid, you did grow chest hair, even though it's stubble. You're one of those kids who shave chest hair." Stan sighs disappointly.

"Dipper, what is that on you back?" Ford asks.

My eyes widen slightly, but I keep my blank stare. "Nothing, Ford."

"Mable, what's on his back?"

Mable looks as her eyes widen. "U-uh....It's Bill's wheel grunkle Ford."

"Why would you get such a thing done to you, Dipper?!" He shouts.

"Quite down, Stanford. Don't draw attention to us." Stanley comments.

I frown once more, quickly putting my hoodie back on. "I was bored and got drunk one night. Everything else is a blur after that...." I said, lowering my head, memories of that day traveling back.

Mable coughs to clear the air. "I'm sure Dipper only got it because it looks cool!"

"Yeah....let's just order." Stan said.

"Oh hi, Stanley!" Susan chirps.

Stan groans as Ford and mable chuckles. "We would like to order." Said Ford.

"Two pancakes." ,said Stan and Ford.

"A pancake, eggs, and bacon!"

"Monster stack." I said blankly.

"Whoa! Do you think you can handle that? I remember when you were just a boy!"

"Yeah, kid, I don't think you can handle that -"

I cut Stan off by slamming my fist on the table. I jump over Mable and walk over to that damn manly test machine that I could barely ring. I pick up the hammer and slam it down on the button. I watch as the ball inside the machine hits the bell so hard that it cracks and breaks apart. I hiss, placing my hand on the side of my left face.

"Stay calm, Dipper....Just stay calm." I whisper to myself while taking slow, deep breaths.

I walk back over to my family. "I lost my appetite, but as you can see, I'm no longer a kid. So I would appreciate it if you all stopped calling me that. Anyways....I'll be out for awhile." I said, walking out of the diner as quickly as I can.

I walk towards the forest, pulling at my hair with both of my hands. "Ugh damnit! I'm not a fucking kid I'm a grown ass man!" I shout, punching the nearest thing next to me which is a tree.

I look at my bloody knuckle and sigh, chuckling. "Christ Bill, I think your short temper is rubbing off on me."

I rub my fingers over the dent I made in the tree. "Why don't I go blow off some steam, yeah?"

○○○○

I step over the 'keep out' tap that's tapped all over the trees surrounding the minigolf court. I walk towards the center and whistle with my two fingers.

"ATTACK!!" I hear one shout as they begin to throw sticks at me.

I smirk and stomp on the first set of fighters, blue color liquid splashing on my shoes. I watch as many begin to crawl up my leg. I reach down to grab five of these damn things. I shove them into my pocket and run out of there. I'm not stupid, I can't take on thousands of those mini shitty golf heads.

I laugh loudly, whipping the sweat off my forehead. That was so cool. The sound of golf heads crushing under my boot brings satisfaction throughout my whole being! Well, next on the list is the nom vomit. I walk down the trail I remember that leads to the noms hideout. Once I get there, I knock on one of the trees, one nom coming out, and to my dislike, it's the one that talks a lot.

"Oh wow, look at this! Dipper, is that You? Wow, it's been a while since I last saw you. How is your sister doing? You know the offer to still marry her is on the table -"

I cut him off by kicking him in the stomach. He groans and leans over, clutching his stomach in pain. I pull a jar from my duffle bag and place it in front of him.

"You talk too much. Now be of use and hack it up before I kick you again."

He looks at me with fear clouding his eyes and begins to throw up rainbow crap they call vomit. I take the jar and close it, placing it back into my bag once he's done. I walk away, heading back towards the diner. When I made it to the end of the forest, its nightfall.

I reach into my pocket, pulling out a minigolf creature. I smirk as I hold it by its head, placing my two fingers on its body. I watch as it cries, feeling the fear through my fingertips.

"Remove the body slowly from the head." I said, remembering the intrusions given by the journal.

I slowly pull, biting my lip at the sound of the cracks and snaps. "The eyes and mouth will wither from its holes, leaving access to the soul of the sacrifices."

I pull out a different jar, placing the head inside of it. I repeat the process four more times before reaching in my bag for my change of clothes I picked up from the shack as well as my other things. I change into a black pair of pants, a black hoodie, and place leather glove on my hands. I pull out my favorite knife and walk towards the diner.

I can hear Susan's annoying humming from here. I rub my finger over the blade that I place in my pocket. I place the jar on the bar stand as I let out a chuckle.

"O-oh my! Who's there?!" I hear her shout from the kitchen area.

"Come and find out. I think you'll like the surprise." I chuckle, trying to control my laughter.

I watch as she stupidly listens to me. I walk towards her, slowly pulling out my knife. She looks down at the blade, her eyes widening.

Before she can scream, I jump on her, causing both of us to fall. I place my hand over her mouth, raising my blade that in the air.

"Do I still look like that kid you remember, Susan?" I laugh as I stab her over and over again, drops of blood splashing on my face.

I slit her throat for good measure, watching the blood ooze from her body. I stand up, holding my head as I feel a slight pressure as if something is forcing its way into my skull.

"B-Bill....is this you d-doing this? B-but I didn't - "

"It's ok, pinetree! The more sacrifices you kill, the more I'm able to use my power beyond the mindscape, but we have company..." I hear Bill's darken voice ring through my ears. I look at the door, my eyes widen in shock.

"D-dipper?" Pacifica shudders, her voice barely above a whisper.

She looks between my knife, Dead Susan, and the door. She quickly grabs the door handle, but I stop her. She freezes and looks back at the wall, noticing the knife next to her head.

She touches her cheek and looks at her fingers. She screams, but I run to her and place my hand over her mouth, squeezing her jawline. She whimpers as I bag her head against the wall, pulling my knife out from it.

"Pacifica Pacifica Pacifica....isn't this the meaning of 'at the wrong at the wrong time'?" I laugh.

She whimpers, digging her nails into my hoodie. I laugh, my vision changing from clear to red. "Oh, I could just kill you right now! Ooooooooooh, but what's the fun in that? Oh yes, yes, yes! Stare at me with those fearful eyes! I think I'm addicted to this-ahahahahahaha!"

I remove my hand from her mouth and placing it on her throat. She gasp, her hands now crawling at my wrist. I laugh louder in her face while placing my knife in between my fingers and rubbing my bloody glove down my face. My eyes roll back as my vision goes from red to yellow, my voice distorted.

"L-let's make a deeeeeeeeeal! You don't tell anyone my pinetree did this, and I promise he won't kill you? Deal?"

She nods her head, gasping as my grip tightens.

"Let's shake on it, llama sweater!" I cheer, placing the knife back into the wall as I hold my hand out while my body begins to twitch.

She quickly grabs it and shakes my hand, blue flames covering it. I drop her to the ground, watching her gasp for air. I watch as she stands and runs out of the diner as fast as she can while the lights in the diner begin to flicker.

"And remember! We'll be watching yoooooooou-ahahahahahaha-HAHAGAGAHA!"

[bakedbakermom]

How "The Talk" Went With My 7-Year-Old

I want to preface this by saying that my parents NEVER had The Talk with me as a kid; they just expected my CATHOLIC SCHOOL SEX ED to cover it. Needless to say, there were gaps in my sexual health education, gaps that I worked very hard as an adult to fill in. When I had my daughter, I promised myself that I would do better by her.

My husband and I have been laying the groundwork by teaching her the proper names for body parts (she’s the only 7-year-old I’ve ever met who knows the difference between a vulva and a vagina, which is better than some adults I know) and normalizing bodily functions and asking questions. Whenever she asks about something to do with bodies or private parts, we answer honestly and at a level of detail she can understand and is appropriate for her age. She has seen both me and my husband naked many times and knows what “boy bodies” and “girl bodies” look like and what the differences are. And she knows that babies get half their “seed” from a man and half from a woman, and the baby grows in a thing called the uterus inside the woman’s body.

She just turned 7 in September and can best be described as “too smart for her own good” and possessing a level of curiosity that threatens the feline population of the entire planet. I have been reading her The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett (the first book in the Discworld series) and a few nights ago we got to the part where Hrun the Barbarian is challenged by the Liessa, princess of the dragonlands, to perform three tasks and win her hand in marriage. The last task is to have sex with her. The book describes her disrobing and propositioning him (but obviously doesn’t get graphic).

When I got to that part I sort of stumbled, because she’s never asked about or hinted that she knew anything about sex, and I said, “This next part has to do with sex. Have you heard of that before?” She said no. “Well it’s something people do when they’re naked–”

“Ew, no, just skip this part!” So I told her she can ask about it whenever she wanted, and just moved to the next part of the story.

I could tell she was mulling it over, and last night after I tucked her in she finally asked me, “Okay, Mom, what is sex?”

As much as I have been preparing myself mentally for this, I don’t think there’s any way to avoid the gut-deep yearning for the earth to just open up beneath you and swallow you whole, but I bravely pressed forward. The following is a rough transcript of our conversation (which totalled over 20 minutes).

Me: Well, it’s the thing that makes babies. Remember we talked about how there’s half a seed in the mom, and half the seed in the dad? Sex is how the two halves come together–

Her: Wait, is there a way to make a baby without sex?

Me: [swerving gratefully onto this detour while it lasts] Yeah actually, they can do it with Science now. The can take the mom’s half out of her body - it’s called an egg or ovum, which is just Latin for egg - and they can take the dad’s half out of his body - it’s called sperm, and it looks like a tadpole but suuuuuuuper tiny - and they put them together in a dish so it starts to grow. Then they put it in a woman’s uterus, and it can be the egg mommy or someone else, so it can become a baby.

Her: Why can’t they just grow the whole baby in a dish?

Me: Because it needs food to grow, just like all bodies too. There’s not enough food in the dish for it to get more than a few cells big; it has to go in the uterus, where it grows a cord that connects it to the mother’s body so it can get nutrients from her.

Her: Oh okay that makes sense, then. So what’s sex?

Me: Well, it’s something that people do when they really care about each other and want to show it. It can happen with a man and a woman, two women, or two men, but the kind that makes a baby is between a man and a woman. [draws a deep breath, waits a moment to see if maybe Death will just reap me now, then pushes bravely forward] It’s when a man puts his penis in a woman’s vagina.

Her: [various giggly noises of disgust] People actually do that!? That’s so gross!!!

Me: Yeah when I describe it like that it does seem gross, but when you do it with the right person it can be pretty fun so the gross part doesn’t really matter.

Her: But it goes INSIDE the vagina? How?

Me: Your vagina isn’t just a hole on your body; it’s actually more like a tube, and the penis fits inside.

Her: Doesn’t that hurt?

Me: [remembering the early sexual rummagings of my teens] It can, but it really shouldn’t. Sex is supposed to feel good. If it hurts, that means something isn’t working the way it’s supposed to.

Her: Okay, that makes sense. I wouldn’t want to do that if it hurt. But what if he pees in you???

Me: [struggling with every fiber of my being not to say, “Some people pay good money for that.”] I mean, that’s probably not ideal, and it could maybe happen. But there’s only one hole in the penis and it has two separate tubes that go to it - one from the bladder where pee comes from, and the other one has the sperm, and one tube has to close so the other can open; so there shouldn’t be any pee.

Her: Where does the sperm come from?

Me: Well you know what a penis is. [she does] There are these called testicles, but everyone calls them balls because that’s what they look like, and they sort of hang [unfortunate cupping gesture with my left hand] under and behind the penis [right hand comes up and makes an unfortunate flopping gesture over the left] and the sperm hangs out in there. I could draw you a picture–

Her: NO! Don’t draw a picture. I don’t need a picture. So where does the sperm go when it comes out?

Me: When the guy sticks his penis in the vagina, well he sort of does it a few times, and then the sperm squirts out and goes looking for an egg in the uterus.

Her: But what if he misses!?

Me: [more unfortunate hand gestures] If the penis is inside the vagina it’s pretty hard to miss, but he could squirt it somewhere else if he wanted I guess. [Someone help, I’m teaching the pull out method to a 7-year-old.]

Her: But how does it get to the uterus?

Me: The uterus is connected to the vagina. There’s this thing called the cervix inside the vagina. [I ask her to make a fist, then put my hands underneath in a tube shape.] So your vagina is right here. [I move my hands above her fist, making a bowl in the air.] And the uterus is up here. That’s where the egg would be, and where a baby would grow. [Now I stick my finger into her fist from below and wiggle it a bit to make her laugh.] The sperm are so small that they can fit through the cervix.

Her: [clearly thinking very hard] But what happens if there’s no egg and it doesn’t make a baby? Where does the sperm go?

Me: It dies after a couple days, and then it either gets absorbed or comes out when the woman has her period. We’ve talked about periods, remember? Every month the uterus makes a layer called the endometrium, which acts as food for the growing baby until it grows the cord that connects it directly to the mother. But if there’s no baby, the uterus throws the whole endometrium out. It’s like making a big fancy dinner and then it realizes no one’s going to eat it , so it gets all angry [makes a gesture like I’m chucking something in the garbage] and throws it all away. So all that stuff comes out of the vagina, the endometrium and any sperm that might still be in there. Sometimes it looks like blood, sometimes it’s slimey, and sometimes it’s like a brownish goo.

Her: WHAT IF IT COMES OUT YOUR BUTT!?!?

Me: [trying so hard not to lose my shit] It can’t, babe. The uterus isn’t connected to your butt; the only door out is the vagina.

Her: But doesn’t it get all in your underwear!?

Me: Yeah, it can. But they make stuff to catch it or soak it up so that doesn’t happen. There’s pads, which are absorbent like a diaper and you stick them in your underwear to soak it up. There’s also tampons, which are like big cotton balls that you can stick in your vagina to soak it up. You change those things out for new ones every few hours. And there’s also something called a menstrual cup, which is what I use, and it’s a soft rubber cup that you stick up there to catch the blood, and you take it out and wash it a couple times a day. If you want I could show you–

Her: NO! Don’t show me. Those ones you stick up there sound gross, like they would hurt.

Me: They can be uncomfortable until you get used to them, or if you’re using the wrong size. Most people start off with pads; when you start getting your period we can try different things and see which ones work for you. You just have to remember to change them out every few hours.

Her: But what if it gets in your underwear while you’re changing the thing?

Me: Well normally you’d do that when you’re going potty, so any period stuff would just go in there. I also wash my cup in the shower.

Her: Does a period hurt?

Me: Yeah, it can. Remember how sometimes when I’m on my period I’ll tell you I’m not feeling good, and I need to go rest on the couch? That’s because in order to get all the stuff out, the uterus has to squeeze itself kind of like a tube of toothpaste [more hand gestures] and that can be pretty crappy. You can take Advil like we do when you have an owie, and there’s other medicine you can take that makes your periods easier.

Her: [loading ring spins for a moment] So does sex always make a baby?

Me: Not always, but it can happen any time you have sex, so there’s things people can do to stop it from happening. There’s a pill I take every day that keeps me from getting pregnant, and there’s also something called a condom that’s kind of like a little balloon, and it goes over the penis and catches the sperm before it can get into the vagina. Condoms are great because there are actually diseases you can get from having sex, and the condom stops the germs from passing between people.

Her: Wait, you can get sick from having sex?

Me: Yeah. That’s why it’s important to always use condoms, and to make sure you’re having sex with someone you really care about and trust. There are consequences to having sex, like babies and getting sick, but also, sex is a really intimate thing. Do you know what ‘intimacy’ means? [she does not] It’s feeling really close to someone and trusting them a lot, like smoochy kissing times a thousand. You’re letting someone see you naked and touch you and touch your private parts, and that’s something that takes a lot of trust and care. You only want to have sex with someone you’re really close to.

Her: WAIT SO DID DADDY WEAR CONDOMS?

Me: [wishing desperately to die] Well, yeah.

Her: You and Daddy must have spent so much time together naked. Like years and years and years!

Me: [still wanting to die] Well not all at once, but if you add it up, maybe?

Her: I don’t think I’m ever going to have sex, or have a baby, or maybe I’ll just do it the dish way.

Me: Yep, that’s a choice you can make, and a lot of kids your age feel that way when they learn about this stuff. You might feel that way your whole life, or you might change your mind, probably when you go through puberty. Do you remember what puberty is?

Her: Not really.

Me: It’s when your kid body changes into your grown up body, like when girls start growing boobs. It’s also when your period usually starts. It takes a few years and girls usually start around 10 to 12, boys a little later like 12 or 13. Your body changes and your emotions change, and the way you feel about sex might change too, especially as you figure out whether you like boys or girls or both or neither. It can be a really tough time and maybe even a little scary when you’re going through it, because your body and your brain are doing all these weird things they’ve never done before, but I’m right here if you have questions or need help.

Her: [yawns, looks at the clock, and realizes it’s way past her bedtime] Wow we’ve been talking about this for a long time.

Me: Yeah, we have, but it’s okay to stay up a bit late for important conversations like this. I wanted to make sure I answered all your questions, because we all have bodies and we all need to know how those bodies work, even the stuff that feels weird to talk about sometimes. Do you have any more questions?

Her: No, not right now.

Me: Okay well if you think of any, you just go ahead and ask. We can talk about this any time you want, especially as you get older and start going through some of this stuff.

And that was basically it. I am amazed at the questions she asked, and how carefully she thought about what I told her. And how seriously she took it except for the giggling about the weird parts, which honestly? Same. She is definitely going to be That Kid when she goes back to school after break.

We’re also trying to teach her about consent and having control over what information about yourself you share online, so asked her if it was okay that I share this here without mentioning her name or anything personal and she said yes. I hope you got a kick out of it, and maybe this will even help you feel more comfortable when your day for The Talk shows up. I was not expecting it so soon, and I was not expecting it on a night when my husband was out getting the family from the airport for the holiday, but I believe that when the question is asked, it’s ready to be answered.

[lilpunkrock]

where you go (i will go) — part xvi

Summary: With assistance from Destiny, your war with Desire finally comes to an end.

Words: 10.0k+

AN: It's all come down to this. I hope you all enjoy. x

masterlist

. . .

“All I really know is that you’re where I wanna go,

The part of me that’s you will never die;

So when I’m all choked up, but I can’t find the words,

Every time we say goodbye baby it hurts;

When the sun goes down, and the band won’t play,

I’ll always remember us this way.” 

Always Remember Us This Way, Noelle Johnson

. . . 

part xvi

The seven Endless. Destiny. Death. Dream. Destruction. Despair. Desire. Delirium. 

Of the seven anthropometric beings, Destiny was the most mysterious to you. Funny, considering your paths had been irrevocably intertwined for millenia. He was responsible for your creation, the ultimate source of your daily duties. And yet, you’d never spoken with him, let alone seen him, in all of your divine existence. 

You suppose it’s only fitting, then, that you should finally meet. 

When you open your eyes, the Garden of Forking Ways greets you. You’ve heard myths of its serene beauty, but nothing could have prepared you to witness its splendor in person. The expansive garden you find yourself in is low and flat compared to the green hills and snow-dipped mountains that climb upward and outward far in the distance. A pale mist settles in the nooks and crannies of the elevated landscape, partially enshrouding the remnants of monuments, citadels, and temples that dapple the mountainsides. The sky is a peaceful robin’s egg blue. 

And then, there are the walkways. Paths made of yellow sandstone curl and twist and cut across the garden, branching off into walkways that lead in multiple directions. If you squint hard enough, you can see them curl up and over the hillsides, only to disappear into the mist settling over the mountains. 

“It is said that decisions made in Destiny’s garden determine future paths, ward,” the Crone had advised as she rested a wrinkled hand upon your forehead, preparing to send you here. “Choose wisely.” 

You spin in a slow circle, observing all of the possible forks and branches you can take. No path looks particularly different than another. 

And so, you just start walking. 

The air is cool and crisp as you wind down the paths that curl over the grass. It’s at the edge of the garden that you reach your first fork in the path. One sandstone walkway snakes toward a set of crumbling ruins to your right, while the other curls around a towering stone temple to your left. 

How am I supposed to decide? you wonder, glancing back and forth between the two options before you. Did your choices here really matter as much as the Fates had said? Or was it all just tall tales and mythology?

With a deep breath, you close your eyes in contemplation. There’s a peace that comes from removing the sight of the options in front of you. It allows you to think clearly, to look inward rather than outward. 

Standing at the fork in the path, you draw in deep lungfuls of the crisp air. The only sound that meets your ears is the soft whisper of your breathing. 

There. A tiny shift, almost imperceptible, twinges within your chest. It beckons you to the left, toward the towering stone temple. 

When you open your eyes, you take the path to the left with confidence. 

As you walk along the outside of the temple, you alternate between glancing down the sloping hills to your right and into the open corridors of the temple to your left. Each time, you wonder if you might spot Destiny. But each time you find yourself alone, a solitary figure wandering amongst the Endless’s Garden of Forking Ways. 

It’s not the end of the world, you suppose. It gives you time to think of what’s to come. Time to ponder how you’re going to plead your case to the Endless. 

The day you’d died and been reborn, the Fates had declared that your fate was written in the book of Destiny of the Endless. Millenia spent walking as an immortal had taught you its true name: The Book of Souls. It was the book that your daily assignments were based on. A tome bound in leather made from a beast that had never been born. The book within which all things existed, the book that contained the fate of all things past, present, and future. 

The fates of all eros, philia, philautia, erotoropia, storge, pragma, and agape bonds were in that book. The fates of all of Desire’s bonds were in that book.

The universe required balance between love and desire. Shifts and changes tipped the scales in either direction at any given moment. Balancing these scales was an ongoing challenge, and would be until the end of time. But only as long as you were working blind, like you were now. You were working with limited information, fulfilling the steps in years-long prophecies on a day-to-day basis. Meanwhile, Desire did as they pleased, placing attachments without any regard for the scales at large. 

And that was the heart at the center of your theory. What if changing the process by which you worked could turn the tide? What if you could see the future of love and desire on the grandest scale, all at once? You could find the balance between the two. You could determine the events that needed to occur to ensure this balance was fulfilled. You could foster and protect and insure your attachments in advance, so that nothing could prevail against them. 

Maybe you could even protect your own. 

Do you really think you can succeed? the accursed voice of doubt whispers in the back of your mind. Your power had grown exponentially over the past several months. Each bond you fostered felt more concrete than ever before. You were capable of breaking Desire’s bonds now, too, though it came at a cost.  

You weren’t sure what the cost of a feat like this would be, or if you could even pull it off. But you had to believe that you could. To protect the love bonds of humanity for the remainder of time. To finally escape from Desire’s grasp, to make you an equal in their eyes. To protect Dream. 

When you round the corner of the stone temple, you come to a halt. 

You’ve walked onto another flat, expansive garden off the side of the temple. Lining the side of this garden, however, is a row of towering statues carved from pale stone. All but one stand facing the temple. As enormous as they are, their features are easily recognizable to you from afar: Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Despair, Desire, and Delirium. 

All paths lead back to him. 

Your feet carry you toward the effigies in a trance. You’d once heard that, if you stood watch in Destiny’s garden long enough, you’d notice the statues’ almost imperceptible movements. They weren’t just sculptures, after all. They were manifestations, meant to mirror the condition of their living counterparts. 

When you come to a stop directly in front of Dream’s sculpture, you find his head downturned, his carved stone eyes gazing directly at you.

“Oh, Dream.” 

Your palm comes to rest against the cool stone of the effigy’s shoe gently, as if to comfort him. If you were to make things right–if you were to free humanity, Dream, and yourself from Desire’s meddling–this needed to work. You needed Destiny’s assistance. 

Dream had once told you that his elder brother made no mistakes. You wonder if Destiny of the Endless will deem your plan as just or foolish. You wonder if he expects you here now.

“Greetings, Agape, Goddess of Love.” 

You spin so haphazardly that your soul is nearly flung from your body. “Son of a—so you all like to do that, do you?”

Destiny of the Endless towers before you, his head slightly bowed, the upper half of his features cloaked in shadow. “I have been awaiting your arrival,” he says, his voice low and measured. 

Well, that answers that question. 

Standing before the being who foretold your creation, one of the eldest beings in the universe, you observe his features for the first time. Destiny easily towers over you by at least a foot. His slim form is cloaked in beige robes, his bare feet resting lightly atop the path you both stand upon. The hood of his cloak is drawn low over his face, concealing his eyes from you. His shoulders, though broad, are slightly hunched from eons spent crouched over the Book of Souls. The hefty tome itself is tucked under his arm. The chain that permanently links it to his wrist glints in the sunlight. 

To stand in his presence is both awe-inspiring and disconcerting. He was one of the most powerful and ancient beings in existence, after all. Your entire life–past, present, and future–was contained in the book held under his arm, the subject of his musing on any given day. If you thought Dream’s presence was otherworldly, then Destiny’s aura is transcendent, almost alien.

In spite of the obvious dominion he holds over you, Destiny does not appear haughty. Though no smile graces his wrinkled face, his expression–what you can see of it, anyway–appears calm, reposed. Something in the back of your mind tells you he is appeased by your arrival, the fulfilling of a prophecy he’s likely known about since his first breath. 

With a deep, calming breath, you offer him a small smile. A gesture of good will. “Well, if you’ve been expecting me, then I suppose you also know why I’m here.” 

Destiny’s thumb trails along the spine of the Book of Souls, back and forth. “Your arrival and intentions are within the scheme of things, all of which are known to me,” he says. He speaks with a perfect and polite intonation, almost as if reading from a script. You wonder how many times he’s read of this encounter, if he’s ever rehearsed these lines. “Regardless, I invite you to state your intentions for visiting me, as has been foretold.” 

There is a twitch at the corner of your mouth, the beginnings of a smile. There’s something about Destiny that stands out to you. This regality, this formality, this neutrality–it reminds you of Dream, particularly when you first met him. You can’t help but smile in full at the realization. 

“I’d like to look in your book, if it is the universe’s will,” you say, sounding far more confident than you expected to. 

There is a long pause as Destiny considers you. Only the soft whisper of the breeze and the friction of his thumb against the leather book spine intrude upon the silence. “And what is it you wish to find?” he asks, even though he already knows. 

It feels like the two of you are fulfilling roles in a play. You off-handedly wonder if it’s a comedy or tragedy. “I’m sure you’re aware that, since my creation, I’ve been at odds with your younger sibling, Desire. I’ve often struggled to maintain balance between the scales we share. Admittedly, I used to think that love should prevail over desire in all circumstances. But now, I see things differently. My abilities have grown in recent months. I hope to use my new power to establish balance between love and desire. Not just now, but forever.” You work your jaw, mulling over how to word your request. “Right now, I fulfill attachments on a day-to-day basis. I can see the needs of the present, but not the futures that my people are moving toward. If I can learn the fates of humanity’s attachments from your Book of Souls, I believe I can preset and guard the final outcomes of my attachments. In particular, eros, philia, and agape.”

Destiny’s head tilts ever so slightly. “I see the assurance of your function in this plan. But what of my sibling’s?”

“Eros, philia, and agape have always been close to my heart. Romantic love, soul ties, and selfless love–they're three of the most powerful forms of love in existence. Their fulfillment must be assured. Desire will be free to influence mortals in their philautia, erotoropia, pragma, and storge attachments. It will be a trade. A balance.” A heavy pause. You nibble at the inside of your cheek anxiously. “I hope.” 

“You fulfill your role well,” Destiny muses. He inclines his chin slightly, as if to get a better look at you. As his hood lifts, you catch a glimpse of his eyes for the first time. Clouded with a milky white film, they appraise you as if they are perfectly clear. “I must confess, it was unexpected to see the Book of Souls prophesy the transformation of a human into a deity. I did not doubt its words, but it was surprising, nonetheless.” 

Destiny’s words hang in the air, settling over you quietly. Under the subject of his sightless gaze, you suddenly do not feel like a deity, or a goddess, or a diplomat pleading the case of her function. You feel like yourself, like someone with endless questions, finally coming face-to-face with the one who holds all the answers. A mortal standing in the presence of omnipotence. 

“Why let it all play out this way? Pitting a goddess against an Endless?” You gesture to the statue of Desire that stands towers above you several paces away. Their likeness carved in stone is almost as unsettling as it is in life. “The power imbalance is too great. Even now, this plan of mine is just a theory. I don’t know for certain that it’s going to work.” You pause, working your jaw, mulling over how much to say, how big of a risk to take. “It’s unfair,” you finally dare to accuse. 

For a moment, Destiny is still as the stone effigy of him that oversees the garden. When he does finally move, it is to draw the Book of Souls out from under his arm. His palm sweeps over the bronze leather cover with reverence. “I do not dictate the Book of Souls; it dictates me. I do not choose what is to happen; I am the Keeper that ensures all happens as it should.” Destiny’s eyes drift from the tome in his hands to you. In spite of his blindness, there’s something about his gaze that makes you feel as if he sees straight through to your soul. When he speaks again, his tone is low, matter-of-fact, absolute. “All has unfolded as it was meant to, and all is as it should be. There is a reason for all things, but not all are meant to know the reason.”

Your mouth opens on instinct as a protest leaps to your tongue. However, you catch yourself, pressing your lips together quickly. You were speaking with Destiny of the Endless, keeper of the past, present, and future of the universe. You were already asking for far too big of a favor, for far more than you had ever heard of Destiny bestowing upon another being. Best not to press your luck with protests. 

“There is one piece of information you withhold from me,” Destiny says. “There is one being for whom you wish to protect all attachments. Is there not?” 

Your heart flutters in your chest. He’s found you out, your mind chides anxiously, frazzled with nerves. But, then again, could you really be all that surprised? He was Destiny of the Endless. Knowing everything was his function. 

It’s pointless to lie. And so, you don’t. “Yes,” you breathe past the vice that grips your throat. “Love is about being selfless. I’ve tried to be selfless all my life. Just once…I want to do something selfish. I need to protect him.”

A quiet hum rumbles in Destiny’s chest. You’re not sure if it’s one of amusement, consideration, or displeasure. When he speaks again, there is no anger in his voice. You hope it is one of the former options. “Your desire to protect him regardless of the cost is a mortal quality. The preservation of your mortal qualities into your divine existence was long foretold. They have made you a more effective deity to your people.” A brief pause. A sweep of his hand over the Book of Souls. “They were essential to your connection with him, as well.” 

Destiny inclines his head to look above you, past you. When you follow his milky white gaze, you find yourself staring at the statue of Dream. It still looks at you.

Understanding settles into your heart, soft, soothing, and supple. You turn from Destiny then, resting your palm against the smooth stone cloak clothing Dream’s effigy. Where was he now, at this very moment? Was he thinking of you, as you were thinking of him? Did he miss you like you missed him, with a physical force both sweet and painful? Could he feel it through the bond you shared?

“Was I always meant to love him?” you ask, your voice scarcely more than a whisper. Under the gaze of Dream’s sculpture, you feel soothed, at peace. You suspect you could remain here forever, never looking away. “From the moment I was born mortal, was it always meant to be this way?”

“You will soon learn.”

Hope sparks in your heart at Destiny’s words, bright and jarring. Still, you trail your fingers down the cloak of Dream’s statue slowly, fondly, before you turn to him. “You’re going to let me read your book, then,” you say, a hint of a question in your statement. 

Destiny’s clouded gaze holds yours as he extends the Book of Souls to you. The links in the chain binding him to the tome ring as he does so. “All is as it should be,” he says simply. 

Your eyes don’t stray from his as you take the volume from him with gentle hands. In spite of its size, it’s not as heavy as you would have expected, especially for carrying the entire record of the known and unknown universe. Though the book now rests in your hands, Destiny’s chain extends between you, still binding him to it. A reminder that you are only borrowing his function. A reminder of the significance of this gift he’s giving you. 

No matter what it takes, you won’t let it go to waste. 

Your eyes fall closed as you inhale deeply. As the pages of the Book of Souls flutter open under your touch, the sweet scent of ink and paper greets your nose. When you flatten your hand atop the open page before you, it’s with conviction. 

Show me. 

With an exhale, the world around you disappears. 

. . . 

When the Book of Souls pulls you in, it’s as if you’ve been plunged into lukewarm water. Though the world you float in is neither hot nor cold, it’s no less jarring. When you try to draw in a breath, your lungs refuse. When you open your eyes, you find nothing but solid, suffocating darkness. Your palm won’t lift from the page it rests on. 

For a brief, terrifying moment, panic surges through you. You’ve felt like this before—trapped in darkness, unable to move, robbed of air. It’s almost too much, too quickly. 

But then, a familiar feeling surfaces. A stirring in your chest, a hum that calls from your heart like the sweetest song. A sensation you haven’t felt in weeks. That you haven’t felt since you last saw Dream.

The answer is here.

Show me, you speak into the darkness, sweeping your palm over the book’s ancient pages. Show me what I need to see. 

Fulfilling your function has always been a visual endeavor. Fostering attachments, placing premonitions in dreams—it all required the ability to picture events in your mind, to imagine the future transpiring as you saw fit. 

But this—this is different. This isn’t visual—this is a feeling. Standing at the center of the universe, you feel attachments unfurl around you. Expanding outward, they curl and curve and twist like the Garden of Forking Ways. Glowing brightly amidst the darkness, the threads of white, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple spring outward like tree roots. When they reach their destination, a glowing outline of the mortal they belong to springs to life. Suddenly, you’re no longer alone, as millions upon millions of souls are revealed in the darkness. The threads continue to unspool, gaining speed, connecting mortals in an intricate web of divine design, expanding onward and onward and onward—

And suddenly, stillness breaks the rush of momentum. A soft gasp escapes you as you watch seven radiant threads unfurl from your own chest. Philia. Eros. Philautia. Erotoropia. Storge. Pragma. Agape. 

They stretch outward, seven lights that outshine the darkness. When they find their home, a familiar silhouette burns to life. Tall and slender, with a wild mop of hair. When his radiant silhouette is complete, he turns toward you. 

And you smile. 

. . . 

Retracting your hand from the Book of Souls feels like coming up for air. You heave in great gulps of it as your eyes fly open and the book falls shut between your hands. In a daze, you look around, gathering your bearings. When your eyes rest on Destiny, you find him watching you expectantly. 

“Wow. You do that all day, every day?” you ask, still trying to catch your breath. 

“I suspect my experience looking into the Book of Souls is different than yours, but yes,” Destiny says, his voice matter-of-fact. “To do so is my function, and my function is my purpose. 

Yep, he’s definitely Dream’s brother. 

You hand the Book of Souls back to him with care. As it leaves your hands, you feel lighter and heavier all at once. The knowledge you’ve gleaned from it burns at the forefront of your mind. Now that it’s back in Destiny’s possession, a realization settles over you. “You know how this is all going to end,” you say quietly. 

Destiny returns the Book of Souls to its rightful place under his arm. His thumb sweeps over its leather spine with something like fondness. “I do,” he says. 

“And I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me a head’s up about anything?” 

There is an understanding in the silence between you. 

“I’ll try my best to do right by your book. And both of your siblings. I assure you,” you say, offering the Endless a firm nod. Then, you lift your chin, preparing to make one last request. “Before I leave, I do need your help with one last thing.”

“I know.”

. . .

The coffee shop buzzes with quiet chatter as you step through the front door. In another time–in what seems now like another life entirely–you would have been eager to approach the counter and find a unique item on the menu to try. The local special, something you couldn’t get anywhere else.

But today, your mind is not on coffee. You are focused on how the hum of conversation and the movement of patrons through the small shop will make it easy for you to slip away unnoticed. Your conversation with Destiny from mere hours ago plays on a loop in your mind. 

“The scales of love and desire lie within the pane where the Realm of Attachment and the Threshold meet. The sharing of your scales allows both you and Desire to traverse one another’s realms. Desire crosses this boundary each time they venture into yours.”

“But how do I find the pane? I’ve never seen the place where our realms meet.”

“How do you normally travel to your realm?”

When your fingers graze the shoulder of a mother sharing a muffin with her young son, your touch is featherlight, unnoticeable. The Realm of Attachment beckons you, urging you to step into this coffee shop on another plane of existence. When you reach out and through her, however, you don’t simply seek the alternate reality of this shop. Instead, you have a specific destination in mind. 

Take me to the place where the Realm of Attachment and the Threshold meet. 

A warm breeze ghosts across your cheeks, dancing through your hair. When you open your eyes, the sight that greets you steals the breath from your lungs. 

The world you’ve stepped into has been split in two. The half on which you stand is a kaleidoscope of colors, an intricate web of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and white threads that braid and twist and intertwine. The tapestry they weave is radiant, prismatic, as intricate and delicate as the fibers of a human iris. 

As the threads stretch out before you, however, they begin to bleed like watercolors. Where the threads blur and dissipate, clouds form in their place. Far in the distance, a humanoid citadel rises up from within them. Hands outstretched toward the sky, an enormous heart lies exposed in the center of its chest. Even from this distance, you can see the pulse of each heartbeat. You can even make out the familiar features on the citadel’s face. 

“So, this is how you’ve been visiting me all this time,” you whisper into the open air. As your feet carry you forward, toward the place where your worlds melt into one another, your hand rises of its own accord. When you extend your palm forward, you feel it rest on a flat surface that is invisible to the eye, but cool to the touch. Like a window between worlds. 

When Destiny had referenced a pane, it seems he’d meant it literally. 

“Fancy meeting you here, darling.”

At the familiar sing-song of Desire’s voice, you immediately pull your palm from the invisible pane. Turning to your right, you watch as the Endless walks toward you, feet ghosting over the clouds with feline grace. That was the thing about windows, you supposed–they worked both ways. 

Throughout your divine existence, you’ve had many encounters with Desire. Often, they incited feelings of panic, terror, anger, or annoyance. But today, it is an eerie sense of calm that settles over you as the Endless approaches. You wonder if they can sense it. 

“Correct me if I’m mistaken, but it appears that you and my dear brother Dream have had a falling out,” Desire coos, drifting from cloud to cloud like a phantom clothed in black. When they come to a stop across from you, they place their hands on their narrow hips, golden eyes wide and flashing. “You just can’t play along, can you?” 

You draw in a long breath through your nose, exhaling slowly through parted lips. Encouraging yourself to remember what your purpose is, the reason you’ve traveled here. One hand slips into your coat pocket, allowing your fingers to dance across the soft cloth of Dream’s sand pouch. Your memento. Your good luck charm. 

In spite of Desire’s taunting, the calm remains. 

You suspect your lack of response comes as a surprise, because Desire quirks one eyebrow at you. Slowly, they begin to pace back and forth on the other side of the invisible pane, eying you like a lamb led to slaughter. “No, I suppose you can’t. You’ve always had a little rebel in you, right from the beginning. Normally, I’d find that endearing.” Desire pauses to tilt their head at you. Their tongue flashes over their bone-white teeth. “Please, though–do share, darling. How did it feel to rip my brother’s heart from his chest? To hold it in your hand and squeeze? I’m dying to know.” 

Your hand closes around the pouch of sand in your pocket, a subtle movement that maintains your composure. “That’s enough, Desire,” you warn, your voice firm and even. 

The Endless’s eyes flash at your retort. Their delicate features contort with agitation. When they speak, their voice is sharp with malice. “Be honest, little goddess. Look at yourself–exhausted, battered, broken, and alone. Was it really worth it? Dying for your dear first love, all those years ago? Just to end up here?”

A thousand memories flash through your mind at Desire’s words, a highlight reel of your entire divine life. A re-living of all the things you would have missed if your life had ended that night by that fire with those hands around your neck. Long conversations with Death at funerals and battlegrounds. The pure elation of fostering billions upon billions of attachments, including Matt and Ava’s. Laughing over cups of hot tea and mugs of cold beer with Hob. Sharing cream cheese and morning cuddles with Theo, basking in the selfless love you shared. Quiet mornings spent reading and organizing the library with Lucienne. Dirty jokes, walks through Fiddler’s Green, and drops of coffee shared with Matthew. 

Seeing Dream for the first time, a single run of black ink against a vibrant wall of stained glass. The thinly-veiled awe in his eyes when you’d shown him your world, when he’d locked eyes with you at the wedding in the forest. Marveling at a sky full of stars when he swept you under his cloak. Quiet hums of intrigue as you fed him ideas for new dreams and nightmares. Teal and lavender stardust swirling in his eyes under a midnight sky as you combined your functions to create something new. 

The feeling of Dream’s warm palm against your tentative fingers. The silken sense of safety you felt as you sat together on the Dreaming’s beach after a night plagued with memories. Tossing him seashells on the honey-gold beach he’d created for you. The surety that had blazed in his eyes when he’d vowed to protect you. The soft vulnerability in his eyes when he’d admitted that he remembered you. 

The sweet cashmere press of his lips against yours. Opening up into each other’s arms on the honey-gold beach under a starlit sky. A vow lovingly whispered into your ear. And the pain that had come after, when the greatest act of love you could give was protecting him by stepping away. It was a love worth giving anything for–worth giving everything for. 

It’s time. 

You smile. “Yes. Yes, it was.” 

And with that, you lift your hand to touch the invisible pane between you. 

When your palm rests against its cool surface, you exhale slowly, reaching out, reaching through. Just like you’ve done countless times before. Under your influence, the once-invisible pane shimmers like stars. 

Desire’s face falls in an instant. “What are you doing?” they ask, taking a jolting step toward you. 

You breathe in and out slowly, maintaining your composure. You can feel the destination that lies not on the other side of the pane, but within the pane. The scales of love and desire call out to you like a song you’ve always known. “I’m ending this,” you say, your voice calm and sure. “I’m balancing our scales once and for all.” 

Desire’s eyebrows raise, then furrow. “Impossible,” the Endless spits angrily. “That’s out of your league, darling. You don’t have the strength.” 

The small smile that had lifted your lips moments ago evolves into a full-fledged grin. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” 

Closing your eyes, you begin to reach out, searching for the realm that calls out to you beyond the pane. The sound of Desire drawing nearer makes you pause. You fight the urge to open your eyes, to display any hint of indecision. “No matter what you do, Love, you still won’t escape me. As long as you love my darling brother, I can control him. And you.”

A pressure builds in your chest, bubbling forth until you can’t contain it any longer. Laughter. Tension radiates from Desire at the sound, prickling against your skin. “You see, that’s the funny thing. You can’t. Because if you do, I’ll throw your scales off-balance.” You can feel the Endless drawing nearer, almost close enough to touch. “You shouldn’t have made me leave Dream. Because it gave me so much time to think. So much time to grow stronger. I’m done playing nice, Desire. Dream doesn’t fear you. And now, neither do I.”

Just as you feel the tips of Desire’s fingers swipe across your forearm, you reach out, reach through. 

For a moment, you’re falling, falling, falling. The world tips and spins like an aerotrim as you slip into the plane between worlds. 

And then, solid ground beneath your feet.

When you first try to open your eyes, the sheer brightness of your surroundings forces you to close them again. It takes several moments for your pupils to adjust to the brilliant white you’re enveloped in. When they do, you find yourself standing in a near-featureless world. There is no ground, no sky, no walls–only a vibrant, endless white that extends in all directions, as far as you can see. 

The only occupant of this void besides yourself is the balance scale that towers before you. It’s enormous–easily three times your height. With its gleaming gold construction and intricate engravings, it looks like it was pulled straight from antiquity. The links of chain that support the scale’s pans clink softly as they tip back and forth, constantly in motion. 

Above one pan hovers a familiar heart cut from black glass, glowing from within with crimson light. Desire’s sigil. Above the other pan hovers a heart cut from clear crystal. Prisms glisten off its surface, catching and scattering in the white light. Though you’ve never seen it before, you know in your bones that it’s your own.

You watch as the scales tip back and forth almost imperceptibly, responding to the fulfillment and expiration of attachments in real time. In spite of their constant movement, it’s Desire’s pan that hangs lower, outweighing your own. They carry the favor–for now.

Breathless, you gaze at the scales in awe, your lips parted, your jaw slack. The scales of love and desire had been a presence in your life for millennia. And yet, they’d always seemed far off, more of a myth than a reality. To see them in person is stunning, awe-inspiring. 

And, above all else, it’s exhilarating. Standing in the scales’ presence is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Your power, normally a sweet hum beneath the surface of your skin, is loud, insistent, demanding. It bellows through your veins like a choir, rattling your bones with seismic force. Your fists clench tightly at your sides as the sheer magnitude of it floods your senses.  It’s almost too much. But it’s not—it’s exactly enough. 

For the first time in your entire immortal life, you truly feel divine. 

It’s time to show Desire what you can really do. 

You cross the space between yourself and the scales with surety. When your hand rests against the golden support between the two pans, the air is ripped from your lungs with supernatural force. Molten warmth pours through you from your soul to your fingertips, a liquid light that illuminates every nook and crevice, filling you up, up, up. It leaves room for nothing else.

“Show me,” you command with a voice that is both your own and a stranger’s.

In an instant, the once-white world around you is cut through by billions of threads. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white, and black. They cross and twine and interlace across every inch of this world, from the heavens above to the expanse beneath your feet. 

Your heart sings in their presence, every nerve in your body thrumming like a tuning fork. In spite of the intricate design of the tapestry that surrounds you, you can see who each thread belongs to, and exactly where each one leads. The knowledge that the Book of Souls gifted you burns like a brand upon your mind.

Somewhere out there, seven threads call to you. One in each color of the rainbow. The ones that you and Dream are destined to share.

With a shuddering breath, you pull from within, coaxing the future you saw in Destiny’s book to the forefront. All at once, a billion images flash through your mind. A billion meetings, a billion acts of selflessness, a billion touches, a billion ‘I love you’s.’ 

Eros, philia, and agape. All of them, for the remainder of time. The seven attachments you’re meant to share with Dream. All waiting to happen. All waiting on your word. 

“In this way, it shall be.”

And the world around you rejoices.

Every eros, philia, and agape attachment surrounding you illuminates at once, bathing you in red, white, and gold. Though they’re hidden from your view, you feel your own attachments call out to you, singing songs of gratitude, their voices sweet with joy. 

A wave of vertigo washes through you, nearly robbing you of your balance. You grip the pillar supporting the scales with white knuckles, breathless. Before you, the scales creak and groan. Desire’s pan rises slowly as favor tips from their side toward your own, inching closer to balance. 

Then, suddenly, it stops. Your eyes dart to the pointer at the top of the support, the piece that indicates whether the scales have reached balance. It remains tilted ever so slightly to the right. Ever so slightly in Desire’s favor.

It’s not enough.

Panic surges through you in a fury, making you hot and dizzy. No, no, this couldn’t be. You hadn’t come this far, hadn’t sacrificed this much, only to fail. You couldn’t fail. You had to succeed for them. For Dream.

Your eyes scan the tapestry of attachments that surround you, desperate for answers. You can sense the threads of desire that are interwoven alongside a multitude of the eros, philia, and agape attachments you’ve just ensured. In spite of your fortification, you know their presence is still a risk, a threat. 

There’s only one way to be certain that they’ll never be corrupted by desire, a voice whispers in the back of your mind, it’s tone low and grave. 

That wasn’t part of the plan, another retorts, it’s tone urgent, insistent. 

Your breath hitches as they bicker. Blood pounds in your ears, the palm of your hand slick with sweat against the golden support of the scale. Unlike the voice of doubt that often whispered in the back of your mind, both of these voices were earnest. They both spoke the truth. 

But there was only one way forward. Only one way to put an end to this. 

You hesitate for only a moment before flattening your palm against the cool surface of the scale. You hesitate for only a moment before you raise your opposite hand into the air. You hesitate for only a moment before you picture yourself grabbing the threads of desire strung alongside your eros, philia, and agape attachments, and make a fist.

You think of all of them. You think of Dream.

And then, you rip them all apart.

A thousand black threads dissolve from the sky instantaneously. The pan that holds the prism heart shifts downward, falling level beside Desire’s. The scale’s pointer reaches resolution with a resounding ring.

And your body is cleaved in two by a pain unlike anything you’ve ever known. 

A brilliant light floods your vision, swallowing the attachments, the scales, everything in sight. In an instant, you’re ripped backwards, as if pulled along by a string. Agony roars through your veins, blistering your nerves like fire, biting at your skin like ice. 

When you’re flung back into the Realm of Attachment, it’s on your hands and knees. Your body trembles as you hack and wheeze. You draw your forehead to your knees, curling into yourself, trying to shrink away from the pain. It offers no relief. This isn’t a pain you can shrink away from. This is a pain that comes from within. 

Your lungs burn as if lit with kerosene. Your body feels as if it's been drug from a moving vehicle. Blood oozes from your lips in long, sticky ropes. Your eyes throb with exhaustion. When you close them, a familiar darkness swells up to drag you under. 

You’ve been here before. 

“What have you done?” The roar that reaches your ears is guttural, inhuman. With a moan, you raise your head to look for the source. Several paces away, on the opposite side of the invisible pane that divides your worlds, you find Desire hunched over. Their fingers clutch desperately at their chest, as if in pain. 

When their eyes meet yours, there is a fury in them unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Teeth bared like an animal, they straighten, crossing the invisible pane into the Realm of Attachment as if it was nothing. Something instinctive and primal surges through you at their approach, at the sight of their hand reaching toward you. “What the hell have you done, you insolent–”

Adrenaline floods your veins like a drug. In a blink, you’re on your feet. You grip Desire’s forearm with a force that could bruise. “Do not touch me,” you growl through bloodstained teeth. 

Desire’s face falls slack at your command, their skin pale as milk. There is something in the pinch of their brows, in the twitch of their eye, in the tightness of their lips, that you thought you’d never see in them. Fear.

Pain pulses at the edges of your awareness, the darkness crowding close behind. They’re present, but distant. Only adrenaline and sheer will keep them at bay. Just a little longer. 

Your palm presses against Desire’s chest with trembling fingers. Power thrums through your veins like a heartbeat. You wonder if the Endless can feel it, too. “This is over,” you say, your voice a gurgle in your throat. You swallow down the bitter taste of copper. “Leave. And don’t come back.”

Desire’s golden eyes widen. In an instant, the Endless is ripped from your grip, jerked back into their realm as if attached to their own invisible string. In a blur, they disappear from sight, pulled into the clouds. There is a bright shimmer of silver as the pane that once stood invisible materializes, solidifying into a wall that blocks the Threshold from sight. 

You are alone. The world is completely, utterly silent. 

You’ve done it. 

As the adrenaline wanes from your system, a new sensation rises to take its place. Something so sweet and warm, it’s almost painful. Joy. 

A soft laugh of disbelief bubbles up from your throat. It’s cut short by a sharp, piercing pain in your gut, a knife that digs and twists. 

You move to take a step, to turn and walk away from the wall that now divides your realm from Desire’s. But it doesn’t come. Instead, you fold like paper, crumpling to the ground. When you try to stand with a groan, your body refuses. Instead, you sink lower. 

Your breathing is quick and shallow as you lean back, resting your head against the ground. It feels good to relieve the pressure of gravity from your battered body. Too good. When you close your eyes with a sigh, a numbness creeps into the tips of your extremities. It’s…familiar. 

Yes, you’ve been here before. Don’t you remember?

When you’d awoken all those millenia ago to hands around your neck, you’d walked into a future you couldn’t turn back from. You’d had a penchant for doing that all your life. When you’d met Dream. When you’d committed to fighting Desire, whatever the cost. When you’d opened the Dream Lord’s book. When you’d given yourself to him on that honey-gold beach by the sea. 

And now, it seems you've done it again. 

Woozy and disoriented, you almost swear you feel a rush of hot air by your cheek, accompanied by the familiar sound of Desire’s voice in your ear. “Was it worth it?” 

When you open your eyes, you’re alone. The silver wall remains in place, a reminder of what you’ve accomplished. 

But it was worth it, wasn’t it? You had accomplished the task you’d set forth to complete. Your function was fulfilled; the eros, philia, and agape attachments that mortals would share for the remainder of time had been fostered, fulfilled, and protected. Any thread of desire that could hope to overthrow them had been destroyed. And you had made your trade, allowing Desire the opportunity to interact with philautia, erotoropia, storge, and pragma attachments, if they so chose. Love and desire co-existing together. A balance. 

It was a shame you wouldn’t get to see it for yourself. 

And then, of course, there was Dream. The Book of Souls had shown that your life had been fulfilled according to its plan. You were always meant to love him. Always meant to end up here. Your destiny was to share all seven forms of attachment with him. Even if only for a brief time, it was enough. That true, all-encompassing, soul-deep kind of love was one so few got to enjoy. You’d never imagined that such a blessing would be yours. 

“Yes,” you whisper into the empty air. “Yes, it was worth it.”

You needed to tell him. You needed to let him know, before it was too late. 

Your hand reaches into your pocket with trembling fingers. They slip and fumble as they try to undo the cloth tie on the Dream Lord’s pouch of sand. When you bring a handful of grains to your lips, your tongue feels heavy, your mouth bitter with copper. 

“I don’t know if you work the opposite way, but bring me Dream. Please,” you croak. Your lungs wheeze as you send the grains scattering through the air. 

The world is still and silent. Though you wait on pins and needles, nothing happens. When the exhaustion behind your eyes becomes too great, you close them. 

And that’s when you feel it–a breeze across your cheek, dancing through your hair. A gentle warmth unfurls itself within your chest, sweet as honey, supple as silk. Distantly, you remember crafting Fawn with the Dream Lord on your second visit to his realm. The dream that was meant to make mortals feel weightless and free. If she could have visited your own resting hours, you imagine her presence would have felt like this. 

And when you open your eyes, he’s there. Dream of the Endless stands just a few feet away, the back of his long, dripping cloak facing you. Though you can’t see his face, you can sense his surprise. There is a tension in his shoulders as he cranes his neck, looking back and forth, taking in the sight of the silver wall and the rainbow-woven world he’s found himself in.

Then, he turns to you. As he does, he catches sight of the six radiant threads that link you. Red, romantic eros; the white soul-tie of philia; the calming blue of self-love, philautia; the flirty purple of erotoropia; the firey orange of companionship, pragma; and golden, selfless agape. As his eyes follow the trail that connects his heart to yours, the glow of your attachments catch in his pale blue gaze like the aurora borealis. When they rest on you, the outside world melts away, as it always has. Shock, awe, and relief rear in those eyes in equal measure. When the corner of his rosebud lips upturns ever so slightly into the ghost of a smile, it feels like coming home. 

It hits you, then, like a freight train, like a ton of bricks. Just how desperately you’ve missed him. Just how raggedly, haphazardly incomplete you’ve been without him. And just how little time you have left. 

That’s when he sees them–the bloodstains on your chin. The Dream Lord’s face drains of what little color it has.

“Hey, Dream,” you croak, strumming your attachments with quivering fingers. They glow and sing under your touch, infusing your chest with a warmth that serves as a momentary distraction from the pain in your core, the numbness in your toes. You strum them again. “Surprise.” 

The Dream Lord is on you in an instant. Crouching beside you, his hands make a frenzied sweep over your body, searching for wounds. Of course, he’ll find none on the surface. A fresh wave of pain courses through you, sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head. With a grunt, you pull them downward, focusing on him, only him. When your vision clears of stars, he’s looking at you. 

“What are these?” he asks, grazing his fingers along the attachments that bind you. When the bonds hum under his touch, his lips part ever so slightly in awe. You can still remember his first visit to your realm, when he’d tried to touch the elderly couple’s philia attachment. The confusion on his face when his hand had passed through it had been amusing, endearing. This was different, though. These attachments were his. They were yours. Together.

In spite of the pain, you smile. The red of your teeth is reflected in his pale eyes. “There may be a couple of things I haven’t told you,” you whisper. The action pulls another round of coughs from you. Blood drips down your chin like saliva. 

Dream catches it swiftly, wiping the trail away with the gentle press of his thumb. There is a frenzy in his eyes that you’ve never seen before as he assesses problems and grapples for solutions in real time. You wonder if he’s finding any answers. His voice is tight and forced when he asks, “What has happened?”

The numbness creeps higher, edging into your knees, your elbows. You blink hard, trying to focus, but it’s becoming more and more challenging. The world beyond Dream swims, individual threads blurring together like watercolors. “I did it, Dream. I balanced the scales that Desire and I share forever. I saved them.” Your mind tumbles and spins, thoughts set adrift on a fresh wave of pain. You scramble to gather them. “I saved you.”

You wonder if he thinks you’re delirious from blood loss. A thousand questions wage war in his eyes. “How?” he finally asks.

You offer him a half-hearted grin. “Let’s just say you and your brother are a lot alike.”

Dream’s dark brows draw together, carving wrinkles into his forehead. You imagine yourself spending eternity tracing each one with gentle fingers. Yes–that would be a welcome afterlife. That would make you happy. 

“Destiny?” His voice sounds tight, hurt. His blue eyes flash with something sharp and aching. Betrayal. He thinks his brother betrayed him. You shake your head, opening your mouth to tell him otherwise, to explain that this was your plan. Your voice cracks, broken by a fresh spell of coughs that makes the very marrow of your bones throb. When you  moan in pain, Dream’s arms slip around you, drawing you close to his chest. You curl into him eagerly. “We must take you to the Dreaming,” he says, his voice insistent, urgent. “You must be healed.” 

The earnest determination in the steel of his eyes, in the set of his jaw, makes your heart brim with a painful sort of joy. The numbness creeps forth, stealing the pain from your arms and legs, leaving a blissful nothing in its wake. You release a shuddering breath–part relieved, part terrified. Your eyes prickle and blur. When you blink to clear them, you taste salt. “I don’t think that’s my future, Dream. I…I don’t think I’m gonna get to keep that vow after all.”

Dream’s grip on your body tightens. In that moment, a new sensation grips you. Not pain, not numbness, but panic. Sorrow. When you meet his gaze, his rosebud lips are tight, his eyes glistening and wet. That’s when you realize that it’s him that you’re feeling. You’re feeling his emotions, through the bonds you share. 

“No,” he says, his voice firm. He speaks with the authority of a being accustomed to the world bending to his will. “I will not allow it. There must be a way.” 

The concoction of fear and desperation in his chest crushes your own, robbing the breath from your lungs. You’d transcend realms and multiverses to wipe the worry from his brow, sacrifice every molecule of your being to ease the tightness in his chest. You don’t have much to give now. But you’ll give him all you can. 

It takes every ounce of your waning will to lift your hand to his cheek without crying out. When your palm finds the softness of his cheek, your fingers trace the sharp lines of his nose and jaw with adoration. He leans into your touch with reverence. The shared tightness in your chests eases ever so slightly. You breathe a little more deeply than before. 

“Please, Dream. I don’t want to spend this time left on a quest for a cure that doesn’t exist. I just want you.” Your thumb finds the plush swell of his bottom lip, tracing it fondly. When you make your request, your voice is soft and tired. “Take me to the stars, Dream Lord?” 

For a long moment, Dream watches you in silence. His eyes flicker back and forth between your own, searching for answers, searching for a way out. You can see the exact moment his determination breaks, the exact moment his eyes dim when he finds none. As his eyelashes flutter closed, as he presses his cheek into the palm of your hand, the first tear falls. It trails down his nose, plipping softly onto your cheek, mingling with your own. And, in that moment, you know he won’t deny your request. 

In a slow, practiced movement, the Dream Lord grasps the hem of his cloak, whisking it over the two of you in a flourish. You watch in quiet awe as a blanket of stars unrolls itself around you, encasing you both in the gentle caress of the cosmos. Constellations twinkle brightly overhead. The Milky Way arches over your bodies in a dappled stream of black, purple, and pinprick stars. It reminds you of the nights you spent with Dream on that honey-gold beach, the night he painted you a story in the sky, the night you made your vows to one another. You smile. 

You’re not sure what it is about lying amongst the cosmos. Perhaps it’s the peace they instill in you, or the memories you’ve made beneath them, or how being amongst them feels like coming home. But when the numbness overtakes you, dissolving the pain into nothing, it’s not alarming, or frightening. It feels like being embraced by an old friend. Vaguely, you wonder if Death will greet you as you move into whatever lies beyond this. Did she come for gods and goddesses, or only mortals?

Dream must feel the moment the pain dissipates from your body. His hand leaves his cloak in a rush, shifting to cradle your face, instead. Without the pain to ground you, reality is a harder concept to keep a hold of. All at once, the stars above you begin to twist and spin. You blink, hard, but their dance continues. “Thank you. Looking at them…is so calming to me.” Your gaze shifts to the stars in Dream’s eyes, straining to focus. “I told you that once, didn’t I? Do you remember that?” 

A thick swallow works down the column of Dream’s throat. “I do,” he rasps, his voice quiet and raw. 

Your lips lift in a lazy, contented smile. No longer inhibited by pain, you lift one hand to card your fingers through his wild hair. “I’ve always loved the stars,” you tell him. Your voice sounds far away, sluggish, like it’s been reduced to half speed. “Even…even when I was a mortal. I think.”

Dream exhales quietly, a rush of air that chills the tears drying on your cheeks. His hair is feathers between your fingers. Soft as silk. You want to nestle your nose in it, to press your cheek to it. It would be such a soft place to lay. Such a soft place to go to sleep. 

“Look at me, Love.” 

And you are. Of course, you’re looking at him–you can’t stop looking at him. Because he’s everywhere. Because he’s everything. Dark, disheveled hair; pale skin; blue eyes; soft lips. You want to kiss him and kiss him until he stops talking. You want to smooth the worry from his pinched brow, to light up his eyes with laughter. 

I’ve still never heard him laugh, the realization drifts in from somewhere beyond the stars, settling over you in a daze. Your chest aches at the thought, so much more painful than any wound. 

Suddenly, his thumb is brushing your cheek, the other squeezing your shoulder. He’s trying to be gentle, you can tell. You must have dozed off. His voice seems far away now, as if he’s talking through water. You squint your eyes, trying to read his lips. He’s urging you to move, you realize. ‘Moving will keep you alert,’ he’s telling you. But why would you ever want to move from this spot when you can see him so perfectly clearly? You drink him in like a flower in a drought, a drifter in a famine. Memorizing every slope and curve and line as if for the last time, desperately hopeful that you’ll get to take them with you. His voice is a lifeline, but you can feel your grip slipping. 

Darkness pulls at the edges of your vision. You can feel the sweet things it promises–rest, rejuvenation, peace. Your hand slips from Dream’s hair to his cheek, holding his gaze to yours. You have to tell him. You have to tell him, before you go. 

“I have to tell you something,” you say, your voice scarcely more than a whisper. 

The pain in Dream’s eyes is raw and earnest. You can feel it, through the numbness, through your bonds. It settles in the nooks of your heart like the notes of a sad love song, beautiful and devastating, all at once.  When you first met him, you had wondered if you’d ever coax him to shed his armor, to be vulnerable with you. Oh, how little you’d known back then. 

“Do not.” His plea is quiet, his voice gravelly and broken. “I beg of you.” 

Maker, he’s a fool. You know he wants to know. He needs to know. 

“I read the Book of Souls, Dream. And it’s all been for you. Every decision, every moment–it all led me to you.” You turn your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the palm that cradles your cheek. “I was always meant to be yours. You’re what I was running to, even when I didn’t know it. You are what I was running for. You are my dream, Dream.” 

For a brief moment, the torment in Dream’s eyes softens. When his eyes fall to the threads of attachment between you, each one glows brighter under his gaze. He swallows, hard, in understanding. 

His body folds over your own slowly, carefully. As if he can shield you from whatever intends to come and claim you. His feather-soft hair tickles your forehead and cheeks as he leans in. His shallow breath is warm and sweet across your skin. When he presses his lips to yours, it feels like a vow, a prayer, a promise. Salt and copper mingle between your lips. When he exhales, you breathe in. You hold his breath in your lungs, a piece of him to harbor close to your heart, to take with you when you go. 

“Maybe you’ll be there,” you whisper against his lips. “Maybe I’ll get to dream of you, in whatever lies after this.” 

The tip of Dream’s nose trails along your own, then across your cheek. When he finds the tender hollow under your ear, that sacred place that only he knows, he presses his lips into it delicately, adoringly. You close your eyes with a soft, contented sigh. 

“There is nowhere you can go that I will not find you,” he breathes against your skin. His voice is raw, but sure. “I will find you.” 

Your laugh is weak and breathless, but happy, nonetheless. It feels good to laugh without the pain. The numbness feels good.

“So stubborn,” you chide softly, nestling deeper into his arms. His skin is warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. You press your cheek against it with a sigh. Until there’s no place where you end and I begin.  “If anyone could find me, Dream Lord, it would be you.” 

His heartbeat is a lullaby in your ear. It coaxes you into a soul-deep sort of contentment, a peace unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You could stay here with him, in this moment, in this feeling, forever. Is this what falling asleep feels like? “I…”

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th–

. . .

[marilynthornhilllover]

Hey!! just started following you and I would absolutely love if you wrote some "what we do in the shadows" Nadja x reader, vampire smut :') Also if you haven't watched the show Oh My God, its my current obsession. gay vampires what more could you want.

The Halloween Snack

Vampire Nadja x humanfem!reader

Warning: smut, praise kink, slight degradation, choking kink, biting kink, slight draw of blood, cunniligus, fingering, slight overstiumlation, pet names, nipple play, feral play, not much dialog etc.

A/n: I've never really watched the show actually but I've definitely seen her in edits and I can remember watching season 1 I think, it was a pleasure to write this! Hope you enjoyed darling, also sorry this took so long.

You groaned in frustration as you looked at your reflection through the mirror. This was the fifth dress that you tried on that you didn't like or you thought didn't suit your personality very much. It was a skin tight black dress that stopped right above your knees with strip back openings.

Nadja had asked you to be her plus one for a Halloween party last minute - well two weeks ago to be exact. You just didn't know what to wear. Not that Nadja would judge you but, you wanted to atleast impress her but luck just wasn't on your side tonight.

Nadja and you had been friends for quite some time. She was funny, kind..... sometimes, sassy, fashionable and excruciatingly evil. But to be fair she was the most kindness towards you. That might be hard for some people to believe because when you first became her roommate other students had told you that she hated the presence of humans, every semester they would place her in a dorm by herself.

They said, One slip up and she just might rip you to shreds making a fine dress for herself out of your flesh.

Or that you'd constantly be walking on egg shells, one day she'd like you being around then quickly get tired of you, and possibly rip your throat out. Everyone on campus had their fair share of horrific experience with the vampire. But on the first day of moving in, as dark as everyone claimed her to be she was actually your light, a sunshine. Now as cliché or ironic as that might sound it was the God given truth. You saw the way nadja talked to people, treated them, looked at them. Never once was she ever the same with you.

When it came to you she was like a puppy lover, soft and compassionate. Thoughtful even. For your birthday once she gaved you a gold bat pendant necklace with her initial on it. You started developing feelings for her, I mean everyone had feelings for nadja. She was insufferable, hot and a total vibe. She would call you specific pet names that she specially came up with such as, darling, babes, and love.

Whenever she called you by one of theses names you had to try your best not to fall falt on your face. Being with her made you weak to your knees. Her accent was so dreamy, the way your name rolled off her tongue had you squirming or blushing like a silly school girl in love, you especially loved the way she would read out loud her romance book that she writes at night whenever she thinks that you'd already fallen asleep.

Her eyes were also another factor that had you Turing as red as a tomato. Every time she glanced at you or gazed at you with her sultry eyes , you had to try your best not to scream your voice out. Soon Nadja would noticed the way you could clench your thighs whenever she spoke in a raspy voice towards you whenever she got upset with you at something. Or how you would whisper a little " oh god" whenever she winked at you or called you a" good little pet".

She used this to her advantage and teased you constantly non - stop , it's safe to say she knew what to do to have you on your knees in no time..... and we're not talking about vampire powers here.

You sighed once again in frustration as you sat on your bed with tears in your eyes. It's not like you didn't have enough time to plan for this party, you just didn't know what to wear. And everything you had looked either too girly or just not Halloween themed. You heard a soft knock before the door to your room opened as nadja peeked her head in.

" you ready or what babes?" she asked approaching you. When your didn't respond to her, she entered the room taking slow but carful strides towards you, tilting her head slightly to get a good look at your face, she noticed that you were crying. Upon seeing this she quickly knelt infront of you and gently grabbed hold of your chin to get you to look at you.

" aw darling what's wrong?" You sniffed and rolled your eyes as you moved to stand, nadja standing quickly with you. You felt small. You didn't want her to see you cry, she'd probably think your weak or cast you away for being a cry baby, but not answering her won't help the situation. It will only make it worse.

" Well, are you gonna fucking answer me or do I need to stand here all night and act as your therapist that you pay for extra tissues?" it was a rhetorical question but you heard the frustration in her voice. You sighed as you turned to look at her. God her eyes.... they would deadly poisoning when she was upset. her eyebrows were quirked in a worried expression and her lips stayed pinched as she studied your every move.

" i don't know what to wear" you spoke in annoyance as you turned to look into the mirror once more. Nadja bit her lip as her expression dropped. What started questioning if maybe what she was thinking was harsh or maybe what she was seeing was wrong. On your body was a perfectly well fitted dress, that matched the occasion you were going to attend and one that she didn't see a problem with.

" forgive me if I'm blind sweetheart but I really don't see anything wrong with this outfit, my love". you huffed, walking into your closet you began to toss out numerous pairs of clothes onto the floor. Nadja watched in awe as you looked through your closet, she smirked tilting her head to the side, admiring the way the dress was hooked on your body.

Your curves, the way your hips swayed. The thoughts got the best of her, she watched as you bent down to pick up a shirt and got back up. The dress you were wearing now showed off your curves plainly.

You turned to glance at her before continuing your hunt.

" and what are you supposed to be dresses as?" You heard as she sat on your bed and sighed, groaning as she cracked her back before proceeding to respond.

" myself duh" she spoke watching as you fought to unzip your zipper on the side of your dress. She got up and walked back over to help you. She gently gripped your hips and pulled the zipper down, you were too busy looking for a skirt to notice that she got lost in a trance as she stared at your red lace underwear like a pyscopath or perhaps - a total vampire pervert. She reached out her hand too touch your skin but pulled back. She was utterly desperate......

Your skin looked smooth, the density of the flesh twinkled in her eyes. Just one touch.... one bite.... even the smallest nibble will suit her well....

Her eyes flicked up towards your neck, the delicate flesh with a irritable beating pluse. When she bit into the sweet flesh, to hear your moan, taste your blood, Oh what she would give to taste you. Both your blood and your -

" nadja?" She flinched as her body forced her snapped out her corrupted trance. She realized that she was now face to face with your lips as you looked at her confused. Temptation was running high for nadja, her pupils delayed, her eyes darkening as she looked up at you.

" may I kiss your neck, darling please" you were a bit taken back by the suddeness and randomness that the question held but who were you to deny 'the nadja ' a taste of your skin, after all you'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't dreama about this moment. You gulped as nodded slowly, titling your neck to provide her with the required access. She smirked as her eyes beamed at your approval. Her super speed allowed her to push you up against the wall. Both her hands grapped your hips firmly as her body laid flush against yours. Before she could lean down to began what ever mission she had intended to do, you gently pushed against her biceps.

" please don't bite me nadja" she chuckled softly but nodded her head, silently agreeing. Her lips hovered over your skin debating whether or not to truly bite or to just enjoy the moment, who knows it might just be the last time she even gets to touch you. As soon as her lips made contact with your neck, it was a if a light switch went off for her. She immediately started nipping and sucking at the tender flesh.

You whimpered when you felt her finger tips grazing across your scalp, carefully pulling on your hair. you exclaimed when nadja's fangs scrape across your flesh.

" f- fuck nads no hickeys either" you manged to crack out slightly pulling away to look at her. She looked straight back at you with predatory eyes. It was evident that she was absolutely blood thirsty. But you couldn't let her bite you - you just couldn't..... fuck it, who cares about rules and morals.

Your lips met nadjas lips in a hasty passionate kiss as you used your body to push her back against your bed. She fell onto the soft mattress with a gentle thud and a small gasp. Biting her lips with lidded eyes she used her body strength to turn you over beneath her, straddling you instead.

" looks like someone's a little eager" she teased, her voice dripping with honey. You moaned as you felt her thigh slip in between your legs, parting them away from eachother. Nadja smirked she then moved to attacked your neck once more.

" oh God nadja p-please" you moaned as you titled your head providing her with more access to your neck. You could hear her chuckle softly before feeling a dull but sharp pain in your neck. You winced as your back arched as you felt her fangs dig into the skin of you flesh, drawing a slight blood flow.

You feel nadja body relax above you, as she whimpered quietly. She then slowly removed her fangs from the wound before placing a chaste kiss there. She removed the straps of your dress exposing your breasts to her. Her eyes lingered on them before they flicked up to yours.

You granted her the permission her eyes searched for. She took it upon herself to latch her mouth onto one of the already erected bud. Your eyes rolled back as your hands flew to her hair. A moan escaped from you causing nadja to look up at the sinful sight about her. As You arched your chest into her mouth your grip in her hair tightened even more.

Your body temperature began to increase and so did the heat in your core. Your breathing picked up when nadja slide her hand down your stomach, she toyed with the hemming of the dress before pushing it up around your hips then proceeding to pull your underwear to the side.

She realesed your nipple with a pop before moving to the other one. You whimpered as your eyes rolled back, pleasure started taking over your mind leaving you fuzzy and completely under nadja mercy.

She wasted no time bringing her fingers back to her mouth where she then spat on them before quickly sliding them in and out of you without warning. You gasped as you spread your thighs even wider hoping that she was go deeper.

She slowly sinks two fingers back into your cunt, curling them slowly, before pulling out completely, spreading your wetness to your clit. you let out quiet whimpers at the stimulation as your eyes flicked back, her fingers gently teased your pulsing clit. you call her name in a quiet whisper, in attempt for her to give you what you wanted.... what you needed most. its a plead you can’t help but let out. her actions send waves of heat surging throughout your body.

She then shoved her two digits back into your dripping cunt. You let out a silent sob at the sudden intrusion. Nadja curled her fingers at the right spot where she felt you clench down tightly. She grunted as she started sucking brutally on your nipple as if she's getting milk from doing so.

Your gummy walls hugged her two digits so good that she picked up the pace. You were a hot mess beneath her, gasping and moaning ever so slightly. Nadjas fingers curled deep within you which caused you to erupt in pleasure.

" That's it darling, God I wish I had taken it upon myself to fuck you sooner" she muttered while looking down at you. Your hair was completely ruined and sprawled out on the pillows, tears were evident in your eyes as your mascara started running down your cheek. You looked gorgeous.

You couldn't even think straight, you began muttering incorhent sentences. She could feel your walls already spasming around her fingers indicating your close to your first orgasm.

Nadja pulled her fingers from your cunt at the right moment just before you reached your high. Seeing the confusion mixed with frustration in your eyes boosted her ego to destroy you even more.

She crawled down to the end of the bed coming face to face with your aroused pussy. She smirked before putting both of your legs on her shoulder, kissing your ankle while doing so.

Again like some sort of feral animal that hadn't eaten for days she wasted no time, she enveloped her mouth around your clit, her tongue flicking and sucking on the tiny bud furiously in a attempt to make you cum quickly. After all you both had places to be right after this.... well... let's just say inconvenient...

You grabbed the bed sheets tightly, if you were hulk your sure that they sheets would be torn by now. You let out a pornographic moan as you felt nadja fingers slip into you once more, this time her pace was absolutely brutal and quick, making squelching noises as she hit your g- spot over and over again.

You felt coils after coils snap in you before feeling as a big one was building. You prompted yourself up on your elbows to look at nadja. Her eyes flicked up to yours for a split second before she started slurping your cunt eagerly and rapidly eating you out.

You fell back in a silent scream, feeling your legs as they began shaking dramatically. You felt as she realesed your clit with a pop but her fingers were absolutely driving you insane.

It felt so fucking good you started hyperventilating. Nadja then pushed her fingers knuckles deep into you before curling her finger and doing the barel movement.

" such a good fucking slut for mommy mhm" she cooed as her other hand wrapped around your neck tightly. its not long before you’re teetering on the edge of your orgasm, nadjas thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit, finger’s pumping in and out of your dripping cunt so deliciously.

You began seeing stars as the raven hair vampire pushed you further and further into oblivion. You shook your everything inside you as your orgasm hit you like a passing train going at a high speed.

You felt a completely drenched feeling of liquid slowly make its away from your throbbing hole to your thighs and further down. You knew exactly what just happened..... you squirted.

You blinked rapidly until you could no longer see the tiny white flying balls in your vision before sitting up straight and looking down at nadja.

She smiled softly at you before she kissed your forehead while caressing your arm.

" now that you feel like the princess that you are, you have five minutes to refreshing up so that we can hit the road my love" nadja winked before playfully smacking your biceps.

Before she left she brought her fingers to her mouth and gaved them kitten licks before smirking sheepishly at you.

She opened the door and left, leaving you in complete awe and limited time to get re- dressed. You knew that this was not the end of tonight and that after you both came back home, she's going to make you do that all over again until your screaming her name for the entire campus to hear...... and you honestly could not wait......

[without-school-or-style]

7 - Morsel

Word Count: 709

((No card today. By the time I remembered to draw one, I already had an idea. Some small Dawntrail spoilers for the first dungeon. Lavender Helltear belongs to my wonderful girlfriend, @abeat.))

Thanks to at least two setbacks, the trek through Ihuykatumu took longer than Joey anticipated—first by Bakool Ja Ja, then Thancred. And as the party continued their trek through the dungeon, the dark knight suddenly vanished into thin air.

“He shall be back in a moment’s time,” said the party’s astrologian.

A few seconds of silence later, Joey heard his stomach grumble. “We could clear some of the pathway while waiting for him to come back—”

The astrologian said nothing in response. Instead, she perched upon a rock with a ray of sunshine now beaming down on her. Placing her small satchel by her feet, she procured a spot of tea and some coffee biscuits to be nibbled by her lonesome. Her gaze stared everywhere but at the rest of the party—only the path ahead and the stars that guided her instincts. At least, so Joey and his rapidly increasing hunger believed.

‘Not a bad idea, though.’ Joey thought and took a seat himself.

The blond viera rummaged in his bag for something to snack on. He usually carried at least a quarter of a satchel full of consumable goods—purple carrot juice, sykon bavarois, some cinnamon-spiced chai, or even loaves of knight’s bread. At this point, who knew how long the dark knight would take to show himself again? Some lentil curry sounded filling right about now.

Except when Joey rummaged through the bag, all he found were some materia, pieces of random ores, and a variety of stock potions to cure ailments… every ailment except hunger.

‘Of course. I was cleaning out my bags before the call to duty happened.’ Joey thought. ‘Stupid me. Leave it to me to go unprepared. I should’ve just thrown everything back in the bag, but no. Oh well. Nothing else I can do except wait things out.’

He hugged his legs in a fetal position. When was the last time he ate? Or did fighting physically with little to no magic take that much toll on one’s physical well being? How did people like Teremy manage? Obviously with food, which he didn’t have. Joey’s curiosity to try fighting with only his dual swords and a handful of his magic became a fool’s endeavour at this rate. The rest of the body had caught up to his mental state and he started feeling light-headed, as he did when hunger struck. His body trembled slightly as though searching for nutrients it didn’t have. He selfishly thought to ask the astrologian to share some of her blessings, but she seemed off in her own little world, and Joey felt too guilty to ask.

“Here, Sous-Chef. It’s not much but take some of this,” said the voice of Lavender Helltear, the party’s dancer and Joey’s long-time travel companion.

Joey looked up to see the gorgeous viera woman holding out a hard-boiled egg and a slice of a knight’s bread loaf all wrapped underneath with a napkin. “Are you sure, Chef…?” he asked, using his nickname for her.

“Yes, I’m sure. I brought plenty of snacks to eat,” said Lavender. Leave it to the Mom of the group to come prepared like this. She was always like that. “I know you—you’ll be all I don’t want to burden anyone, but you’re really hungry. Besides, you look like you’re getting faint. So eat up.”

Joey chuckled as weakly as he felt. “Sorry, you��ve been hanging around me that long.”

“Well, I notice these things too, you know,” said Lavender. “And the point is, you need to eat. Who knows what other dangers lie out there, and hunger will just make you prey instead of the predator.”

Joey was too hungry to argue. “Thank you, Chef,” he said and gratefully took the food in both hands.

He slowly nibbled through the food. In minutes, Joey felt energy returning to his body. He felt like he could stand up and fight again. He smiled again at Lavender, this time a little more brightly.

“I owe you one.”

Lavender put her hands on her hips. “Nonsense. This is what friends are for, aren’t they?”

Joey nodded slightly. With a wonderful Mom friend like Lavender, he felt lucky to be alive.

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 22)

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, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 6,985

Summary: As Horacio's and Javier's stay in Manizales comes to an end, Elena has some words of wisdom and an unexpected offer for their future.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Discussions of coming out, grief, parental loss, canon-typical violence, religious themes, brief non-explicit sexual references, smoking, swearing.

Notes: As promised, here's the second half of their Manizales adventures. I'm still wrestling with editing chapter 23 at the moment, plus life has been kind of busy/stressful lately, so not sure when it will be ready to post. But the finish line is definitely within touching distance now ❤️

Thank you once again to anyone still reading/commenting/making moodboards and playlists or drawing, I'm blown away when my fic inspires others to create. I'll be making a proper masterlist once the fic is finished, where I'll link to everything people have made or have suggested playlist songs etc., plus there'll be my own playlist and moodboards.

Feel free to drop me a comment, whether it's about the new chapter or an older one, I'm always happy to chat 😊

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested.

Chapter 22: Past, Present, Future

The early morning mist transformed into drizzle in the time it took Horacio to run around the farm boundaries, the spray cooling his clammy skin as he worked up a sweat. He left Javier to wake and shower at his own leisurely pace, a routine they had settled into since arriving here. Although two mornings ago, both Javier and Alejandra were suspiciously worse-for-wear, and Horacio didn’t see much of either of them until after lunch.

Today, they planned to join one of Fabián’s tours, which included a coffee-tasting session. So, even if the exercise hadn’t woken Horacio up, the caffeine certainly would.

The rain eased off once back at the finca, sunrays now straining to break through the low clouds as Horacio showered and dressed, somehow still beating Javier.

Tempting aromas from the kitchen let Horacio know his Mamá was already up and about after making the children breakfast before Alejandra dropped them off at school.

As he sat down at the kitchen table and poured himself a glass of orange juice – his usual coffee would wait for later – both cats, Caturra and Bourbon, took turns rubbing themselves against his legs.

“You and Alejandra loved that stray cat when you were young,” said Elena, who had appeared from the larder with her arms full of eggs, chorizo and arepas. “What was her name?”

“Estrella.”

“She was the next best thing to a jaguar, and you were desperate to see one back then.”

“I remember. Never did, though.”

“Not many get the privilege these days.”

“Can’t say I blame them for keeping out of sight.”

Horacio remembered his Abuela Margarita telling him stories of how the jaguar, snake and condor were the original creators of the world and how the jaguar was tricked by man into parting with its power of fire. The feline creature was forced to survive on its cunning and strength alone, prowling around the mountains and jungles of Colombia, waiting patiently to exact revenge.

For too long, Horacio had stalked, clawed and mauled his prey all over Medellín, seeking vengeance on those who betrayed his country and its people. He was an apex predator maintaining balance and order in the food chain, not out of choice but necessity. A reluctant warrior backed into a corner until a palpable sense of duty kicked in when the threat was too real to ignore.

But whatever the unseen truth was, jaguars gained a reputation as ferocious killers, feared by humans until they became the hunted rather than the hunter, gunned down and chased into hiding and a life of solitude. An act of cowardice by the jaguar on the face of it, but these days, Horacio liked to think of it as an evolutionary advantage, the opposite side of the fight-or-flight coin.

“It’s understandable, yes. But a life in the shadows has its drawbacks.”

“True. But there can be a certain kind of freedom in the dark. Especially when those with flares want you dead.”

“Not everyone offering light wants that, Mijo.”

Horacio, who had focused on the floor for most of the conversation, finally looked up, hazel eyes mirrored back at him with extra shades of wisdom. His dour expression softened, and his shoulders sagged in concession. “I know.”

“Whilst I’ve got you here…” Elena trailed off, disappearing upstairs before returning with a small wooden trinket box.

She sat down at the table and extracted a gold chain from the box. “He’d want you to have it.”

Horacio stared at the pendants that swung back and forth like a pendulum clock as Elena held them out towards him. His cheeks hollowed, and his lips formed a sharp pout from how tightly he held his jaw in place. “Mamá, I can’t. Not after everything. Not after I ran away.”

“What are you talking about?”

“After I was injured, I went into hiding...in Laredo, Texas. And I quit.” He grasped his hands together and bowed his head as though in prayer, but he wasn’t sure even God could help him now he had confessed his sins. “I’m sorry I kept it from you. And I know you’re probably wondering why I went –”

“Javier.”

Horacio froze, undecided if he was caught off guard by the mention of Javier’s name or how he could hear his Mamá’s smile as she said it, as though it was the most glaringly obvious response anyone could ever have given.

“It’s okay, Mijo. You don’t have to explain yourself. He told me about the ranch whilst you and Alejandra cleaned up on your first night here.”

“That’s how you knew?”

“Well, not only that. I might be older these days, but I’m not blind.”

Elena chuckled, but Horacio could tell it wasn’t at his expense. So, he allowed his jaw some leeway, unclenching his teeth and facial muscles, almost appreciating the ache left behind. A chain reaction surged through his body, tension unknowingly carried for decades ebbing away now the secret he once believed would follow him to his grave was not only out but wasn’t being held against him.

And so he threw caution to the wind and let the floodgates open. He told his Mamá about Madrid and working on the ranch, about their plans for the future, about life in Laredo and even the crucifix, just in case she had noticed its absence and assumed the worst.

Talk of the crucifix prompted Elena to take one of Horacio’s hands in hers, where she deposited her gift of gold before he could refuse. “Take it. Please.” Her hand formed a dome over Horacio’s, fingers gently squeezing.

Once Elena withdrew, Horacio unfurled his palm and stared down at his very own El Dorado. “After my injury, I’d dream about this sometimes. And the stories you and Abuelita Mirabel told us about Bochica. I wish it’d been as easy as striking a staff to stop Escobar.”

“Bochica might have saved his people from drowning, but he couldn’t save them from the conquistadors and their gold-digging.”

Horacio rolled his eyes and sighed. “I know you don’t approve of Madrid, Mamá. And I know I’m no Bolívar, but –”

“Mijo, what are you talking about? I know you had your reasons for Madrid – even the second time. That’s not what I meant. And no one’s asking you to be Bolívar.”

A salient monument dedicated to Simón Bolívar stood in the centre of Manizales. The statue was half-man, half-condor, each entity synonymous with the other as national symbols of freedom and sovereignty. It still stung for Horacio to be reminded he had worn the Colombian coat of arms on his uniform sleeve every day, the proud condor flying above the motto Libertad y Orden (Freedom and Order) with Dios y Patria (God and Country) sworn beneath. But unlike Bolívar and Bochica, Horacio was unable to liberate his people.

Instead, he had sought refuge in two countries that had interfered the most with Colombia's autonomy. He had made a home on the land of the former Empire and used the gringos to his advantage when it suited him, never mind allowing one of them into his heart and bed.

Elena pressed her hand tenderly to Horacio’s cheek, the conflict in his mind apparently written all over his face. It was an action he had been on the receiving end of throughout childhood, but one that still had the power to soothe him as though no time had passed since.

“You’re also forgetting Chibchacum’s role in Bochica’s story,” she continued. “He was the one punished to carry the world on his back for creating the flood in the first place. Bochica did the best he could in terrible circumstances, and that’s all anyone could ask for.”

Memories re-surfaced of Abuelita Mirabel sitting between Horacio and Alejandra on the sofa, a blanket spread across the three of them, where she told of how every time there was an earthquake in Colombia, it was the weight of the world shifting on Chibchacum’s back. Little did Horacio know that would become a feeling he was all too familiar with when he was older.

But his Mamá was right; he wasn’t Chibchacum or Bochica. And he certainly wasn't Bolívar. But neither was his Papá.

So, he took a deep breath and raised the chain to unclip the fastening. From there, he attached it behind his neck, letting the deity and the angel finally rest against his skin.

“Beautiful,” Elena said, her eyes suddenly glossy and the corner of her lips twitching.

“Thank you.” Horacio held his Mamá’s gaze until it was necessary to look away and clear his throat. “What else is in there, anyway?” He swiftly motioned towards the box.

Elena passed it over to Horacio so he could look for himself. Nestled inside were his Papá’s wedding ring and lapel pins, his Abuelo Ignacio’s St. Michael’s cross, rosary beads, an old pack of Deportivo Independiente Medellín trading cards, a postcard of an orange grove with handwriting Horacio recognised as his Mamá’s on the back, and a black and white photograph of a young boy draped in a police jacket that was far too big for him. Behind him stood his father in the rest of the uniform the jacket belonged to.

“Is that Papá and Abuelo Ignacio?”

Elena laughed. “Of course!” She got up again without explanation, re-appearing with a photo album this time.

She flicked through it until she found what she was looking for. “Where do you think we got the idea for this from?”

She was pointing at an almost identical picture. The two boys in the photos had the same thick dark hair and charcoal eyes, a resemblance that would carry through into adulthood – although Horacio built up more muscle than his father ever did.

Horacio smiled. “I remember that being taken. It was my first day at school.”

“It was his idea before you set off for school, and he set off for work. He made sure I was ready with the camera when you came downstairs in your uniform.”

“I never knew it was his idea.” The dejection was evident in Horacio’s voice, even if he tried to hide it.

“He might not have said it much, but he was so proud of you, you know. And so am I.”

Horacio swallowed hard with his eyes shut, anything to hold himself together. “I used to take this when you weren’t looking,” he managed to get out, gesturing towards the photo album. “Same with some of the other old albums we had. Well, I kept a couple of them, actually.” He chuckled at the thought of the albums currently residing on a shelf in Madrid. “I always went back to the photos and his uniform for some reason.”

“You didn’t have to hide it from me.”

“Neither did you with us.”

“I know. But you were both so young. You didn’t need that burden on top of everything else.”

“You could never be a burden, Mamá.”

“You and Alejandra were busy forging your careers. I had to stay strong at work, helping people worse off than me. So, I saved most of it for my prayers and Día de Todos los Santos.”

Horacio remembered attending Mass and his Papá’s grave every Día de Todos los Santos. But it was different to Día de Muertos. They weren’t welcoming his Papá home; they were praying for those in purgatory and heaven. And as much as he liked to think his Papá was a saint, there was always a part of him terrified that if he didn’t pray hard enough, his Papá would never be cleansed of his sins.

“I was in Laredo for Día de Muertos. Javier’s father – Chucho – had a box like this for Javier’s mother – Mariana. He used it to make an ofrenda for her.”

Another piece of the puzzle seemed to click into place for Elena in a look that combined realisation with sympathy. Another loss, another parallel, another explanation.

“A beautiful tradition,” she concluded.

“Yeah, it is. One that remembers the people we’ve lost as we knew them and welcomes them back home.”

“A bit like this, you mean?”

“Something like that.”

“Whilst we’re here…there’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Go on.”

“Money from the house sale in Medellín has been sitting in a bank account since I moved here, along with some left over from your Papá. The plan was to split it between you and Alejandra when I’m gone, but…why wait?”

“What? But Mamá, that’s your money.”

“Technically, half of it is your Papá’s. But he’s not here. And who better to put that money to good use than his children?”

“Even though I wouldn’t have children of my own to return the favour one day?”

It was a question that had lingered on the tip of Horacio’s tongue since arriving here. A question he had tried to ignore for a long time before that, if he was honest. He learned of Juliana’s first pregnancy from his Mamá, who had heard the news from a friend of a friend. That was all she said on the matter, but Horacio was never sure whether he imagined the traces of disappointment in her voice that it wasn’t his child.

“Horacio, do you really think that matters to me?”

There was no disappointment in Elena’s tone now, just incredulous confusion that made Horacio regret his words.

“Even if I wasn’t surrounded by my amorcitos every single day, I would want you and Alejandra to make your own choices. Live your own lives. If that doesn’t involve children for you, then so be it.”

Horacio nodded, his lungs expelling a freeing breath he hadn't been aware was trapped in the depths of his rib cage. “Have you spoken to Alejandra about the money?”

“Not yet. But I know the farm needs repairs, and they’ve always got plans for this place. Same as the ranch.”

“I don’t own the ranch, though, Mamá.”

“No. But from everything you’ve told me about Chucho, he obviously trusts you with his business. And I don’t imagine you and Javier will want to live in a guesthouse for the rest of your lives. Visas don’t come cheap, either.”

Of course, she was right on all three counts. Horacio had a lot of on-the-job training ahead of him. He would effectively be starting from scratch again. But Chucho had welcomed him with open arms into his home and livelihood. It wasn’t implausible that if Horacio had ideas for the ranch, Chucho would take them on board.

They hadn't discussed living arrangements yet, but Horacio was confident neither he nor Javier had envisaged the guesthouse as a permanent solution. And then there was the small matter of Horacio’s visa. The paperwork upon which their future in Laredo hinged. He tried not to think about all the different ways it could go wrong or what they would do if it did. But that was a problem for another day. A problem that would no doubt be made easier with extra money in tow.

So, he ignored the whispering ghosts of his ancestors because his Mamá was right; he wasn’t doing this for his Papá. And he certainly wasn’t doing it for the people of Colombia, past or present.

“Okay,” he said in the end. “But only if Alejandra agrees to it, too.”

The sound of a throat being cleared caught them off guard and drew a temporary line under the conversation.

“Morning,” Javier greeted as he hovered by the kitchen door. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” Of course, he knew he was and an apology with his eyes was all he could offer Horacio for the time being.

“Good morning, Javier. And on the contrary! How do you feel about calentado?”

Whatever Javier had been expecting Elena’s response to be, for some reason, it wasn’t that. He looked towards Horacio for the slightest hint about what he had walked in on.

Horacio wanted to explain everything – and later he would – but for now, he ushered Javier to sit down.

“Er, sounds perfect, thanks,” Javier told Elena as his foot found Horacio’s under the table.

And as the three of them chatted and helped prepare breakfast, Horacio had to admit Javier was right.

------------------------------------------------------

The coffee tour took up the rest of the morning. It was no wonder Horacio had always been particular on the subject when he knew which were the best beans and blends to be found in Colombia. He still had occasional pangs for his former life, but the weak instant shit the gringos brought with them to Carlos Holguín wasn’t one of them.

Naturally, the heavens opened before the end of the tour – bad for the tourists but good for the soil – and by the time they had returned to the finca, another shower was required.

They showered together, the finca empty for a change. Plus, they had nothing to hide anymore – at least not with the people that mattered the most. That hadn’t quite sunk in for Horacio even after he told Javier everything. Even when his last defences buckled, and he broke down in Javier's arms, letting himself be held. Even when he was kissing Javier, slow and deep, in his family’s bathroom, their breaths heavy and desperate in such a confined space.

One thing could easily have led to another as Horacio pinned Javier against the cold tiles, bare skin seeking out bare skin, emotions running high. There was no doubt they wanted it to, and in almost any other circumstance, it would have.

“Not here,” Horacio whispered, his voice shaking and his forehead falling against Javier’s as he was hit by a sudden clarity of thought. “I’m sorry.”

Javier hushed lightly, cradling Horacio against his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.” He kissed across damp hair, running his fingers through thick strands that always became curlier when wet. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Light strokes soon morphed into lathered hands as Javier washed and rinsed Horacio’s hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp and soothing away stubborn remnants of tension.

Although a niggling knot remained, an unspoken question and an uninitiated conversation. “When I was talking with my mother earlier…” Horacio began, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to let the hot jets cascade down his neck and shoulders.

Javier hummed in encouragement, his lips following the water droplets, enveloping Horacio in a blanket of warmth from all angles.

“She reassured me she wouldn’t be disappointed if I never had children.” Horacio let his words hang in the white noise of the shower, giving Javier time to adjust to the change of subject.

“Did you think she would be?”

“It crossed my mind. So much has been passed down through the Carrillo side of my family. From my Abuelo to my Papá. From my Papá to me.”

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but four of your nieces and nephews are around here somewhere.”

Horacio let out a light huff. “Like I could forget. But…they’re Alejandra’s, not mine.”

“I know. But I think you’re forgetting the real question here. Would you be disappointed?”

“Back when I was younger, when I was with Juliana, I might’ve said yes. More out of expectation than anything else. But with you…I think we ripped up and threw away the rule book a long time ago.”

“Thank fuck for that. We’ve never been very good at following rules anyway.”

It didn't take long for them both to laugh at such a flagrant understatement.

“So, you do feel the same then?” Horacio asked in earnest.

“I was less than an hour away from getting my very own white fucking picket fence. If I’d wanted it, I could’ve had it. But that wasn’t my idea of the American Dream.”

Horacio turned in Javier’s arms, and the last seed of doubt was finally plucked from his mind. His lips captured Javier’s again, a statement of intent for their future. A future they no longer had to hide from their families. 

------------------------------------------------------

Javier seated himself in the large wooden gazebo at the end of the garden, which doubled as a viewing platform over the steep valley below. For once, sunlight had won the battle against the mist, and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue. It made it possible to see for miles, giving the illusion of being high amongst the surrounding trees alongside the raucous birdlife living in their branches.

It was their penultimate morning in Manizales, upon which Javier had changed a habit of a lifetime by getting up with Horacio. They had penned in some sightseeing of the city later. But for now, Horacio had gone for his usual run, and Javier started the day with possibly the best coffee he had ever drunk.

“May I join you?”

Javier looked up from his cup and cleared his throat. “Oh, er, of course.”

As Elena sat down, the sun glinted off the silver jewellery bonded to Javier’s chest, making them squint at its reflection. He instinctively brought a hand to his neck in a fumbled effort to shove the crucifix beneath the open collar of his shirt.

“You don’t need to do that, you know.”

Fuck. He'd been busted.

However, Elena's voice contained no traces of judgment, and it quickly put Javier at ease. He lowered his hand to his knee, giving a brief bob of the head before taking another sip of coffee.

“I still wear these.” Elena raised her left hand, showing off a sparkling diamond ring above a plain gold band. “The amount of awkward questions about the whereabouts of my husband these have caused over the years. Yet I still can’t bring myself to take them off. Although…”

With her right hand, she took hold of the top ring and wiggled it off her finger, then did the same with the second ring, with more force required this time.

Javier wasn’t sure what was happening until the dappled morning light fell on the inside of the ring he held up to his face.

Suerte que encontré a mi media naranja

(Lucky that I found my soulmate)

“It’s beautiful.”

“Eduardo wasn’t a man of many words, but he had his moments.” Elena’s smile took on a wistful appearance as Javier passed the ring back.

“My Pops is the same with his wedding ring. He insists on wearing it every day, which isn’t really compatible with the day job.”

“I can imagine. I hear it became Horacio’s day job, too?”

“Yeah,” Javier said with an involuntary grin. “I know it might be hard to believe, and I know it’s not what he expected, but it suits him.” Literally as well figuratively, he managed to stop himself from blurting out.

“I can’t remember him ever saying he wanted to be anything other than a police officer. My parents ran a textile business, and Eduardo’s mother was a nurse. But Horacio followed his father, who followed his father like it was their birthright. I always worried about Eduardo, especially if he was running late or was called to an emergency. Then it was the same with Horacio, too. So much blood spilt on our doorsteps, on our streets, in our churches.”

Elena promptly picked up her cup, the balm of hot fruit tea required before she could continue.

“Whenever the phone rang – or I heard a knock at the door – I prepared for the worst. It happened to so many friends and neighbours. So why not my husband or son? Of course, it was Eduardo’s heart in the end. But once Search Bloc made Horacio a walking target, it was only a matter of time. I’d spent years expecting it, but what I hadn’t accounted for in all of my fretting, pacing, and prayers…was you.”

“Me?”

“He told me what you did. How much trouble you and your partner got in for it. How you got injured yourself. How…you saved my son and his men.”

“We couldn’t save them all,” was Javier’s sole response to the lashings of praise he still wasn’t convinced he truly deserved in light of how the ambush came about in the first place.

“You saved more than your superiors were willing to, by the sounds of it.”

Javier scoffed. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

“Good. And as for the ranch…he’s always liked to keep busy. Just like his father, he could never sit still and relax for long. I can see it. I bet he looks the part.”

“He does, actually.” That was allowed, Javier told himself.

“I thought something had changed after his injury, even if he wouldn’t tell us much. I hoped he’d seen sense, but I knew he was prepared to die for that mission of his – that obsession. I’d almost accepted it, to be honest, especially without Eduardo around to stop him. So, when he told me he’d quit, you were the only reason that made sense.”

“Ever since my Mamá passed, I tried to change things – or control them, at least. Anything to not feel that…helpless again. But it didn’t work like that. Walking away was the only choice left.”

“But it was a choice you both made. That can’t have been easy. I may not have known you very long, but it’s already clear to me you’re good for each other.”

“Even though I’m a gringo?”

“We all have our flaws.” Not only did Elena catch the humour in Javier’s eyes, but she matched and surpassed it with her own. “But to answer your question properly…I would say the complicated histories of our homelands have more in common than meets the eye.”

Javier hummed as he had flashbacks to high school of learning about Laredo starting life as a Spanish colonial settlement before a bloody tug-of-war between Mexico and America – and independence from both – had broken out. There was no denying he had benefited from certain privileges of owning an American passport, and he’d always accepted the gringo label without much pushback. But deep down, he knew it was only half the story.

“You’ve shown each other new paths,” Elena continued. “Safer and happier ones. And that’s what counts.”

“Not quite sure what my new path is yet, to be honest. I’ve spent so long running away from Laredo. I’ve forgotten what it means to live there.”

“It took me a long time to accept my place was here now rather than Medellín. Whenever there was a bombing, or a shooting, or a kidnapping, I had to stop myself from getting on a plane. But Horacio worried I’d be a target because of him. He didn’t want me there. And what could I have done anyway?” Elena let out a self-deprecating huff at the mere thought.

“You wanted to protect your son.”

“Yes. But it wasn’t just that. Medellín was my home and my work. And many of Eduardo’s friends and colleagues were killed. Their wives were sisters to me after his death. But I couldn’t return the favour from down here. Not in the same way, at least. I sent cards, flowers, food parcels, even money sometimes. But it never felt enough.”

“It never does.”

“No. It doesn’t. But I did what I could. And being there for Alejandra and the kids made me feel useful. I got involved with the church again. Worked for a small charity. Even though we’ve been protected from the violence here, the repercussions of it spread far and wide. So many displaced families in need. At least I was making a difference somewhere.”

“I thought I was making a difference. And maybe sometimes I was. But I don’t think it was ever really my fight.”

“Perhaps not. But maybe it helped lead you to the right one.”

“Maybe.”

Javier’s mind drifted back to the family history his Pops told him over the phone in Madrid, not just about his Mamá but his grandparents too. Not to mention all his Pops had done for the local community over the years. He thought of the stories Señora Romero had shared and the kindness she had shown him and Horacio. They had all made a difference in their own ways. And they had done it without leaving their cities, let alone their countries.

As Elena excused herself to ensure Mateo and Sofía weren’t starting another civil war in the kitchen, Javier nursed his coffee cup and surveyed the meandering scenery below. For the first time since he told Stechner to go fuck himself, he could see the outline of a path emerging in front of him. He wasn’t exactly sure where it was leading yet, but at least it was something. Something closer to home.

------------------------------------------------------

Their last day in Manizales came faster than Horacio had expected, presumably a side effect of waiting for the other shoe to drop any minute. Miraculously, it never did.

“Knock knock.”

Horacio looked up from the bed where he was wrestling with the zip of his suitcase – and currently losing. “Morning.” Another tug, but it wouldn’t shift. “You just gonna watch me?”

“Because you’re usually so good at accepting help.” With a dry smile and shake of the head, Alejandra came to the rescue with less heavy-handedness than her brother, unjamming the zip in seconds.

“I’m better than I was.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“And thank you, by the way.” Horacio stood up, lifting the case from the bed and bringing himself face-to-face with his sister. “For everything.”

Alejandra nodded, maintaining eye contact with Horacio long enough to be distracted by the sunlight dancing across the gold chain around his neck. “It suits you.”

“Thanks. Better than it collecting dust in a box.”

“I don’t just mean the necklace.”

The subtle glow of Horacio's pupils mirrored Alejandra's before he stepped forward, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Take care of yourself, okay?” He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head.

“You too. And don’t leave it so long next time.”

“We won’t. I promise.”

“If it helps, I can sweeten the deal with a stay at one of the hot springs around here. They’re always giving me freebies for supplying their coffee. One of them has private thermal pools and everything.”

“You don’t have to bribe me to visit.” However, the thought of it being him, Javier, and a jacuzzi was enough for him to re-think his position on taking bribes. “Plus, I wanna see what you do with the place.”

“So you can take inspiration?”

Horacio rolled his eyes. “You wish. If you think you can handle the Texan climate, you know where we’ll be.”

“Don’t worry, I can and I will.”

“We about ready?” Javier appeared in the doorway with the rest of their luggage, pausing at the threshold. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Again.

“It’s okay; your boyfriend was just inviting us all to the ranch.”

It had only been an innocuous comment, but Alejandra managed to stop both men in their tracks with one word, a bashful look passing between them at the novelty of it.

“Oh, er, that’s great. The more the merrier.” Javier recovered just in time, although the flush in his cheeks showed no sign of abating. “My Pops always makes enough food for the population of Texas, so you’d be more than welcome.”

“Likewise here, Javier. As long as you bring more aguardiente next time.” She winked and drew him in for a hug.

“I think that can be arranged.” Javier broke away first so he could look at Alejandra properly. “And thank you…for everything this week.”

Alejandra gave a bob of the head once more, her smile widening as she glanced from Javier to Horacio, the depth of their gratitude beyond words but written all over their faces. “It’s what big sisters are for.”

------------------------------------------------------

After eating enough breakfast to last them for most of their journey to Medellín – the rest supplemented by Elena’s homemade empanadas and cocadas – they were stood back on the front porch again.

There was a chorus of goodbyes this time, ones that didn’t have the foreboding air of finality about them as they had done in the past.

Horacio allowed his Mamá to clutch him with all her strength, the scent of her perfume transporting him straight back to childhood.

“You take care of each other, you hear? And keep me updated on your visa. You know where I am if you need anything.”

“Don’t worry, Mamá. I will.”

“Y no olvide su español.” (And don’t forget your Spanish)

“No lo haré, Mamá.” (I won’t, Mamá) Horacio barely managed to suppress a tone of amused exasperation, given that he had been surrounded by almost as many Spanish voices in Laredo as in Colombia.

“Javier, you heard all of that. So, don’t let him forget.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Javier received the same treatment as Horacio with a bracing hug.

“Don’t be a stranger, Mijo. And don’t fret about finding that path. Just remember to follow your heart.” 

------------------------------------------------------

The light was fading fast, leaving behind a watercolour blend of ambers, yellows and reds that blazed against a backdrop of purple haze and the ethereal silhouette of ancient mountains. The glimmer of city life below felt distant, as though they had left this world altogether and now lived above the clouds.

Which was fine by them as they caught their breath; Horacio draped over Javier’s lap in the passenger’s seat, the culmination of their release glistening across their stomachs.

“Just like old times,” Horacio panted as trails of kisses became interspersed with heady laughter.

“Well, not exactly.” Javier’s thumb and forefinger delicately held the silver and gold pendants at their chests before untangling the chains that had become knotted during their tryst.

“No.” Horacio brought his forehead to meet Javier’s, an instant tonic to the painful twinge gripping their hearts as memories of their last visit to this spot resurfaced. “I told you we’d make up for lost time this past week, though.”

“Yeah, I figured you meant in the hotel. Or even back in Madrid. Not the minute you parked up in Medellín.”

“Like you were complaining.”

“Fuck, no, I wasn’t. Less likely to be overheard up here than in the hotel anyway.”

Once Horacio had regained enough feeling in his limbs to dismount and sit back in the driver’s seat, Javier reached for the glove box. He took out their emergency stash of cigarettes and lit up.

Horacio attempted to clean himself up as best he could and did the same for Javier. “So, this is why you brought those with us.” He nodded towards the cigarettes.

“Obviously.” Javier took a long drag and exhaled with a deep sigh, his body latching on quickly to the nicotine, his mind still blitzed.

They passed their shared smoke back and forth in comfortable silence, basking in their afterglows and the aftermath of the last few days.

“You still like it up here then?” Horacio asked after stubbing out the butt in the ashtray between them.

“Yeah, I do. Don’t think I’ve ever seen it looking so beautiful.”

“Me neither. Funny how the same view can look completely different in a new light.”

Javier hummed in agreement, their gaze now fixed on each other rather than the windshield, the irony not lost that they were back in the same spot where it could easily all have ended.

"I can think of a way to make it even better, though.”

“Go on.”

In a flurry of movement, Javier zipped up his jeans, pulled on his shirt and got out of the car. He rustled around in the trunk until he retrieved a couple of spare towels they had packed for emergencies, along with their jackets. It wasn’t quite the thick blanket from the ranch, but at least it was a mild night.

They sprawled out on the grass behind the car, lying atop the towels and wrapped in their jackets. Javier propped his head on a folded sweater with Horacio resting against his chest at an angle that allowed them both to take in the cityscape below.

“How about we just stay here forever?” Javier rasped between slow, sensual kisses.

Horacio moaned against Javier’s lips as he went back for more. “Don’t tempt me. At least we didn’t book an early flight tomorrow.”

“Good point.” Another string of kisses, each more addictive than the last.

“Although,” Horacio began once they had calmed down, his fingers tracing patterns across Javier’s torso, "we’ve got a lot to sort out once we’re back in Madrid.”

“I know. But at least we ripped off the band-aid.” One of Javier’s hands found Horacio’s and slotted their fingers together.

“I spent so much energy worrying about this trip; I was almost expecting something bad to happen.”

Javier raised their linked hands to his mouth and brushed his lips over Horacio’s knuckles. “But it didn’t.”

“No. In fact…I think I know what I want to do with the money.”

“Oh yeah?”

“If you and your father agree to it, that is. And I can find a good lawyer.”

Javier lifted his head slightly and turned in Horacio's direction, urging him to continue.

“I was thinking….what if we bought the corn farm? The three of us, I mean.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah. I think I am.” Horacio couldn’t help but laugh now he’d said it out loud. “Like I said, I’d need to check everything with a lawyer about my visa first. But there is an option for investors. And you still have some of your money from the ranch, right?”

“Yeah, I do. And obviously, you can count me in. But…shit, Horacio. Are you sure? I mean, it’s your inheritance.”

“It's nothing Alejandra isn't doing with her share. And well, if your father bought it outright, an empty cottage would go to waste on our doorstep. Last I looked, it needed a bit of maintenance, but it wasn’t in bad shape.”

Now, it was Javier’s turn to laugh. “Got it all figured out, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“It’s funny, ‘cos, er...I’ve been thinking, too. About something your Mamá said.”

“About what?”

“About looking closer to home for a new path. And I think I might have found it.”

------------------------------------------------------

They only meant to stay until they got too cold, but their shared body heat let them doze until sunrise. The watercolour skyline re-emerged from behind the mountain tops, gradually bathing Medellín in a heavenly half-light, stirring them awake as it reached their hideaway.

The plan was to freshen up and have breakfast at the hotel before dropping off the hire car and heading to the airport after lunch. But there was something Horacio needed to do whilst the city wasn’t fully awake, whilst the low sun felt like a gift from God Himself.

As they pulled up a stone’s throw away from Horacio’s old family church – a few blocks down from his childhood home and former apartment that Trujillo had cleared after his hasty exit from Carlos Holguín – Javier hesitated, unsure if this was something Horacio needed to do alone.

“Come with me,” Horacio said after stepping out of the car as though he had read Javier’s mind. “Please.”

That was all the confirmation Javier needed to follow.

They walked silently along a well-kept pathway that forked off in multiple directions. It was maze-like and disorientating, but Horacio took purposeful strides despite how long it had been since his last visit.

He halted at a large marble slate engraved with a crucifix and the CNP emblem. There were some dried old flowers in a vase at the base of it, where Horacio knelt down and swapped them for the fresh bunch of marigolds he’d carried from the car.

“A gift from Mamá,” he whispered. “She’ll be back again soon.”

Horacio remained on the grass and brought his hands up to the back of his neck, where he unhooked the gold chain. He studied it between his fingers, then clasped it in his palm and bowed his head.

The cemetery was empty at this time in the morning, the loud rustling in the trees drowning out the murmur of traffic beginning to burst into life.

Javier watched wordlessly a few feet behind Horacio, almost beginning to feel like he was intruding.

“Pray with me.”

“Are you sure? What if someone –”

“I’m sure. No one’s here but us.”

Javier checked around them once, then twice, just in case. Even if someone did happen to come by, two men praying over a grave wasn’t exactly the most compromising position they could be found in. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

Once satisfied, Javier joined Horacio on the grass. They couldn’t get away with how they had done this in private, but Horacio dropped his right hand to the floor beside him, palm outstretched.

Javier took the hint and discreetly placed his left hand over the top, encasing the gold necklace between them.

With heads lowered and eyes closed, they prayed. An unspoken acknowledgement of all they had lost and how it had led them here. They honoured memories made, those that would never be, and those they could still make together despite everything.

Horacio’s eyes fluttered open as the sunlight fell on the headstone above him, forcing him to blink away a glassy sheen. His hand stayed connected with Javier’s on the earth, his present and future by his side, giving him strength to finally make peace with his past.

He rose to his feet and made the sign of the cross on his chest before running his fingers along the embossed letters of his father’s name. “Te quiero mucho, Papá.”

Javier gave as much time as was needed until risking a gentle squeeze of Horacio’s shoulder. “You ready?”

Horacio looked from the gravestone to Javier, the charcoal of his irises burning with the fire of conviction. “I’m ready.”

[redyrmes]

before i start i apologise for saying pepitos name so much but i must stand true to no pronouns. bare with me here

so i am. so very normal about pepito. i will admit at first i liked pepito because i liked my design for pepito and pepito was fun to draw, but the more i looked for pepito content the more i just. augh

bobby is still one of my favorite eggs but the way his death impacted jaiden and roier and the community as a whole was unlike any other death. but thats because of the love people had, the love his parents had, and it was just so empty without him. eventually we moved on, starbobby and flowers and sunsets to remember him.

and roier would never admit how much he missed bobby, he snapped at one point and this man. he has cellbit, he has jaiden, and richas, but he misses his son.

so take away richas, jaiden, AND cellbit, take away his family, leave them on purgatory, he doesnt have richas back yet. introduce new kids and it just so happens hes the only guy that can take care of pepito. with his family gone, pepito is all he has, but he doesnt want pepito.

now we go to pepitos point of view—pepitos just a little kid thats scared, and lonely, and just wants to be loved, for gods sake, and meets a guy. this guy is supposed to take care of pepito, supposed to love pepito. bagi even said something about dont worry, you will never be alone. theres a whole island of people here to help you. a promise that you will be loved.

but pepito gets parents that never show up, and the one that does gives him the chancla, pepito gets a dad in no mental state to take care of this kid, in the most emotionally unavailable place he can be in right now. pepito gets to live in the shadow of bobby and richas and all the family roiers lost and it fucking sucks because thats not who pepito is. pepito is pepitos own person, pepito cant be bobby, even if thats who roier wants. they are gone. or dead. and yet pepito cant make roier love pepito, its not and will never be pepitos turn to have that dad.

and despite bagis promise pepito ends up sleeping alone outside in the flowerbeds. “im tired, let me sleep.” but then fit and pac come and give pepito a little house around the bed, and later on leo takes care of their little cousin, and things seem to be changing? despite all the shit pepitos gone through and at this point trying to be loved is futile, maybe pepito doesnt have to try so hard to be loved, because these people already love pepito. so maybe we end on a high note for the little guy :) and i dunno. i love that kid, i hope things go well for pepito:”)