#so i���m like ‘i mean if i interpret it your way; about dreams having meanings and messages; i guess i’m being warned that i’m dwelling too

[mischievousandquestionable]

step brother choso x reader summary -> you know you can always rely on your step brother to take care of you wc -> 1.5k warnings -> pseudo incest. unprotected sex. maybe slight coercion? but not really? creampie. cursing. nsfw -> mdni. dead dove. do not eat.

all your boyfriends ever do is cheat on you, lie to you, and take you for granted. you're so tired of giving them everything— every part of yourself— only for them to make a fool out of you.

after your most recent breakup, you came to realize that the only man you can truly rely on is your step brother.

ever since you were children, he's taken care of you, he's listened to you cry, he's made sure you know you're his number one priority.

so when you come home to the apartment the two of you share and find him sitting on the couch, you really can't help yourself.

it doesn't necessarily catch him off guard when you crawl into his lap, your thighs situated on either side of his frame. the two of you have always cuddled.

you're wearing a dress, so your cotton panties and his sweatpants are the only thing separating you from one another. the thought makes you feel dizzy.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head absentmindedly. "you okay?"

you make a small noise and bury your face into the crook of his neck.

you can't see the concerned frown that graces his features. "what's wrong?"

when you don't answer, his hand slides up your thigh before coming to rest on your hip. he gives it a gentle squeeze. "c'mon, talk to me princess."

"wan' you," you finally mumble against his skin.

this makes him chuckle. "you've got me."

"no, cho."

"what d'ya mean? 'm all yours, you know that."

you so desperately want to experience what it's like to be with someone you trust. who won't hurt you. who actually loves you.

but you can't bring yourself to say that. you can't admit to your step brother that you've been dreaming about his cock all day.

so you opt to grind yourself against him instead, and while the movement is short and apprehensive, you still feel his body stiffen beneath you.

"...what are you doing?"

your hands move to grab the fabric of his t-shirt weakly. "want you so bad."

he swallows thickly at your confession, finally understanding the intention behind your words, but he doesn't move a single muscle.

your eyes sting, interpreting his silence as rejection, and you're filled with shame.

however, when you pull back just enough to look at his face, you're surprised by the expression you find there.

his eyes are dark, lust and desire swimming in his purple irises. his hand reaches up, and he uses his thumb to wipe away the single tear that slides down your cheek.

"we can't," he murmurs.

another tear escapes your eye and it's like you've plunged a knife through his heart. he hates seeing you sad, and he'd do anything to stop it.

his hand curls around the back of your neck, pulling your lips to his. it's painfully brief, your lips just barely brushing against one another's.

"we can't," he repeats, his breath fanning across your face. "'m sorry."

"why not?" you sniffle. "i love you. love you so much. love you more than anyone—"

choso can't help it when he presses his lips to yours. you grind yourself against him once more, guiding his free hand to rest on your other hip.

he mumbles your name lowly, and it sounds something like a warning.

though, his body seems to be at odds with his words because you can feel him hardening beneath you.

"p-please, cho," you whimper. "need you so bad."

god, how is he supposed to think straight when you're talking to him like that?

you're so fucking needy. always have been.

and he's spent years scolding himself for the way his dick twitches whenever you give him that pouty look, or whenever you whine his name.

his grip on your hips tightens and you almost expect him to push you away, but he pulls you against himself further, his hips bucking up almost imperceptibly.

the gasp it pulls from your lips melts whatever remains of his resolve.

"you can only sit on it, 'kay? can you be a good girl and do that for me?"

"y-yes!"

he's trying desperately to rationalize the situation, like that will somehow make it less disgusting. it's not that bad if he lets his step sister warm his cock. it's not like he's actually fucking you.

his hand wanders, shifting your panties to the side and running a finger up your slit. honestly, he'd wonder if this was some cruel joke if not for what he finds there.

"so messy," he groans. "this all for me, sweetheart?"

you hide your face in his neck, suddenly feeling shy, and offer him a nod in response.

and while he thinks it's cute, he won't let you off the hook that easy. "use your words."

"y-yes, cho. all for you."

"good." he hooks a finger beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging at it before letting it snap back against your skin. "take these off."

when you stand up and quickly slide them down your legs, he pushes his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock.

it slaps against his stomach. he's so thick that if you wrapped your hand around him, your fingers would struggle to meet.

straddling him eagerly, your hands find his shoulders to steady yourself.

when you lower yourself onto his cock, a pressure begins to build in your stomach, and it gets worse with every inch.

"so big," you cry. "h-hurts—"

"shhhh. it's okay, baby. you're doing so good."

you look down to where the two of you are connected, letting out a shaky breath once you reach the hilt.

"see? i told you. such a good girl."

his praise makes you feel hot. it makes you crave more friction, even though you feel so impossibly full already.

you lift yourself up an inch or so before slowly sliding back down on his cock.

he groans your name. "don't."

"want more," you whine. "wanna make you feel good."

"shit, princess. you already are."

you pepper his face with a few kisses, starting at the corner of his mouth, then moving to his cheek and the spot below his ear.

"nii-chan," you murmur, clenching around his cock. "please."

it's not something you call him that frequently now that you're older, and you can tell it has the effect you intended when his eyes gloss over.

you lift yourself a few inches, then drop back down into his lap.

he tries to say your name, but he chokes on the first syllable when you repeat the action.

his hands fly to your hips after the third time. "stop it. we can't."

and you try to do as he asks, you try to stop, but he doesn't realize that his hands are guiding your movements now, ensuring that you don't stop riding him in spite of his words.

his head falls back against the couch, his mouth parted in miserable ecstasy.

"fuck. fuck." his own hips are moving now, thrusting up desperately. "this pussy is perfect. so fucking tight."

his eyes shift down to where he's buried inside you.

"look at that messy cunt swallowing my cock, princess," he grunts. "you were made for me, you know that?"

you hum in response, his words making the coil in your stomach grow taut. he picks up the pace when he feels you clamp down on him.

"y-yeah," you answer breathlessly. "just for you."

"i wanna feel you cum around this cock, can you do that for me?"

"close," you squeak out, your eyes screwed shut.

his hand reaches between your bodies to toy with your clit and that's all it takes to push you over the edge.

the orgasm that crashes through is so intense that your legs tremble and your vision goes white. choso's name falls from your lips over and over like a broken prayer.

you can't bring yourself to move, so he holds your hips in place and fucks up into you. when his thrusts grow sloppy, you claw at his biceps in anticipation.

"please don't pull out. please."

"sweetheart, you know i have to—"

"please," you cry again. "need it so bad. love you s'much nii-chan, just wanna be stuffed full of your cum—"

even if he really did want to pull out, he doesn't get the chance because your words make your step brother blow his load right then and there.

a strangled moan erupts from somewhere deep in his chest and you fall forward against his body, resting your chin on his shoulder.

his arms move to wrap around your frame and you're so blissfully fucked out, you're sure you've never been this content in your life.

"i love you," you murmur again.

suddenly, choso doesn't care if he goes to hell for this. this moment is the only slice of heaven he'll ever need.

"i love you too, baby." his lips find the top of your head. "so much."

[yeyinde]

i apologize if you’ve already answered this question before somewhere - but would you ever consider writing something with an explicitly male reader? i’ve been an avid reader of yours since mw2022 came out and after having read most of your works, i can’t say i’m not curious as to how it might change the dynamic

it would change the dynamic a little bit. more so because i think there's more options to explore with a male mc in an m/m relationship. especially with the 141. these are all super rough ideas i dreamed up at lunch lmao so an actual fic might change a lot of them but:

Simon is basically the same but more physical. aggressive but in a condescending way. always seems like he's goading you into a fight (and he is, but that's just so he can throw you to the ground and rest his weight on you until you beg him to get up). but i don't think he interprets gender. it's mostly just people who he can be rough with and those that he can't. the f!mcs i write fall into this weird middle ground of he can't, but he wants to. he has to be softer but he wants to ruin them. i'd probably do the opposite with a m!mc - should be softer, but can't. if only because mean Simon bullying the guy he's down bad for would be so fun to write. it'd be more animalistic because the m!mc wouldn't have an issue with fighting back against his ugly form of love.

you'd meet him in a bar. he's the scary guy in the back who says nothing to you at all but every time you look at him, he's already staring back at you. picking a fight, you'd think. and it'd cow you a little. as much as you can hold your own, as often as you get into tiffs, he's a tank. his size makes your belly twist. makes all those ugly feelings in the back of your head well up, the ones you tried to bury behind a too-bright grin and forged masculinity that fits like clunky armour. you feel sick looking at him. jealous. envy. greed. a noxious cocktail roiling around the generous sips of flat beer. so you don't. you look away. but the glares you send over your shoulder only make him huff, his head angling down toward his chest in a way that oozes a droll, acidic sort of amusement. stay away.

and you do. but he catches you at the mouth of the alley when you try to make your escape for the night, shoving your face into the brick as he grunts into your crown about fuckin' teasin' him all night. don't worry, though. he's gonna give you exactly what you've been craving, pretty boy. just be good for him, yeah?

Price is crass. rougher. but like Simon, gender, sex, and identity are all narrowed down to two categories for him: those that need his help, and those that don't (and then beneath that: those that deserve it and those that don't). if you're in control of your own life, competent, he'll force you into the former. bully you until something breaks. he's a bit more reserved with his advances but only because knocking you up isn't really an option. so, he has to be smart. cunning. it's a waiting game with Price, really.

with Gaz, there's almost a sense of a rivalry in the relationship. he definitely understands his attraction to you, knows what he wants, but he likes to push the people he's interested in and a m!mc would let him test the limits a bit more. he likes to mould the people he likes around him. re-build their entire life until it's tangled up in his. a m!mc would be a harder catch. like Price, it's not like he can just knock you up and keep you forever. he needs to strategise a bit more and i think that would make him more desperate.

Soap is basically the same. rougher, though. crude, too. has a thing for forced feminization. would call you hen and bonnie even as he manhandles you on the bed and rides you until you pass out. he's softer when he pursues a f!mc because he knows he can't play his hand right away or they'll run, but with a m!mc, he's all teeth. always grinning wide but like a shark. a touch scarier as he slides his hand up your thigh and coos in your ear about how badly he wants to fuck you stupid. but he won't let you cum. no, no - you're only allowed to cum inside him so you better not get off when he's fucking you or he'll have to show you some self-restraint. bites a lot. everywhere. always has a bottle of lube stashed away somewhere. it's intense. wrings you dry.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Past the Wit of Man (or, Bottom's Dream)

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 3657 Tags: comedy, attempted comedy, comedy devolving into feels, identity reveal, sex worker Hob Gadling, advancing my Men In Lingerie agenda, long-haired Hob Gadling agenda, stretching timelines like taffy, Desire and Dream get along AU, but Desire is not actively in this, Dead Boy Detectives comic spoilers mentioned, miscommunication, Dream of the Endless finally uses his words, happy ending

Notes: Kudos props and huge thanks to everyone in the Mr Sadman discord who creatively interpreted a snippet I posted of something else and launched the whole idea of Hob working for a supernatural escort service; this would not exist without y'all and your beautiful brainstorming. ❤️

This fills the August monthly @dreamlingbingo prompt Identity Reveal, replacing square A2 (creature: Veela) on my bingo card

Summary: Hob is nicely settled in a new career and a new identity and does not expect to see his Stranger until 2089. The universe, apparently, has other ideas.

On AO3

~ "Your client is Dream of the Endless. He is extremely ancient and extremely powerful, an underpinning concept of the universe. Absolutely terrible about loosening up and letting himself relax."

"Don't think I'd be much good at relaxing if I was an underpinning concept of the universe either," Hob jokes, opening the profile that the Agency rep has just airdropped to his phone and thumbing through it.

The rep, a foppish vampire with curly white hair and impeccable fashion sense, arches one elegant eyebrow at him. "Apparently his most recent girlfriend dumped him quite harshly and his sibling has arranged this booking on his behalf; he's—and I am quoting here—'absolutely incompetent at managing his own happiness'."

"He knows he's been booked though, right? I'm not gonna catch the fallout because no one told him what kind of appointment this is?" It's only happened once, a prank played on a shy ace nixie by her well-meaning but ill-informed friends; all the same, Hob does not care to repeat the experience—particularly with someone potentially more dangerous.

"He is very much aware and in agreement, yes. We promised him our top companion." The rep dimples at Hob, a smile of saccharine sincerity that shows only the barest hint of fang. "And that's you, sweet Nick."

"And that's me," Hob agrees matter-of-factly, frowning at his phone, then turning it to show his guest. "No photo?"

The rep glances at the screen and makes a commiserative noise. "Oh, yes. Unfortunate, that. Cameras have a very hard time with this fellow, something to do with his general relationship to reality." His tone takes on a simpering air of great melodrama. "We were forced to use an artist's rendition instead! Tragic, really; it doesn't do him justice."

"Huh," Hob says, turning his phone back and studying the cartoony hand-drawn image. Guy looks like he's got some sort of steampunk insect for a head, dark and bolt-laden and bug-eyed, with a trunk that's strongly reminiscent of a disembodied spine. "Dream of the Endless, you said? Looks more like a bloody nightmare."

The rep gives an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, as if shrugging off his delivery duty now that it's done, and turns to leave. "Well whatever the case, an Endless is far above the average client, darling. Give him your best."

"'Course." Hob grins. "That's why you brought the assignment to me, after all."

"Just so." The Agency rep gives a lazy wave in parting and Hob closes the door, still scrolling through the profile as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Dozens of titles and names", he murmurs, glancing through the list of them. "King of Dreams and Nightmares, alright. Contains the entire collective unconscious of every living being in. Every…universe…?" He shakes his head. "Has never taken a vacation ever. Bested Lucifer Morningstar and oversaw the reassignment of Hell��okay, wow. Billions of years old." He whistles, a long sound of awed disbelief. "Maybe I throw in a free massage for this guy; sounds like he could use it."

He shakes his head again, pockets his phone, carries on with getting breakfast together.

Bug-headed workaholic foundational concept of the universe. Won't be the weirdest client he's ever serviced.

~

It's been ten years since his stranger showed up late for their meeting and smiled so openly and named him friend. That had been their longest meeting yet, lasting all afternoon and on into the evening and it wasn't until the Inn had started closing up for the night that they wound down. His stranger had spoken briefly of the missed appointment in 1989, making clear that something at least mildly traumatic had kept him away and also that he did not wish to elaborate, and Hob had let it go. There was so much to tell of his own century past, his friend remarking with interest on a great many of his stories, and it was enough. His stranger, his friend, had come back, and they'd had a lovely long meeting. Perhaps in 2089 he would be comfortable sharing more of his own story, but even if not, Hob didn't mind. He was confident once more in the friendship he'd declared back in 1889 and willing to coax it out bit by bit, meeting by meeting. He had all the time in the world, after all.

Within a year of that meeting he'd wrapped up his teaching career, arranged for ownership of the New Inn to transfer to a 'relative' in the States who'd keep it running the next few decades, and started searching for a new career for his next identity.

He stumbled quite by accident into the broader supernatural world after being stalked by two dead teenagers helping that de Rais creep who wanted to steal his immortality. It all turned out fine in the end but opened Hob's eyes to exactly how much the supernatural had integrated into the modern world around him. And once old Hettie clued him in to the existence of a certain Service Agency catering to supernatural clients, his next career path was all but decided. What was he going to do, not seize the opportunity for fantastical sexual exploration when presented with it? Life was for living! Werewolves, vampires, sirens and fae and merfolk, the occasional ghost and even an extra-terrestrial or two; scales, feathers, tentacles, knots—Hob's shown them all a good time and earned a stellar reputation among the Agency's clientele. He doesn't plan to do it forever, but he enjoys exploring new avenues and stretching his limits and 'Nick Bottom' is the perfect persona to let him do so.

And now sweet high-priced in-demand Nick has been booked to rebound-fuck an uptight concept in humanoid form who looks like something straight out of a nightmare.

Hob can't wait to completely take this guy apart one orgasm at a time until he's a boneless puddle of satiation and send him home afterwards a brand new man.

Concept. Entity. Whatever.

~

The booking is scheduled for the following day and when the time comes, Hob is fresh and clean and set up in the Agency's most lavish suite. He's let his hair grow the last few years, sports a proper Hozier-like mane at this point, is wearing it down for this appointment. His beard is several weeks old, trimmed to artfully-scruffy perfection and well-groomed. He's lounging on the bed in a short open silk robe and a pair of lace panties that hug his hips and leave most of both arse cheeks exposed, a popular outfit in his repertoire sure to please the classiest of clients with the most discerning taste. Both pieces are a matching vibrant cobalt blue that complements his skin tone beautifully. He's wondering what fucking a concept is like, idly massaging his dick now and then to keep it primed, when finally there's a peculiar displacement of air and then a figure in dark robes with a weird spine-trunked bug-eyed head is standing in the middle of the suite. He's taller than Hob and inhumanly rail-thin; the robes plunge deep from the neckline, displaying milk-white skin without a hint of chest hair and clavicles that beg to be nibbled on. He's in profile, angled slightly away, and Hob has the distinct sense that this is a deliberate pose meant to make an impression, to instill awe and possibly fear in him.

So Dream of the Endless has a flair for drama, got it.

"Hello," Hob greets in his best breathless-and-sultry tone, rising from the bed to approach his client. He layers in a suitable amount of awe, pitching his voice toward 'smitten' with a subtle ring of sincerity to support it. "Oh, wow. You must be Dream of the Endless; I'm so delighted to get to meet you! I'll be taking care of you today; you can call me Nick."

The guy, the concept, Dream of the Endless, he goes stock-still as Hob speaks, and it's like the air in the room pauses with him. He turns, slowly, until Hob is face to face with his…oh, possibly that's a mask, then; the bug-eyed lenses are somewhat translucent in the light though Hob still can't see beneath them.

"There has been some mistake." The voice is deep and distorted through the helmet-mask, bone-rattling in an almost-pleasant way and, somehow, somewhat…familiar? "I was meant to be meeting with 'Nick Bottom'." The quotes around the name are audible.

"That's me!" Hob says, raking a hand back through his hair and shaking it to settle around his shoulders attractively, flashing his most charming smile. "At your service, love, whatever you need. I'm here to make sure you have a very good time, and—"

"Hob Gadling."

That draws him up short. He's currently Robyn Gadrin for tax-paying purposes in the outside world, but the Agency wouldn't give out his current identity let alone his true name, so how—

Hob's brain is babbling insistently about the note of familiarity in that voice and he finally lights on why as Dream of the Endless reaches up to remove his helmet.

Hob finds himself staring at the slightly-more-than-human-but-still-very-familiar face of his Stranger, his centennial touchstone, his friend.

Everything about his reality tips a little bit sideways, dominoes crashing one after the other in his brain until all that's left is that awful ringing alarm tone that features in emergency broadcast alerts on American telly.

Between them, the silence stretches awkwardly, until finally Hob breaks it, the first thing that comes to his tongue spilling out while his poor brain is still rebooting.

"Six-hundred some-odd bloody years, and this is how I learn your name?!"

~

It is five minutes later. Hob is sitting on the side of the plush bed in his short silk robe and lace panties, clutching a bottled water and seriously considering availing himself of the bar in the next room because his emotions are all over the place. His Stranger—Dream of the Endless, apparently—is seated next to him. His eyes are not the blue that Hob is used to, are fully black with actual stars winking in and out of them; it's gorgeous but uncanny. He's currently not looking at Hob, has got the weird bug-spine helmet gripped tightly in both hands. Which are still so pretty, Hob can't help noticing, his fingers longer and more spindly than normal, splayed wide around the curve of the helm, nails painted black. Or maybe not painted, maybe they just are black.

Pretty, regardless.

Not a helpful thought at this juncture.

It's not like he'd thought his Stranger was actually human, obviously, and okay yes the possibility of meeting up with him via this particular career choice had crossed his mind once or twice, might've featured in a private fantasy or two; but also he'd never seriously imagined it because it felt so entirely implausible that his prim and lofty Stranger would ever engage in something so mundane. So casual.

Apparently, Hob was wrong about that.

He's not sure how to feel about it, either.

The smooth inhumanly-pale chest on display in the plunging vee of those artfully-draped robes is also not helping anything.

His Stranger—Dream— moves slightly, glances at him with those starry eyes, flexes those pretty fingers on the helmet. "I will. Arrange. For another. To take your place, Hob, you need not—"

"Now hold on a minute," Hob interrupts, sudden direction presenting itself for his floundering emotions to flow. "What do you mean, 'arrange for another'? What's wrong with me?"

Dream, his name is Dream of the Endless, Dream looks perplexed. "Our. History—"

"Oh yes, our illustrious storied history wherein we have met all of seven times before now and, may I remind you, you took offense to my suggestion that we might be friends until you'd had time to digest it properly, yes."

"Eight."

"Eight?"

"I visited your dream, before undertaking a daunting journey from my realm to another. We shared wine. You gave a most thoughtful toast."

"I. Okay." He remembers that dream, yes; he remembers the wine that followed him out of it, and now with the knowledge that his Stranger is apparently King of all dreams and nightmares suddenly it all makes brand new sense. But he will process that later. "Eight. Still not a factor in my ability to do my job."

Mostly. It is his Stranger, after all, and it's not like he hasn't ever wanted—

"Sex would be. Awkward," Dream insists, and Hob loses it, never mind he'd half-thought the same thing until a second ago; Dream saying it makes him refute the assertion with everything he's got.

"You dare," he says, setting aside his water.

Dream boggles at him, cosmic eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.

"You. DARE. To disdain my professional services just because we know each other?!"

"Hob— "

"No. No, your booking was very clear that you were to have the very best, and that. Is. Me. So you will not be re-booking with another companion on the grounds that our acquaintance makes it 'awkward'; if you mean to partake of the services you've hired you will partake of them with me."

"My sibling."

"What."

"My sibling hired your services. Did they know—" He's half talking to himself and Hob sighs, forcefully pulling the conversation back on track.

"Yes, right; your sibling booked you and here you are. Did you want to get laid today?"

"You need not be so crude about it."

"Forgive me. Of course. Did you come here hoping to have a sensual skillful sexual experience with a stranger intent on your pleasure with no judgments or expectations placed upon you in return?" He makes a valiant effort to rein in his sarcasm. "Because I can still provide that. Minus the bit where we're not strangers."

Dream looks positively miserable, a sodden wet cat of a man in sex-appeal robes hunched on the edge of the decadently-plush bed, and there is certainly an understandable element of embarrassment to the situation but Dream is taking it so seriously. Hob is not surprised, exactly, but christ—he's more than willing to follow through never mind any feelings he may or may not want to admit to, and Dream is the one who'd agreed to the booking in the first place. You'd think he could handle this hiccup with a little more grace.

"It was my intent to. Do, as you say," Dream says at last, and Hob sighs.

"Is that still what you want, then? I promise I'll take good care of you." He's actually really warming up to the idea, not that he was cold to it to begin with. It's his Stranger after all. He's been willing to say yes for centuries. "They really did book you the best, and I would love to show you how well-earned my reputation is—"

"Hob—" Dream sounds pained, gives an artfully-dramatic shake of his head. "My wants are. Manageable. If no one else is available. I cannot simply engage with you so frivolously—"

Hob leaps up from the bed, stalks a frustrated few steps away and whirls back, spreads his arms. "Am I not appealing to you, Dream of the Endless?" He tosses his head, shakes his hair back, gestures at the blue silk and lace that he knows looks absolutely spectacular on him. "Would you like me to change clothes? I have a dozen more ensembles I'd be happy to put on if you'd rather peel me out of one of those. Would the Prince of Stories prefer roleplay? Golden-age pirate, biker bad boy, Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth, cowboy, librarian, Starfleet officer—I'll dress however you like." He's fired up, he's…it feels like anger but it's more like alarm; he is absolutely not about to let a colleague fuck HIS Stranger if Dream's looking to unwind. Not with all the thoughts he's entertained the last couple centuries, not when Dream is looking so entirely miserable about the whole experience. Hob wiggles his bare toes in the plush carpet, forcing a deep breath; he is jealous and possessive and protective all at once and has no idea how to safely navigate this storm to get Dream what he wants without pissing him off.

"Your…clothing becomes you greatly, Hob." He's sneaking a glance as he says it, like he's not allowed to look but can't help it. "Your clothing is not at issue."

"Then what is?" Hob rakes a hand back through his hair, frustration fizzling, careening toward concern. "If you're truly that put off by me, I'll let it go. But you're here, for sex, which you did say you wanted; this is my job and I'm good at it and you clearly need—" Someone to take care of you, he'd nearly said, and while Dream has been giving him so much leeway in this conversation he thinks that might be one straw too much for this particular camel's back.

Nice to know he appreciates Hob's hairy chest and his dick in blue lace, though.

Dream levels him with a look that almost puts him right back to 1889, and Hob has half a second to start panicking before Dream closes his eyes, draws himself up, sets his bloody weird helmet on the bedside table with a soft leathery clunk. When he opens his eyes again, they are resolute, resigned, the eyes of a man headed for the gallows despite the stars winking hopelessly in their depths.

"I do not wish to be intimate with you. When you view it as simply a job. I. Would like—but not. If it is a transaction. If I am merely a client."

Oh. Oh.

Oh shit, really?

Impossible.

Really?

"You want. You want it to mean something?" Hob is embarassed at how small his voice comes out.

Dream closes his eyes, something like shame written all over his beautiful otherworldly-pale face. "I had thought. At our fifth meeting. That perhaps there was the possibility of. Attraction, between us." He opens his night-sky eyes again, meets Hob's resolutely. "Had we not been interrupted…" He shakes his head. "I pondered the idea until next we met, anticipating the possibility of. Seeing, where we might have come to. But you named what was between us friendship, you named me lonely; I perceived your words as mockery and acted accordingly. I spent the next century with a surplus of time to wander my own thoughts. They turned to you, Hob Gadling, with regularity. As I expressed when last we met, I regret leaving our previous meeting so abruptly, so harshly. Your friendship is of great value to me. I am content to let it remain friendship, in the interest of keeping it. But I am unwilling to engage with you, who named me 'friend', as I would a lover when I have yet to fully bury the wish. That you might have been my lover in truth."

Hob is desperately trying to keep from bluescreening again and while he's focused on that, his mouth runs along without him. "You never even gave me a name, but you wanted us to be lovers?"

"I am. Aware, of how foolish my wishes—"

"No, oh no. Dream. Love." He absolutely cannot let him think that. "All you ever had to do was ask."

Dream looks at him, starry eyes full of misery with the faintest spark of hope underneath, glimmering with unshed tears. "I. Could not—"

"That was then. Water under the bridge. What about now."

Dream shivers, his more-than-human face wary and pleading and resigned all at once and the last of the fight drains out of Hob. He approaches gently, until he is directly in front of Dream on the edge of the bed again; he half straddles Dream's lap with one foot still on the floor and a bare knee sunk on the mattress beside him, threads both hands into Dream's hair behind his lovely ears, tips his pale face up.

"Ask me now. Please."

Dream's hand settles above his bent knee, a gentle, tentative touch; his eyelashes flutter, and the sound that leaves him steals Hob's breath. That hand travels softly around to grip the back of Hob's thigh, slides hesitantly higher, and then it's Hob making the helpless noise as Dream's fingertips card beautifully through his leg hair, run up beneath the short robe. Dream's spindly black-nailed hand caresses up over his exposed arse cheek, squeezes, and all the while Dream's beguiling uncanny eyes are fixed on him, wet and wondering, full of blossoming hope.

"Hob Gadling." His voice is hushed, almost reverent. "I should like to have you, as my lover. If you are amenable." His face is tipped up, so close between Hob's hands, and Hob.

Hob's shaking. He's actually trembling, pent up, a little scared; daring, as he leans down and his hair falls around them both, hoping—

He brushes his lips to Dream's.

He kisses his Stranger, his friend, his touchstone.

And Dream of the Endless, who is all of those things, kisses him back.

It's nothing like he might have imagined, and ten times as wonderful, and over before he realizes he's ended it.

"Do you mean it." His voice is breathless, the words spoken directly against Dream's mouth. It's a stupid question, in light of the entire conversation gone before and the hand still on his arse, but he can't help asking. This entire turn of events is just too good to be true.

"Yes."

But true it is, apparently, and Hob's heart soars.

"Then. Dream of the Endless. My Stranger. My friend." He presses soft kisses to those plush pink lips between each moniker, dizzy that he's allowed. "Let me add another title to the list, darling. Take me to bed; the suite is ours 'til tomorrow. Let me learn how you would have me. Let me show you how I would treat you. And let me, at long last, name you mine."

= Started: 8/21/24 Drafted: 8/27/24 Posted: 8/30/24

If you're looking for a spicier take on this concept, @delta-pavonis has you covered: Dossier 54392 - please, give it a read, it's delicious.

(and here, have a post-script-y epilogue-exchange of sorts that did not quite fit:)

= "You chose to name yourself Nick Bottom?"

"What better name for a callboy to the supernatural than the bloke who got unwittingly embroiled in a fae lovers' spat and ultimately survived the entire encounter unscathed? Feels pretty relevant to me. Empowering, a bit?"

"Nick Bottom was less 'empowered' than simply lucky, perhaps."

"Perhaps. I'll not turn my nose up at good luck, either. But a name like Bottom in this business is also too good a pun to pass up, and I figure old Shaxberd would approve."

"I believe he would, indeed."

"The irony being that fully half of my clients want me to top them, heh."

"I do not wish to speak of your clients while you are in bed with me."

"Got better uses for my mouth, have you?"

"Other sounds I would prefer to hear from it, yes."

"Fair enough. Why don't you tell me what you want, Mr. Sandman, and see if I can make your dreams come true."

"Must you be so cliché?"

"You love my clich—mmph—"

"Stop. Talking."

"Yes love."

(Dream will tell him about commissioning A Midsummer Night's Dream at some other time 💖)

= Nick Bottom's lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream that lent themselves to the title: I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was and also The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream

[sgiandubh]

Good morning to you...as always, this person is very indignant and enraged.

https://www.tumblr.com/maximumwobblerbanditdonut/748583730081333248/the-unexpected-guests?source=share

Dear (returning) Mythomaniac Anon,

Sorry for the delay and see below why. Well, then: how was that, at their end of the rope, across the street?

I know, I am quoting BIF (that petty, nasty, condescending woman), their Main Intellectual Luminary (LOL for years), but see how easy it is to boomerang anything?

And I will even suit myself and quote her some more, lookie here:

I am not even sorry. Karma is a bitch, like that and it seems to have backfired badly on BIF's comadre, 'Max'. You see, I can immediately tell when people who have NO idea about what LAW really is, start talking about it. They will always be oh so damn literal and oh so damn mechanical in their 'reasonings'. I mean, if law were to be read as is, why would we even bother going to law school, right? Why not have AI sort it out, literally and mechanically, too (and boy does 'Max' sound like an android when she starts droning her maximum wobbling bullshit)? You see, in law, it's never enough to copy/paste something, because this is about people, money and interests, being those individual or collective. Timelines are important (and indispensable in any legal approach), but never enough: what makes the difference is always the particular context and the interpretation of facts - that is, by the way, called jurisprudence, when it becomes a legally binding precedent (not our modest case, here), in common law system countries (the UK, the US) or a complementary source of law, like in Roman/Civil law systems, such as the French and Romanian ones, which I know best. There is a technical distinction between those two concepts (legally binding precedent and complementary source of law) and I once passed a whole year written exam in Public French Law with honors, picking this exact topic, but I won't bother you with it, Anon. In a nutshell, tread carefully when you open that droning mouth and leave no stone unturned, if possible. Otherwise, you'd make a fool out of yourself, with bullshit like this:

There is no Midhope Distillery Company Ltd, you fool. There once was the Midhope Castle Distillery Ltd, as I have abundantly shown in not one, but two posts. It did not 'change its name' in 2023, it was dissolved by voluntary write-off (third time might be a charm, across the street, maybe the coin would drop?). And one more time, for you Mordor people in the back: there is no way to know who the shareholders of a given company are, based on the Company House records, nor the amount of their participation. This is confidential information, as shown also in the Planning Proposal - once more, I repost the screenshot:

' The Business Plan, submitted (...) under Private and Confidential cover, provides background information on the applicant'. Including, but not limited to, the existing investors/shareholders - it is essential to show the local authorities your business project is not a whim or a dream.

She also writes confidently stuff like:

That is simply not true. As I have also shown in my last post, Outlander is explicitly mentioned in both the first and the revised Planning Proposals, as a strong argument for the entire business project. It may serve to remember that one of the elements justifying it was to provide the 20k seasonal visitors of the Midhope Castle Grounds an opportunity to access the (vastly) improved interior of the castle, along with a whisky related experience/discovery activity, accommodation and high-end dining opportunity. Again, I repost the screenshot, because those people are mendacious by nature and it is perhaps the only way to show them some facts (not useless factoids):

That being said, we can speculate and deduct a simple correlation between a company actively looking for investors to support their now vastly revised, ten-year project and an actor-cum-entrepreneur who might be interested/already involved in that project. Unless he'd make a formal announcement himself, at some point in time, there is no way to confirm. 'Max' should perhaps learn to water down her confident tone, sometimes, especially when it is obvious she did not look at the documents herself, used only Google in the arrogant and foolish hope 'those tinhat shippers are stupid' and has 0 (zero) legal expertise.

This whole thing might be pending approval, but let's not forget the first Planning Statement was approved back in 2020 (which is a good starting point), that they have secured a business partnership with the owner of the land, Lord Hope (the 4th Marquess of Linlithgow) and that as far as I could read during those past two days, all the reports seem ok, at least up until this point in time. I see no reason why they wouldn't meet and talk about it: on which planet is that such a big deal and on which planet could that be construed as 'conflict of interest' (another one of 'Max's' arguments), given the organic link between OL and Midhope, since 2013?

I also have made a hasty mistake, in my previous post, when dealing with Ken Robertson's participation to the project. He continued to be involved, as my penned timeline shows, in both Hopetoun Estate Distillery Ltd and Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd, as a Director, continuously from May 2017 until their dissolution, in December 2022. Again, it's all on the timeline - see what I just did, here? LOL for a century and a half.

And for Marple's 'Sorry' clip, I have the perfect reply. Especially the chorus, of course - ignore the rest, it's about some Seventies playboy, quite an Alternate Universe from hers:

I will stop now, Anon. With the MPC Gala just round the corner, all the eyes will be on that one. This drama will probably draw to a fizzled denouement, as they always do, in this fandom. But I will follow that business project and report from time to time. I bet the farm we'll have news, rather sooner than later.

[dearweirdme]

Hi anon!

I'm not gonna post your ask for obvious reasons, but here goes what you asked me. An explanation of why I feel Jk has not been dismissive of Tae.

To me this is a fandom thing and not something that exists in reality. It's basically the opposite of shipping, but it's not by definition more real. But I think at the bottom of it lies an urge to find something that 'excites' people. Shiping can do that, but finding animosity between members can also do that. Both things keep people engaged and 'searching' for some sort of proof. It's not a thing that's specific to Tkk or BTS, it happens in more fandoms... just like shipping does. The referall to being more rational is an odd one, because we are all dealing with the same amount of information here. To me seeing a continuous dislike from Jk towards Tae is the least rational one, since there's so much that actually goes against that. Why would Jk choose to spend as much time with Tae as he did if he didn't really want to? We haven't seen him spend that much time with any other member, does that mean that he likes them even less? Or do we take the 'it's all fanservice' route? But wouldn't that mean we have to consider that to be true for any members interaction? People don't call Yoongi/Jimin fanservice this way, or Jimin/Hobi, or Namjoon/Jk. So what makes Tae and Jk interacting different? It's only the Tkk of it all that's different... and that mostly boils down to people feeling all sorts of awkward/uncomfortable for whatever reason they have (and those can be several, not just the homophobia..).

People riding the "Jk doesn't like Tae" train have picked some moments they feel were odd and keep their focus on those moments while mostly passing by the many moments where Tae and Jk are obviously fine. This too is very much the same as some shippers like to focus on only a few moments that fit in the way they see their ship. It's how some Jkkrs send me clips like that of a few days ago that doesn't actually show Jm being hurt by Tkk Tkking.. it's not there and yet they absolutely believe that it is. Admitting that you are wrong is a hard thing to do for some... so instead of that people will often just choose to double down.

I don't really care whether people believe in Tae and Jk as a couple or not. None of us actually know anything and in the end it all comes up to how you interpret what you see. But what I do feel a bit touchy about is when I see people talk about them disliking each other, or that vulnarable Tae is the victim of bad guy Jk. A friendship is spotted much more easy than a hidden relationship, so I can understand not seeing the relationship part... but I don't understand not seeing the friendship part. People don't even seem to differentiate between Jk not liking the shipping and Jk not liking Tae, while to him those things would absolutely be different in any case.

People are super selective. Those who say Jk doesn't like Tae only focus on those few moments they feel are odd. They flip past Tae and Jk at the Dream premiere, using Jk's live afterwards as an example of him being down after having spent time with Tae... when the real reason for him having been down is probably way more likely to do with something aside from Tae. People hatch onto Jk doing a live on Jm's face and not for Tae as him not caring for Tae, when Jk's own scedule was completely different at both times. People say Jk went to do a live after Inkigayo to set certain narratives about Tae being there straight, when it is quite obvious that he went live to fill time while his laundry was going (as if that is not a very Jk thing to do) and he only talked about Tae there when asked about him. It's always stuff like this... people take a tiny bit of something that happened and go wild about it.

When you look at the entirety of Jk and Tae's interactions all throughout last year and als before that.. you see two people who enjoy spending time together. They look at each other with kindness (and more if you ask me), they interact casually without boundaries they touch each other easily, they stay in each others space for a prolonged time with ease, they talk about each other with kindness, they choose to spend time together outside of business. Like.. their friendship isn't hidden.. it's a very obvious one even.

[changbunnies]

Sugar (18+)

♡ Pairing: Cowboy/Outlaw!Changbin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: wild west au, cowboy/outlaw au, porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.5k (i got carried away lmao)

♡ Summary: Despite how terrible of an idea it is, Y/N can't seem to stop herself from continuously going back to the outlaw she let defile her. This is a sequel, and you can read part 1 here !

♡ Warnings: changbin is still mean and condescending in a "nice" sort of way. not as dubcon as part 1 but it is still a major theme, references to guns and gun fights+ bounty hunters + death + murder, discussions about morality + having a morally gray sense of right and wrong, discussions on purity and being impure / tainted / a "whore" (remember that this is a historical setting, and those views don't hold up! your worth as a person is not measured by purity and sex), their relationship is probs toxic lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: references to part 1 and other past dubcon situations, petnames (darlin, sugar, sweetheart, good girl, baby. reader is also refered to as a toy but not outwardly called one), power play, oral (f+m receiving), fingering (f receiving), orgasm denial, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: a sequel to Outlaw that no one asked for but i was compelled to write :') as usual, if you’re interested you can check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams !

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

no first paragraph before read more because it goes straight into a dubcon discussion and i don't want anyone who would be bothered to accidentally see it! <3 just click the read more and enjoy !

You really should know better. You should know it’s a bad idea to keep going back to the outlaw who violated you, who treated you like a toy, who’s sense of morality was gray at best and entirely nonexistent at worst. How foolish must you be to continually make the same mistake over and over again? To return to the man who treats you as an object suited to his needs and entertainment?

Yes, you really should know better. And yet, here you are again, with the object of your fury and desire standing before you with that signature smirk and amused glint in his eye. Because despite everything, you find yourself addicted to him. You seek him out, again and again, unable to resist no matter how much the rational part of your brain screams at you not to. 

The first time you met him again following that fateful first encounter was by coincidence. Changbin had strolled into your town as the sun hung low in the horizon, tying his horse to one of the many hitching posts outside your family’s saloon before entering. You didn’t notice him right away, much too busy serving drinks to the men on the opposite end of the bar from where he sat, but once your gaze finally reached his.. 

You froze completely, eyes wide and breath halted. His brow raised when yours eyes met, a delighted glint in his eye as his famous smirk overtook his features. Your mind and heart were racing, grappling between what you should do and how you will look if you make a scene out of him being here. He didn’t intend to stumble upon you here when deciding to settle in town for the night, but by God, was he glad this was the place he chose. 

He had noticed you first evidently, and was just waiting for the moment when you’d notice him too. And it was amusing seeing you so disconcerted by his presence, your strong persona faltering the minute he entered your space.

He knew where your safe space was now, knew where you called home and where to come find you if he ever so chose to. You, the timid rabbit ensnared in a trap, and Changbin, the deadly hawk ready to devour.

You had to get it together, had to proceed as normal if you didn’t want someone else taking notice of your odd behavior and asking questions. If you were in your right mind, you could probably think of an appropriate excuse to why you were pushed off kilter, but Changbin left you anything but in your right mind. 

“What can I get you tonight, sir?” You said after taking a brief moment to steady yourself. The entire exchange of looks the two of you shared likely lasted mere seconds in reality, but it felt like an eternity. He smiled, a mischievous one that did your racing heart no favors, before he answered, “A bourbon, if ya please.” 

The night continued as normal for a time following that, with Changbin acting as a surprisingly well behaved bar patron. Though, the only reason he was well behaved was because his eyes were fixed on you. He watched in delight as you wrangled in rowdy patrons and ducked advances from drunken men left and right.

It was fun for him; watching you in your element like that, navigating the clamorous saloon with ease and redirecting trouble with a well practiced stern sweetness. Even your rejections to your patrons were sweet, almost sickeningly so; batted eyelashes, rehearsed apologies and excuses, with empty promises of a ‘next time.’ 

Eventually it came time for the saloon to close, with locals shuffling through the streets back to their homes while guests from out of town had to decide whether or not they’d be paying for a room to sleep off the drink in. And it’s during that time that Changbin finally caught you alone, the door to one of the saloon’s secluded storage cupboards left ajar after you entered the room. 

You were just following your nightly routine, checking what stock you had left and taking note of what you’d need to get more of before the week’s end, when you heard the subtle squeak of boots behind you. “Hey there, darlin’,” he smiled as he closed the door behind himself, stepping closer to you after the lock clicked. 

“Changbin–” your voice came out in a stern whisper, unconsciously taking a step back as he moved closer, though there wasn’t far for you to go in the small space, “Get out.”

“Now, now,” he tuts, feigning disappoint as he takes another step forward, further closing the gap between you, “is that any way to treat a payin’ guest?”

“Regardless of that, you still aren’t allowed in here,” you scowled, but his grin didn’t falter; if anything, it grew larger, gratified by the brave front you were putting on. If it were with anyone else, your bravery wouldn’t be a front at all, because you certainly are a brave woman– just not with Changbin.

With him, you’re weak, your spark diminishing the instant his eyes fall on you. And you’ll fight it, of course you will, but when all is said and done, you will give in. Because that’s just the effect he has on you. 

“If you’d rather we do this out in the hall, I’m fine with that,” he challenged you, knowing very well that’s the last thing you’d want. His hand reached up to your neck, pushing your hair behind your shoulder and exposing your neck. “It’s a shame the marks have faded,” he said, voice low as his fingers traced your skin, “what do ya say we bring ‘em back, hmm?” 

“Absolutely not,” you hissed, your hands landing on his shoulders as you tried to push him away from you. He stood firm despite your pushing, letting out a low chuckle as his fingers moved from your neck to your shoulder, and down the length of your torso. And to be fair, you weren’t actually using your full strength; you were holding back, and he could tell.

He’s familiar with how a woman who's desperate to get away will react– screaming, hitting, clawing; none of which is what you’re doing. And maybe that would make sense if you were the sort of person who’s fight or flight instinct was to freeze instead, but you're not. You’re brave, you fight, you don’t let men get the better of you.

So why is it that when it’s Changbin putting you in this situation, you easily relinquish control? Why were your attempts to put up a fight so feeble, as if you want to let him overpower you? The answer to that question is clear– the biting words and scornful looks doing little to hide the glimmer that hides underneath.

You want him. And if you weren’t ready to admit that to yourself yet, he’d help you see it. 

He brought his face close to yours, foreheads just barely touching, the scent of bourbon strong on his breath. The saloon had grown quiet with the closing of the bar and guests retiring to their rooms, and it made you wonder if Changbin could hear how hard your heart was beating. Your eyes were looking to the side, avoiding his piercing gaze. 

Eyes that looked straight through you, eyes that uncovered your deepest, darkest desires with ease, eyes that left no room for secrets or lies. Those were the kind of eyes Changbin had, and he used the power they held to his advantage with you. You can’t hide from him; his eyes strip you bare, leaving you as transparent as glass. 

Whether you admitted to your desires or not, he’d be the winner. If you gave in right away, confess that he filled you with an impulsive need you previously thought impossible, he’d take pride in the fact that he made you that way. And if you fought, if you denied and rejected, you’d grant him satisfaction when you inevitably crumbled to his touch. Either option left you the loser, because he knows he’s right, and there’s no escaping it. 

A one-sided stalemate, where the victor was already predetermined. Your fate unavoidable, Changbin’s hold on your senses undeniable. He has you, and that's why you couldn't look at him. Because no matter how hard you denied it, the truth would be apparent. Much to your dismay, he sees you for who you are– try as you might, there would be no hiding it. 

“Look at me, sugar,” he said as his hand hiked up your dress. He wanted to see the expression you held, wanted to see how far your self determination had fallen. Whether it was a look of submission this early on, or a look of pure contempt, it wouldn’t matter; because either way, there’s fun for him to have with you. 

“What do you want from me?” you asked with eyes squeezed shut, voice beginning to tremble as his hand rubbed between your thighs. You’re not even sure why you asked, entirely; you knew this was nothing but a game for him, an addictive cat and mouse. He’s in it for the pleasure, for the thrill of making you crumble to his whims– it was as simple and clear as that. 

“Oh, darlin,” he cooed as he leaned his head further down, lips brushing against your ear, “you already know what I want.” Fuck. He could see goosebumps erupting on your skin, noticed the way you instinctively tried to close your legs together, though his hand instantly stopped the act from happening. Fun, he thought. Toying with you is so fun.

“I want you,” Changbin continued, bringing his other hand to your face and forcing you to look back at him. “I want you pinned down underneath me. I want to hold you by the throat while I fuck you. I want to watch you become stupid from my cock.”

Oh, God. Your face was on fire, heart bursting out of your chest, hopelessly ensnared by him; caught in a trap you had no hope of escaping from unscathed. 

“I’m not going to let you do that,” you managed to say without stuttering, a feeble attempt to stand your ground, though the proverbial floor to stand on no longer existed. But with his hand nestled between your legs, you couldn’t hide the way your body reacted to his words; couldn’t hide the way arousal pooled in your underwear. Once again, your body has betrayed you. 

“Is that right?” he grinned as he spoke, the amusement in his voice clear. He knew you’d let him have you, but the fact that you were denying it makes things much more exciting. “I don’t think that’s true, sugar,” Changbin said, now directly rubbing over your soaked underwear, “I think you’ll let me do anything I want.. I think ya want me just as bad as I want you.” 

He was right, of course. Maybe you’d hide it for a time, but you won’t be able to resist for long. He’s frustratingly smug and assured, but it’s not without reason. Your self respect, your dignity, your purity– what had become of it? In blatant terms, it’d been ruined– forever marred by his touch, the damage to your body and mind irreparable.

And whatever you could reclaim from what was left has been forever tarnished by your own actions. Tainted by your desire for the man in front of you, your thirst forever unquenchable, the very sanctity of your being in the hands of a criminal. 

And in the end, he fucked you right there, in the small, tucked away storage cupboard, with your back against the wall, and legs around his waist. His strength held you up, his arms hooked under your own and supporting all of your weight, your desperate noises muffled only by clamping your hands over your mouth.

He made regular visits to the town after that, becoming a loyal regular of the saloon, charming staff and other patrons alike with his wit and allure. It was infuriating watching him play the role of a simple wanderer looking for work, his true nature and motives known only to you.

No one else seemed to know what lied underneath the charming front. The worst kind of man, a manipulator through and through, a deviant who beckoned you to his room in the late hours of the night, the proprietor to a secret affair not yet uncovered by those around you. 

However, he couldn’t hide his identity forever; his past actions eventually caught up to him when a gang of bounty hunters began to sweep the area with wanted posters in hand, eager to collect the reward for the head of Seo Changbin. He left town in a blaze of smoke and gunfire, shooting back at anyone who dared follow him.

You were relieved at first, knowing that Changbin couldn’t return without instigating a fierce gun fight for his life. But as the weeks passed, a gnawing feeling began to eat away at your chest. The bounty hunters moved on, carried by the promise of wealth further west, and yet Changbin hadn’t returned to town. And that was a good thing– or at least, it was supposed to be. 

Did you.. miss him? No, that was impossible. Completely unfeasible, utterly out of the realm of possibility. That’s what you told yourself, but the gnawing feeling didn’t recede in the slightest; if anything, it grew stronger with each passing day.

Did you really want to see Changbin again? No, it had to be the hormones talking– surely you weren’t actually hoping to see him again. He twisted your beliefs and made you confused, that’s all; you could recover from this with time. 

But you’d been thinking a lot lately about what made Changbin different from the bounty hunters that hunted him, and you came to the conclusion that they weren’t much different in the end; they went wherever money and women called to them, a penchant for violence ingrained in the very essence of their actions.

The only difference between them and Changbin was that he didn’t live under false pretenses or a faux sense of morality; he knew exactly who he was, and he didn’t pretend to be anything different in front of you. 

And can you call a bounty hunter morally superior when at the end of the day they are still taking a life in exchange for money? Can you really say that one sin justifies another? Is it okay to kill someone if that person was in the wrong first? You didn’t think about these things until you met Changbin, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know where you stood anymore on whether or not someone like him deserved to die. 

You found yourself questioning the people you used to applaud, and wondering if you were really as good of a person as you thought you were. Maybe these complicated feelings always lied within you, and all it took to bring them out was meeting the right person.

No, it was all Changbin’s fault that you’ve begun to feel this way. He warped your thoughts and desires, he made you doubt what you once held firm to, he’s bad for you.

But even so, knowing he’s bad for you, knowing that he makes you act irrationally, knowing that he triggers your deepest impulses, you are here again. Back in the place you first met him, the place you once called home, surrounded by the ghosts of your past, of the person you were before you met him. 

“So we meet again, darlin’,” he said when your figure first emerged in his doorway, tense frame instantly relaxing when met with the sight of you, hand falling from its readied position on his gun holster.

You are no threat to him, hungry for his touch as you are. Any threat from you would ring hollow, because for better or worse, he knows you. And you're certainly capable of a lot of things, but fighting against your basest desires doesn’t seem to be one of them. 

You stepped inside fully, trying to have a nonchalant air about you, though you’re sure Changbin was able to see through it. He always reads you easily, always takes notice of even the most minute of changes in your body language. You’re sure that even now, he can sense the subtle shy anxiety that wells under the surface. But regardless, you’re here now, having come too far to retreat at the last minute. 

And you know that he knows what it is you want, knows why you are here, but should you still be honest? Debase yourself by admitting your most carnal of desires? But at this point, what were you if not tarnished?

Your worth can’t go any lower than it already has– you were already brought to your lowest point, so what was the harm in indulgence? If you were already ruined, why shouldn’t you disregard all you’ve ever been taught, all you ever thought you knew, and let him devastate you? 

But no, you can’t do that. It would be too easy, and if there’s anything you’ve learned about Changbin, it’s that he doesn’t like easy. He wants you to stand your ground, he wants you to argue and fight against everything he says and does. He wants your eyes angry, for your voice to tremble with indignation, because it’ll make it that much better when he dismantles you. 

He wants to be the object of your ire, for your resentment to build to the point of eruption, only for it to be eclipsed by how good it feels when he fucks you. Whether or not you truly hate him is up for debate at this point, and ultimately doesn’t matter much. What does matter is the fun you grant him, the cat and mouse game culminating into a moment that can only be described as pure bliss.

“I know, I know. Ya want me to fuck you, don’t ya darlin’?” He smiles as he says it, anticipating what your reaction will ultimately be. A glare maybe, with your face hot and red, or mousy as you finally admit openly how bad you want him.

While the looks of animosity are his favorite, he likes the shy looks too; the timid expression on your face when he catches you off guard, a quick glimmer of embarrassment or sheepishness before you can conjure your antipathy to replace it. 

“No. I want to fuck you. And you’ll let me,” you say, hoping to come across as confident and stern, “You’ll do whatever I want you to do.”

“Oh? Is that right?” Changbin lets out a laugh, head tilting as he grants you another amused look. That’s certainly a surprise, but he’s not opposed to it. He can easily do that– give you a taste of control, that is. It’s an interesting proposition; a fun one. 

He can let you believe you’re the one in charge, that you have the power to make the rules and that he’ll follow them. And maybe he will follow them– to an extent, of course.

He’ll give you his ‘yes, ma’am’s’ and ‘whatever ya say, darlin’ ‘s, play the role of the obedient man cursed to follow your whims, hit you with tongue-in-cheek remarks and let you ‘tame’ him with harsh looks and biting words when he steps out of line. All so that in the end, when he easily takes all the control away from you, it’ll be that much sweeter. 

It’s a fun game you’re offering him, so he’ll play the hell out of it. “Sure, sweetheart. You’ve been a good girl for me, I can give ya a reward,” Changbin smirks as he says it, clearly not taking you seriously in the slightest. But that’s okay, because you didn’t expect him to; you knew any attempt to wrestle control would be met with an amused smirk, you knew that none of your harsh words would do anything but fuel his delight. 

The reason you’re doing this isn’t to try and gain some sense of control that you know you won’t be granted, and you don’t intend to make him genuinely submit to you; it’s just part of the game between you, and you’re doing your part to make it the most enjoyable it can be. Because if you’re addicted to Changbin, if you can’t escape the way his touch makes you feel, if you can’t get past the need and craving for him, then you need to make him just as addicted to you. 

Just as your thoughts are consumed by him, you want his to be consumed by you. Think of only you, crave only you, make it so that no one else in the world can compare. You want to be the first person, the only person, he goes to when he wants to fuck. You want to be the drug in his veins, you want to eat away at his self-control the same way he eats away at yours. 

Changbin could easily fight against your touches, stand firm in place and overpower you if he so chooses, but he’s letting you push him to his knees. “Oh, this is what you want?” he asks with his usual smirk, his hands already moving under your dress to squeeze at your thighs. “Ya could’ve just asked, sweetheart. I’ll do it if you ask me nicely.” 

You roll your eyes, letting a scoff escape your lips. The only way he’d listen to a request from you is if he relentlessly teased and embarrassed you first. You can easily picture the way he’d grin at you, and the condescending tone and words he’d use to make your fists tremble and skin flush. Yes, even if you asked nicely, begged sweetly, or even desperately, he’d use it to ruin you. 

“I’m not asking,” you say as you pull your dress up and over your head, tossing it to the floor beside you, because if Changbin is going to be between your legs, you want a full view of it. Rather than act though, he stays completely still, looking up at you with a lifted brow and not at all subtle smirk, as if to challenge you. A look that says ‘aren’t you going to make me?’ 

You bring your hand to his hair, tugging roughly as you pull him closer to your center, commanding him to get started. “So pushy, are you always this needy?” he teases with a laugh, but adheres to your demand nonetheless, wasting no time in letting his tongue out to lap at you, his hands now squeezing your thighs rougher than before. 

Your previous affairs were a secret you held close to your chest, as you knew you’d be branded a “whore” if it was known you’ve had sex whilst unwed. That being said, you’d only done the act with those you had serious interest in. Sweet men, who treated you like an angel, with the utmost care and consideration. Careful touches and soft kisses that were carried through all interactions with you. 

When they ate you out, they did so sweetly, with slow kitten licks and gentle caresses to your thighs. And it was nice, you even thought you liked it at the time, but you know that’s not what you want now. Everything about Changbin is different from every other man you’ve been with, and you want this moment to be different too. You want him to devour you, to make a mess of you, to make you feel a pleasure so foreign and intense that it consumes you. 

And that’s exactly what he grants you– a pleasure so explosive you have to bite your lip to hold back the noises that threaten to leave you. The drag of his tongue can only be described as euphoric, and when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, you can’t help but let out a loud, shuddering gasp. You want to keep watching him, but you can’t– your eyes refuse to stay open, the pleasure much too intense to do anything else.

He can tell you’re close when your thighs start twitching, quick breathy pants and whines leaving you freely. And that’s when he gets an evil idea– an idea that will make you desperate and whiny, one that will rip any semblance of control out from your hands and place it back into his. A strong suck on your clit, a few quick flicks of his tongue, your body trembling as your mind screams close, close, close–

And in an instant the feeling is gone, all the built up pleasure receding into nothing. A frustrated whine leaves your lips, looking down to see Changbin staring back at you with that stupid fucking smile he has every time he successfully drives you crazy. “F-Fuck, you fucking asshole, you–” you prattle off insults, though the act does nothing but add to the satisfaction he feels; this is exactly the reaction he was hoping for. 

You move your hand to the back of his head, pushing him back to where you want him and demanding that he keep going. And to your surprise, he does, though not without a muffled snicker first. And if your mind wasn’t so clouded by the desire to cum, you might have realized what his intentions were by going back in without a fight, but you didn’t have the mental capacity for that any longer. All you knew is that you wanted, needed, to release all over his tongue. 

Changbin goes through the same motions as before, expertly building you up to your release, getting you so, so close, before pulling away again right before you can. Another frustrated, high pitched whine leaves you, hips stuttering in an effort to feel something, anything to bring your release to you. You look down at him again, eyes glossy from the tears welling in them, and fuck, that look really does it for him. The pretty look of aggravation mixed with desperation makes his cock impossibly hard. 

You try to push him to your pussy again, but this time he resists, staying firmly in place and watching the way your expression twists into one of near anguish with an amused satisfaction. “Changbin–” your voice doesn’t come out anywhere near as stern and commanding as you wish it to; instead, his name leaves you as an urgent, desperate mewl.

“Aww, poor thing. Ya gonna cry?” he mocks you, head tilted and an infuriating grin plastered on his face. Fuck. You knew it wouldn’t be long until Changbin flipped the script and put you back at his mercy, but this soon?

And he didn’t know whether you were genuinely vying for control or not, if you went into this with the intent to fight until the bitter end or if you were resolved to relinquish it after some time; what he did know is that he loved seeing you like this. Broken almost, resolve crumbled like a sand castle hit by a wave, so weak and ruined, all because of him. 

“Want me to keep going?” he asks in a tone that is almost sickeningly sweet, another twisted smile of satisfaction on his face. You nod frantically, a shameless display of your need, and he smirks, answering your reaction with a condescending, “Why should I?” Another whine, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as indignation and desperation eat away at you. 

Changbin coos when he sees the tears fall, another “poor thing” leaving him. Funny how he’s the one on his knees, yet is the one entirely in control. You beg wantonly now, countless utterances of “please” and “I need it”, all sense of restraint and shame seeming to have evaporated the moment your tears began to fall. The display makes his cock throb in his trousers, erotic beyond words, utterly enthralling and so pretty. 

“Shh, that’s enough darlin’,” he says as he takes one of your legs and guides it over his shoulder, fully ready to support your weight and keep you standing for what he plans to do next.

You keen when his tongue finally makes contact with you again, body shuddering as your head lolls back. One arm snakes around the leg not propped up on him, squeezing at the flesh within his reach, while the other moves between your thighs, fingers prodding at your entrance for just a moment before sliding easily inside. 

He gives you no time to adjust to the thickness of his fingers, setting a fast pace with them from the very start. Your eyes roll back, a cacophony of lewd noises filling the space as your high quickly builds back up for the third time.

Between the earlier denied orgasms, the relentless pace he’s setting now with his fingers and the way his lips feel wrapped around your clit, you’re already dangerously close. Your fingers tangle in his hair, both as a means to ground yourself and to keep him as close to you as possible; and it only takes a few more thrusts of his fingers and flicks of his tongue to send you over the edge.

You cum hard, Changbin’s body and hold on your leg being the only thing keeping you upright as the waves of pleasure course through you. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your entire body shaking, with the only noise you’re capable of making being sharp gasps as your release spills on his tongue and fingers. 

You sink to the floor when he moves back and lets you go, legs akin to jello and no longer able to support your weight after having what was easily the most intense orgasm of your life. Your eyes are still closed, breathing labored as you try to bring your mind back down to earth. Changbin meanwhile rises to his feet, being the one to look down at you now. 

It’s a pretty sight; your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, tear stains on your cheeks and body flushed. But it could still be prettier, and he knows exactly how he wants to achieve that look. “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” you hear Changbin’s voice call to you from above, and when you do you’re met with quite the sight. 

His cock is in one of his hands, trousers having fallen to the floor around his ankles. You must have been too lost in your haze to hear him unzip his pants, or to hear the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor. You look up at his face next, taking in the expectant gaze he’s shooting at you. 

You’re half tempted to say no, to make a big show out of protesting and coax him to put you back in your place, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want his cock in your mouth right now. It’s not often you’re granted the pleasure of sucking him off, as he usually he goes straight into fucking you after he’s done with his merciless teasing– so you’ll play the good girl role, just this once.

You shift to be fully on your knees, opening your mouth wide for him and letting your hands rest on his thighs. He brings a hand to the back of your head, pushing you the rest of the way when you hesitate, ensuring you take the entirety of his length in your mouth in one go. You gag when the tip touches your throat, but Changbin’s hand holds you in place, preventing you from instinctively retreating. 

The way you're looking up at him through your lashes, eyes glossy with fresh, unshed tears and nose touching his pubic bone– it’s enough to drive him wild. But he won’t lose it just yet; he’ll grant you a small kindness by giving you a few moments to adjust, to familiarize yourself with the feeling of his cock down your throat and learn how to breathe through it. He can’t let his favorite toy completely suffocate on him, after all. 

He sets a brutal pace once he’s sure you’re adjusted, sparing your poor throat no mercy. You can barely even hear the low groans he lets out over the salacious sounds leaving your mouth and throat. It’s a struggle not to choke and sputter every time he thrusts back into your mouth, and each failed attempt causes the tears on your lashes to spill over. 

The saliva that has pooled in your mouth escapes out of the sides, sliding down your chin and dripping onto your chest. You can’t help but squirm as he holds your head in place, your nails digging into his thighs as you try your hardest to ignore the growing ache in your jaw and effectively breathe through your nose. You can feel his cock twitch against your tongue as his pace becomes the slightest bit more sporadic, and for a moment you think he intends to cum down your throat, but he doesn’t. 

He pulls out instead, a subtle smirk on his face as he watches you take big, gulping breaths to allow air back into your lungs. You wipe your face clean with the back of your hand before you look up at him, knowing he’s far from done with you. He takes you in his arms, helping you rise to your feet (though you doubt he’s helping you due to any sort of caring, and is only doing it to get you where he wants you faster.)

“Come with me, darlin’,” he says as he leads you to the bed with him, paying no mind to the unsteadiness in your legs as you try to keep up with his pace. Changbin sits first, pulling you onto his lap immediately after. You already know what he wants, but you can’t– your knees ache from the time spent on the hard floor, and the usual strength in your legs has all but evaporated.

“Bin–” you start to whine, complaints lingering on your lips, but he tuts before you can even begin to speak them. “What’s wrong, sugar? Didn’t ya say you wanted to fuck me?”

Fucking asshole, throwing your words back at you and looking at you with that devilish smile. He should know you weren’t even that serious about it! He’s just being cruel. “I can’t, I–”

“You can,” he interrupts, guiding you to align yourself with him, “You will.” His hands are holding your hips, another expectant look on his face as he waits for you to sink down on him. “You’re so fucking mean–” you cry, body trembling as you lower yourself onto his cock. He just grins, knowing very well that if you truly hated how mean he was, you wouldn’t have crawled your way back to him. 

Your pace isn’t all that fast given the ache in your knees, but contrary to what you’d expect, Changbin doesn’t scold you. Instead, he cups your face under the chin, directing you to look at him. “So sweet, aren’t ya sugar?” he smiles, thumb rubbing your cheek while his other hand stays firmly on your hip, “such a brat sometimes, but you do whatever you're told in the end, don’t ya? Such a good girl when ya want to be, huh?” 

You should be ashamed of the way his words fill your stomach with butterflies, but you truly can’t help it. He knows what he’s doing too; knows how to drive you absolutely crazy, knows how to be mean in just the right way, so that when a praise hits your ears it affects you all the more. 

However, despite your best effort, you can’t get your legs to cooperate with you any further. Your legs feel so heavy, and having your hands firmly placed on Changbin’s chest for support does nothing to ease the unsteady trembling. It’s a subtle sort of humiliation– making you do something he knows is near impossible in your current state.

The tears are welling in your eyes again and threatening to spill, frustration in your gut and exhaustion completely taking over your body. Your legs throb from the exertion and fatigue, your energy beyond spent, you can’t keep going. Your pace slows to a near stop, and you look at him pleadingly, teary eyed and pouty, a silent beg for his help. 

He knew you wouldn’t be able to do it for long, but he made you do it anyway, because this is what he really wanted. He wanted to watch you turn into a pathetic, whining mess, he wanted to relish the look of anguish on your face. He has to be cruel to you, because the end result is always so addicting. 

“Tell me what you need, baby. Need my help? Need me to fuck you?” he smiles sweetly as he asks, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. You nod quickly, leaning into his touch that shouldn’t at all be comforting but somehow is in your near-delirious state. “Use your voice, sweetheart. I gotta hear you say it.”

God, he loves when you get to this point– where all anger and shame has been replaced by the overwhelming desire and need you feel for him. You’re babbling out pleas over and over, and he takes a moment to savor the sound of it before shushing you. “Hush now, darlin’, I’ll give ya what you want.” 

He flips your positions easily, you landing on your back against the mattress and Changbin now hovering over you. You stare up at him as he sinks back into you, the sight of him making your heart race. It’s infuriating how handsome he is, especially in moments like this, where sweat lingers on his brow and his jaw clenches. 

Changbin is good at acting unaffected by you, always able to make it seem like he’s not at all enthralled or addicted, always making your need for him appear one-sided. But the truth is he needs you just as bad as you need him, because in you he has finally found his perfect match. You wanted him to crave you solely, to look for you and only you, not knowing that he already was. 

He didn’t seek you out all those times after your lucky re-encounter because it was easy or convenient; it’s because it was you, specifically. He’s no stranger to brothels and bordellos, nor to the coy advances of working women. There are countless women in the world, countless establishments he could spend his coin at to satiate himself, but they weren’t you. All he wants and all he needs, the very picture of perfection, you. 

He leans down, capturing your lips in a sensual kiss as he starts to thrust in earnest, and the act makes your stomach twist. He’s kissed you before of course, but only ever with the intent to tease or humiliate you, and never while his cock was inside you. And you don’t know why, but it feels good. He can tell you like it too, by the way you clench around him, and from the way a pleasured noise he’s never heard before leaves your throat. 

He keeps his lips attached to yours, tongues sloppily rubbing together. His fingers dig into your hips as he fucks into you, his tight hold leaving indentations behind in your skin. Changbin curses under his breath when he pulls away, both of your highs quickly approaching. You’re squeezing him so tight, and the feeling of your nails digging into his skin is intoxicating. 

“Fuck, ‘m so close-” he groans, pace quickly becoming more sporadic. And this is normally the point he’d pull out, letting his cum spill between your thighs or onto your chest and stomach, but.. He looks at you, and all he can think about is how you’re his. He wants no one else to have you, no one else to touch you, no one to even look at you the way he does. 

So instead, he pulls you in even closer, your chest firmly pressed into his as he presses his lips to your ear. “Gonna cum in you darlin’. You’d like that, right? Want me to fill you up?” You gasp at his words, one that transitions into a moan as your arms and legs wrap snuggly around him. It’s a bad fucking idea, but you want it so bad. 

Whatever the consequences are, you’re too far gone to care about them. You want him to claim you in all ways; his teeth, his nails, his cum– it didn’t matter, so long as you were his in the end. “Y-Yes, please, I want it,” your answer comes out between shuddering inhales, desperate and eager for Changbin to release inside you. 

It only takes a few more thrusts for him to spill inside you, the sensation of his cum shooting in you both foreign but good beyond what you ever could’ve imagined. His hips don’t stop moving even as he cums, and the continued thrusts paired with the feeling of being filled up for the first time sends you over the edge too, body convulsing in his hold as pure pleasure fills your senses. 

You’re both breathless when you finally come down from your high, body going limp as you release Changbin from your hold. He pulls out slowly, and fuck, the sight of his cum dripping out of your hole is utterly intoxicating; he’s definitely going to become addicted to it. He lies next to you when he’s done admiring the view, looking at your face next with a subtle smile.

“What do ya think about being my lady? Hmm, baby?” he asks as he pulls you in, pressing your body into his as his arm wraps around your waist. You blink as you process it, a sort of warmth overtaking your body as the question settles in you.

“...Are you serious?” you can’t help but ask, unsure if this is going to transition into some sort of tease if you say yes, or if the question is genuine. 

“Dead serious, darlin’,” Changbin answers easily, his smile the most earnest you’ve ever seen it to be. Not at all condescending, no trace of a humiliating remark waiting to be said; he’s simply asking you a question, with nothing more beyond it.

And he wouldn’t say it’s love that drives him to make you his, because genuine love is a foreign thing to a man like him, but this is likely the closest he’ll ever get. He just wants to know you’ll always be there, that you’d follow him anywhere he goes, that no matter where life takes the two of you, you’ll belong to him and he’ll belong to you. 

And fuck, it’s a really bad idea. You really, really shouldn’t– you should know better. So why are you entertaining the idea? Why does the thought of spending your days with someone so objectively terrible make you so happy?

He’s really fucking ruined you, it seems. He’s a terrible man who does terrible things, he’s a criminal, he’s a manipulator– your immediate answer should be a resounding “no.” But the truth of the matter is that Changbin makes you feel like no one else; infuriated but desired, broken but simultaneously put together.

You’ve come to enjoy the dynamic you have with him; you now understand the fun in the back and forth, the pleasure to be had in the banter and fight, how impossible it is to let someone who matches your energy go. And a life with him would surely be a life of turmoil, of danger and of risk, but it would also be one of pleasure and unforeseen excitement.

Your life was good before meeting him, but it was also dull and predictable. You were likely to spend your whole life in the same place, forever at the beck and call of your parents, or a man that while sweet, wouldn’t excite or please you the way Changbin does. If you say yes, your life will change forever. 

No, that’s not quite true; your life already has been forever altered by meeting him. You’re already his, and this is nothing more than a formality. Because why else would you be here right now, if you weren’t already his? For better or worse, you belong to him, body and soul, and you’ve come to realize that nothing will change it.

“Teach me how to use a gun and I’m all yours,” you finally say, and Changbin laughs, clearly pleased with the answer you came to. “You got it, darlin’. Just promise ya won’t shoot me by the time we’re done.” 

“No promises. I’d be careful if I were you,” you smile, tone light and playful. “Is that a threat, sugar?” he meets your smile with one of his own, tilting his head to the side as he always does when he’s amused.

“Sure is. Don’t pretend you don’t deserve it,” you answer, and he laughs again, pulling you into a kiss afterwards. Body to body, limbs tangled together as you smile at each other, he thinks about what a perfect partner in crime you’ll be from here on out.

[godsfavoritescientist]

Bill Cipher: Lord of Hope (the homestuck classpect)

explanation for why I picked this classpect for him under the cut

First of all, a brief note on how I interpret classpects: I think classpect is heavily influenced by one's narrative role in a story. It's influenced by personality too, of course, but someone with the exact same personality could have a completely different classpect depending on how the story uses them.

Lord is an extremely powerful class reserved for the big-bad in homestuck. It means having unimaginable amounts of control over your aspect (which here is Hope). It's also a volatile, destructive, and self-serving class. It's also the mirror and opposite of the Muse class, which is equally powerful, but wielded passively for the benefit of others, often using methods more like setting up all the components of a rube goldberg machine behind the scenes, rather than the Lord's preferred method of steamrolling over things whenever possible.

Second note on my classpecting philosophy: Each aspect has an opposite, and I think these aspect pairs meaningfully influence each other by virtue of being on opposite ends of a continuum. You might even say they're opposite sides of the same concept.

Hope is the aspect of imagination, limitless possibilities, belief, and the literal meaning as well. It also has a ton of religious undertones. Its opposite aspect is Rage, which, other than the literal meaning, is all about doubt, skepticism, tearing down facades, and seeking the truth at all costs. It carries a deep disdain for the unfounded and the sugar-coated. Instead of living in a world of fanciful ideas, it cares about pushing past anything it sees as substance-less to uncover the way things really are, no matter how ugly the truth might be. They both need each other--without Hope, Rage becomes misery. Without Rage, Hope becomes completely disconnected from reality.

Which brings me to Bill. On the Hope-Rage spectrum, he's leaned so absurdly far towards Hope that he's convinced himself Rage doesn't even exist. In his reddit AMA, he literally says "lie until what you want to be true becomes true. Lie until you can't remember what's a lie and what isn't. Lie until you aren't lying anymore." I can't think of a better encapsulation of what it means to push the Hope aspect to its absolute extreme. He believes so much in the power of belief that he simply ignores any truths he doesn't like.

He embodies the Hope aspect in many other ways, too. Originally he was going to be more of a morally-neutral trickster character, whose whole purpose was just to show up randomly in Dipper's dreams and rattle off wild statements of questionable truth and conspiracy theories at him. The kind of things that people hope are true (sometimes to make the world seem more exciting and magical, sometimes for bigoted reasons, you know how it is with conspiracy theories), but the point is: Bill retains some of this in his canon personality. He tells Ford in the journal that the moon landing was fake. When he first meets Gideon, he says the whole "reality is an illusion" thing. He delights in sharing these kinds of things with people, and yeah, it's to fuck with them, but there's still something to be said about the fact that he accomplishes this through the use of things that exist as uncertain possibilities in people's minds, and things that some people have a strong belief in and/or hope to find proof of. He's wielding Hope as a tool, because that's when he's in his element.

Bill also preys on people's hopes and dreams, appearing to people literally inside their heads, and existing mainly in dreams and minds for billions of years--a place where you really can create anything you can imagine. He uses Ford's hopes of accomplishing something meaningful to get him to create a doomsday device. He also has Ford practically worshiping him, calling him a Muse with a capital M, calling his presence 'divine intervention'... the religious themes that often go hand-in-hand with the Hope aspect are definitely present. Of course a Lord would wield the Hope aspect to give himself worshipers who practically see him as a god.

And, speaking of doomsday devices, Weirdmageddon is the exactly what would happen in a world where the Hope aspect ran rampant without any laws or restrictions or concrete truths. In the codes of Journal 3, Bill says, "why should time only move forward, why must cause precede effect, who voted on the laws of physics - rules are perversions against all will, that's why I'm about to rewrite the whole system buddy, and no one is going to stop me."

We also get some insight into Bill's beliefs when we take a look as Mabel's dreambubble. He literally uses someone's hopes as a weapon against them, trapping her inside a twisted version of all the things that could've been true, if only the world was fueled by pure imagination, without any laws of physics or imperfect days or boring moments. Bill is so confident that this trap is infallible that he doesn't even bother to stop Dipper from trying to get her out once he makes it inside the dreambubble. Maybe the reason why Bill is so confident that this trap is inescapable is because he's pretty much trapped himself in a dreambubble of his own creation, where anything is possible and fantasy wins over reality every time (talking about the nightmare realm here), and was so intoxicated by the limitless lawlessness of the place that he spent billions of years trying to expand his little self-imposed prison to cover the rest of the multiverse, rather than ever stop to question himself or consider the consequences. Because with enough Hope, there are no consequences, only infinite possibilities limited only by your own imagination! ...right?

I could probably go on, but I think this is more than enough to support my case for Bill being a Lord of Hope. I'm always interested to hear about other classpect headcanons though!

[communistkenobi]

Could you elaborate on the different ways that Qui Gon, Obi Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka and Luke defined Jedi or what it means to be a Jedi? I love to read your thoughts on stuff like this!

Yeah of course! I’m a bit rusty on Star Wars canon so this will be a bit more vague, but my general opinion is basically some version of the following:

imo Qui-Gon is billed in the canon as being a skeptic of the Jedi Order. He questions rules and determinations made by the Council, seems to dabble in conspiratorial or esoteric interpretations of Jedi theology or rules (iirc this is from Master & Apprentice), and seems to generally hold himself out as a contrarian. I don’t know if this manifests as a comprehensive critique of the Order, or if he just believes that pushback against institutional orthodoxy is inherently good. And you can probably critique his skepticism (he’s still an agent of the Order and by extension, the Republic), but like from what I remember in canon he is a guy who likes debating and questions his orders from the Council. My instinct is that he’s one of those anti-institution libertarian types, it’s not like a comprehensive critique of the Order but a more surface level desire to question authority (which, hey, no complaints in that regard lol). Now this is a separate question from how he views being a Jedi, but clearly some element of that is a moral obligation to “find a better way” to be a good person as a Jedi, to pushback on norms. He wants to be the minority opinion in the room, keeping the Council honest and all that jazz.

Which Obi-Wan fucking hated lol. Again pulling from M&A (mostly because it’s the most recent SW novel I’ve read with them in it), but Obi-Wan seems to be like this beleaguered bright-eyed student who has to put up with his Master’s bullshit antics. My personal view of Obi-Wan is a guy who fully buys into the Jedi Order as an institution that facilitates justice - he may critique the methods the Order uses or bend rules to get a better outcome (thinking of the 2016 Obi-Wan & Anakin comic here), but I think at the end of the day Obi-Wan believes the Order is a net-good for the world, believes in the mission of the Jedi to engage in diplomacy on the Republic’s behalf (I believe this is in conflict with his Legends characterisation, but iirc in the new canon he’s much more of a keener and I tend to like that interpretation more), and in his pursuit to be an ideal archetype of Jedi, he craves the legitimacy and prestige the Order confers onto his status as a Jedi Knight, especially as a Knight training The Chosen One. I think this is also why his death is integral to Luke’s story, as Luke had very different ideas about what a Jedi Order would look like and had Obi-Wan survived ANH, they likely would have fought bitterly about it.

Anakin I haven’t thought as much about, I think in general he was becoming a Jedi because that’s what everyone wanted him to be, and maybe he did have that dream at some point, but I think Anakin is mostly resigned to training and being knighted because that’s just how his life is going. He doesn’t seem to have a great deal of respect for the Order or Jedi customs (this informs a lot of his conflict with Obi-Wan), and he seems disinterested in furthering the Order’s political and social role in the Republic. He was actively hostile to taking Ahsoka on as a student, and I think his eventual fall from grace and turn towards the Sith marked this like, ultimate form of indulgence for him - a total rejection of his destiny, of all the expectations put on him, and a way to perform the perceived inadequacy that he was burdened with as a child. Like look dad, I’m the bad guy asshole everyone was so afraid I’d become! I’m not a Jedi and never could be! Fuck you!

Ahsoka I think has a much more developed version of the skepticism that we see from Qui-Gon, because she was confronted with the entire might of the Order and was cast out for a crime she didn’t commit. For her, being a Jedi is synonymous with institutional acceptance, and so if the Council doesn’t consider her to be a Jedi, then fuck that noise she’s not a Jedi. I think in terms of outlook you could say she’s still very Jedi-like, in the same vein as Luke, idealistic and self-sacrificing, but with Ahsoka it’s tinged with more cynicism and pragmatism than I think we see with Luke (at least in terms of the OT - I’m not familiar with the ST at all and don’t have a desire to engage with it so maybe later in life that’s a different story for him, idk). I think the loss of Anakin in particular also affects her a lot, and probably informs her non-attachment to a lot of people. She’s a drifter for personal safety reasons, but I also think she wouldn’t do well in a group long term (compared to someone like Kanan, who very much eschews the attachment rule and finds community with the Ghost crew). In that sense I think you could argue she’s a Jedi in practice but not in writing.

And Luke like. Idk where to even begin lol. He’s the only one of this group who was not brought up in the Order and has no formal training. Even Yoda and Obi-Wan’s training can’t substitute for growing up around other Jedi and being taught that kind of discipline and culture from a young age. He doesn’t have access to Jedi written teachings or Jedi history, he doesn’t place them in the same political context as the rest of his lineage does, experiencing the Jedi only as a bygone era, mysterious and ultimately fundamentally unknowable. Which means that his vision of Jedi-hood is probably “heretical” but also sort of a necessary new way forward, responding to what he perceives to be the failures of old Jedi teachings and ways of life. So for him Jedi-hood is a much more provisional affair, it is what he makes of it because he’s the guy who is literally making it. Which is ironic given that he’s literally THE original Jedi in the canon, like he’s how audiences are introduced to Jedi, but so much of that lore has been built up around him that he kind of becomes the odd one out. Which makes Filoni’s comment that he’s not really a Jedi sort of correct? Almost? Like I don’t actually really agree with it and his reasoning is idiotic, but Luke is not the traditional Jedi, he’s the origin point for an entirely new tradition. So he is a Jedi, very much so, but there is a break in tradition that can’t really be squared with the previous historical circumstances that created the Order. He has to forge a new way forward and reshape how Jedi exist and practice in a totally new context. Which is very cool!

[iuteamstarcandy]

[INTERVIEW] 230922 IU in Elle Korea Oct Issue (Part 2 of 2)

Q: I really do see you repaying others for the love that you have received. Through “IU’s Palette” (shortened as “Palette” below), you’ve been actively communicating with and cheering on girl group juniors like ITZY, New Jeans and so on. Do you feel envious or get curious about the life of a girl group member sometimes?

I do feel envious when I see how they are witnesses for each other’s growth and can share moments of glory like when they win awards. Certainly, I think it’s tiring for them too. The girl group friends I’ve met on “Palette” are all really mature and I’m grateful for the healthy energy that we send to each other. Rather than as a senior, I try my best to show them how I feel as a fan or average person on the streets — things like how much positive strength they give many people as artists, or how much energy I have gained in my life from listening to their music.

Q: You seem to have carved your identity as an emcee through “Palette”. What’s the greatest thing you have gained through this new role?

The main highlight for “Palette” is switching songs (TL note: Singing each other’s songs in one’s own style) That, in itself, is an expression of respect, that “I like your music, so I’ve tried interpreting it in my own style like this.” I’m really really grateful that my guests put in great effort to cover my songs. Singing a song cover is something that I do while practising great caution, because of the worry that I might ruin the song, so it’s not something I do that often.

Q: What do you mean you worry that you might ruin the song?

Yeah, that’s right! If I sing a song that I like, what if I like it less as a result? Of course I have such feelings.

Q: During the Kim Sejeong episode, she had many thoughts about the feeling of passionately liking someone as well as cherishing her own songs while singing them. How much do you like your own songs?

It was an episode that made me think a lot too. For someone who was influenced by my music from a young age and dreamed of becoming a singer, to show me that she likes me, that really gave me strength and the professionalism she displayed when sharing her personal stories and the pride she has in her own songs made her look really cool. As always, I’m sitting on the fence about this. There’s a side of me that loves my songs and thinks that my songs are the best and yet, innately, there’s a side of me that can’t help being critical of myself. Nonetheless, I think self-objectification and having a sense of balance are important. I don’t think I will lean towards either side in the future either.

Q: In your journey of 15 years, I think you would have been very much influenced by the self-awareness that the way your fans consistently support and love you is by treating you like a young female artist. There is a collective awareness that they should protect you from excessive criticism and feedback right?

Having worked throughout my teens and 20s and now in my 30s, certainly the way we work has changed, but I also sensed that the way the general public views celebrities has changed a lot. There is a social atmosphere that we shouldn’t ignore anybody’s opinion as well as the attitude that we should respect and accept even a young celebrity for who he or she is. There are still areas that need improvement, but I think there are more people now who agree that no one should just be hated. Every now and then, I’m touched to see how perspectives have changed.

[TL note: IU previously shared how she was called a pig and booed by the audience when she performed her Mia debut stage at the age of 16.]

Q: Even if you believe that ‘love will conquer all’, you will still be receiving explicit and undying hate. You’re dealing with the hate firmly?

I need to deal with this in separate ways. Some of this is really explicit hate. That’s called an opinion and shouldn’t be lumped together with the feedback that the general public sends me. I think there’s a need to draw a line to clearly and firmly differentiate the two.

Q: During your early days when you made your debut, you said you were afraid of receiving compliments like “you’re doing a good job given your age”. How do you feel about that now? Do you think you’ve become someone who does a good job irregardless of your age?

Having lived through my life so far, I think I’ve found the age that suits me best. In my teens and 20s, I was under pressure to show people an image of myself that matches the impression they have of someone that age. They looked forward to a much livelier and lovelier younger sister sort of image from me than I had the energy to pull off. Actually, at that age I was full of self-hatred and had a pessimistic world-view…

Q: Isn’t that what being a teen is like?

That’s right! That’s ‘real’. (TL note: The irony here that IU’s Real album was not the real IU.) Now even if I speak in my original tone, people won’t ask me, “IU, are you in a bad mood?” When I was young (TL note: younger), I would always have to speak in a tone 3 keys higher. Also, now that I’ve been in the industry for a long time, I get the sense that people no longer observe closely and wonder, ‘what stunt is she going to pull this time?’ They just listen to my music and accept my natural and familiar presence to receive the energy that they can receive from me. I’m grateful for that and I like it. I really like how I just have to think about how to show my thoughts through my music.

Q: You’re aware that you’re still young right?

If I were to have a goal, it would be to hear people say, “Wah, that grandmother is still doing a good job” when I am 75 or 80 years old. Since I heard people saying, “You’re doing a good job given your age” in my teens (laughs). That’s a big change for me. I used to think that when I get older, I would be doing something different, but currently, I’m confident that I’ll love my job for a long time.

Q: By the way, you wore the marshmallow suit and went to your 15th debut anniversary exhibition. Do you think your fans really didn’t recognise you? Or were they just pretending?

Yes! If they were just pretending, I would feel very sorry. How considerate they would have been, to pretend that they didn’t recognise me.. But I think they really didn’t know. I really don’t look good in the marshmallow suit. I’m the only short and ugly marshmallow we ever had (laughs).

Translated by IUteamstarcandy

[rriavian]

M and N for the ask game!!

M - name a character you’d like to have for a friend 

Calliope or Jessamy (though if I could I’d give her back to Dream).

But Calliope was my first thought because I adore her character. I could go on for a long time about why but my answer for N is very long so I might save it for another post.

N - 3 things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom (or one of your choice)

Ok this might be a little controversial but…I don’t actually read that much Sandman fanfic anymore. In the beginning I read so much and while I still write, I think what’s kept me around is that I'm trying to write what I want to see more of. If that makes sense?

Firstly, I’d love to see more diversity.

Not just in ships but in fic in general, more gen, more that explore the female characters, more femslash (never written it but I know you mod Sandman Femslash Fans and I really wanted to do something for the challenge! Have an idea but I’ve been a bit ill recently). I wish there was more love for side characters/minor characters other than Hob. And that there were more explorations of the connections between characters outside of shipping.

I never really enjoy fandoms where one ship is a majority, even when I ship that ship, because in my experience it leads to everything being seen through the lens of that ship.

It tends to lean towards certain fanon interpretations being considered canon, with fandoms forgetting to question/step outside of the ships bubble. It's also just not very interesting. Even when there’s diversity within the ship itself I like to see more of a counterpoint. Otherwise it just…makes the universe feel smaller. Like only ever having chocolate cake on offer, maybe in ten different permutations, but at its core it’s chocolate. Different takes on things make people think, challenge them to think, make them alter their perspective, and it’s a healthy thing. I don’t think this fandom is very good for that tbh. 

Secondly, more characterisations of non-human characters that embrace the fact they are not human.

I see this very common binary of more human like = good vs less human like = bad (very simplified but I hope you understand my point!). So would like to see this not just for Dream, but for other characters too. I know we’re humans engaging with this fandom, so it's hard to envision that perspective, but I’d love to see more of us stepping outside of a human lens. As much as the fandom writes ‘nightmare’ Dream, it’s often shown as his dark or unrestrained side (or primarily a sex thing) so would love to see more diverse views on the spectrum of his aspect. On the flip side the human/retired Dream trope (which is personally a hard no for me unless heavily subverted) is far more popular than its opposite.

Again, this is about a desire for diversity. I'm not suggesting there's something wrong with having different tastes!! Just frustrating when it’s hard to find anything else.

I know this is fanfic, and so we all have our own interpretations and AUs, with many of us embracing the opportunity to write a drastically different version of a character. I just rarely see Dream characterised in a way that, again to my interpretation, I recognise as him. That feels authentically him. Other characters like Lucienne or Death or even Rose often feel like they are smoothed out to be perfect or written in a matchmaking role. I wish more fics let them be as flawed as they are, let them be wrong, let them make mistakes. I’d just love to see more complexity.

Thirdly - this is probably a subpoint of the above - but more of Dream actually enjoying his role, and fics that explore his relationship to humanity.

I'd love to see explorations of what it means to be Dream. I see so much of him rejecting it or being overwhelmed by it. While I do think his feelings are complicated, which in itself is very interesting, he’s not just going through the motions/in need of saving. I wish more people showed that it’s not just this burden he needs freedom from. He’s good at it too. That’s what makes things so tragic. He’s smart, communicative in his own way, but Dream just isn’t human, and so he’s not going to act like one.

(Btw this is not anti Dreamling. I’m not here to hate on anyone’s ship, especially one I do ship in certain ways. I just wish there was more diversity, and I personally disagree with a lot of interpretations of Dream’s character. As fans we’re all allowed to dislike a take/trope. I just don’t read those fics because I'm not the right audience for them. I'm only trying to point out that when those takes/tropes are everywhere it’s really hard to find anything to engage with.)

[crones-trash]

Asteroid City, A Personal Review

Movies by Wes Anderson are an acquired taste. Most people don't like them but those of us who do really, really love them. His style is beyond quirky, way-out-there bizarre unrealistic plots, constrained performances, & brazenly artful scenery. Anderson doesn't even try to make commercially-viable movies. He makes ART! And he employs large casts of serious actors putting them in circumstances that turn straight actors into comedians & comedians into drama stars.

Under his direction, his ensembles are forced to conform to his insistence on them doing a parody of normal speech & behavior. They drone in emotionless monotones w deadpan demeanors, which puts the emphasis on the content of their speeches. His clever scripts are laugh-out-laugh funny when you listen to the words. But, if you don't, their performances can look utterly boring. And this leads your eyes to feasting on the background details. (I confess I've sat thru a couple of his movies only absorbing the set designs & camera angles but came out feeling refreshed & happy.)

Asteroid City is The Most Wes Anderson movie EVAH! He's got an All-Star cast including Tom Hanks, Scarlet Johansen, Brian Cranston, Adrien Brody, Edward Norton, Tilda Swinton, Willem Dafoe, and many, many more. Even the bit players have recognizable faces like Margo Robbie appears in only one scene that blows your mind. And Jason Schwartzman as the central character is amazing! He was allowed to project surprising micro-bursts of real emotion within the straight-jacket of Anderson's usual affectations.

The plot is impossibly convoluted: a 1950's B&W TV show about the writing of a play about a Technicolor movie w B&W Behind-the-Scenes inclusions of the play's actors behaving more naturalistically. This might actually be a first for Anderson & he uses it to press against the boundary of his usual creative methods. Leading up to the Grand Finale, Schwartzman steps outside of his primary Technicolor role to confront the writer of the play in B&W & demands to know what the story means!

In this moment, Anderson confronts his critics because one of the main complaints about his work is "WTF was that about!" I often recommend to people who have no previous experience w his movies to enjoy the snappy dialog & lush scenery; don't even try to make sense of it; simply let it roll over you & feel whatever you feel. Usually, after the fact, I examine what I felt & find some meaning for myself.

But, this time he has the entire cast arranged in tiered seating & they crash thru the 4th Wall by directly chanting at the viewer,

"YOU CAN'T WAKE UP IF YOU DON'T FALL ASLEEP!"

My eyes flooded w tears & I felt what Anderson intended me to feel—GRIEF! Yes, indeed, the Technicolor movie is centered on a story about a man processing the death of his wife, having to tell his children their mother is dead, & making peace w the father-in-law who never liked him. It's about letting go & moving on w the rest of your life.

I realize the chant is open to interpretation &, after the fact, I googled what others thought it meant. Most of them got the message about grief from it but have varied explanations for was the literal statement means.

My interpretation is: Movies are like dreams & the best way to watch them is to suspend your disbelief & enter a semi-conscious state to allow them to "happen" to you. Then you wake up when the movie is over & apply your critical thinking to what you experienced. If you obstinately remain self-conscious & busily critical, you simply won't get THE FULL EFFECT!

And, ya'know what? Grief is like that. And so are all traumatic events. If you don't give into the process of feeling your emotions, you'll never get over it. It will always be like a ghost haunting the back of your mind that spooks you until you confront it.

As someone who has experienced traumatic grief for going on 2½ years that evolved into a state of confusion since moving to Portland, I think this movie helped me "wake up".

Hey, look! I'm writing from my heart again!

[maya-matlin]

I’ve been watching Degrassi for the first time and love Maya as much as you do so far! I loved her with Cam and can’t really fully embrace her and Zig, but maybe that will change! Don’t worry, I’m not one of those people who thinks Zig is at fault for Cam’s suicide – I think maybe Zig just isn’t my type?! Cam is the sensitive awkward troubled but sweet sort of guy I seem destined to love. I would love to hear how you think Maya and Zig are different and how you think they’re similar. And I saw someone saying that Zig and Maya would be an even more popular ship than it is if the writers had kept zig more of a goofball screwup than rewriting him as a drug dealing gang member criminal and wondered if you agree? This is actually the first ask I’m sending to anyone so I can’t wait to read your reply!

I think that's a pretty common reaction to their season 12 story line. Maya's relationship with Cam was so short lived and mostly untainted by anything "bad" or "toxic" due to Cam dying so young. So as a result, he's technically Maya's boyfriend that made the least relationship mistakes. I should make it clear that my interpretation of their relationship and Cam in general is kind of marred by the fact that the fandom has consistently misunderstood the suicide arc and Zig's alleged culpability in it for years on top of unfairly villainizing Maya for choosing to move forward in her life while having negative emotions surrounding Cam. But needless to say, Cam was fine? It's funny you think he was sweet, because I never saw it that way. He wasn't mean, but like.. he was more neutral? I think he was polite and very unsure of how to approach Maya and others, but I don't feel like his personality was on display enough for me to say any differently. I do believe he genuinely cared for Maya and was aiming to be a good boyfriend, though. Especially after getting back together with her.

I answered an ask very similar to this one not too long ago re: the similarities and differences between Zig and Maya, so I'm just going to copy and paste that.

Honestly, I’m not sure Zig and Maya are all that similar. The main similarities that jump out to me is that both seem to value a relationship based on an emotional connection and friendship rather than a mostly physical one. Both are extremely loyal people and will do whatever they can for their friends and loved ones as well as each other. Neither is afraid to get involved, often being the one to step in to defend someone else.

As for their differences, Maya’s more ambitious than Zig. By the time we meet Maya, her heart is already set on having a future in music. While her passion eventually shifted from being a cellist to wanting to be something akin to Taylor Swift, Maya always tried to put her dreams first. It’s not that Zig is lacking in passion, but he doesn’t have the confidence in himself to be successful. There are hints that he’d make a good chef and it’s implied Zig continued to cook off screen during Next Class, but we never see any story line or moment that suggests he’s all that passionate about cooking. It’s just something he does and seems to enjoy, but it’s never presented as his “thing” the way Maya has her music, Tiny has marine biology or Grace has technology (?). What’s funny is that compared to a lot of characters, Zig has a decent variety of talents. It’s just that they were eventually dropped or in the case of music, Zig was retconned into being a bad guitar player to make him look like an obsessive, pathetic boyfriend for wanting to join his girlfriend’s band when he’d literally been the lead singer/bassist of Maya’s last band. Zig is much more open about his feelings than Maya. Throughout their relationship (even before they were officially dating), Zig was the one voicing his wants while Maya was more hesitant and introspective. Maya had a tendency to go into denial if it meant her feelings would cause friction within her friend group. So in that way, you could say Maya is more selfless while Zig is a bit more self involved? He’s more impulsive than Maya, not always seeing the bigger picture, while she seems to consider everything first. When Maya is hurt and upset, she shuts down, removing herself from the situation and refusing to engage unless provoked. Zig feels the need to overcompensate, sometimes acting like an asshole to convince the person hurting him that he doesn’t care. In spite of all this, I actually think Zig is the more sensitive of the two and the more observant one. Maya’s also sensitive and pays attention, but she sometimes misses the mark.

I'm sorry, but I kind of hate that? Zig didn't choose to be a gang member. He was forced into that situation due to his upbringing and where he lived. I don't think it makes him lesser or defines his worth as a person or a love interest. It reeks of classism to me. I'm sure that wasn't your intent, but I've seen many comments that severely misunderstand Zig and what he was going through. The entire point of his gang arc during seasons 13 and 14 is that he too didn't want to be forced to sell drugs and do other gang affiliated activities that the writers couldn't be assed to expand on. It's easy to say people like Cam and Miles were "better" or "safer" than Zig because they came from very different worlds than he did. Like, once Zig and Maya started dating in season 14, Zig made it clear he wouldn't have blamed Maya for dumping him and felt like shit over the circumstances of them sleeping together for the first time. If anything, I actually think this era of Zig's life made him a stronger, richer character. In the long run, it was also one year of Zig being gang affiliated vs three where he wasn't? I can't change anyone's opinion, but this is mine and I can't fathom Zaya being "ruined" over that when season 14 was arguably their best season. In spite of the circumstances Zig found himself in, he was consistently a great, supportive friend to Maya even before they became a couple. Regardless of what anyone thinks of Zig personally or how they might judge him for circumstances mostly out of his control, Maya still felt safe with him. I think that's pretty telling and says a lot about the depth of their connection. And, honestly Zig as a person. My main take is that Zig was the same guy from season 12 during seasons 13-Next Class. This was even pointed out by Maya herself when telling Zig she initially thought he'd changed when they met up again in the rubber room. He hadn't. He'd literally just cut the sleeves off his shirts and adopted a new persona. He didn't become a worse person because he was pulled into a gang.

[adultswim2021]

Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! #3: “Cats” | February 25, 2007 - 11:45PM | S01E03

We start this one with a little ad for a restaurant called Gravy Robbers, an inane family dining restaurant where the gimmick is that their very dry meat will always require gravy, and during your meal you will have to occasionally defend yourself from a “gravy robber” who comes to your table to rob said gravy. This was a holdover idea from Tom Goes to the Mayor that was previously unused. Indeed, dumb theme restaurants was very much in the Tom Goes wheel house.

Later we see snippets of a Gravy Robbers training video, featuring Tairy Greene portrayed by Zach Galifianakis. He’s so funny. Goodness. One of the few comedy people that I feel like hasn’t let me down, EVER. I like when he says gravy “grah-vee”. Eventually we get to see bloopers which is such a funny, self-indulgent thing for an instructional video to do, gosh. Zach intoning “these are traaaaained military veterans” over and over just makes me so happy, because I’m choosing to interpret this as anti-troop. And who could forget his longform Shelly Berman-esque phone bit where he reacts to his friend’s niece being murdered as if he were being told about a friend winning the lottery.

The host stuff for this is: Tim has learned a magic trick where he can turn himself into an orange little kitty cat. Tim, however, finds it hard to turn himself back, and panic sets in. Eric eventually gives the cat away, before wistfully dreaming about better times he and Tim had playing around in a park. The smug way Tim drinks but then spits out the water fountain water is so funny, and the push in on Eric’s face, as if he’s saying to himself “I was always remember this and cherish this moment”. So funny. Tim comes back from cat-transformation at the moment that Eric is dropping him off to his forever home. He is nude, and the way he moans is so weird and funny. I love it so much. Behind-the-scenes note, Eric stated on the DVD commentary that they trained cat they got for the shoot was wonderful, except it smelled like shit. 

The first of the Kidz Break bits is in this one, and this might be the best one of all. “I Sit Down When I Pee” is a spirited rap whose aim is to de-stigmatize the act of sitting down to pee when you’re a boy. The song is very funny, and its purpose is murky. Is this an educational video? Infotainment? Could it simply be a hit song? The end throws up a caption reading “Paid for by Voter Initiative Prop 216” which raises more questions than answers (and this might be one of my favorite jokes of all time!). This is an absolute all-timer. 

There’s a shot-on-the-street segment where Tim offers free portraits for tourists walking around Hollywood. Pranky stuff like this would sorta fade out of the show, if I remember correctly. Tim does a bad job drawing and acts like a very weird guy. He also says things that don’t inspire confidence like: “you only have one mouth so I’ll just do one mouth”. A uh, borderline character if you know what I mean. Tim has some borderliners on this show for sure.

There’s the tender prime time drama “Kitty Cat Man”, where two big bros hug Michael Cera for fucking hours, and then he turns into a kitty cat just like Tim did. I wonder if this is actually intended to be a TV movie based on Tim’s real-life predicament. I guess it’s not a bad thing to have two sketches in the show that are basically the same. I like it! Hey dude, funny’s funny!

Speaking of that other sketch, the way it actually ends is Tim shows Eric how to make his legs very long. This is accomplished by having Tim & Eric act on a green screen and inserted into a cartoon land with cartoon legs. They stomp around with their new long legs, oblivious to the carnage they are creating below the clouds, where they are just crushing people up. Rude way to get laughs, but the moon approves so I do not know what to think. 

Another pretty great episode. I love the Tim & Eric program.

MAIL BAG

I have so many Mail Bags, OH MY GOD

Here's a new mail for the mailbag hot off the press: Tim and Eric are GAY for EACH OTHER. Print it and ship it. Goodbye!

b-dog bites the big one:

(muttering under my breath to a shrill techno dance beat) a-fuckin podcast. a-fucking podcast. a-fucking podcast.

Wouldn’t wanna meet potty mouths like this in a dark alley, I might gets sweared on!

I was hoping you'd say G4 because videogames are super cool 8-)

I never watched that shit it was too bad. And video games are bad. Sometimes they had people affiliated with Playboy on there, and even that would not get me to watch it.

My wife was so obsessed with That's My Bush that she met the guy who plays That's My Bush and got him to fuck her. He was married. She was dating me. But that's our man.

Thank you for a rare sexual Mail Bag... illuminating as usual! It is good to know that true love prevails

I was on an episode of Jonah Ray's Bar-B-Quay and he cooked pizza and burgers on the grill for everyone on the set for like two hours after filming wrapped. Nice guy. He even took selfies with his then new Samsung Propel. Unfortunately, Har Mar Superstar was there and that guys apparently a rapist. Otherwise a great night.

Har Mar Superstore may have gotten the last laugh, but I’m glad you had a fun night. If there were any girls there let me know. I love hearing about girls

[dailydivination365]

Helloooo! 😊 I’m M I had previously asked about V, I wanted to thank you for the reading! Hope you’re doing well! Would you mind sharing those messages you had for me on my previous reading, please?

I also wanted to ask for another reading, please. My question is what does the near future hold for V and me?

Again, thank you very much in advance!!! 😊

Good afternoon! I just finished your reading. Thanks so much for your patience! 

Before I begin, I just wanted to brief you on my readings. I now split them into two parts, the first being general definitions of the cards and the second being my analysis. I believe this opens up more pathways to discussion since you’ll have more involvement in the reading 🙂

Let me know if you have any questions, thoughts, or comments!

Here’s your reading:

The tower:

This is a symbol of destruction. It’s violent and changes things quickly. However, it’s a destruction that leads to enlightenment.

8 of pentacles - reversed:

Emotions resulting from impatience of results. These are emotions like frustration and jealousy. It can also represent an unfulfilling job, career, or current life path. Lastly, it can indicate too much focus on success rather than the work involved to be successful.

Page of cups - reversed:

Letting impulses make choices often leads to mistakes. The card can also symbolize disturbing psychic images, such as dreams or intuitions.

Knight of Pentacles - reversed:

A sort of ennui and lack of purpose. It represents a slowing down and even a depression. It can also symbolize that you’re grounded but lack the understanding of the bigger things in life, like your purpose.

2 of wands - reversed:

This card represents jumping into new ventures and experiences. It signifies being tired of a stale life and making a change to start something new.

Analysis:

The reading can be interpreted in so many ways. One of which is that your future with V is not bright. However, I feel that’s a very shallow reading.

What can be said for sure is that your situation with V inevitably leads to some sort of dramatic destruction or change. It could be that you two will eventually have something (that is a dramatic change) or that you’ll be ripped apart (something as simple as one of you moving suddenly). This card is closely tied to the last as it completes a cycle, but I’ll touch on this later.

The middle three cards interest me in this reading. Two of them relate to being grounded in nature, but in a way that’s more deep than just connecting with material things. They strongly tell you to focus on purpose and what you want to do with your life. It also tells you that doing the work is more important than success.

Your reading could relate to working hard on yourself to have more fruitful relationships (with V or someone else). It can also mean that the destruction that happens with V, whatever that may be, will lead to you digging deep into yourself to find out what you want in life.

This gets more interesting with the middle card, the page of cups in reverse. It’s a card focused on imagination but through impulse rather than creativity. However, it feels more like telling you to listen to your intuition. The answer to finding purpose is to listen to what’s inside. What’s the voice within telling you? Regarding V, do you feel like they’re someone who can fulfill your purpose? Try to be as honest as you can with this answer.

The final card, the 2 of wands in reverse, symbolizes new beginnings. However, not one that comes to you naturally, but one you make for yourself. Hence, I see it as the end of the cycle caused by the destruction of the first card, the tower. It symbolizes you being tired of having an empty life where things aren’t coming to you how you want, so you make the change happen.

It’s possible that the future of you and V may turn into something you ignite due to exhaustion of the staleness and lack of progress. Funnily enough, The tower can also mean a violent upheaval of your emotional or psychological state. In other words, the tower may represent the decision to start taking action in your life.

Regarding the messages in the previous reading, I wrote that statement incorrectly! I meant to say that it’s only one potential outcome of the situation, but I didn’t have much context for your situation.

I hope this helped. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.

If you want to donate, you can do so here:

[mysteriousmeadowlark]

And I was thinking about the language thing from last night. Did you see M.'s post from long ago that claims there is no symbolism. Maybe people do see stuff that way, or maybe he was trying to reiterate that we are in a dream. Again, the symbolism helps me so I use it. It's not set in stone like a normal language though- it's not as if every word means the same thing to every person.

If you had to have some sort of concreteness behind it (why?), then, again, I'd filter it through the lens of love. And if you really need more than that, remind yourself that often things are trying to teach you that- it's all one/ love; it's all a dream and not a dream at the same time; and that your ego is an illusion (and maintaining that illusion makes you suffer more).

I think a part of this path is about your soul connecting back to your higher self. M. used to put forth the idea that I was split (not that you're broken though!- this is why words can be shitty) a lot. Anyway, on this journey to reunite with your higher self, you have an inner guide (your intuition I guess). I think using the symbolism has helped me to figure out where my head's at- where I'm at on the trail- which helps my inner guide continue to lead me. I hadn't mentioned this idea before because I thought you'd find it too woo woo to use, but I'm not trying to point out the idea so much here as to explain how symbolism can be helpful.

Again, I'm at the point now, where if I see a post that bothers or confuses me, I usually just let it go (And it'd be different if someone was saying something negative to my face, but if it's on the Internet up for interpretation then...). I don't want it to impact me negatively. And that's a negative thing in my life that I do have control over so I try to control it.

I know it's hard at first though so I'm not downplaying that. I know I repeat myself a lot too, but that's what my teachers do to me. I think it helps the rewiring (and you!) to be reminded.

[alisoncdariel]

Oh wow, Layla, I have so many thoughts.

I will never be able to express exactly how or just how much I felt while reading this, but I can sure as shit try.

This was so heartbreakingly, overwhelmingly beautiful to read. There absolutely should be another Endless named Defiance!! It seems like the most human thing an Endless can embody. She was the perfect personification of what it means to endure. I mean even as she was being beaten to death, she persevered not because she had to, but because that strength is quite literally who she is and is a part of her, just like her love for her brother. (Sorry, these are my own little headcanons. Feel free to disregard.)

The efficacy of using a willow tree as Defiance’s next form was unmatched. I think trees are incredible symbols of resilience and strength, and perseverance, everything that defiance is. The ability to keep standing tall no matter what storm hits; it may lose some leaves and branches, but it is still here. It’s just so interesting that even though Fiddler’s Green left, she’s still there, the only thing for miles that has any color or life left. I thought that it was so beautiful that her roots had spread to every corner of the Dreaming. While everything is crumbling and this realm is dying, Defiance is wallowing (or willowing, am I right?) in guilt because she couldn’t help her closest family member. But, while he’s away, the least she can do is try keep everything together, right? In nature, roots are essential for keeping dirt down and moisture in (ie, the American Dust Bowl, aka the Dirty Thirties). It’s my headcanon that this is why she spread her roots out. Her trying to grow her roots out as far as she can is a testament to her love for her brother. As Dream said in the show, he is the Dreaming and the Dreaming is him. And we know that Defiance may not have powers, but just her presence is enough to make the people around her (like the man on the bridge) want to keep going, keep trying. Perhaps, she was hoping she could influence the fabric of the Dreaming too?

Additionally, I think that because the symbolism of willow trees conveys healing (in part due to it’s medicinal bark), this addition to the story is amazing! Defiance is healing, recovering. She lost a friend and her brother at the same time. She lost her autonomy. So she is doing what she know best: simply persisting. Maybe it’s because I feel such a deep, emotional connection with trees and nature, but I really, really love how you wrote this personified tree. The tree has visible emotions!! Her body has scars and divots and flowers, of which are the only way that Defiance can communicate how she really feels to the world outside of her.

Speaking of communication, the most touching part of this fic (aka when I started crying) was how Morpheus could communicate with her, no problem. I mean of course he could, obviously, I hear you saying. I know that that’s probably obvious, but I still think it’s a breathtaking thing to read about. She was still his sister, no matter what form she’s in, and he could still read her so openly. The two have such a close relationship that Dream didn’t need to guess or try to interpret what her scars and divots and flowers meant. He just knew. The caressing of the flowers and wind, the changing colors, and the creaking bark was astounding, awe-inspiring imagery to be shown.

Once he was back, she could finally come back into her human form and just let it all out. Her transformation back to human reminds me of the feeling of having a weight lifted off your shoulders, also clearly shown in the way that she slumps into her brother and she knows that he’s okay, he’s home.

Holy crap, I’m so sorry for the length of this! Please don’t think this is creepy, I just was completely and absolutely stopped in my tracks while reading this. Thank you for sharing your art with the world, because if you hadn’t, I never would have gotten the gift of experiencing it for the first time. I hope many, many other people also get to feel the same way I did!

This whole comment can be summarized in this:

My Dearest Defiance

Summary:  Equal as an Endless, more than a human, yet less than a god. Where did you even belong? The question has haunted you since you first saw humanity rise into power. Now your brother has been kidnapped and you can't do anything to help him.

Notes: ~7.5k words, This fic is a follow-up to this post sent in by the lovely @kpopgirlbtssvt, thank you so much for the idea! I took a few liberties with the plot and I hope that's okay with you!

Warnings: Platonic! Big Brother x little sister! Reader, *side eyes* a lot of angst, violence, physical abuse, heavy mentions of cancer, implied alcohol consumption, minor Dreaming mind-fuckery, death of Reader (you come back...ish), death of characters, comfort in the end :)

Masterlist

Mother Night and Father Time, the first lovers, the everlasting lovers. And it was through their love that the Endless were born. Your eldest brother Destiny came first, birthed in dark cloaks and the book that was named after him. He is in charge of the fate of every being to live. 

Every being who has lived must follow the path of this fate and fate always ends in Death, your eldest sister. When Mother and Father realized that the humans must do something while waiting for Death, they birthed your favorite brother, Dream. He is hope, the one who gives the humans courage to stand up for themselves and make do with their lives. Soon, humans wanted more and in succession, the rest of your siblings were born: Destruction, Desire, Despair, and sweet Delight soon to be Delierum. 

While every Endless was busy tending to their own realms and their own duties, you were born. Endless in name but not in power. You were the runt of the family, with no realm to call your own, and no responsibilities of your own. Yet here you stood amongst the humans that soon called you Defiance, the human spirit, the resilience to continue despite all odds. 

You’re sure your siblings knew of you, certainly enough to be invited to family dinner once every 100 years. Yet you could never shake the feeling of inadequacy when you were sat at the far end, only to be over-talked by everyone. They were discussing important matters, after all, nothing that you had to concern yourself with. 

You only find solace in Dream, where no matter how difficult the days get, you may always find a home in his realm. While he is adamant about letting you stay in the castle, you find it more comfortable to live in a cottage at the edge of the realm where the forest meets with the vast unknown and you grow vegetables from the soil you tow. It also allows you to escape to the waking world without Dream knowing.

You love humans, their lives fascinate you to no end. They know of you, just as they know of all of your Endless siblings, but sometimes it just takes a little more for them to realize. You would never push them to admit to your existence and somewhere along the millions of years of existence, you have given up trying to be the center of attention. 

To understand humans is to live like them, talk like them, and love like them. Unfortunately, humans are more than that and often succumb to feelings of anger, depression, righteousness, and violence. You try not to associate yourself with those emotions, but it’s innate. 

It’s been a few weeks since you stepped foot in Dream’s castle, and who could blame you? The village in which you reside is much more fun than the dreary castle your brother tends to enjoy more. The thick castle wall blocks out the sunlight, it’s filled with dust and smells of wet stones and old books. Not to mention, when Dream was busy, there was no one to talk to. Lucienne was always busy, picking up after her King, and you don’t even want to get started on Mervin. 

He’s only nice to you cause you gave him his pumpkin head when his original turnip head started going out of style. Otherwise, it’s cigar smoke being blown into your face and sassy remarks. 

You’re out in the market square when you feel the presence of your Endless Sibling. You turn from the flower vendor with a big smile and wave at Dream as he makes his way towards you. The dreams that he created step to the side in the presence of their sovereign.

“Brother!” You exclaim when he gets close enough for you, wrapping one of your arms around his while the woven basket hangs in the other. 

The basket was filled with a few apples and a fresh loaf of bread. You were just about to buy a few glass snowdrop flowers before you were pleasantly surprised by Dream. 

“How do you do this afternoon, dear sister?” He speaks, leaning into your face to tease you. 

You giggle at him as the two of you walk the main road, passing dreams and nightmares alike, a few waving at you in greeting that you return.

“I’m doing great. I was thinking of going to the waking world later today and spending some time with Death, actually.” You respond, your arm leaves Dream’s as a different vendor catches your eyes. They were selling acrylic paints in colors that you haven’t seen since half a century ago. 

“Here, hold this,” You say as you hand off your basket to Dream. He does as he’s told and holds the basket, the white paint offputting to his otherwise completely black outfit. 

You grab a few jars of paint and can already think of the wonderful things to draw when you get back into your cottage. There was a specific lake nearby that you haven’t been able to do justice to, but you think you finally can with the new color. 

A brief conversation of exchange happens between you and the vendor before you turn around. You burst out laughing at the sight before you. Dream stood in the middle of the road where you had first told him to hold your basket and hadn’t moved an inch. His shoulders were stiff and taught as he held your basket as far away from his body as possible. 

“It’s not going to bite you, you know!” You practically cackle at him. Your giggles follow you as you carefully place the jars of paint into your basket. You think that you will paint some flowers and ivy onto your basket later tonight. 

You go to take the basket back from him but he’s quick to move it away from your grabby hands. 

“You specified that I should hold it, so hold it I shall,” He says and holds the basket higher, just out of your reach, when you go to grab at it again. 

You huff at his rather stubborn behavior, but he’s been like this since the beginning. He always looks after you and takes care of you. You’re always grateful for it, but you can carry your own basket. You resolve the conversation with a roll of your eyes but the smile on your face stays in place when you turn your back to him. 

Dream walks you home, basket now significantly heavier and full of things you didn’t really need. Well, except maybe the paint, it’s good to splurge every once in a while. Your cottage is basked in a warm light as the Dreaming’s sun slowly disappears beyond the horizon to rise in another universe. The pie you had baked this morning had long since cooled and you brought it inside with a hum, your brother still following you. 

He set the basket on the simple kitchen table before taking a seat and watching you slice up the pie with a smile. You set the pastry down in front of him and another plate for yourself. The savory apple flavoring takes over the senses when you take the first delicious bite. 

“I would like you to come back to the castle soon,” Your brother says as you take another bite. 

“Whatever for?” You question, a little bit of apple filling falling out of your mouth. “The cottage is my home.”

Dream sighs but answers anyway. “I will be gone for a moment, I need to take care of a rouge nightmare,  and would like you to be cared for while I am away from the Dreaming.”

“How long will you be gone for you to want me to live in that dreadful place?” You make a face as you think about the boring days ahead of you. Well, maybe you can escape to the castle garden if Mervin isn’t paying attention. 

“I cannot tell you for I do not know.” 

You purse your lips as you think about his request. “Fine,” You groan. 

“Best not see Sister Death today.” When you don’t bother with a response he speaks against “Farwell, sister. I will be back soon,” He promises you before standing. You didn’t get the chance to follow him to the door before he leaves, his apple pie still untouched. 

“Ugh, how wasteful.” You joke to yourself. 

You spend the rest of your evening painting your basket as you had wanted before packing up a few items for the castle. Your basket was a gift from your brother and had an infinite amount of storage. So you managed to shove an extensive amount of your wardrobe, the paints, and some of the freshly baked pastries into the small wooden thing. You set off when the moon was high in the sky and the stars came down from their afternoon nap and danced in the village square. 

Their stardust shoes clink like pure jade against the cobblestone road, illuminating the otherwise quiet and sleeping town. A few wave  at you, shimmering particles following their movements before they return to their waltz. You wave back to them before continuing on your journey, mindful of where you stepped. 

When stars come down to the Dreaming they become transparent and more gaseous than solid but that doesn’t stop them from burning hot. And unless you wanted to recounter that one time you stepped through one and started sneezing and coughing stardust for the next 10 years, you’ll keep your distance - only allowing for their natural light to guide your way out of the village and towards the castle. 

By the time you reach the castle, Dream is nowhere to be found and you assume he went out to do what he mentioned earlier that day. Your room was set up for you,  Dream obviously had some palace staff tidy up the room as you took a look around the clean environment. Otherwise, everything was in the same place you had left it since the last time you were at the castle. You yawn as you set your basket down by the door. First a good night’s rest, then you can go to the waking world to do your own things. 

You sneak out of the castle a few minutes before dawn, the soft bed and good night’s rest giving you the energy you need to do so. You grimace when the door creaks loudly as you slowly open it, smelling the early morning dew on the grass and the warming dawn wind. 

“Where are you headed, my dear?” A voice stops you in your tracks. You suck your lips into your mouth as you soon recognize the voice. 

“Good morning, Lucienne,” You greet curtly, holding, or rather, hiding, your basket behind your black skirt. 

Lucienne gives you a pointed look. “Yes, good morning.” 

You give her a smile before stepping back out the door, only to be stopped when she purposefully clears her throat. 

“The question?” She presses.

You feign innocence and bat your eyelashes, not that it would work. “What question?”

“Lady Defiance, my Lord specifically states that I keep my eyes on you.” Lucienne holds her hands behind her back as she takes her stance. 

“By all means, keep your eyes - hey what’s that?!” You gawk as you point behind Lucienne. 

Lucienne snaps her head around to look at what you were so surprised by. She doesn’t see or sense anything when she does. It’s about two seconds of her searching before she realizes that she has been duped. When she turns around the door is swinging shut and you are nowhere to be seen. She slams the door open and only sees the last of your figure disappearing on the horizon.

You’re still giggling to yourself about pulling off that little trick when you reach the ocean of the Dreaming. The little wooden dock creaks under your weight as you skip across it. Having done this traveling before, you jump right in with a squeal, holding your nose close so you don’t get any water in. 

The water pushes and pulls but you don’t fight the current knowing that it will take you where you wanted to go. When you emerge, you cough once and the water falls off your body, leaving you dry in cloudy 1916 England. You wrap your blazer closer to your body as the wind picks up and leave the alleyway. The familiar smell of roasted peanuts from street vendors and car fumes tickles your nose when you turn the corner to walk into the hospital. 

“Hi, I’m here to visit Genny, uh, Geniveve, Geniveve Colemen,” You correct yourself to the receptionist. The woman nods and looks down at her computer. 

“She’s in the same room, 443. Here’s your visitor’s pass.” She hands you a laminated badge on a lanyard. 

You thank her before wearing the lanyard and going towards the nearest elevator. The elevator smelled of shoe polish and disinfectant spray and it made your nose crinkle. You just hope the smell doesn’t transfer onto your clothes. 

When you reach your destination, you knock on Genny’s door before entering. She wears her hospital gown and was reading a book when she looks up. A smile pasters onto her face when she sees you.

“Y/N!” She drops her book and sits up straighter. 

“Genny!” You exclaim back with the same amount of excitement. You place your basket by her bed before pulling out a fresh vase of flowers and setting it by her bedside table. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, what have you been up to?” She asks.

“Yeah, my mother took me to some private tutor to help me study for my tests,” You lie through your teeth as you fluff the flowers to make them look more appealing. 

You tuck your school skirt underneath you when you sit down next to Genny and reach for your basket again. “I brought you some homebaked goods. I know this hospital’s food has got to be horrendous.” 

You bring out the baked loaf of bread you bought the day before and rip off a slice for her. She takes the loaf and inhales the scent. 

“Gosh, Y/N, I don’t know how you make such good baked goods. Your husband will be a lucky one if you stop trying to chase them off.” She giggles and muffles through her full mouth. 

You laugh with her, sparing her the details of your actual life. You bring forth the lie you had carefully planted yourself as instead. A straight-A student that goes to the same school as Genny before she was diagnosed with cancer, how you were her best friend that visited her when you got the chance, how you had gotten onto the school council and despite all of her poking and prodding, she would not get to know what the school formal’s dance theme is going to be unless she went with you tomorrow to the dance. You try not to think about how frail she has gotten since the first time you’ve met her. Her collarbones were poking out and you can see how hard it was for her to take even breaths. 

When she asks you again later in the visit about the school dance you rebuttal quickly. 

“Are you going to come to the dance with me?” You laugh. “Speaking of which, I got you a dress, too!” You go back to your basket, pulling out a formal dress, and setting it in front of Genny. 

“Wow! Look at the bead stitching,” She says, running a delicate finger over the beading and gems then over the lacing. 

“I’ve got a good eye, don’t I?” You sit back down with a smile and a tilt of the head. “It matches my dress, too.”

“What about your own date?”

“Oh, please, I don’t have time for boys!” You giggle again, hiding behind the lie that you don’t actually go to her school. 

“Oh alright, I suppose I must go to the dance with you so you won’t be lonely.” Genny surrenders. 

You smile at her, happy she finally agreed. “You’re a great friend.” 

Genny coughs after your compliment and you’re quick to reach for the water and hand it over to her. When she sits up to drink you go to fluff her pillow. Genny lays back down with a sigh and all of the warmth that was in the room leaves through the window. She looks like she’s aged when she looks at you again, another cough crawling its way past her throat. 

“I’ll leave you to rest,” You say, turning around to grab your things. 

“No,” Genny refuses. “Can you stay for a little bit longer?” She coughs again and holds your hand weakly. “I want to feel like a normal girl for a little while longer.”

“Okay,” You whisper and sit back down, feeling the chill of the hospital around your ankles. 

You watch over her as she falls asleep, the conversation taking the last of her energy. You begin to stare off into space, thinking about your life. You did your best with the gift of immortality, but as you stare at Genny’s tense face, you wish you could do more. Equal as an Endless, more than a human, yet less than a god. Where did you even belong? The question has haunted you since you first saw humanity rise into power. 

Your thoughts leave you when you feel the beating of wings and a flush of wind from the door. Your head snaps and you see your sister standing there in her black tank top and the same combats boots you wore. 

“Sister Death,” You greet with a small smile, previous thoughts disappearing. “What brings you here today?” 

Your sister only smiles at you. Your excitement of seeing your sister again is soon taken over by dread. You look between your sister and your friend and the dots connect. 

“Oh... what? No!” You stand abruptly between your sister and Genny. “No! She still has so much to do in life!” You try to reason with her. 

“You cannot bargain with me, Defiance. You know that,” She says in her soft voice. 

“I don’t care,” Your lips form into a line. “At least let her go to the dance with me?” You try one more time. 

Death sighs with exaggeration. “Fine, but not an hour more.” 

“Thanks…” You’re not entirely sure how you managed to pull that off, unbeknownst to you that your sister has a soft spot for you much like Dream. 

Your sister looks you up and down before she leans on the door. “So how are you doing, then?” 

You look off to the side when you answer. “Fine,” You grumble out. 

She lets out a huff, or perhaps a laugh, you can’t really tell. “Would you like to go on a walk with me?”

It was a tempting offer, after all, you haven’t spent time with your sister in a while. You thought about it for a little while longer. “No,” You end up refusing. 

“Genny asked me to stay a little while longer, so I shall.” You turn away from your sister and sit back down in the uncomfortable hospital chair. You keep your head straight, looking after Genny, and don’t take your eyes off her even when you hear your sister departing. 

When she does, a tremble runs over your body. You feel tears prick at your lashline as you come to terms with the fact that your friend will be dying soon. You did your best to prevent the inevitable, but with no powers of your own, it’s only a waiting game now. 

You leave when visiting hours are over, Genny has yet to wake up from her nap. You leave the rest of the loaf on her bedside table, and a slice of your apple pie. You decide to tidy up the room as quietly as you can and hang her dress on the hook that was nailed to the wall. With one final look at her, you leave, only hoping that your sister doesn’t go back on her word and take her before her allotted time. 

You spend the rest of the evening in the waking world, catching up on new things the humans have done with their time. You end your day on a park bench, illuminated only by a single street lamp. The park was quiet, you’re only accompanied by the sound of crickets and the wind along the trees. You take in a deep breath of fresh air. Oh, how you have missed this. If only it was closer to summer vacation, you would’ve taken Genny to the beach and had some sun time with her. 

When you are done relaxing you go to the pond at the center of the park, the fountain in the middle still squirting out water and creating magnificent shapes and splashes along the surface. You could see the stars' reflection rippling as you peer at the lake over a bridge. The wind blows and you close your eyes to savor the moment. 

“I wouldn’t jump if that’s what you’re thinking,” Someone says next to you. 

You open your eyes and turn to see a man standing next to you, no older than 20. He takes off his hat when you speak. 

“I wasn’t, but thank you,” You reply simply and go back to looking out towards the expanding city. He doesn’t leave your side despite your answer and it gets a bit awkward.

“Are you thinking of jumping? Because I would also not recommend that, sir,” You turn to him again and see him laughing. 

“No,” He says. “I am just here to think.”

“Just like me then. What bothers your mortal mind?” You ask. 

“Many things… I’m afraid I have let my family down.” 

“How so?”

“We came here on a boat from the motherland, nothing to our name but a few pennies. I was supposed to go to college and finally put our family on the map. But I failed and now here I am, talking to a stranger on a bridge in the middle of the night.”

You laugh along with him. You knew of him and saw his dreams a few times when you went out exploring in the Dreaming. He wanted to be a doctor, specifically an athletic injuries doctor but failed out of medical school before he even got the chance. You rack your brain to think of his name, and when it comes to you, you speak. 

“Do not worry, Albert Brocken, I’m sure there are many opportunities that will come alight in the near horizon. Perhaps you should take the entrance exam again, and see where it takes you.” You yawn and you realize that you should probably start heading home. 

“Yeah… maybe I should,” He concludes with a sigh. “I think I might go into somnology,” He says more to himself than you. 

“Somnology sounds fascinating,” You agree. “I must go home now, but best of luck to you!” You walk away, your shoes barely audible on the stone bridge over the gushing fountain. Albert doesn’t look your way when you depart, too focused on his new goal in life. 

You find yourself standing before an old winding cottonwood tree in the same park. It’s been here for years, growing into the magnificent tree it is today. It’s passed by thousands of England residents almost every day, yet none of them are willing to stare at it hard enough to realize that the bark of the tree isn’t real. 

You take one last look around the park to make sure no one else sees you before walking straight into the tree, the danging leaves caressing you like a gentle mother’s touch. The trunk of the tree turns into a curtain of falling sand and you pass through with no problems. When you emerge on the other side, the bright moon of the Dreaming greets you, illuminating and basking you in a soft welcome. When you come back into the castle, Lucienne is on top of you like a hot iron. 

“Thank the Gods you are well,” She panics as she holds your arms. After taking a good overall look at you, she wraps her arms around your body and brings you into a hug. 

“Lucienne?” Your question muffled against her crisp uniform. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, my dear, you hadn’t come back all day. I thought perhaps…” She trails off before she takes a breath. “Lord Morpheus hasn’t returned, and neither had you, so I presumed the worst.”

“Morpheus hasn’t returned?”

“No, but you are here. Tell me, did you see him while you were in the waking world today?” Lucienne holds hope in her eyes and you resent the next word you say.

“No,” Your thoughts trailed off. “Morpheus hasn’t returned?” You ask again.

“I am sure there is nothing to worry about. I may just be overthinking is all.” Lucienne reassures you. 

“Okay…” You don’t completely believe her, somewhere deep inside you you can feel that Morpheus is in danger. As the King of Dreams and Nightmares, a rouge nightmare shouldn’t be anything to be worried about. He should be home by now. 

Your eyes close as soon as your head hits the pillow, but thoughts consume you. After the dance tomorrow night with Genny, you will go searching for your brother. The following day came quickly and you paced back and forth in the castle hall, the formal dress you had on jingling with your movements. Your thoughts were in overdrive, there was Morpheus of course, but you also knew that tonight was going to be Genny’s last day. And knowing that puts a weight on your shoulders. You have to make sure that tonight is going to be the best night of her life. 

When the time came, you went to the waking world feeling dolled up and in an antique car with the roof down. Your hair had enough hairspray to survive a storm from Zeus himself. You pull up to the hospital in a screech, Genny already waiting for you in the lobby. You check your lipstick in the mirror one last time before Genny reaches your car. 

“You know how to drive?!” Genny says with a smile and excitement that you found contagious. 

You resecure the silk scarf that protected your hair from the wind and open a pair of sunglasses to put over your eyes. You look at her over the bridge of your nose, your eyes shining past the sunglasses before stepping on the gas pedal.

“I know how to do many things, sweet Genny!” You shout over the wind, pushing the glasses back to their original position. 

Each time you looked over at Genny, her smile still hadn’t faltered and the last bits of the sun’s rays caught on the embroidery of her dress. Her softness brings a smile to your face and for a moment you forget about your brother. 

You pull into the gravel driveway of the school formal’s destination. You had managed to weasel your way into the school council and they were able to get help from the local people. The theme for this year's dance was “A Magical Night” and a local citizen opened his manor to the students for the night. He called himself a mage, something that you rolled your eyes at as magic has been rare in this world since the faeries left it half a century ago. But you kept that to yourself, if he wanted to play make-believe, then so let him. 

Students were already lining up outside the decorated manor when the two of you arrived. You hand your keys off to a valet and walk towards the door, hand in hand with Genny. Her excitement buzzed through her like a shot of tequila. 

When you cross over the threshold of the manor you are genuinely surprised at the decorations of the place. The ballroom had been cleared out and a live band was playing music for students to dance to. There was a bar on the far end of the ballroom serving drinks and small snacks. A doorman takes your jacket away from you before you grab Genny’s hand and head to the dance floor. 

Many of Genny’s old friends soon recognize her and start to surround you two, the night is still young and the sound of laughter soon fills the air. You and Genny danced the night away until you both were sweaty and out of breath. Your make-up had gone a bit smudged but you didn’t mind. It was nearing midnight when most of the students started to leave and you pulled Genny away for one last surprise. 

Genny started to slow down a bit, the exercise of the dance sapping away her energy. She pulls through though and follows you to a winding staircase that leads to one of the roofs of the manor. The spring air chills you to your bone, but it is well received after the sweat you have built up. You help Genny sit down before you sit down next to her, the shingles of the roof poking through your dress in an uncomfortable way. 

A satisfied sigh leaves your lips when you look out to the vast countryside behind the manor. The stars twinkle as far as the eyes can see and from your advantage point, no trees are blocking the view either. Genny pants beside you as she calms herself down from the climb and leans her head against your shoulder. 

“I am so glad you made me come to this dance,” She whispers as she looks out to the stars. 

“Me too,” You agree, you begin the absentmindedly swing your legs back and forth. Your heels come loose and slip from your feet and both you and Genny laugh at it. 

“Gosh, I hope that didn’t hit anyone,” She continues to laugh as she cautiously peers over the side. 

“Or else they’d have to smell my stinky feet, ewww!” You continue her joke. 

Her laugh turns into a cough and your mood shifts to melancholy. 

A shift in the winds tells you that her time will soon be up. “Genny,” You start. “My sister is going to be here soon.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yes, I have a huge family actually.”

“Well, tell me about your sister,” She smiles, head feeling heavier as she puts her full weight on your shoulder. 

“She is really sweet, and a soft, kind-hearted soul. Just like you, I suppose.” You say. 

Genny doesn’t reply and tears prick your eyes. When you turn your head you see Genny standing up with a smile, yet her body still remains on your shoulder. Behind her stands your sister, a reassuring smile and a gentle hand rest around Genny in a side hug. 

“Your sister says that she’ll take great care of me,” She starts and looks at Death with a solemn smile. “Will she?” 

“Yeah, she’s one of the best…” Your voice dips into a murmur as you feel your lips tremble. 

Your answer is enough for her and she turns to leave. She seems to have remembered something as she turns back around and wraps her hands around your shoulders, her ghostly figure slightly falling through your physical form. 

“I’ll see you again, right?” Genny asks, hope lines her figure and you can’t bear to see it fade. 

“Yes,” You lie through your teeth. “Good-bye.” 

She turns to leave with your sister, blissfully unaware of your last farewell. The sound of Death’s beating wings was the last thing you heard before it was just the barren countryside again. Genny’s body grows cold by your side as you pet her hair for the last time. 

The manor staff came soon when you faked a scream and soon ambulances came and went with her body. You’re left in the aftermath of a romantic dream of confection and ribbons alone in the middle of the dance floor feeling numb. 

“Hey, lady, if you’re going to stand here moping you can at least help out,” A staff member calls out and you snap out of your thoughts. 

He hands you a few foldable chairs and tells you to put them up. You nodded along, not really having much else to do. You meander through the halls when you realize that he didn’t tell you where to put the chairs. It’s when you find yourself at a set of stairs that lead down towards the basement. And to you, it made all logical sense for humans to store their things in the basement. 

You open the heavy double doors and descend further into the musky basement. Candles were lit on the stairs and its melted wax coats the edges as it lightens the path. When you get to the bottom, you’re greeted by the host of the party that you met earlier in the night. 

“What are you doing here, girl!” He scolds. 

You hold up the chairs, unaware of his tone. “Hi, Mr. Burgess. I’m helping with clearing up after the dan…” Your final word trails off as your eyes wander past his figure. 

Behind him sits your brother and your jaw drops. Mr. Burgess tries to stand between you and him when he notices that your attention is no longer on him. Dream stands fully in his glass prison and you would have made fun of the fact that he was fully rocking out in his birthday suit if not for the situation at hand. 

“Oh, what the fuck,” You whisper, dropping the chairs.

You breeze past Mr. Burgess and stand before Morpheus. Golden runes that surround his prison stop you short as if there was some sort of invisible force field. Your head whips around and faces your host again. He stands tall as he stares back. 

“Why do you have my brother in a-a… fucking FISH BOWL!” Your words stumble out at the utter audacity of the situation, your hands moving around expressively. 

Realization dawns on him and you realize that you made a mistake. “So, you are one of his family. That man warned me about your kind. Which one are you.” He seethes as he walks towards you. 

“You face Defiance of the Endless,” You spit back at him.

You were in no mood to play, first, your friend dies in your arms and then you learn that Lucienne’s suspicions were right and that something did happen to your brother. This whole time he had been here under your feet while you were having fun. His clothes, tools, and dignity stripped from him as you drank enough sparkling cocktails to make Dionysus jealous. 

The man scoffs at you and spits at your feet. “Oh please, and I thought that it was going to be hard. I’ve heard of you, little girl. They told me that you are nothing, a nobody. You have no realm, no powers, you are barely a god.”

You stay silent as he speaks, rage flushes through your body and your muscles tremble. His words rang true, but here you shall stand for your brother. He advances on you and you find that you have nowhere to go. A sharp pain burns across your cheek as his pierced cane comes into contact with your skin. 

Your body follows the force as it throws you off balance. Your head cracks against the stone floor of the basement and a gasp leaves you. Your vision blurs from the hit and you feel warm blood sliding down your cheek like an unshed tear. In the distance of your mind, you hear Dream slamming his fist against his glass prison. You stand again, determined to not be bested by a mere mortal. 

His cane comes down again like a whip, hitting your shins and then once again on the back of your knees. The blow forces you to kneel before him, and your cries of pain echo in your head. The coarse floor scratches at your palm but you keep your breath as even as you can. 

“Is that all you got?” You sneer as you look up at him through your eyelashes. 

His foot comes towards your face and you squeeze your eyes shut right before the impact follows. Your body tumbles further away from Dream, but his slamming continues. You feel the wall behind you, its surface cooling down your heating body. 

“Stop, I command you to stop!” Morpheus shouts, command muffled.

“Dream of the Endless commands you to stop,” You repeat your brother's words. You use the wall to brace yourself to stand on wobbling legs.

Iron fills your mouth and you spit it out back at Burgess’ feet, much like he did to you before. You grin when you see him grimace at the act. You wipe your mouth clean with the back of your hand, very unladylike, but between the three of you, who is going to judge? 

A backhanded slap snaps your head to the side and another painful scream follows. 

“Stop! Cease yourself or face my wrath!” Dream continues to scream as your vision blurs again. 

“No, I can take it,” Your voice is coarse but the message is heard loud and clear. 

“Oh, you can take it, hmm?” Burgess taunts and his cane jabs into your abdomen. 

You feel like you couldn’t breathe, that no matter how much your mouth gaped open, oxygen didn’t fill in your lungs as you needed it to. 

“I can take it,” You wheeze out again, another hit forces you back down and this time you don’t have the strength to get up again. 

“I suppose one step higher than capturing an Endless is to kill one,” Burgess laughs on top of you. His heavy body straddles you and you feel his hands wrap around your neck. 

Black dots swarm your vision like the expanding universe. Your nails claw at his hands, drawing blood, as your body tries its best to fight back. Burgess picks you up by the neck and slams your back down, stars waltz behind your eyelids and a brief vision of home comforts you. A ragged breath crawls through your throat before another slam into the ground silences you. Despite your efforts, your hands grow limp and you feel your body start to break down. It flakes away like spring cherry blossom petals as you take your last breath. 

“No!” Dream’s scream is the last thing you hear. 

Your consciousness fades to black and it is quiet for once. It’s odd to think that an immortal being can die, but it’s true. The only thing that differentiates it is that you could be reborn. Immortality is a fickle thing. 

When you come back into consciousness, you can feel the Dreaming heal your soul. It wraps its warmth around you like a soft blanket and you finally feel safe enough to stop everything that ran through your mind. When you stretch out your limbs you realize that you weren’t in your human form anymore. 

Your perception spans further and you can see new angles you haven’t seen before through your eyes. You wiggle your toes, or what you thought were your toes and feel soft and fertilizing soil below you. When you look down you notice that your legs have turned into the soft bark of a willow tree. Your arms shake and the reaching leaves of the tree shake from the action. You sigh and your bark groans and creeks under your deflation. 

You soon become a welcomed resident in Fiddler’s Green, providing shade for the decreasing amount of dreamers that come to visit you. As the years pass, the Dreaming starts to die around you as Morpheus stays entrapped under the Burgess Manor. You stay as a tree, unable to move and help. Guilt eats you alive, leaving your core to rot from the inside out. 

Lucienne comes to visit now and then, but as the castle starts to fall apart, she can’t find the time to come by anymore. Your days grow lonelier as Fiddler’s Green decides to leave the Dreaming as well. You stand on dry soil in a barren wasteland. Your inaction keeping you hostage like a ladybug in a spiderweb. The more you struggled, the harder you found it to keep your human consciousness. 

So, you did the most human you could think of: you cried. Fitting, you thought to yourself, a weeping willow, well, weeping. Your tears came to fruition in the form of vibrant yellow blossoming flowers against the beige and cracking surroundings. 

You stayed like that for the next 106 years. Your roots had grown so long that you could feel each corner of the dreaming, searching high and low for water to drink from. Soon, even that would run out. Another tear runs down your bark, your trunk growing deep grooves where the previous century of tears had carved. Despite all odds, your leaves were still vibrant and your flowers would change colors based on your mood. A trick that took you a few decades to learn. 

The moon rises higher and higher over the horizon. You follow its path, counting the fragments to keep your mind from boredom. It split in half 15 years after Dream’s capture and every five years or so, another fragment separates from the moon. You counted 18 fragments this time around, the same as the day before, and the week before that. You yawn, the bark shaking as you do so and close your eyes to rest.

You wake to a soft hand on your bark just as dawn cracks. Your leaves shake in surprise as someone touches you. It takes a moment to reorientate yourself and when you look down from your height your breath hitches. 

“Sister?” Dream calls out, his hand still on your bark. 

Relief floods your system just as a soft breeze runs its fingers through your thin leaves. Your catkin flowers caress his skin when he smiles at you. Just as fast as relief has found you, guilt consumes you again. Morpheus has escaped, it had taken him 106 years and all you have done is stand here and do nothing. Your branches groan again, more flowers blooming in its wake as you weep again, and the individual petals turn a deep blue color. 

Dream grabs one of your leaves gently as it tries to recede from his touch. “Y/N,” He calls out carefully. “I do not blame you for what happened 106 years ago.”

“I am touched by your sacrifice.” He pauses as he picks his next words carefully. “You were the only one who came to my side when I needed it.” 

You still stay quiet but your petals slowly start to return to their yellow colors. Morpheus takes this as a good sign and continues. 

“I love you, dear sister, I wish for you to never doubt that. If only I could give you a hug for all that you had done for me,” He prods and extends both of his hands outwards. 

You purse your non-existent lips in thought, a very tempting offer. Why not try one more time, to be by your brother’s side? Your bark groans again and you concentrate. You try to remember the details of your human body. How did your hair look? How did you hold yourself? Did you have a mole on this side of your face? 

Your leaves and branches start to shake and shrink in on themselves the more you think. You call in your roots and start to wiggle your toes. You think of your fingers and how they had done so much for you: the paintings you made, the pastries you baked. One last tear escapes down your raw skin and when you open your eyes again, you are looking at Dream through new eyes. 

Morpheus comes into your space and wraps his steadying arms around you. You sob into his jacket until it becomes uncomfortable. Your throat is raw when you’re finally reduced to hiccups. Through it all, Dream is holding onto you, gently caressing your hair the way you have liked since you were born. 

“I like this new hair of yours,” He comments as he pulls at a few strands of your hair. It’s longer this time around and kept the same emotional properties your flowers had. It changes from blue to green as your mood shifts. 

“Great, now I can’t hide my emotions anymore.” You mutter weakly to yourself as it changes to red at your slight annoyance. 

Dream chuckles above you and gives you one final tight squeeze. 

“Welcome home, sister,” He whispers. You take a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs thoroughly. 

“Yes, I am home.” 

I did a surprising amount of research for this fic. Apparently, the first woman to attain a driver's license was like in 1900 so that's why Genny was so surprised you could drive. Also, I would not recommend driving in a 1916 vehicle? Looks like it could explode at any minute.

This was a request! And requests are open, just go to my page and hit that button to submit one.

If you do submit a request, it may take me a bit to get to them just because of the nature of it and my classes are starting to get ready for finals. (Your girl is graduating this semester woohoo!)

I will see you in the next fic!

♡ Yours, Layla