#temporary character death in dreams

[cuubism]

Rock Paper Scissors

Dreamling | Pre-Slash | 5.7k | AO3

Dream suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead." "Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me." "I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds." "Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

Hob gets challenged to a duel. Too bad his opponent has it out for Dream, and has no intention of playing fair.

--

the first fic I ever started writing for Dreamling a year and a half ago, then forgot about! 😂 then randomly decided to finish.

--

“ROBERT GADLING,” yelled an individual Hob had never met before in his life, “I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

Hob squinted at him. Said individual was standing across the darkened street, dressed strangely in a white tunic flecked with gold. Then again, Hob’s barometer for strange was a bit different than what was normal, so who was he to say, really.

“What?” he said.

Suddenly this person was much closer to him. Hob flinched back, but couldn’t move much, close as he was to the pub door. “We have business,” hissed his pale-suited challenger. It was a masculine figure, blond hair swished to one side, eyes like fire. 

Hob wasn’t impressed. He’d seen worse. Better, too.

“Listen, mate,” he said, “I don’t really have time for this. I’ve already got something on the books tonight. Come back tomorrow.”

He started to walk through the doorway, but the… creature?—he didn’t think it was human—grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We have business,” it repeated.

Hob tried to shake off its hand, but its grip was like hot iron. It seared through his jacket and burned his skin. 

“What business?” he snapped. “I’m certain we’ve never met before, and my memory is actually pretty good, long as it is.”

The creature smiled, more like a baring of teeth. “You have courted those who have harmed me—and my ilk.”

“Not clearing it up at all.”

There was a sound like the swishing of a thousand ghosts, and then Dream was beside him.

Dream. How strange, still, to have a name, a history—well, sort of—to put to the face he’d circled back to over and over again for all these years. The name cut his friend into sharp relief—Hob’s shadow, finally united with the being who cast it. 

Where the pale stranger burned white-hot, Dream emanated cold. Hob had always found his friend’s cold aura strangely comforting. It didn’t feel dangerous and biting like the winter wind. Instead, it was the cold of lake water when one dove deep enough, a subtle and quiet draw to the otherworldly. 

Well. Usually it didn’t feel dangerous. Right now, it felt positively hypothermic.

Dream’s presence chilled the air until the stranger was forced to yank his hand away from Hob’s arm, shaking it out with a hiss. Hob’s breath fogged the air in front of his face, never mind that it was summer.

“Phaethon,” Dream hissed on one long, cold breath. “You are not wanted here.”

Phaethon pulled himself up haughtily. “I can go as I please. Night, or no night.”

“You may test that theory if you wish.”

Phaethon faltered, just a bit, before recovering himself. “I am here only to deliver a message. I challenge you, Robert Gadling, to a duel.” His blazing eyes flickered over to Hob, then back to Dream. “I did not believe you were one to violate the old rules of challenge, Lord of Dreams.” 

He bowed slightly. It felt mocking, which rankled Hob, who’d otherwise been keeping his cool. 

“Are you going to explain what this is about?” he said, for the third time. “I don’t appreciate being accused of things I haven’t done.”

Instead of answering, Phaethon said, “I’ve uncovered your history. There’s quite a lot of it, isn’t there? I wager it could make quite a bit of trouble for you, having all of that information turned over to certain parties. Human authorities. Occultists. Vampire hunters, they’ll love you–”

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob snapped.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, we can do that, or, you can choose to face me directly.”

“What do you seek to gain from the challenge?” demanded Dream. He seemed to know more about what was going on here than Hob, which wasn’t comforting. Hob didn’t particularly want to get drawn into some kind of immortal creature game with obscure rules he’d end up tripping over.

Phaethon’s grin emerged one tooth at a time. “I want… your dreams.”

Hob probably should have been more troubled by this. Instead, he just frowned in confusion. “Not sure that’s in your power, mate. You’re aware who you’re talking to?”

He didn’t need to gesture to Dream looming over his shoulder.

“If you agree to the terms,” said Phaethon, a hiss like lava dripping over stone, “then the magic will bind us.” 

Dream didn’t contradict him, but his anger cooled the air until Hob felt like he was standing atop a glacier.

“I think I’ll pass,” Hob told Phaethon. “Feel free to try to reveal me. I’m good at disappearing.” 

He turned to go—

“Lord Morpheus.” Phaethon turned the beam of his gaze on him, sunlight ricocheting off ice. “Will you stand in his stead?”

Hob grit his teeth and, against his better judgment, turned back around. “Don’t bring him into this. Look, if I win your challenge, what do I get in return?”

“You may request whatever you like,” said Dream. “Such are the terms of the agreement.”

“Fine. If I win, then I want this: you never speak to or of me again. That means no threatening me, no using me to threaten anyone else, no telling anyone about me—nothing. Got it?” God, Hob just wanted to go inside and have a beer.

Phaethon gave him a little bow. “Fair enough. I accept the terms of this challenge.” 

Dream seemed aggravated; a trickle of energy, like black lightning, scurried up the back of his neck and disappeared into his hair. But he didn’t intervene.

Hob and Phaethon shook on it. Then Phaethon retreated into the shadows again, calling, “Tomorrow at midnight, Robert Gadling. I will see you then.” Then his eyes blinked out and he was gone.

Hob shuddered. Good riddance. He rather preferred his eldritch creature to that one, thanks very much.

“What was that?” he said.

Dream’s presence was warming again by small degrees. The atmosphere was now more like an industrial freezer than Antarctica. “A minor demigod.”

“Oh, minor. Alright then.” 

“They are occupied by petty troubles,” said Dream.

Hob looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but elected not to comment. 

“Come on,” he said instead, leading the way back toward the pub. “We’re supposed to be having an easy night of it, dammit!” He wasn’t about to let some minor demigod ruin his night. He never knew how many of them he would get with his friend.

Dream’s gaze lingered on the spot where Phaethon had disappeared, but eventually, like the sweeping of a long coat tail, he followed.

---

"So, a duel," Hob remarked as they sat down across from each other in the pub booth. "I admit, I haven't dueled anyone in a few centuries, but I can't imagine it'll be—”

"It is not what you are thinking of," Dream interrupted. He had folded himself into the booth seat like a stick insect trying to cram itself in a jar. It was an absurd image, the long black coat, the spindly arms on the tabletop. "It is not a fight of the physical form. It is a battle of the mind and will."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"In such a challenge—” Dream began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a waitress, there to take their order.

"So, what can I get for you chaps?" she said brightly.

The idea of Dream being a chap was so hilarious Hob had to stifle a laugh. Yeah, maybe he wasn't taking the whole duel thing seriously enough. Oh well.

Hob ordered a beer and a plate of chips. When Dream showed no sign of speaking, he ordered for him, too.

“You can order whatever you like,” Hob told him, when the waitress had gone. “It is my pub and all.”

Dream picked up the laminated menu gingerly. It wobbled in his hands. He looked down at it with a flat expression.

Hob realized belatedly that he probably didn’t know what to order. How much had pub food changed since— God, 1910 or so? And it wasn’t like his friend would have had much time to peruse menus since, what with all he’d been up to.

“Just try the chips,” Hob said, taking the menu away from him. “We’ll see how far that gets you.” 

"I have no need of human food," Dream said, folding his hands back on the table.

“Sure, and I technically don’t need my left leg, either, but I do rather like having it.”

“You say strange things,” Dream murmured. “As I was telling you. In such a challenge—” 

The waitress returned with their drinks. Dream glowered at her. Hob thanked her brightly.

"So, you were saying?" he said, sipping his beer. "In such a challenge…?"

"In such a challenge—”

The waitress arrived again with their chips. Dream slammed his hands on the table, shaking the chips in their basket and making the waitress jump. 

"Sorry," Hob apologized, "we've had a bit of a day." Wasn't it always.

"In such a challenge," Dream continued when she had gone, in a tone that suggested he would not be stopped this time, "one must suggest a mind-form, which one's opponent will attempt to surmount and defeat. Then you attempt to defeat their new form, and so on until one challenger is victorious. It is… a predictive game, of sorts. If one can predict what one's opponent’s moves might be, one can choose forms to foil them. This can easily become complicated."

"So, it's like chess," Hob summarized.

Dream stiffened, lips pressing into an offended line. "It is not so simple as chess."

"Checkers?"

"It will not help you to think of it so." Dream took a chip and bit into it in irritation. "You just— oh." He stared at the chip. "These are quite pleasant."

"Can never go wrong with a good chip," said Hob, then furrowed his brows. "Haven't you had them in dreams before or something?"

"Presumably. It has been at least a century." 

Ah, yeah. That. "Well, they're frying them in veg oil instead of lard nowadays anyway. Kind of a different experience." 

Dream stared at him as if Hob made no sense whatsoever.

"Anyway," Hob continued, "am I even going to be able to create these mind-forms? I'm not exactly an otherworldly being." 

"The power is in you, though it may be more challenging to harness. And easier to let slip from your grasp. It is imagination, after all. Humans are good at imagination, though perhaps not so good at holding onto it."

"Hmm." Hob munched on a chip. "Okay. I'll work on my imagination." After seven hundred years or so of life, it was possibly a tool that needed some sharpening. 

"I admit it offends me greatly that Phaethon would presume to ask a human to fight in this way," said Dream. He suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead."

"Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me."

"I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds."

"Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

"Do not joke," Dream growled. Actually, he never truly growled. It was more like his voice dropped into a lower register than usual. Which was saying something. Hob interpreted it as a growl, though. "Do not joke when your existence is at stake. Your immortality cannot protect you from this." 

"Are you saying I'd be unmade if I lost?" Hob asked. It was a concerning thought, to say the least. It had been a long time since he'd had to concern himself with his own mortality.

Dream’s tongue ran over his lower lip. "Potentially. The terms of the fight do not state so, but I do not know how such a duel will affect a human. The strain of it may simply tear you to shreds. It nearly drained me, the last time I fought."

"Wait, you had a fight like this? Recently?"

Dream tilted his head, gaze paling in confusion. "I told you that I went to Hell to retrieve my helm." 

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me you had to mind-battle– who'd you mind-battle anyway?"

"The demon chose Lucifer Morningstar as his representative." Dream’s lip curled in distaste. "Hence, the near loss."

Hob looked at him in concern. "Are you alright, though?"

"Of course I am all right." He spoke it as two words, like the phrase had never before graced his tongue. Hob wanted to let out a long-suffering sigh, but managed to restrain himself. "I am Dream of the Endless."

"Mmhmm. Yep. Okay."

"You do not have to worry about me," Dream said stiffly, parroting Hob's words from before.

Hob thought that was evidently untrue, but decided not to mention the century of imprisonment or the multiple near-death experiences— could he die? Maybe it was more like multiple near-misses with eternal agony— since then. To preserve the relative peace of the moment. 

"So how'd you beat the devil, then?" he asked.

"I had everything to lose. Lucifer had nothing to lose, and only a paltry amusement to gain."

Was that an answer? Hob wasn't sure. 

"Okay," he said. "Well, I do have all of my dreams to lose, apparently. Plenty of incentive to win."

Ice crystallized along the rim of Dream’s glass, spreading from where his fingers pressed. “You speak as if you think I would ever allow this to happen.”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “I thought the magic was binding?”

“Only by honor.”

“And so… what would happen if you violated that honor?”

The words trickled out of Dream reluctantly. “One’s word would not be trusted again.”

“Right. Exactly. I can’t let you do that, love. There’s a whole eternity of words needing to be trusted after this.” It was tempting, honestly, to let his more powerful friend step in and handle this—especially as Hob still hadn’t gleaned what the hell he’d even done to piss off Phaethon—but ultimately, it wouldn’t be right. He’d never used Dream as a clean-up tool for any of his problems in the past, and he wasn’t about to start just because he now knew he was the Lord of Dreams.

Dream’s expression darkened further. He truly was capable of embodying shadow when he was annoyed; Hob didn’t know how he hadn’t figured out the extent of his supernaturalness sooner, honestly. “You would not let.”

“Hey. Come on. I’ve solved plenty of my own problems, haven’t I? Have a little faith.” Hob kind of wanted to pat his hand, but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “You don’t think I can win a duel against this Phaethon guy?” 

Dream seemed uncertain about it, and Hob couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Sure, he wasn’t a supernatural entity, but Hob had gotten himself out of a fair number of scrapes, and without the help of any Endless, thanks very much! 

“His rancor disturbs me,” Dream said at last. “I do not know what you have done to offend him.”

“Nor I. Never met the guy.”

Dream seemed lost in contemplation. Hob let him, and kept eating the chips.

Eventually, Dream said, “Even if this loss did come to pass… you would always have a place in the Dreaming.”

Hob’s breathing stuttered. “With you?” he said, sounding much smaller than he’d expected. It was… an ill-considered response, to say the least. 

Dream shifted in his seat. “I am the Dreaming,” he said. “It is part of me, and I it.”

“I see,” said Hob. But the thought kept turning within him.

---

No more was said on the matter until their beers were drunk and their chips polished off and they were strolling out the door of the pub. 

As they crossed the threshold, Hob was struck by a realization. He slapped Dream on the breast of his coat, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm an idiot! Of course it's not like chess. It's metaphysical rock-paper-scissors!"

"Are you intoxicated?" Dream asked wearily.

"Nope. Just happy to have my old friend around again."

Dream’s form, unbreakable as the darkness between stars, stuttered. Behind him, his shadow wavered.

Then he swept away, leaving Hob to catch up. 

---

They met again on the field of battle, so to speak.

Phaethon was there before them, melodramatic in his white-and-gold cape. Not as melodramatic as Dream, though, whose eyeliner seemed darker than usual, somehow, and whose cloak swept all the way to the ground, pooling more like liquid than fabric. He was very displeased about these events, Hob could tell.

Hob shook Phaethon’s hand formally. Once again, the touch burned him, but he resisted the urge to shake his hand out in pain. Then they stood across from each other. Hob wished he had a sword, but that was not this game.

"As the challenged party, you commence the duel," Dream told him, standing not far from Hob’s side as Phaethon paced before them, grinning. "You may choose your form and begin."

Hob had thought long and hard about how he would start. He didn't want to go too big, else the fight escalate beyond his control. Obviously, he didn't want to pick something weak either.

What was out there that had tormented mankind, sowing destruction, breeding fear and illness and death, while barely reaching higher than an ankle? 

Hob had lived through it. The choice was obvious.

"I am a plague rat," he started, and saw Dream’s eyebrows twitch. Impressed. Ha! "Hiding in shadows. Letting sickness into our food, homes, blood."

He saw the rats in his mind. Scurrying through tunnels, climbing into grain stores, unaware of what they carried. A seething mass of tails and slick fur and beady eyes, churning, churning, churning. 

Phaethon curled in on himself, limbs creaking, boils popping on his skin and pus leaking from his eyes. Hob flinched at the reminder of those times. Horrible, horrible times.

Mentally, Hob prepared for the counterattack. Paper beats rock. What beats rat? Dog beats rat. Cat beats rat. Famine, extermination fumes, plague doctors, modern medicine—

"I," Phaethon ground out, through the contortions of his body, "am a flood."

Oof. Good one.

"A swelling, raging river, decimating any town in my path. Washing rats down to their deaths." 

A phantom wave smacked Hob in the face and hurled him to the ground. It crashed over him, gallons and gallons of water, surging up his nose, into his eyes, down his throat. He choked on it. He drowned in it. Debris in the floodwaters bruised him till he felt like a branch spinning out in the current, rather than a human.

Then. He managed to take in a breath.

He staggered to his feet.

Dream was standing a step closer, like he'd lurched forward, but he forced himself back into stillness.

"I," Hob said on a gasping breath, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, "am a drought." Phaethon had taken it to another level? Fine. Hob would go scorched earth. "Whisking away all your water. Turning everything into dust."

Phaethon choked, throat suddenly dry. His eyes went bloodshot. His skin flaked and peeled, his lips bled. He clutched at his stomach as it heaved for water.

He could go rain again, Hob thought. Or ice age. Asteroid. Biblical flood—does that count if he already did a regular flood?

"I am famine," said Phaethon, when he'd recovered himself, though he was still rasping. "I wither crops without water. I starve everything that walks."

Hob's stomach caved in on itself. He fell to his knees, retching nothing but bile. His mind flashed back to his decades on the streets, so long without food he'd thought his stomach would start eating itself—and then it had. 

His arms shook. His body felt thin and liable to crack. 

"I," he croaked, still on all fours, "am an oasis. Rising from the desert, real, not a mirage. Offering reprieve." 

Too late, he realized this might restore his opponent. 

But instead, Phaethon creased and cracked, like he was the famine, persecuted by salvation. He clasped his stomach as if it was overfull; water poured from his mouth.

Water filled Hob's mouth, too, but it restored him. He climbed back to his feet.

Dream was definitely closer now. He wasn't imagining it. Still, he didn't intervene.

Phaethon was visibly weakened, but still he said, "I am selfishness. Infighting over limited resources. Society destroying its oasis."

Hob's limbs were torn in opposite directions. He yelled, but the invisible hands on him didn't let up, yanking at him like he was the final piece of food before everlasting deprivation. He pulled at them, but it was no use.

One of his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop, and he bit down on his tongue so as not to scream. Blood exploded in his mouth.

"I am generosity!" he yelled, blood dripping over his lips. "I am brother sharing with brother. Stranger sharing with stranger."

Dream was looking at him now like he didn't know what to make of him. Phaethon, too, was staring at him, but with a look of disgust. 

"High-minded idealist, are you?" he sneered. "What the hell is generosity going to—”

His expression broke in half. His hands shook; he picked at his nail beds until they peeled and started bleeding. His lip wavered and his eyes beaded with tears.

Hob didn't know what was happening to him.

"Shame," Dream breathed from behind him. "So clever, Hob."

Hob hadn't actually known what generosity would do, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

"I," croaked Phaethon, through tears, "am memory. History and anger curdled to a resentment which no generosity can overcome."

He felt Dream’s eyes on him, as he no doubt feared the anger, the resentment he so believed that Hob held over his absence would surge forth again. But it did not, for Hob had never been angry with Dream. Angry with himself, yes, and that he felt acutely, along with the fear and hurt of Dream walking away, the stewing guilt of it.

Memory held more than anger. Mostly, for Hob, it held grief. Grief for his friend who'd been imprisoned for so long, while Hob went about his life, imagining him lonely, isolated perhaps, but never knowing the truth. Grief for himself, too, for he knew that to always blame himself for Dream’s behavior had also been unfair. 

Tears slipped from his eyes. He looked over at Dream, who was still watching him warily.

Memory had far too many facets for Phaethon to use it as an effective weapon.

"I am forgiveness," Hob said, closing his eyes against a fresh welling of tears. He didn't know who he was forgiving. Himself, or Dream, who still seemed to need absolution from Hob, no matter how Hob told him he didn’t.

"I am hatred!" Phaethon snarled. His voice had gone animalistic in a last ditch effort to come out on top. But forgiveness clanged around him, pulling tears from his eyes, undermining his viciousness. "I am division even forgiveness cannot mend."

Just like that, he opened up the path for Hob to take his king. Checkmate. Game over. Rock paper scissors shoot.

"I am love," Hob said quietly, even as a sob caught in his throat as the memory of all the hate he'd witnessed in his life, the hate he'd participated in, and the fear, long-held, that even Dream might hate him, for his wrongs, or for overstepping, pulsed back to the forefront. He could never hate Dream, though. No matter what.

"Love can be easily destroyed," snapped Phaethon, but he was wavering. 

"But it always comes back," said Hob. Unwitting, he looked over his shoulder at Dream.

His friend was already looking directly at him. That tinge of red, so terrible and familiar now, was back along his eyes. He didn't speak, not to Hob. Hob followed his gaze as he looked over Hob's shoulder and spoke to Phaethon.

"Do you have a counter?"

"Love?" Phaethon laughed hysterically. "You brought love to a duel?"

"I believe Hob brings love everywhere he goes," said Dream, and Hob whipped back around to look at him, eyes wide. The tiniest smile was dancing on Dream’s lips.

Then a blade erupted from Hob's chest.

Blood sprayed. His heart stopped beating—actually stopped, he felt it. The sword had pierced right through it. He scrabbled for it with clumsy hands, but the blade shiiiinged back out before he could grab it. 

Blood spattered Dream’s face. Those pretty lips parted, eyes widened, the lordly bearing wiped from his expression leaving only a person, shocked and wounded. Hob would never forget that look of startled horror for as long as he lived. 

Which wasn't looking to be that long.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring from his chest. No use trying to stop it. It would mend itself, in time, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the instinctive rush of fear. He was dying. He was dying.

He fell on his side. Blood soaked his shirt. All told, it took maybe ten seconds after getting speared like a wild hog—

—for the world to completely blink out.

---

Hob's chest ached like a bitch when he woke. 

He was still on the ground, bloody mud around him, soaking his clothes. Oh. That was mud made from his blood. How horrifying. 

He opened his eyes in time to see Dream lifting Phaethon from the ground by his neck. His hand was a vice grip and Phaethon choked, scrabbling at his fingers for breath.

"TREACHERY," Dream snarled, louder than Hob had ever heard him. His voice boomed across the empty park. "I will unmake you."

"I'm not one of your creatures, you can do nothing to me," said Phaethon, but his assuredness flickered.

Dream’s being was a black hole eating light. "Watch it happen."

Hob coughed, dirt trapped in his throat, and shoved himself up on his forearms. Dream froze, and turned slowly to look at him, Phaethon still clasped in his hand like he weighed nothing. Dream’s attention was like being in the path of a comet.

"Hob," he said. "Are you alright?"

Hob knew, in that moment, that if he asked Dream to spare Phaethon from whatever fate he had in mind for him, he would comply. And what power that was. Hob didn't want to be the one doling out mercy or punishment, like a judge at the gates of Hell. But damn if it wasn't a thrill to have Dream look at him like that.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, with a bloody grin. "I'm Hob Gadling."

Dream smiled too, a ferocious smile, like that of a wolf.

Hob didn't tell him to spare Phaethon.

Apparently, they both had some savagery in them.

---

"So why did he kill me?" Hob asked later, when he'd showered all the blood off—God he loved modern showers—and they were both sitting at the kitchen table in his flat, drinking tea. Well, Hob was drinking tea. Dream was just kind of staring at it. "I mean, the cost of losing wasn't even that high. Not on his end, anyway."

"He was not interested in you at all," said Dream, still not looking at him. "I dragged the truth from him while you were… gone. This was all a ploy to get to me. To hurt me—indirectly, of course. Such a lower being could never hurt me directly."

"Wait." Hob tried to grapple with this. "You— are you saying I was like a kidnapped princess?" 

Dream frowned. "If you insist. The point is, he did not plan to let you walk away. By winning, or by killing you, whichever he could accomplish." 

"Damn. Maybe I should have let you fight for me."

"No. You represented yourself admirably. More than admirably. You won the challenge, fairly, and did not try to kill your opponent to do it." 

Praise from Dream always hit Hob somewhere deep. Possibly because Dream only said such things when he meant them. Possibly just because it was Dream saying them.

“Well, thanks for handling him in the end,” Hob said, instead of voicing that sentiment.

Dream nodded solemnly. “I would not allow such harm to befall you without interfering,” he said.

Hob took a sip of his tea to avoid showing how he felt about that quite so obviously on his face.

“Why did he want to hurt you, then?” he asked instead.

“He is the child of a sun deity,” said Dream.

“And… that… means…?”

“Sunlight chases away dreams. We are natural enemies.”

Hob frowned. “What about daydreams?” 

“Daydreams may take place during the daytime, but they exist in the darkness of the inner mind,” said Dream.

“Ahhhh.” Hob nodded sagely. Yeah, sure, that made sense. One hundred percent. Absolutely. “I don’t know, I feel like some dreams can survive in the daylight. Thrive, even.”

“Perhaps next time I have an altercation with a sun deity, I will call upon you,” Dream said, a bite of sarcasm in it. “To see if you can banish them with this mindset.”

“Don’t give me that cheek,” Hob admonished. Dream’s mouth popped open in offense, but Hob plowed on, “Just have an open mind about it, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you guys are in a symbiotic relationship or something, instead of enemies. You help people see what could be possible, and they balance it with reality.”

Dream was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I do not think approaching them in this manner will serve me well, at the moment.”

“Maybe not if they’re going around attacking you,” Hob conceded, and Dream cracked a small smile.

Sun deities, Hob thought. Really, life was full of such strange and interesting things.

“So when you went to Hell,” Hob started. Dream tilted his head, but didn’t seem thrown by the change in subject. “What did you wager in exchange for your helm? The game makes you wager something, right?”

“It was the demon who chose the other side of the wager,” said Dream. “He demanded I remain in Hell and serve him for eternity, if I lost.”

Hob was glad he’d put down his tea, as he’d probably have dropped it. “What? Was the helm really worth that risk?”

Dream leaned back in his chair, lips pressed tight in offense. Or maybe hurt. “I am nothing without my tools of office,” he said.

“That is not true,” said Hob, surprised by his own vehemence. Nothing? He thought he was nothing?

“I could not have restored the Dreaming without them,” Dream insisted.

“Okay, fine. They’re important for your job. But that doesn’t mean you’re nothing without them.” Hob went to lay his hand over Dream’s on the table, hesitated, then decided, fuck it. Dream started when their skin touched, but didn’t move away. Hob repeated his words, with even more emphasis this time. “You’re not nothing.”

Dream met his gaze, challenging. Hob didn’t back down.

“As you wish,” Dream finally said. Which wasn’t actually an agreement. “I can concede that the ruby breaking was ultimately beneficial to my power. But the helm is my symbol of office. To leave it in the possession of a demon is a continual humiliation to my realm and station.”

“Okay, I’m hearing you,” Hob said. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dream should be able to get his helm back. But he didn’t want Dream to risk horrible punishment for the sake of his pride. Better to slink away alive to try again another day, or so Hob felt. That wasn’t Dream, though.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said. “Even if you lost your helm and everything, and everyone in Hell thought you were pathetic—which, by the way, not sure Hell’s opinion is worth much anyway? but that aside—I’d still rather have you here than the alternative.” He threw Dream a smile, hoping he didn’t take offense to the idea that he could possibly be pathetic. “It wasn’t ‘The King of Dreams and Nightmares, et cetera’ that I missed for all those years, you know?”

“You did not know who I was, then,” Dream pointed out, but he seemed contemplative.

“I liked who I did know,” Hob said. “My friend.”

“Your friend,” repeated Dream slowly. Finally, he did pick up his tea, and took a sip. “A powerful title indeed, if you would have me when it is the only one I carry.”

“If you say so,” Hob said, which brought a small smile to Dream’s lips. If Dream wanted to think of it as a title akin to his kingship and endlessness and whatnot, then Hob would bestow it on him with gladness, and with a warm sense of honor that nestled right in his heart.

“It is…” Dream added, at length, “a meaningful title. To me.”

Rare, those expressions of feeling from Dream. Hob couldn’t help but to bask in them like a cat in a sunbeam. He remembered how Dream had looked at him during the duel. Love always comes back. Worth it, all the strife, to see Dream look at him like that, he thought.

“You defended me,” Dream said. “To prevent me taking the duel in your place. To protect me when it was not warranted.”

Wasn’t warranted. Hob really wished Dream would just learn to let Hob care for him.

"Would have even if I'd known it was you he truly wanted," he said. “I missed my friend for long enough. Wasn’t going to let something happen again when I could get in the way of it.”

“Your friend,” Dream said again. As if savoring the words. His lips tipped up again in a small smile. One just for himself.

Hob squeezed his hand on the table. A grounding touch, a reminder. “And don’t forget it.”

Dream turned his hand over on the table, and squeezed back.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 6: "I Love You" (Time/Malon)

Ao3

This takes place pre-lu

CW for blood and injury, multiple threats of death, and temporary character death

--------------------------

The worst dreams are always the ones where she can do nothing but watch. The ones where her body is paralyzed, the ground as uncooperative as quicksand. The ones where something terrible occurs. Something so horribly, vibrantly, gory that the only escape she has is to awaken from it, choking on hot, wet tears. 

Never before had she realized how lucky she was to have that escape. To be able to curl into her husband’s waiting arms and let the images drift away, carried on the tide of his steadily beating heart. 

Malon wishes she could do the same now.

This, however, is anything but a dream. The blood splotched across the ground, the sword lying useless amongst the green grass, the limp form crumpled beside it – it is all too real. As is the tall, lizard-like figure who stalks forward Link’s fallen body.

The Shadow grins and it sends shivers down her spine. 

She thrashes again, straining helplessly against her bonds. Coarse ropes dig into her wrists, a tightly tied rag bites her cheeks until they ache. Somewhere behind her, a monster looms, claws slicing into her shoulder. Shards of pain travel down her arms, following the thin trails of blood.

But she has to get away, she has to. Link is right there, only a few feet away, broken and bleeding and helpless. She must reach him.

The Shadow extends talon-tipped fingers and drags Link up by his hair. He slumps in the monster’s grip, eye half-lidded and dazed. Blood dribbles from his mouth and nose and mars his clothing. He coughs and more splatters onto the lawn.

“So, this is the famed Hero of Time.” The Shadow shifts and his very being seems immaterial. Malon can see now how he got his name. “I’ll admit I’m disappointed. You went down so quickly.”

Blood-red eyes flick to Malon. A forked tongue zips out of scaly lips, quick as lightning.

“Love has made you soft.”

His grip tightens and Link lets out a sharp hiss. 

“Let her go,” he croaks, “l-let her go or I’ll make you wish you were n-never born.”

The Shadow’s laughter rings out across the lawn, making the horses rear and dart further into the paddock. All except for Epona, who bucks and whinnies, trying desperately to reach her master. But the chain the Shadow had conjured around her ankle remains unmoving as ever.

“Make me wish that I was never born?” He jeers, tightening his grip on his captive. Link falls backward, bumping against his side. “Oh, my dear, dear hero! Are you unaware of your current situation? I recall you being smarter when we last met. Perhaps, you hit your head a tad too hard. That was quite the noise your skull made against my sword.”

The air flickers and suddenly, his ebony sword is back in his hand as though it had never disappeared. He fits it snuggly against Link’s neck, right over his jugular. Malon’s breath hitches.

“No!” She screams, kicking out, blindly. A clawed hand slaps her smartly across the cheek and her head snaps back. Before she can even recover, cool metal nips at her throat. She swallows, tasting icy fear.

“Malon!” 

Link jerks in his captor’s hold, terror and fury battling in his gaze. The Shadow yanks him back, tilting his head in calm contemplation. 

“Now, let me see. Which one of you should I kill first? I came here to slay the Hero of Time, but to find him with a wife…well, that was a pleasant surprise.” He pauses, that cursed gaze fixing itself firmly onto Malon. “Yes, I believe that is the answer. The wife goes first.”

“No!” The scream tears itself from Link, hoarse and desperate and agonizing, even as the words wash over Malon like spring rain, slowly seeping into her thoughts. With them comes a distant sort of terror, so close it turns her palms clammy, yet so far she hardly knows it is there.

Another monster grabs a hold of Link, claws digging into the wounds already marring his body. And the Shadow stalks towards her.

“Hello, dear,” he croons. 

With a taloned finger, he removes the gag, allowing it to flop limply into the dirt. Malon fixes him with a glare. 

“What makes you think killing us will help with anything?” She spits, straining to keep the fear from her voice.

He chuckles as he straightens, looking over her like an obsidian statue.

“Your husband is a hero, a blessed one of the gods. And as such, he has only furthered the relentless cycle that grips Hyrule. Without his demise, it will continue, unceasingly.

“As for your death, well — ” He shrugs — “that is merely for my own enjoyment. I wish to see your precious Link’s anguish before I slit his throat.”

“No!” Link screams again, fighting desperately against the monster who holds him fast. Chains have appeared around his wrists now, though Malon cannot remember seeing them before. They sing with every panicked movement.

“Don’t you dare touch her! It’s me you want, not her!”

A tear skitters down his cheek, glittering in the noonday sun. The sight of it breaks Malon’s heart.  

Oh, fairy boy.

“I’m the hero,” he chokes, quieter now, defeated before his fate has even been set in stone. He raises his eye to the Shadow, a plea behind the fury in his gaze. “I’m the one who killed Ganondorf. Your vendetta is against me and me only. So, let her go…please, just let…let her go.”

The Shadow grins, all sharp teeth and shifting shapes.

“The Hero of Time groveling. It does me good to see a sight like that. I doubt anyone has seen it before, now, have they? Such a display of weakness is not to be taken lightly.” He gestures to the monster who holds the sword over her neck. “She is every bit as important to him as I hoped. So, go on. Do the deed.”

Something leaden and sickening and absurdly calm settles in Malon’s chest. 

This is the end, her mind mourns. This is the end and there is nothing to be done now. Nothing to be done but to accept it.

“Link,” she calls and there is something hopeless in the way she does it. He looks at her, blood draining down his face, chest heaving with every panicked breath, pain and fear bright in his eye. But for a moment, she can see him as he was only this morning, gazing at her as though she is the most precious thing in the world, calloused hands cupping her face as he whispers that he loves her.

She smiles through her tears. His expression shatters.

“I love you.”

The Shadow grins, the monster begins to move its sword…

And the world comes to a screeching halt. 

Malon remains still for a beat, waiting for the pain of metal slicing skin, waiting for the sensation of choking on her own blood. It doesn’t come. 

The claws holding her are motionless. The weapon held against her neck doesn’t budge. The Shadow stays where he had come to stand, lips parted, fangs glinting, hand outstretched towards her. Off to the side, Epona remains reared up, hooves kicking at the sky, mane flying out in frozen strands of silken white.  

The only person that moves in this strange place of living statues is Link. 

He stumbles towards her, half-dragging his left leg. Chains still encircle his wrists, but now he holds his gilded sword in one hand. Behind him, a monster stands, a spurt of blood frozen in the space between his neck and chest.  

“Link…what?”

She gazes around again, mind stuttering as it tries to catch up. She is no stranger to the oddities of her husband’s powers and adventures but this…this is something she has never seen before, nor heard of. As far as she knows, he has no power over time except by his ocarina. And that currently lies in a locked bedroom drawer.

He looks over her, fast and calculating and bitter. Then, with one swift movement, he drives his sword into the monster behind her. Malon cringes, awaiting a stream of gore that never comes. In fact, the monster doesn’t even budge. Like its companion, it merely remains where it is, gripped by the fate that does not yet have full reign.

Link kneels before her, now, knocking away the weapon that threatens her life, slicing at the ropes that bind her. He pulls and they fall away.

She raises her hands, rubbing dazedly at her aching wrists. 

“What is this, fairy boy?” She murmurs, awed and terrified all at once.

“I’ll explain later,” he replies, quickly, shaking his head. And she knows that he will. “But we have time. Only…only a little, but we do.”

He reaches out, knuckles ghosting her cheek. She leans into his touch and draws a shaky breath. To feel him here warm and real is more than she could have hoped for after today’s events. In that terrible moment, she had believed that their only reunion would be in the icy embrace of death.

“They hurt you…again.” His voice cracks, shattering like a piece of pottery. “Malon, I’m…I’m so, so sorry.”

Lifting a hand, Malon rests it over Link’s, fingers intertwining with his. 

“Oh, fairy boy, it’s not your fault.”

He gazes at her, broken and vulnerable. Then, slowly, he pulls away and gets to his feet. Holding out a hand, he helps her rise. 

“I’ll fix this,” he says, voice growing tight and determined. “I promise you.”

And she has the strangest feeling that she has heard it before, that they have done this before.

What had he said earlier? That they had hurt her again?

“Link.” She steps after him, worry taking hold of her heart once more. Something is strange here. Something is wrong. “You’re keeping something from me. What’s going on? What’re you gonna do?”

He looks back at her, danger and grief in his eye. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and time jolts back into normality. 

No sooner has it done so, than the Shadow rushes forward and slits his neck.

[seas-of-silver]

Mr Sandman, Bring Me A Dream

Summary:

He tossed and he turned, but he was all too awake. He tried everything he could think of: exercising to exhaustion; taking a long, hot shower; playing soothing music to lull him to sleep… but nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, the images from his nightmare would flash in his mind and he’d be wide awake again.

Continue reading at:

AO3

[bingqiu-fanfics]

Words: 32,011 Summary: Luo Binghe peeks up at him, eyes rimmed nearly as red as his demon mark. “Shizun won’t send me away from him?” Slowly, almost involuntarily, Shen Qingqiu's arms come up to embrace Luo Binghe in return. He’s already gone totally off-script here, what’s a little more adlibbing? He has fifteen seconds left before Luo Binghe must enter the Abyss. “I won’t,” he says quietly. “But you must be brave, Binghe. This will not be easy, but there is only one place for us to go. Shizun is sorry.” The two of them are only a few paces away from the cliff. Even without access to his cultivation, Shen Qingqiu has a height advantage, and more importantly, he has surprise on his side. It is almost too easy to clutch Luo Binghe tighter in his arms, step forward, and -- Shen Qingqiu really hopes he doesn’t die when he hits the bottom. That would be so embarrassing.

This is my favorite abyss fic ever, it's an incredible fix-it while still having just the right amount of miscommunications and painful obliviousness. The worldbuilding in the abyss is super creative and interesting, and it just hits every mark for me, I can't recommend this fic enough .

[imhereformysciencefriends]

@mcyt-yuri-week Day 7, Free day!

Niki/Lady Death for this one, read on AO3 here

MCD but that's like, the premise

Niki was drugged and drunk for it, at least. Hazed into a stupor where she really couldn’t feel anything but floaty, tangentially aware of the hooded and robed figures around her, the torchlight, her own vulnerability, but untouched by it. Like watching it happen to someone else, in third person. The chanting people sent prayers down to Death, and Niki was urged to lay out on a stone plinth. Her flesh prickled at its coldness, but that, too, she barely felt.

The knife they used was sharp. She barely even felt it.

A butterfly landed on the plinth next to her, beautiful blues and blacks and dark purples, and Niki swore she heard it laughing.

Acute awareness hit her like a minecart, but not any pain. In fact, as she glanced down at where the hole in her chest should be, she found herself dressed in her favorite sweater and overalls, no worse for wear. There was an almost… iridescence to her, though, fiery pinks and oranges and reds.

She was somewhere entirely unfamiliar, the clover and flowers beneath her feet all a uniform, night-sky blue. The sky itself was only just a shade darker, barely keeping off black. It stretched out for miles in each direction, the landscape unbroken save for the occasional tree which was also that midnight blue, leaves rustling in nonexistent wind.

The air was unnaturally still here.

Niki realized she wasn’t breathing.

Well, she had just died. It only made sense.

The horizon changed, a massive, black shape taking form so far away Niki at first didn’t see it. But then the form grew closer, and Niki recognized Her Ladyship.

Lady Death wore the wide brimmed hat and veil she was always depicted with, the high-necked dress and long sleeves, the lacey gloves. Much of what she wore was sheer or see-through fabric, providing a beautiful view to her ample bust, the soft curves of her thighs and calves, the warm roundness of her hands and arms.

The nonexistent wind blew her veil just barely open, and Niki caught a glimpse of the picked-clean bone of her skull. Lady Death was soft bodied and long haired and rounded only where her clothing covered her. To glimpse her true form was to see the skeleton only.

Her painted lips were round and soft and black. She smiled at Niki.

Niki hadn’t even realized she’d dropped to her knees.

“I don’t know why you silly humans keep sending me sacrifices,” Her Ladyship said, voice lilting and giggling faintly. “You all will come to me eventually. My power does not depend on your worship like lesser gods.”

Niki realized that this was a conversational beat where she was supposed to respond, but her empty mouth hung open and silent when she tried. Her thoughts themselves were void of words, much less her speech.

Death giggled.

“I do tend to have that effect on people.”

Niki blinked, and tried desperately to get herself to say something. Even something stupid that would embarrass her! Anything to make it seem like she wasn’t ignoring The Literal Goddess Of Death.

But Lady Death was patient (as a goddess of her nature would have to be, most certainly) and let Niki struggle through the mental block of bearing witness to divinity.

“Hi,” she managed, quite stupidly indeed, and Lady Death gave a full belly laugh, her cheeks scrunching up against her eyes and her hair shaking with the bellows.

“Hello, little Niki! It’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice very very small, very quiet. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the goddess who’d seated herself next to her, but she didn’t need to blink, so.

“How are you feeling?” Lady Death asked warmly. Niki felt the words in her… body(?) like a physical warmth.

“Shocked, I think.”

“That’s fair. Most people feel that way, even when they knew that this was coming.”

Niki felt a little better at that.

“It’s… an honor to meet you,” Niki tried, angling for polite.

Lady Death giggled again, cheeks warm with a subtle flush and lips curved mischievously. Niki felt a shiver strike through her, clean down her spine.

“The pleasure is all mine, little Niki,” the goddess said, and if Niki had a heart she was certain it would be suddenly pounding. Lady Death reached forward and cupped Niki’s face in two warm, soft hands, the lace of her gloves faintly ticklish against Niki’s now-sensitive skin. Her lips parted, but like before, she was too stunned to speak. Particularly as her Ladyship bent in, face close to Niki’s, the fluttering of her veil so close Niki felt phantoms of its touch against her nose.

“You are so lovely. You know, I’m really not supposed to do this, it isn’t fair to everyone else. But I have been known for being quite the rulebreaker, when it comes to my favorites.”

“Your—” Niki stuttered, now flushed full red. Favorite? But Niki had only just now died, and they’d only just met?

As though reading her thoughts, Lady Death continued, “It’s alright, sweet little thing. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know me later, once you’re all done.”

All done? And what was this about breaking rules, too!?

“Um, Lady Goddess…” Niki started, but the proximity of their faces once again had her at something of a loss for words. “What do you, what do you mean?” she asked, hoping the question wasn’t so vague that she couldn’t answer it.

Lady Death giggled again, then reached one hand up to touch her veil. She parted it—just barely—and Niki would’ve gasped if she’d had any breath, when she leaned all the way in and kissed her. It was the touch of gleaming white teeth to breathless lips, and for only a fleeting moment also, but to Niki it was a kiss more intimate than any she’d ever received in life.

Then Lady Death was pulling back and giggling at her again, catlike and smug, her veil replaced so Niki saw soft flesh and round, plush lips.

“I mean you’re not to be mine—just yet. Not in full, little Niki. Though I do hope you’ll remember this, won’t you sweetheart?”

Niki wasn’t sure she could ever forget, but before she could answer, or ask any more of her thousand questions she sat so blankly on, the goddess was fading from her view, and so was the dark blue place. And so was her consciousness. And her existence altogether.

She gasped awake, hands folded neatly over her belly, in the middle of a flower field, dappled sunlight barely making it through the leaves of the tree she “slept” under.

Niki sat up slowly, examining herself. She was breathing. Her heart pulsed in her chest. She was no longer in that in-between place. The fiery pinks and oranges that hazed around her were gone.

Had it all been—no, it couldn’t have. She yanked down the neckline of her dress and found a massive scar where they’d cut out her heart, and fingers pressed to the tissue reassured her once again that her heart was beating there.

What had happened? Why was she alive? She had passed into the domain of the Goddess of Death, the eternal garden from which no soul was ever meant to return. How was she back here, in the domain of the living?

She raised her fingertips from her heart to her lips. She could not feel the cool press of bone against them, but in her memory, she was able to summon the phantom of it. The sensation of kissing Lady Death.

Niki’s freshly forged heart skipped a beat.

[anderwhohn]

@smokedanced asked: Send me a scene that happened in canon and I’ll write in detail how my muse felt in it + izzy, death scene ME2 prologue, hierarchy verse (if it happens like that there; if not, canon verse)

"I need more power for the shields!" Isabela yells as she rushes from one control panel to the next, frantically typing in override commands to bypass safety and security protocols to put everything they've got into keeping the Normandy together without taking away from her offensive capabilities as well.

"Sir, we don't have--"

"I don't care if we have to fucking drain life support to do it! Get me that damn power!" she snaps, interrupting the other engineer as she pulls up the shipwide comms. "All hands! Emergency power adjustments imminent! All crew prepare for emergency evac! Non-essential crew proceed to immediate evac! Get your damn helmets and mag boots on, people! It's gonna be a rough ride!"

Dammit, she wishes Nihlus or Garrus were here, rather than chasing Saren's sorry ass on the the fucking Citadel. At least the crew had learned to trust her - even those with little cause to, being Alliance themselves, while she served within the Hierarchy - so her orders were followed as she was the next in the chain of command.

"Joker, status report!" she calls out over closed comms to the pilot, checking the readings as reports of ejected life pods started flooding in on her displays.

"She's holding together for now, Shep," Joker returns, before a string of curses escapes him as the ship manoeuvres sharply to avoid more weapons fire.

Isabela grabs onto her console, pressing down to activate her mag boots while frantically clipping the tether to her armour. "Good enough. You're on the next evac, Joker. I'm coming up to take the helm until all other crew are in the evac pods."

"What?! No way! You're good, Iz, but there's no way--"

"That's an order, Flight Lieutenant!" Isabela growls into the comms. "We're going to lose the Normandy, but that doesn't mean we have to lose the crew with her! So you're getting yourself in that damn pod even if I have to drag your stubborn ass into it myself!"

If only she had known just how true that statement would prove to be, when after another several minutes of desperate struggle, with nearly all the ship's power diverted to shields, weapons, and propulsion, she's left hauling Joker into the nearest escape pod to get them off what remains of the ship.

It's just as she's managed to get him inside that another blast cuts through the hull nearby, disrupting her mag boots' connection to the floor plating and throwing her into a free fall in zero gravity. Emerald eyes widening in shock, she does the only thing she can as her fingers barely catch onto the bulkhead as she's pushed past the emergency controls, reaching out to punch the launch button for the pod... without her in it...

She watches sadly as Joker clearly tries to reach her still, even as the pod seals itself and launches far away from the wreckage of the Normandy, leaving her behind as she starts to float free from the torn hull. Being within the arms of the Citadel, she knows she has a chance, albeit only a small one, considering the battle still waging around her. If another ship can detect her and pull her out of the vacuum, so long as her suit integrity holds, she'll be fine...

That is, until she sees the red beam from that dreaded Reaper rip through the remains of the Normandy, striking the drive core and the resulting explosion...

...

'Shepard, do you hear me? Get out of that bed now! This facility is under attack!'

[shiftperception]

i dreamt i was at a “bible study” camp that didn’t teach the bible and had nothing to do with it. i was talking to a doctor in a white doctor coat about something i don’t remember which prompted him to leave and come back with a handful of needles in little packages and tell me to take one, not saying what it was. i told him i didn’t have any medication that requires injection. he tried to be like ‘are you sure you don’t want to try one’ so i insisted that no, i couldn’t just take the whole pile. i didn’t want the full effects of whatever it was and wasn’t a fan of shots anyway, to take them back to someone who actually needed them. he reluctantly agreed.

then i think i became partially aware i was dreaming and wandered around trying to remember where the dream was going next. i explored a kids playplace looking area (maybe i got this dream confused with my last one lol) then was outside on a grassy hill. the doctor guy was with me the whole time and i started calling him Toby because his hair looked like the youtuber bird keeper toby. I followed him to a house at the top and went in to where he was sitting on a thin platform over a huge drop off at the back. he was cupping his hands and holding water in them that he’d seemingly generated out of thin air. for some reason i thought the story ended with me trying to figure out what he was doing up there and falling to my death. it felt like i “remembered” how the dream was supposed to go, as if it was a pre planned story with certain set plot beats. i tripped off the tiny balcony platform, fell through the sky in slow motion, and hit the ground. it painlessly went dark for a couple seconds, then i woke up.

[sakuravalelp]

A dream land - DP X DC Prompt

Okay, so I was thinking about that episode "Perchance to dream" where Bruce is trapped in a dream world and this, even thought really different, came to my mind.

Danny is king or prince of the infinite realms. He's been working on personalizing/decorating his castle in the infinite realms. When he feels someone walking just outside the castles walls. The thing is, that someone isn't a denizen, they aren't in a corporeal body, but he can feel that they are very much alive and feel distinctly human. He approaches the person to ask why and how they are in the infinite realms, but they fade away before he gets the opportunity.

Clockwork, who was with him at the moment, tells him that the visitor from the living, was just the soul projection of someone that was sleeping, and then refuses to elaborate further. Since it's something that was to do with sleeping, Danny decides to go and ask Nocturn, it seemed like a reasonable assumption that he was the one at fault for the soul projection.

Contrary to what he thought, Nocturn informed Danny that Sleeping soul projection was a natural phenomenon that he didn't control. The land of dreams, ("My domain" - Nocturn reminds him), was in the infinite realm after all, and those who have been close to death sometimes slipped they're whole soul instead of just their mind, and ended up all over the infinite realms.

It isn't too different from a lucid dream for them, the body gets all the benefit of the sleep, the mind feels rested if they had a good time in the realms. Except, if they hurt their soul too bad during their little trip, it would have real consequences. Loosing memories, abilities regression, migraine, pain that reflects the soul damage, all either temporary until the soul healed, or permanent and deteriorating, and in some occasions finishing in the persons death. In the latter, the soul is usually too damaged and cease it's existence, or have enough ectoplasm and emotion to form into ghosts with crack cores whose existence is instantly in danger.

Danny clearly didn't like the image that was painted to him, so he asked Nocturn if there was really nothing that he could do. It took a lot of talking and convincing, but eventually Nocturn admitted he could be able to direct the soul projecting to appear on a certain place, but he refused to babysit anyone. Which was enough for Danny, all he needed to do was make another expansion in his castle.

He decided to make a garden to receive their soul projecting guests. The garden was enormous, with all kinds of spaced within it. Playgrounds, picnic spaces, soft benches, tables with ghost and space teamed board games, fountains, and of course, the beautiful flowers that surrounded and decorated the place. Once he got ghosts with gardening, protection and caring obsessions on the place to look out for the souls, he was ready to receive them. It took him by surprise the amount of people that came, the garden was never crowded, but was never empty either, and souls of all ages and places were visiting at all times.

He kept expanding the garden as he heard of new things their guests wished for. He enjoyed spending time in the middle of the garden where souls passed by but rarely appeared, it was calm, but not completly quite with the background noice of the soul enjoying their dreams, and he could do the more mundane king/prince work. Until, he starts getting a regular visitor on his little space of the garden.

Choose the DC character you prefer, my idea is for people who hasn't died in the past but has been in the doors of death (so died and came back would be disqualified but you do as you prefer), but I'm going with Tim.

The soul of a boy around his age appears just in front of him, as usual when he greets new arriving soul, he welcomes him with a gentle smile and tells him he is free to explore the garden. A ghost taker is assign to him. The soul, as usual, seems confused and like he wished to asks questions, but seems content to ask them to his tour guide, and Danny continues with his own duties.

But then, the same soul continues to appear in the same place every two or three days, they exchange greetings and every time talk for a bit longer before the boy leaves to explore once more. It's rear to have multiple visits from one soul, even more so for said soul to appear in the same place every time. By the four time, Danny decides to take a break on his royal duties and accompany his new friend.

~ They get close, and have cute scenes, Tim asks a lot of questions and Danny answers and not-answers a lot of questions ~

One day, Tim shows up as usual, but he is in full Red Robin costume, and well, Danny wasn't expecting an identity reveal.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

On the Bats side:

There's an attack of some villain that's able to put Red Robin (or character of your choice) on a sleeping beauty type of sleep while carrying a serious injury, were he stays sleep until teammates or backup gets him out of it. The event affects his soul, making him disconnect partially from the land of dreams and making his soul sleep project almost every time he sleeps.

Tim starts sleeping more often. It's worrying at first, Bruce being paranoid does every test in the book, despite Tim saying he's just finding sleep easier now. But, he was just affected by sleeping magic and suddenly his sleeping easier? Seems like a side effect, and that makes it worrying.

Tim's health in general improve, just like he's concentration and productivity. Who would have thought that working rested actually was more productive than working on less than three hours of sleep and missing obvious details and clues due to how tired you are.

With everything not only being okay, but better than before, paranoia about Tim's new sleeping schedule soon dies, and instead is replaced with teasing about how he used to refuse to rest kicking and screaming, and now he may sleep more than any of them.

On Tim's side, he's loving being able to soul project so often. He knew from the start he was in a different dimension, and he just wanted to know the hows, whys, and everything else. So far, he seems to do it at least once every three days, and he's even gone two times in a row a couple of times.

The garden had a lot of things to do, but Tim doesn't care about that, he's more interested in all the information he's getting. The first 3 times he was given different ghost nanny's, who were more focus on entertaining him and didn't really answer direct question. But then king/prince Phantom decided to accompany him personally, and everything went smoother. He was going back to get to know more about this new world, and maybe to know more about the cute prince/king too. He might also have gotten some better looking pajamas.

Now, he has a mission that takes more than a couple days with some people in his team that hasn't yet sen his face. He didn't realize how difficult it would be to do all nighters after getting used to a sleep schedule. He would usually try to go as long as possible without sleeping, but he decides that he should take advantage of the safety of where they're staying and sleep a bit too. He ended up soul projecting in full Red Robin costume. He tried to play it cool, maybe Phantom wouldn't know it was him.

"Red Robin, even if you didn't appear on the same spot as always, I can feel your soul. I know who you are."

[fragilefable]

nobody's son, nobody's daughter.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ minors DNI) Summary: When you and Joel get separated the night of the outbreak, you spend the next decade searching for him. Just when you've given up— a miracle occurs. Warnings: heavy angst, canon typical violence, character death (sarah), discussions of grief, very brief mention of suicidal ideation, alcohol used to cope, depression, suggestive language, lovers reunited, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Word Count: 6.6k Currently Playing: Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey ♪

A/N: This piece has been months in the making, hours of rereading and rewriting. This is my love child. I'm possibly (definitely) planning a part 2 with smut... ;) I am a full-time college student who unfortunately has other responsibilities, so please be patient with me. My first lengthy piece in a while, so please be kind & enjoy my doves!

Sleep was the most convenient temporary escape available in the post-cordyceps world. Oftentimes, if you were lucky enough, with sleep came dreams—glimpses of a divine, utopian life. One without spores or fungi of any kind. There was, however, always the chance that with it came nightmares—Polaroids of the past, the uprising of the infection. Mothers clutching bloodied children, decaying men ripping open flesh with their savage teeth, and, worst of all— losing Joel Miller. 

Joel was... everything—neighbor, friend, lover. Joel hated that word— laughed every time it managed to escape your lips in a hushed whisper, but that was what you were to each other. It transcended explanation. You'd moved to Austin after college in hopes of starting over, a clean slate. Instead, you'd stumbled upon a single father and his then 11-year-old daughter. You fit into their life like the missing puzzle piece— you completed them. Sarah needed a motherly presence in her life. There was only so much Joel could do for the blossoming young woman. 

And Joel— Joel never knew what he was missing until you came along. Someone to be able to rely on, to love unconditionally, a fixed constant. To say he fell head over heels was an understatement, but it became so much more than physical attraction. It became something far more profound and terrifying— love. The kind of love only poets write about. It was fierce, at times agonizing. That's what made losing him all the more heartbreaking. 

You were with Sarah the night of the outbreak— Joel's birthday. Lounging around in plaid pajamas, waiting for Joel to get home from work. Despite being exhausted, Sarah was beaming with pride over her birthday present for her dad— his broken wristwatch now repaired and refurbished. You smiled mischievously, "And just where did you get the money to fix this, young lady?" Sarah grinned slyly, "Just lyin' around, it's not like he noticed it was missin'!" Hours passed, you and Sarah slumped against the couch: Fast asleep, soft snores escaping mouths, drool dribbling down chins. 

The sight made Joel's heart quaver in his chest. Kicking off his muddied work boots, he carefully plopped down in between the two sleeping figures, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. "Hmm. You're home," you stirred awake, drowsy eyes met with a welcome sight: Weathered tan skin and dark chocolate curls. "Hey, Darlin'. You outta head up to bed. I'll be up soon." You nodded faintly, planting a chaste kiss on Sarah's forehead: "Goodnight, sweet girl." 

You fell fast asleep as soon as your body hit Joel's mattress, his scent engulfing you like a blanket of safety— a shield of sorts. The vague smell of sawdust and pine soap conquered your senses, a heavenly combination. An hour later, you felt the bed dip down, strong arms circling your waist.

Frantic hands shook you awake, calling your name weakly: "I can't find Dad. N' somethin' weird is goin' on outside." You sat up, Sarah's urgency pulling you from your hazy half-asleep state. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll call him. Go back to bed." Sarah ignored your suggestion and sat beside you as you reached for the landline. The call went to voicemail without hesitation: "Huh... That's weird." 

Sarah grew more anxious by the second, "I'm gonna go check the driveway for his truck." Sarah shot up from the bed, feet pattering down the stairs. "Sarah! Wait, I'll come with-" Throwing on your Converse, you hastily ran out after her. Your tired eyes scanned the pavement but found no signs of Sarah or Joel's truck. The Adler's door was wide open; you huffed: "Sarah?" 

The Adler's house was pitch black and eerily quiet, the family's dog nowhere to be seen: "Sarah? This is trespassing!" Tiptoeing through the living room, you halted at the sight of a ruby trail— blood. Grotesque, wet noises filled the previously silent house: "Sarah?" The teen bolted out of the kitchen, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the front door: "Run!" Mrs. Adler scrambled after Sarah, mouth dribbling crimson liquid, no longer bound to her wheelchair. 

"What the fuck–" Sarah's grip on your hand tightened as you passed through the door and stumbled onto the pavement. A pair of familiar brown eyes scanned Sarah's figure and then yours: "Sarah? Darlin'? Are ya'll ok-" Joel's words were cut off when Mrs. Adler dashed through the front door, her figure lunging for you. 

Joel struck the side of her head with a wrench as you made a feeble attempt to crawl away. His strikes were lethal, and yet the elder kept thrashing against the ground. "Joel, stop!" Only then did you notice Tommy, Joel's younger brother, behind you, coaxing Sarah into the truck. 

Joel exhausted Mrs. Adler with one final swing, dropping the bloodied wrench beside him and wiping his shaky hands on his jeans. His gaze softened when he saw your timid frame— shaking and unmoving. "Darlin'... Baby, are you okay?" His hands found your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles on a patch of exposed skin. You hesitated; Joel had just killed Mrs. Adler in cold blood— but she tried to kill you and Sarah first. 

Joel hurriedly hoisted you to your feet, "We gotta go, okay baby? It's not safe here." You clambered into the backseat beside Sarah, the girl's arms thrown around you tightly. Kissing the crown of her head, you reassured her: "It's okay, sweetheart, everything's okay." 

Neighbors began to exit their homes, baffled and disturbed by the sight of Mrs. Adler's bloody, lifeless body lying in the yard. Someone called out for Joel. He immediately instructed her to go back inside and lock the doors. Tommy beckoned Joel into the car, exiting the culdesac and taking off towards the highway. After a fleeting moment, you mustered up the courage to ask, "Joel, what's going on?" Tommy replied, "They're sayin' it's a virus- some kinda parasite." Sarah spoke up, tears forming, "Are we sick?" Joel shot the idea down immediately. 

Tommy and Joel continued bickering, your eyes glued to the road ahead: "Joel! Look- It's Jimmy's place." The two-story farmhouse was completely engulfed in flames, unrecognizable. Your hands clung to Sarah, burrowing her head into your neck: "It's okay, sweet girl." Police sirens rang out through the darkness, interrupted by soft pleas for help. A family was stranded on the side of the road, begging for aid. Tommy began to slow the car. "What're you doin'?" Joel firmly questioned. Tommy shot back, "Got a kid, Joel." 

"So do we. Keep drivin'," Joel spat. Tommy sped back up, eyes searching Joel's for an explanation: "Somebody else will come along." As Tommy approached the interstate, the sounds of disgruntled drivers grew louder: "Fuck! Everybody had the same fuckin' idea. I can't get through this." Joel gripped the dashboard, "All right, all right. Let's think it through," he paused for a moment, "All right, take the field! We cut across, and we pick up on the west side." Tommy steered right, the truck jerking on the uneven terrain. As he drove over the hill, helicopters and tanks came into view, "Shit. Fuckin' army." 

Sarah peered out from behind the seat, "Isn't that good?" Your voice was filled with hesitation, "That's the highway we need to get to." Joel and Tommy argued, eventually continuing toward a town just east of the highway. Sarah stilled, "Maybe it's everywhere. Maybe there's nowhere to go." A booming roar erupted, Tommy twisting his body to get a better look at the night sky: "What the fuck?!" Commercial airplanes flew overhead, merely hundreds of feet above the ground. You instinctively covered Sarah's ears with your hands, eyes wrenching shut at the deafening rumble of their engines. Tommy swerved to avoid a police blockade ahead, turning into a nearby alleyway. 

The streets were flooded with screaming civilians, running in every direction— no one sure who exactly they were running from. A hoard of people fled from inside a movie theater, causing Tommy to shift the truck's gear into reverse. "Dad?" Sarah called out, "Dad!" Joel turned; an airplane was rapidly descending— heading straight towards town, "Shit. Move!" As the plane made contact with the ground, a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke bloomed, causing Tommy to lose control of the truck. 

A strong hand shook your leg, "Darlin'? Stay right there, don't move." Your side ached, cool liquid flowing from your head. Beside you, Sarah quickly came to, her eyes shifting to the figure hunched outside of the flipped car, clawing at the corpse of an older man. "Sarah, baby, don't look. C'mere, put your arms around me." As Joel carefully unearthed Sarah from the mangled truck, you climbed out of the shattered window: Hissing as you shifted against your arm. Sarah tried to put weight on her leg, provoking muffled whimpers and cries at the attempt. Tommy, equipped with his shotgun, called out, "We gotta get off the street!" 

As you approached Joel and Sarah, a flaming police car crashed into the capsized truck, separating the three of you from Tommy. Tommy roared from the other side of the wreck: "Meet at the river! I'll find a way." Joel turned to Sarah, "Can you run?" She shook her head wearily. He scooped her into his arms, "Keep your eyes on me." Joel shifted towards you, "No matter what, you keep runnin'. Alright, darlin'? Promise me." You hesitated, desperate eyes meeting his, "I promise." 

The three of you stumbled through the alley until you came across a cluster of bodies scattered across the pavement, crouched figures grunting over the lifeless figures. The end of the passage was clear. The only problem was getting past the rotted creatures without being noticed. There was no way Joel could outrun them in his condition. One of the creatures shot up at the sound of a remote blast, eyes landing on Joel. His voice was firm, "Go." You grabbed his arm, "Joel!" He repeated his command, louder— frantic: "You can't carry Sarah w'that arm. Go find Tommy. We'll meet you there."  

You pressed a hurried kiss to Sarah's head, the deranged man scrambling to his feet before you could embrace Joel. You took off towards the other end of the alley, Joel and Sarah barricading themselves inside the vacant diner across from the pile of carcasses. Your body throbbed with every step, head burning with the fire of a thousand suns. Your feet carried you across town, weaving in and out of injured civilians and infected until you reached the river. The stream was pitch black, sounds of gunfire and cries rang out in the distance. 

Suddenly, a bright light blinded you: "Put your hands where I can see 'em!" You obeyed, raising them as high as your injured arm would allow. Your voice raw with distress, "M'not sick! Just trying to find my family!" The man stepped closer, seemingly inspecting your physical state. He was clad in military gear, "You hurt?" You shook your head eagerly: "Just a sprained arm." He nodded his head, "Alright. We've got buses that can take you to a decontamination zone." 

Your head scanned the vast field, eyes scouring for any sign of Joel or Tommy: "I- I can't. I'm supposed to meet someone here. At the river." The soldier looked dissatisfied and slowly lifted his gun, "The river goes on for miles. S'not safe out here." Your eyebrows threaded together in confusion, "What- are you- are you gonna shoot me?" The soldier's grasp on his automatic rifle tightened, "I'm sayin' you have two choices. You can either come with me or you can-" 

A guttural scream sounded from behind him. But before he could turn around, a pair of arms seized his neck and began ripping into his military garb. The soldier flailed wildly at his attacker. While he was busy fighting off the deranged beast, you took off into the darkness, wandering aimlessly and calling out for your family. That night was the last time you saw Joel Miller.

16 Years Later

The bitter winter air overwhelmed your senses until you were gasping for air, limbs numb and cold to the touch. You wouldn't make it much longer without shelter, without warmth. You'd spent the better part of the last 16 years searching for him— for Joel. Ever since that night, you'd scoured every independent civilization, every QZ, within mobs of infected. Each night, you silently prayed never to find him like that— skin pallid and overcome with fungus, head split wide open, cordyceps blooming from within. 

You'd trekked across the country with the sole intent of finding him alive and healthy. The journey was brutal— raiders and infected desperate for blood. But by far, the hardest battle was pushing away the nagging thought that, even if Joel and Sarah were somehow alive, you'd never find them. Now, after nearly two decades of searching, you were reaching the end of your journey. You'd officially trekked across the entire nation. If your estimations were correct, you were nearing Wyoming— hence the formidable cold front. 

You'd heard rumors about a small civilization located somewhere on the skirts of Jackson County— your last stop. You knew the chances were slim; that feeling only fortified with each city, each civilian who hadn't heard of or seen anyone by the name of "Joel Miller." But you kept searching— because the day that you stopped would be the day you lost everything, lost yourself. It was as though he held onto you with a leash. If you tugged hard enough, could you finally break free? What else did you have to live for? Maybe one day you'd have some sort of epiphany, something to make sense of all the death and suffering. For now, Joel kept your hope alive— the hope that there was happiness and safety beyond all of the pain. The very thought of him kept you alive. 

You stood in front of thick and rusted iron gates, your posture crooked due to exhaustion— Just one more stop. The sounds of cocking guns drew your attention to the top of the gates. A young man and woman stand there, rifles pointed at you: "Drop your weapon! Let us see your hands!" You obey. This is standard practice amongst civilizations— you'd done it a thousand times by now. Unsheathing and kicking away your pistol, you then throw your backpack towards the gate. Hands raised next to your head. Your voice wavers as you half-shout, "I'm not infected! Just looking for someone!" 

The woman searched your face for a bit, presumably looking for any signs of deceit. She nodded towards her companion, the corroded metal walls unfolding. Two men approached you and picked up your discarded belongings. The younger of the two roughly patted you down and checked for bite marks. When they were satisfied, they led you past the gates into the town square. The village was pleasant, a handful of people milling about in the slushy streets. 

A familiar voice erupts from behind you: "Please excuse the initial hostility. We need to be careful about who we let in... I'm Maria." She extends her hand. You accept it gingerly and introduce yourself. "Welcome to Jackson. You must be freezing. Come on, we'll talk inside." — Maria leads you inside a small building, the exterior reminding you of the Lincoln Logs you used to play with as a child. The inside is... quaint. A lone desk sits near the lit fireplace. Maria leans against the desk and motions for you to take a seat: "So... You're lookin' for someone. And you have reason to believe they're here?" 

You sigh, allowing your aching body to relax against the couch's plush cushions: "No... I am looking for someone, but... Well, this is my last stop." Maria nods sympathetically, tucking a lone braid behind her ear— "I get it. You've been looking for a long time. It's about time to stop. To rest." You can't help the tears that form on your waterline. Your gaze shifts to your lap. Maria continues, "Who are you lookin' for?" 

You swallow the fist-sized lump in your throat, "Joel. Joel Miller." Your attention snaps towards her as a wistful sigh escapes her lips. A tight frown dawns on Maria's face, "I'm sorry. There's no Joel Miller here." You nod; you knew it was a long shot, but hearing it aloud was something different entirely. You rise from the couch, "Thank you. I apologize for takin' up your time." Maria speaks up before you can reach the door: "Now what? You got a place to stay?" 

You honestly hadn't thought that far, about life beyond looking. For years, finding Joel was your only purpose— your rationale for remaining on this infested hellscape. You had no home, no roots. Maria's voice interrupts your thoughts, "There's room here. We've got food and water— shelter. Hell, we're even working on electricity." You turn to face her. Her words dripping with verity, "Jackson could be your home." 

Despite having just met her, Maria's words touched something buried deep within you— hope. Hopeful of a new life, of new beginnings. You forged a small smile, "Okay." Maria smiled, but it was much different from yours: It was toothy, genuine— "Alright. I'll give you the grand tour then." For the next hour or so, Maria marched you around town. She showed you the vast dining hall laden with maple furniture. The stables filled with mare and their young. 

Then she showed you the schoolhouse. It was a small brick building. The walls were filled with colorful crayon drawings. Tiny handprints were pressed onto the wall in various colors of acrylic paint. The dulcet sounds of innocent laughter erupted from every corner of the room. Children from the ages of 5-12 were scattered around: Some doing arts and crafts, some reading, and others playing with worn toys. A tear slipped down your cheek. You brushed it away quickly before Maria could notice. 

You couldn't help but think of Sarah. About the first time she knocked on your door— she was selling chocolate bars for some fundraiser at school. Her bronze complexion dappled with freckles, and her wide smile revealed a missing tooth. She was eleven at the time, eyes bright and full of wonder. Blind to the atrocities that loomed at every turn. Sometimes, you'd think about what she looked like now— did her curls still rest atop her shoulders? Did she still laugh until she was panting for air? She's thirty now... Has she fallen in love? That was considering she is still... 

You didn't entertain the thought. Sarah was fine, alive somewhere with her father to look after her. Maria's touch pulls you from your thoughts, "How about I show you where you'll be living? Get you settled in." As Maria exited the schoolhouse, you stole one last glance at the room. A little girl met your gaze. Her dark curls were pulled into two ponytails. Her burnt mahogany eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled, raising her tiny hand and waving it at you. You returned the sentiment, this time allowing the tear to fall down and onto the ground.  

Maria escorted you just outside of town, to a street lined with country-style two-story houses in relatively good condition. "This one here, the green one. It's already furnished. I'll have one of my guys come by later with some essentials from the pantry. Otherwise, you should be all set 'til tomorrow." Your eyes bore into the house. It was nice, but also... "It's big," you retort, "Don't know what I could possibly need all those rooms for." Maria lays the silver key in your hand, "You never know." 

You internally cringe at the connotation. Start over with some man? Have a big family and a white picket fence? You couldn't. It wouldn't be the same. You let out a shaky breath, "Thank you, Maria." She nods, "Come see me tomorrow, and we'll talk about where to go from here. Everyone in Jackson has a job, a role to play. Rest up... You deserve it." She departs, leaving just you and your great, big, empty house. 

3 Years Later

Jackson developed rapidly under Maria's supervision. The population rose from 50 to roughly 300 in just under three years. Jackson now had electricity, thanks to the Jackson County Hydroelectric Dam that Maria's team was able to get up and running. You'd become the head of patrol— in charge of organizing the schedules and determining the routes. You and Maria had become very close, practically family. She's the person who understood you, what you've been through. 

In an attempt to busy yourself and earn your keep, you'd thrown yourself into working alongside her. Not just with patrols but also with community relations and development. You'd completely reconstructed the greenhouse, built a jailhouse— that, luckily, wasn't used much— and helped fortify Jackson's defenses. Maria assigned you the title "community leader," but you much preferred what everyone else called you: "Maria's right hand." 

Your house was still too big, but now it felt homier— lived in. The walls were plastered with botanical paintings you'd found while out on patrol, vases of fresh cut flowers from the community garden placed upon every surface. Cable knit blankets were draped over the shabby leather furniture, the brick fireplace emanating warmth and bringing solace during the cold winter months. You'd even taken up baking in your spare time, frequently bringing baked goods to the schoolhouse. 

Nevertheless, when the sun set and the sounds of bustling downtown Jackson faded, your thoughts always returned to Joel. His bronze skin, tousled brown curls, and perfectly plump lips. Suddenly, it felt as though the house was mocking you, and the right side of the bed always grew colder. Perhaps it's why you worked yourself so hard; taking a day off was seldom. You couldn't escape the persistent feeling that Joel and Sarah weren't alive. That you'd failed to find them time and time again because somewhere, they were six feet under, buried in an unmarked grave. All it takes is one moment— one lapse between heartbeats— and suddenly, everything has changed.

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The spring air was crisp with morning dew. A gentle breeze slipped through the cracked bay window. Three heavy thuds woke you— the sharp knocks cutting through serene silence. Your voice was raspy with sleep, "Coming!" You quickly pulled on the worn terrycloth robe that hung from the bedpost and stumbled downstairs. You swung the door open to reveal Stanley, a young man who worked in construction: "I'm so sorry to wake you, but Maria sent me to get you. She said it's urgent."  

You sighed deeply, rubbing the remaining exhaustion from your face: "Urgent like, 'don't get dressed' urgent?" Stanley's eyes roamed across the dark fabric of your robe before snapping back to your face. His cheeks bright pink, "Oh, um... no! Just meet her in her office ASAP." Sending him off with a nod, you traipsed upstairs and threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before making your way downtown. It was early morning, the streets empty save the early risers milling about, getting ready for work. As you passed a group of older women sipping hot beverages, you overheard whispers of "an outsider." As Maria's righthand, you were expected to greet all incoming arrivals. How on earth that could constitute a crisis, you did not know. 

As you approached Maria's office, the woman in question exited swiftly, shutting the door behind her. You grew closer, taking note of her fidgeting hands. She was... nervous? "Good morning, Mar. What's the emergency?" Maria's face was sullen. You'd never seen her like this, not in the three years you'd known her. Your hands clenched at your sides, "Maria? What is it?"

She took a deep breath, "This may be a false alarm, but... This guy's last name is Miller. Says he's originally from Texas." Her words stole the air from your lungs, a pit forming in the bottom of your stomach. She said something else, but all you could hear was buzzing. Your vision blurred, the dark-skinned woman's features coming in and out of focus. Could it be him—had Joel finally found you? 

Maria called your name, pulling you from your trance. As your vision focused, you pushed past her. Your grip on the doorknob was bone-crushing, your knuckles turning white from the tension. You inhaled— don't get your hopes up. It might not be him. You exhaled, pushing the door open with a startling amount of force. You analyzed the man's figure, you recognized him— only it wasn't Joel. It wasn't the Miller whose calloused hands once traveled the expanse of your body, making note of each hidden crevice as though it may hold treasure. Whose lips once seared white hot kisses in the places he knew were the most sensitive— "Tommy?"

He looked dumbstruck, his lips parted in shock. Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around his neck. It took him a moment to reciprocate your embrace, but once he did, his arms anchored you in place. He spoke your name quietly against the crown of your head: "I can't... I can't believe it." You pulled away, "I hardly can either." His hands rested atop your shoulders as his eyes searched your face in disbelief. His resemblance to his older brother felt like a gut punch. You were afraid to ask— fearful of the truth: "Joel? Is he..."

Tommy's hand squeezed your shoulder in reassurance, "He's alive. Last I checked, holed up somewhere in the Boston QZ." A warm tear slipped down your face, the salty liquid resting just below your chin. You'd checked Boston QZ, but recent "terrorist" attacks had made it impossible to stay longer than an hour without drawing the attention of every FEDRA soldier in that godforsaken city. Your hands trembled as you clutched your chest, "And Sarah? How's my sweet girl?" 

Tommy's face went cold— No. No. She can't— "She's gone." The taste of bile rose in your throat, "Wh-when?" Tommy removed his hands from your shoulders, "That night. Shot by some military fucker. She..." He hesitated, "Joel held her. It happened s'fast." Your kneels buckled, threatening to send you towards the ground. You fucked up— you let yourself get accustomed to the idea of her being alive. Repeated it over and over again until you believed it to be true. This was all your fault. 

Your shoulders shook silently, as if you were crying— but no tears emerged, "I have to… I have to find Joel." Turning toward the door, Tommy caught you by your wrist: "I can't let you do that, hon. It's a damn death sentence." You tugged at your arm, desperate to break free from the restraint: "Let go of me, Tommy. I'm doin' this." Maria stepped forward, her hand resting at the base of your neck— "No, you're not. Jackson needs you here. I need you here."

Your breathing became labored. Deep down, you knew they were right— you were in no shape to travel across the country again. You'd barely survived it the first time. Chest heaving, your free hand found purchase on your throat, tightly grasping and constricting the airway. Tommy wearily let go of your wrist, his eyes wide and filled with fear. You ran for the door; you could hear Tommy call out for you as you fled homeward. Sarah was gone. Joel was alone.

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Days passed, and despite everything, the sun rose in the morning and the moon at night. You weren't quite sure how long it had been. You'd stopped counting daybreak after the first five came and went. Maria checked in after the first couple of days, worried that you hadn't been seen around town— or leaving your house, for that matter. Your grief was debilitating, all-consuming. You couldn't eat, could barely sleep, only finding relief at the bottom of a liquor bottle. You were tired… The kind of tired that sleep didn't fix.

Tommy came once. Sat and talked while you stared straight ahead at the empty wall. He could sense your anger, your resentment. How could he not? You silently judged him for leaving Joel, leaving his brother after his only daughter died in his arms. Tommy told you that Joel had changed. He wasn't the Joel you fell in love with; he'd done terrible things— But so had you. You'd killed innocent people, people who were just trying to protect themselves. And you did it in the name of finding Joel and Sarah, of surviving for them. You'd convinced yourself it was kill or be killed, and you had to live with that. Come judgment day, you'd pay greatly for your sins. You accepted that, too.

You only dared to look at Tommy's face once. You saw Joel in his eyes— you saw Sarah. Maybe if you hadn't left Joel in that alleyway, she'd still be alive. You could've protected her, taken the bullet for her. You would have, without hesitation. You'd cross the fiery pits of hell for her, reside in Caina, and be tortured for eternity. You may not have given birth to her, but Sarah was your daughter.

If you closed your eyes hard enough, you could faintly picture her smile. The dimples that formed just below her bottom lip. You could smell the faint aroma of her strawberry shampoo. Hear the broken remnants of her grandiose laughter. You swore to keep those memories someplace safe. Take them out and remember when you needed to, as if they were photographs.

A part of you wanted to be happy that she didn't suffer. She was too innocent for this new, heartless world. She was everything good in life. She was sunshine, sugary syrup, and pure, unadulterated love. But you could not accept this bright side. Not when it meant a life without her in it. Innocence is beautiful, but life is for living.

Tommy stood up, slipping a piece of paper on the nightstand. You cautiously turned it over to reveal a creased photo: You, Joel, and Sarah posing after winning one of her soccer games. You stole one last glance at Tommy. This time, he did not see blinding hatred in your gaze. Instead, he saw gratitude. As your glassy eyes bore into him, he nodded knowingly and left.

Maria came a couple of hours later with leftovers from the dining hall. Setting them on the counter next to the empty whiskey bottles displayed like pathetic trophies. You were in the same position as when Tommy left. You held the photo in your hands, thumbs stroking its frayed edges. Maria quietly dragged a chair closer to the bed, sitting just within arm's reach: "I went to a really dark place after I lost Kevin."

Tearing your gaze from the picture, one of her hands finds yours: "He made life worth living… It took me a long time to start to feel human again. To feel something other than pain and sorrow. The grief never goes away. But slowly, it starts to feel less like loss, and more like love." She inhaled shakily, "I know what you're feeling right now. I know why you're drowning your sorrows in that shit, trying to drink yourself to death." A tear slips down your face, her hand squeezing yours gently: "But you have to understand… What you're feeling right now, that's love. You're not a bad person for how you try to kill your sadness. But it's not gonna work."

You're unable to contain the choked sob that escapes your throat. The tears come harshly, scorching saline against your skin. Maria shifts her weight from the chair onto the bed, holding your shaking frame: "It's okay… Let it out." Her hands cradle your head, smoothing over your disheveled hair. "It's all my fault," you gasp between sobs, "I never should've left them. It's all my fault." Maria shushes you, "No, honey. You don't really believe that. You want someone to blame, but you're not that person."

Eventually, the tears cease. Your breathing evened out as Maria held you, "I miss Joel, so fucking much." You could feel Maria nod tenderly, "I know Honey." A lone tear slipped down your cheek, "Do you think— do you think he'll find me?" Maria pulled away, her chestnut eyes meeting yours, "Truthfully, I don't know." With a deep sigh, she squeezed your hand— "But I know he wouldn't want you to live like this. Isolating yourself from everyone else. You're allowed to grieve, but please don't shut me out. You're my person." You clutch her hands, squeezing firmly: "Even at my worst?" Her arms curled around your torso once again, "Even at your worst."

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

The warmer seasons passed with haste. A wintertide blanket of white gradually covered Jackson. Day by day, Maria and Tommy were able to pull you out of your depressive stupor. You had to admit, they made quite the team. Maria was ultimately right, Joel wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life a bedridden drunkard. But still, life without him was arduous. There wasn't a day that passed that you didn't think of Joel Miller. About where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, and whether he missed you as terribly as you did him. 

As much as you wished to focus on these melancholic thoughts, new developments began to bloom in Jackson. Tommy and Maria's blossoming love was hard to ignore and impossible to disapprove of. Watching two people whom you adored fall in love, it felt as though nothing had changed: No cordyceps, no raiders, just Jackson and all of its inhabitants. Perhaps you could find peace in that. When Maria told you that they were expecting, you were over the moon. Maria and Tommy deserved it, Jackson deserved it. Proof that the world is not over— that no matter the circumstances, mankind will prevail. 

You threw together a small wedding ceremony with the help of the florist and local bakery, the couple wanting to tie the knot before the baby's arrival. Joking about how "shotgun weddings" withstood the test of time. Something arose in you, a pang of jealousy— Envious that you and Joel never got the perfect white wedding. It disgusted you, so you buried it deep within the recesses of your heart. 

The winter was hard, the Wyoming chill threatening every crop that dared to sprout from the Earth. This resulted in you spending extra time in the greenhouse. You found gardening to be a rather soothing task, being able to nurture new life in a world marked by death and decay. It also provided plenty of time to think: Something that you did not relish. No matter how many times you pushed the thought of Joel away, it always returned. Whether it was at dawn or late at night plaguing your dreams. 

When you weren't at Tommy and Maria's house or at the Tipsy Bison, you were in the greenhouse. The small shack sat right on the outskirts of town, situated with the perfect view of downtown Jackson. The glass panes shut out the cold, trapping any warmth inside. You bathed in the basking glow of the sun, gravitating towards it as a Sunflower would. You weren't sure when thoughts of Sarah became joyous, memories no longer met with choked cries but instead with soft chuckles. Nonetheless, you welcomed the growth. It's how she would want you to remember her. 

You watched the clock that hung just above the door, a mere estimation of the time: 12:15 p.m. You carefully removed your dirt-caked gloves, setting them on the wooden bench beside you. Your stomach growled impatiently as you began the journey downtown. The air was frigid despite the sun's rays, the cold slowly numbing your fingers. As you ambled towards town, Stanley came jogging towards you: "Hey! Just got word from the gates that Maria's back. Brought some stragglers, two, I think." 

You nodded in his direction, "Alright. Thanks, Stan." The soft crunch of snow beneath your feet accompanied you as you approached downtown Jackson, an air of excitement and uncertainty radiating off of the townsfolk. It wasn't every day that Jackson came across people who weren't just blood-thirsty raiders looking for valuables. As you rounded a corner, you overheard a commotion, the sound of yelling. Strangely, it didn't sound angry or fearful. It sounded... happy. 

Midtown came into view; the construction that was being worked on was now abandoned. Immediately, your gaze fixed on two figures in the middle of the street embracing. That was... not typical. You could make one man out to be Tommy; his black curls contrasted starkly against his warm taupe skin. The other was taller and broader, his hair disheveled and graying. Behind them you could make out Maria on horseback, next to her was a young girl, who couldn't be older than thirteen. 

Maria's expression was borderline unreadable, a mixture of trepidation and relief. Until her eyes met yours, then her face softened. A look of tenderness emerged. Everything about this situation puzzled you— Until the two figures broke apart. The man stood inches from Tommy, his hands gripping Tommy's shoulders firmly. His face was sunken with exhaustion and hunger; a vast smile overtook his face. A smile you would recognize anywhere. 

He looked just as he had twenty years ago, only now his hair was significantly longer and his beard gray. His face was now littered with wrinkles, just as yours was. A telltale sign that time had, in fact, passed, that the world fell apart right in front of your eyes. Your fingers dug into your thigh. You surely would've drawn blood if not for the layer of denim protecting your skin. You knew you were grieving, but hallucinations seemed extreme. You took a hesitant step forward, still on the opposite end of the street. 

Maria beckoned for you. Your name seemingly catching Tommy's attention as he turned towards you. As the men stood side-by-side, it was impossible to deny. Their likeness evoked something in you— realization. You weren't dreaming, you weren't hallucinating. He was there, just a yard away: Joel Miller. His gaze found yours, eyes searching your face in disbelief. Your name left his mouth like a question, but it sounded like a prayer. 

He stepped forward as if he was testing the waters. You repeated his action, "Joel?" A smile broke across his face once again, causing you to break into a sprint. He jogged forward, careful not to slip on the icy gravel. Tears began streaming down your face, their warmth countering the icy chill. Before you could slow down, your body collided with his. His arms were tense, his hold fastening around you. You'd only dreamt of this moment for two decades. 

You weren't sure how long you stood like that. Head nestled firmly against his chest, tears staining his leather coat. His gloved fingers gently grasped your chin, pulling your face from its sanctuary: "Baby... Fuck, I can't believe it." His eyes searched your face for any sign of unease. He could find nothing but pure joy: "You found me. I searched for you, Joel Miller, for 16 years. And you found me." 

Joel let out a breathy chuckle, cut off as you captured his lips in a velvety kiss. At first, it was chaste.— A silent admission of consolation, twenty years in the making. You ran your tongue across his bottom lip, prompting him to groan as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. After a moment, a loud cough erupted from behind you. You reluctantly pull away, your forehead resting against his. Your hands cupped his cheeks, eyes glassy with relief and adoration: "After all this time?" Joel leans forward to place a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth, "Would wait forever f'you, Darlin'." 

© 2023 fragilefable do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

divider by @saradika

[southern-fried-simpin]

We Belong Dead| Alastor x Dead Wife!Reader

A/n: Hey everyone I know it’s been a LONG time since I’ve written something and I’m sorry it’s not DC related but I finished Hazbin with my fiancée MONTHS AGO and I’ve been wanting to write Alastor soooo bad! With all of that being said, let it be known that I do NOT condone or agree with any of the questionable actions and opinions of Vivienne Medrano, but I DO enjoy this show and a lot of the characters.

Warning(s): Floofy but suggestive, Alastor “using” reader and reader just kind of going along with it, mentions of murder, sad at first, human Alastor and reader mentioned, temporary unrequited love, Demi romantic Alastor, Alastor because he’s…Alastor, mentions of marriage, canon divergence, suicide, death, loooooong introduction and plot h🫠

“Mama, we’re gonna get married!”

Alastor had decided that you were both ready for marriage in the middle of the school yard and decided to announce this as his mother came to pick him up.

His mother feigned shock as she started to playfully chide him.

“You can’t just marry some girl you met on the first day of school!”

Alastor kept his arms around you as you both giggled and showed his mother the ribbon he had tied around your finger.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed.

“Obviously you two are very serious about this! How about we have your fiancée over for dinner after school one day so I can get to know her better, hm?”

Despite Alastor never having that wedding ceremony with you on the playground, you both remained close all the way up until you graduated high school. After that, you went your separate ways.

Several years later, when Alastor bumped into you as you were leaving the corner store one day, you ended up talking to him for hours. After which, you had started getting together more often. Eating out, going to shows, drinking and having fun together.

Somewhere along the way, however, having fun together turned into going on dates together. Going on dates turned into staying up late talking for hours about anything and everything, and lovely gifts.

One such gift being your engagement ring.

Looking back on it now, you don’t know how or why you thought it was normal for a man to propose after 6 months.

On the outside, Alastor was the husband that every woman dreamed of. He helped you clean and cook, he never raised his voice, and he always bragged about you. On the inside however, something felt stiff. Tense. Off.

Alastor rarely ever initiated kisses, he barely touched you, and he disappeared in the middle of the night rather frequently.

After he was killed, it all made sense. You weren’t his wife so much as you were his alibi. Who would have thought the vicious killer that buried his victims on a hunting ground had a wife waiting at home? A wife who, despite what everyone believed, was oblivious to his crimes. It didn’t matter, though. In a matter of days, you lost your job, your friends, and your peace of mind. In the weeks that came to pass, you slowly lost your mind and your will to live as well.

You died in your sleep after taking a cocktail of pills with a glass of brandy. The police found you in bed wearing your most expensive nightgown, your hair neatly styled, and makeup done perfectly.

Just like before, time had gone on, and your time in hell had been quite interesting. Maybe even a bit enjoyable if you were being honest. The old saying rang true: Hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned. Your arrival in Hell was a testament to that.

Armed with your broken heart and raw, stinging rage, you made a home for yourself and began your own business. Anyone who got in your way was sliced open with the very weapons you sold. You were very aware of Alastor’s presence, but made no effort to contact him. He had no idea you were here, either.

That changed a few days ago.

Who should you see while on an outing in Cannibal Town but your darling husband. He looked different, but you recognized him almost immediately. He offered to walk with you and followed you even after you declined. Every day after that, he miraculously ran into you everywhere you went. He was relentless in trying to get your attention. He would try to talk to you and when you ignored him, he would carry on speaking like it was nothing. Today you finally cracked when he invited you to come to a hotel. The Hazbin Hotel, specifically.

“Why?”

“Well, I thought I might show you this little…business venture…I’ve been working on recently! After all, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my lovely wi-“

“Don’t call me that.” You spat.

His smile never faltered, but his eyes held a look of momentary discomfort.

“Ah, and here we are!” Alastor pointed his staff towards the building in front of you. It looked like some place from when you were alive, except old and decrepit.

Ever the gentleman, Alastor held the door for you as you walked in before he followed suit. Not 5 minutes passed before a woman with long silver hair angrily stomped in your direction.

“Alastor! Where have y-,” she paused when she noticed you by his side, “who…who the fuck is this?” A blonde was following close behind her.

“I’m glad you asked!” Alastor’s smile broadened. He proceeded to introduce you as his beloved wife to everyone in the room, and then introduced them to you, completely ignoring the looks of shock and awe on their faces. Before anyone else in the room could speak, Alastor hastily took your hand.

“Now, if you excuse us, we have some things to discuss.” With that, you and Alastor promptly dissolved into a shadowy mist.

The lobby was silent then as everyone stared at where Alastor and you once stood.

“Ssso…that was weird for everyone elsse too…right?”

Meanwhile, upstairs, Alastor turned after carefully locking the door to his room.

“Now, I suppose I owe you an explana—“, he was cut off by a resounding smack when your hand connected with his cheek. Alastor’s head turned with a sharp snap. He stood completely still there for a moment, eyes wide and smile looking painfully forced. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve been dead by now, but you? Well…he always liked how feisty you were. Alastor cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Alright…”, he said while turning to face you. “I probably deserved that…”

“You deserve a lot worse than that actually, but go on.”

“I know, and I can’t…” Alastor suddenly felt unsure of what to say. Granted, The Radio Demon was not one for heartfelt apologies (or any apologies for that matter) but if anyone deserved one from him, it was you. Yet, there he stood: the feared Radio Demon, lost for words at your mere presence.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” You finally said. “What I suffered because of you?!”

Alastor offered no response.

“What FUCKING-“ you paused as tears began to well in your eyes. Your face red and splotchy and your lips quivering as you started to sob.

“You lied to me-“

“I did.”

“You used me!”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me!”

“I do.”

And that gave you pause. Had he loved you? Really loved you? No. It had to be a lie. He couldn’t possibly-

“I know I can’t make up for everything I did and everything that happened…” Alastor said while walking towards you. When he stopped, just a few inches from you, you had to look up at him. Alastor was taller than you in life, but now he towered over you. He gently took your hand in his. “But I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying…for you.”

You watched as he gently kissed your fingers. With tears in your eyes and an uneven breath, you laid your head on his chest.

You missed him. You tried not to miss him, but you did and there was no use in denying it anymore.

“One chance,” you finally said. “That’s all you get.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

You looked up at Alastor and locked eyes with him briefly. The feared Radio Demon wanted nothing more right now than a chance to have you back. His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes before he dipped you low. To anyone else, it would be an over-the-top gesture, but to you? Oh, how his theatrics made you blush and swoon.

“So…what do you say, darling?” He leaned in closer, almost touching his forehead to yours.

“Do we have a deal?~”

You raised a brow at his words.

He chuckled then.

“Ah, I apologize for my poor choice of words. What I meant was: May I have the honor of courting you, my dear?”

Your eyes softened and you smiled up at him.

“Yes, darling.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

never cared much for stuff

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘stuff’

rated t | 483 words | cw: temporary character death, mourning | tags: love realizations, Eddie Munson lives, getting together, first kiss

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

He’s never really been the type to find a connection with stuff. He has things that have meaning, just as anyone does, but nothing that matters so much that he’d die if it went missing or got destroyed.

Until Eddie’s necklace.

He’d grabbed it before they left the Upside Down, just after Dustin screamed about bringing his body back with them until he lost his voice.

If this was all he had, if this is the only piece of Eddie he was bringing back, he’d treasure it.

And then he remembered he had Eddie’s vest on. Another thing. More stuff.

Dustin had taken a ring. When, Steve didn’t know.

Stuff started to mean more, or at least this stuff did.

He cleaned the necklace, the vest, made sure nothing was broken, no patches missing. He kept the vest in his closet, scared to even let others know he had it. He wore the necklace, but kept it hidden under his shirt if he was around others.

He cried every single night. Even the nights Robin was with him. Even when Dustin insisted on spending the night for almost a week straight. Even when he spent two nights in a row with Max in the hospital because no one else could.

He didn’t know why, didn’t quite understand why he felt a pull like this for someone he barely knew. He felt ashamed that he wasn’t able to let this go.

Steve was stronger than this. He had to be.

—

On the one year anniversary of Eddie’s death, Steve is certain of two things.

One: He is and will probably always be in love with Eddie Munson.

Two: Eddie Munson is alive and standing in his bedroom.

The first thing is a bit easier to swallow with the second thing being true.

Steve reaches for the necklace hanging against his bare chest, lets his fingers run over the carved initials that were almost worn down to nothing from his fidgeting.

“That looks good on you,” Eddie’s hoarse voice said, so low Steve was almost convinced he imagined it. “You got any more of my stuff or do I get to keep staring at you mostly naked?”

This is what Steve’s been picturing for so long. He’s pretty sure he’s not dreaming, but he pinches his arm anyway.

“How?”

“Wish I had a single clue, sweetheart.”

He looked normal. No blood. No visible injuries.

He looked like he walked out of there with them a year ago and washed the grime and trauma down the shower drain.

“I don’t understand.”

“Me either. But maybe we don’t have to understand.”

“I dunno. I think we should probably try,” Steve felt like he’d maybe finally lost it.

“Someone else can. I’d just like to kiss you.”

Steve could let someone else figure it out. He was gonna kiss the love of his life until they did.

[gay-dorito-dust]

possession au reader actually clapping tf back when Ford returns and is like “Oh yeah, you know that dream demon? That you summoned way back when and failed to run by me for some reason? Yeah, I trust you can put two and two together, smart guy.” they spit out that last part.

I can see reader bringing up the fact that if Ford has actually payed attention to what the paintings on the cave wall, Bill wouldn’t have been able to possess them nor the portal would’ve ever been an thing, at least that’s what reader thinks.

‘YOU WERE THE ONE WHO BROUGHT BILL HERE FORD!’ You snapped, ‘YOU BROUGHT HIM HERE BECAUSE YOUR EGO WAS A FRAGILE AS GLASS! YOU COULDN’T BREAK THROUGH YOUR RESEARCH AND INSTEAD SUMMONED A DEMON YOU WERE WARNED NOT TO!’ You were sick and tired of the ridicule your character has undergone for thirty years, you found it insulting when you weren’t the one to have summoned the freak in the first place!

You refused to be the scapegoat for a family who couldn’t see their own flaws and accept that maybe they were indeed the problem.

‘What-‘

‘IM NOT FINISHED!’ You cut Ford off with a shout, glaring at him as the rest of the family was stunned to silence. ‘YOU’RE AT FAULT HERE STANFORD PINES BECAUSE HAS YOU ACTUALLY LISTEN TO YOUR COMMIN SENSE, if you even had any to begin with, THEN MAYBE YOU WOULDN’T HAVE WASTED THIRTY YEARS OF YOUR PATHETIC LIFE FOR SOMETHING SO TEMPORARY!’you added as you extenuated your anger and frustration in the form of a few well placed pokes to his chest.

‘Hey that’s not fair-‘ Stanley tried to intervene but you looked at him with a glare that silenced him immediately.

‘I wouldn’t start talking if I were you Stanley Pines because I’m just about as sick to death of you as I am your six fingered brother.’ You spat venomously but now your voice was as calm and level that it made the tension worse as though ever was waiting for you to snap again.

‘Blame me for your faults that you know are yours, blame me for every wrongdoing you’ve ever done but it won’t take away the fact that you are the one who committed the crime.’ You had the room and you knew it because you can tell they were trying to come up with something, anything to shift blame on to you but were failing massively as Stan and Ford’s mouths opened and closed like a fishes. ‘The monster is in this room and it wears human skin.’ You finished, letting them know that forgiveness was the last thing you wanted from them, you went thirty years without anything but blame, ridicule and deformation against your character.

You wanted to see them beg and plead for mercy that will never come, not even in death.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Oct 16th

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1. Hello! I would like to reread a story but forgot the title. It’s a fix-it I think lan zhan was thrown back in time in CR study arc and wei ying saw it because there’s a light and he hear a shout then Lan Zhan was unconscious. Thank you so much

FOUND? in a dream, i was home by thelastdboy (M, 25k, WangXian, POV LWJ, Canon Divergence, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Time Travel Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Different First Meeting, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Sentient Burial Mounds, CSSR and WCZ Live, Families of Choice, Protective LWJ, Everybody Lives, Temporary Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Golden Core Reveal, Fluff, Developing Relationship, Wen Remnants Live, WQ Lives, WN Lives, No Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX)

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2. Hi I saw someone ask this here but never saw the fic. I'm looking for a fic, It's where lwj leave the sect gives money and valuables to the wen remnants and lxc ask for rabbit as some kind of compensation. Op said some girls were braiding lwj hair by the end being vain and lan sect saw this. Thank you so much I hope you help me

FOUND?🔒Unpack Your Heart by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 22k, wangxian, Romance, Everybody Lives, Canon Divergence, LWJ Has Feelings, Protective LWJ, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Wangxian in Love, YLLZ WWX, Lan Clan Elders are Assholes, Minor Transgender Character, Qiongqi Path Divergence, LWJ loves his bunnies)

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3. hi there!!! this is for the next fic finder. i am looking for a twt threadfic which had wwx and lwj as academic rivals. i really don't remember much of it except there was a moment where lwj says smth really mean to wwx after he got lesser marks than him, and wwx starts crying a bit (???) and lwj is like Oh No What Have I Done. that was the last update that i read and idek if there's more or not. can anyone help?

thank you everyone!!

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4. I am trying to find a Fic where Lan Zhan goes to Lotus Pier to ruin them for being rejected. He learns that Wei Ying never rejected him but Madum Yu did. She is punished and Lan zhan asks Jiang Yanli permission to marry Wei ying.

FOUND? Warrior Prince by QteCuttlfish (M, 3k, WangXian, Threats of Rape/Non-Con Angst with a Happy Ending, Omega Verse, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Implied Mpreg, Not Canon Compliant)

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5. Hi! I’m looking for this modern college E fic where WWX is like a tatted punk and he overhears that LWJ is basically a sex god who didn’t do seconds. He hears that LWJ is into a guy in his department with last name Wei and confronts him. They bone and he sees that LWJ has a nip piercing and a tattoo that WWX designed a while ago tysmia

FOUND? So I love you because I know no other way than this by Trueredhearts (E, 20k, WangXian, Modern AU, CSSR and WCZ Live, College/University, Tattoos, Nipple Piercings, Genital Piercing, Law Student!LWJ, Engineering Student!WWX, Childhood Friends, Explicit Sexual Content, Graduate School)

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6. Hi 👋 a ff where lan Zhan give wei Ying name wei Wuxian. Wei Ying lock BS in her mountain. Wei Ying Sect leader. BM all clear. JC lock his parents. Save XY . Wei Ying make JGY Sect leader of jin . Yiling best city. Control world . Slap Tham in there language. @richie-234

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7. Hello I'm looking for a fic where wwx is a god, a prince to be exact. He meets lwj while visiting. I think they get betrothed but lwj does not know his real identity. I think by the end wwx and his entire family came down an while they were in line he was waving at lwj.

FOUND? cloudy autumn heaps the sky by anatheme (T, 23k, WangXian, Fantasy, Universe Alteration, Secret Identity, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Timeline What Timeline, wwx is a little older here, wwx piling gifts on lwj and encouraging hoarding tendencies, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Arranged Marriage)

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8. Fic finder plz!

LQR owns a cat cafe and LWJ and LXC are like very pretty ragdoll cats and WWX is this gremlin sphinx cat that eventually wins over LWJ.

LQR isn’t happy about this though and has JC keep WWX locked up so he can’t come and bother LWJ but it all ends happy. I’ve tried searching cat LWJ and cat WWX and nothing comes up. Help! 😭😭

FOUND! allopatry by Anonymous (T, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, Cats, not in a catboy sense they're actual cats, wwx's propensity for annoying lqr transcends species, codependent cats as a catalyst for, lqr + jiang sibs friendship) I searched cat Cafe 🐈 😻

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9. Hi! I'm looking for a fic similar to one I read called play fighting where Lan Qiren had adopted Wei Wuxian and they grew up together. Or like where Wei Ying ends up growing up in the Lan sect and he and Lan Zhan are like childhood friends or super close growing up.

FOUND? 藍色的花，紅色的蘭 {Lan se de hua, hongse de lan} by Admiranda, AshayaTReldai (M, 45k, WIP, WangXian, Orphan WWX, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, wwx raised in the lan clan, softer lqr, Good Uncle LQR, Good lan clan, Good Older Sibling LXC)

FOUND? 🔒 Life is Like a Stranger by through_shadows_falling (T, 69k, wangxian, Kid Fic, Child LWJ, Child WWX, First Meetings, Canon Divergence, Cute Kids, Orphan WWX, Autism Spectrum, Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Canon, POV LWJ, Growing Up Together, WWX raised at Cloud Recesses, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Puberty, Growing Up, Coming Out, teenage angst, Wet Dream, Pining, This fic gets a little raunchier as the kids become teens, But it won’t get too explicit, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Spanish Translation, Brief mentions/moments of WWX kissing others in chapter 22 but only on the cheek, also characters kiss WWX on the cheek in chapter 23, but his real first kiss is with LWJ, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian)

FOUND? 🧡 All will be well when the day is done by abCEE (T, 76k, WangXIan, Canon Divergence, Fix It, Not Jiang Family Friendly, JFM & YZY Bashing, Fix it for our main characters, Time Travel, Butterfly Effect, Madam Lan Lives, No Sunshot Campaign, Artistic License, Unreliable Narrator, JC Bashing, non-yunmeng WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Good Uncle LQR, OOC, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, WWX gets the love and care that he deserves from the very beginning, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiangs, verbal and physical (c/o Zidian) abuse from YZY)

FOUND? safe here with me by xcourtney_chaoticx (G, 3k, WangXian, Family Feels, Good Uncle LQR, WWX Goes to Gusu, Fluff, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Food Issues, Endgame WangXian)

FOUND? soft-hearted by sarahyyy (G, 6k, wangxian, alternate universe, childhood friends, hurt/comfort, getting together, first kiss, wedding fluff)

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10. Hello! I'm looking for this wangxian fic I don't remember the name, but it's based on a song by Olivia Rodrigo, there is no happy ending between wangxian 💔

FOUND?🔒 drivers license by AG1234VL (T, 11k, WangXian, WangMian, WWX/Other, Breakup, Hurt No Comfort, slight comfort, Non-Chronological, Song fic, Crying WWX, Driving, breakup weight gain, Lots of Crying, Angst, Modern AU, Homophobia, from lqr, wangxian breakup)

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11. Hi, I'm looking for a fic i read some time ago but i can't seem to find. Basically the great sects had isolated themselves for sometime and WRH still tried to burn CR but the Lan won that war , alone i think, and like they demanded a war prize/hostage/concubine? and YMJ with the other twos support , i think, sent WWX for the Lan's leader LWJ who was surprised by WWX's very feminine and very much marriage robes. So the Jiang and the Jin and the Nie got it wrong but LWJ lets him stay, I think it's been a while and they fall in love for real and LWJ reveals that his brother has been in a coma for some time. Anyway WX went to the Crowd hunt the Jin are trowing and YZY got very angry at like WWX being at her level socially, the spouse of a sect leader and then WX went home and LXC woke up and that's all i know because the fic had like 26/28/20 something chapters in total and it was a WIP and only one or two chpaters left till it was done. I don't know if it is still a WIP. @secretartquotes

FOUND? golden when the day met the night by glitteringmoonlight (Not rated, 95k, slow burn, sugar daddy LWJ, light, angst, fluff, developing relationship, eventual smut, WIP)

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12. Hello, thank you for your page.English is not my first language, so I'm using a translator .Wei Ying is a web novel writer, from a fairly prestigious academy. The web novel he writes is quite popular. He was hired for a reality TV show/music competition as a translator. In the end, he also ends up as a contestant because there are not enough competitors. Every week he tells the public to eliminate him because he's just there as filler. Lan Zhan, I think he's a music coach in the reality TV show @lilassoleil

FOUND! 🧡 I Don't Want to Debut! by countingcr0ws (G, 56k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reality show, Idols, Actor LWJ, Forced Contestant WWX, Tencent's 2021 Idol Producer)

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13. Hello! First, I really love the work you do. I'm looking for a fic I read and can't find it anymore. So it's Modern AU, set in high school. Wei Ying is a cheerleader who likes wearing skirts and Lan Zhan is athletic. They didn't like eachother if I'm not wrong but had a contractual relationship like fake dating(I think). The fic had beautiful fan art and in one of them Wei Ying wore a crop top and a cheerleader skirt. Thank you in advance. @mamaladeskies

FOUND! drop the game by martyrsdaughter (E, 28k, wangxian, modern, romantic comedy, fake/pretend relationship, sports, cheerleaders, flirting, sexual tension, dom/sub undertones, compulsory heterosexuality, crossdressing, dub con, under-negotiated kink, consensual non-con)

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14. The fic has Jiang Cheng preserving Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli's body, a magical plant and coffin used. this was a oneshot on ao3. but Wei Wuxian definitely had and older sibling vibe when he got suspicious on what Jiang Cheng was doing. @eclipse-summer

I remember some more details, it was a two-shot, and the magical plant was a mushroom.

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15. Hey, kinda a weird req, but I’m trying to find this wangxian fic where WW pretty much manages to get a dildo stick in his butt, and then he an LW have to go to the hospital to get it removed. Think it was modern au. Tysm for the help!

FOUND? can you feel it by lanzhancore (E, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Awkward Sexual Situations, Established Relationship, Hospitals, Slice of Life, Fluff and Humor, Idiot Lovers, Crack Treated Seriously)

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16. Hiii, for the next fic finder, there was a wei ying/lan zhan fic where they had a relationship around shibari + bondage and nhs tricked wy into walking right up to lz at a party and asking him to tie him up - it turned out that lz had always been super exclusive he had just been pining for wy from afar and agreed to do it and the rest is beautifully written, emotionally literate history. I read it about 17 thousand times but didn't bookmark or download it like a fool!! If its been deleted, does anyone know if the author is fine with people privately sharing? @lockandkeay

FOUND! Ember burning low by wanderingflame (E, 62k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, BDSM, Dominant LWJ, Submissive WWX, Bottom LWJ, Kink Negotiation, Kink Exploration, Sensation Play, Kneeling, Rope Bondage, Aftercare, Non-Sexual D/s scenes, Non-Sexual Submission, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Public Scene (Non-Sexual), Minor Retrograde Amnesia, safe words, Use of Safe Words, JC is not the most understanding when it comes to BDSM, Orgasm Delay, Porn with Feelings)

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17. Hi!! Hoping that you can help me coz I’m really desperate rn 🥹🤧. I’m looking for a Xichen x Jiang Cheng fanfic where they had a daughter but lxc didn’t know cos he was in seclusion after the death of meng yao and when he got out of seclusion he help this little girl on the streets and the girl brought him to lotus pier to thank him and that’s when he found out the girl was Jiang Chengs daughter. 🥹 I’ve been looking for this everywhere but I can’t find it, please help me 😭🙏. Thank youuu @zosansss-blog

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18. Hiiiii! I hope you all are well! Boy it’s been a long time since I was here. I finally learned how to bookmark so I was not losing track *that* much, but today I was bored and tried to channel my inner MY/JGY and read at work. (Without logging to my account because i don’t want to give my co-workers another reason to think I am crazy).

But back to reason, i need your help lovelies. I am looking for a fic. LQR can read music and he bumped into NMJ and he heard the Turmoil song. He thinks LXC is poisoning him so he goes and ask WWX for help and basically it was a major Canon Divergence. That is where i had to close the tab. I would really appreciate all the help. THANK YOU!!

FOUND? Polyphonic by nirejseki (Not Rated, 14k, NMJ/LXC, WangXian, LXC & LQR & LWJ, WIP, odd abilities, Family Drama, Investigations)

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19. Hi! I'm looking for a fic where the best way I can describe it is WWX has a magic sex toy that is keyed into his own body which LWJ then confiscates and later uses not knowing it's keyed to WWX. I believe it's during the CR arc but not sure how the fic was tagged so haven't been able to pull it up and I don't remember much beyond that. Thanks for all you do!

FOUND? 🔒 The Golden Cutsleeve by syrus_jones (E, 77k, WangXian, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Aged-Up Character(s), WWX POV, WWX is a gremlin, Internally Screaming LWJ, No Sunshot Campaign, First Times, Accidental Sex, Masturbation, PWP, Porn with Feelings, WWX experimenting with things he shouldn’t like always, Happy Ending, Porn With Plot)

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20. Hi! Thank you for your hard work! I'm looking for 2 fics today, but I really want to find the first one. A) It's arranged marriage fic, LWJ is some sort of royalty. After the wedding (I think?) WWX is sent to live in a separate palace (?) He and the Wens (I can't remember why they're there) start a farm to make money (and have food?) to fix up the palace which I think was in some state of disrepair. Eventually he LWJ notices and starts to send gifts and such. I feel like there's something about a dragonfruit? But maybe that's a different fic?

B) The second one I'm looking for is a modern mob au, wwx asks lwj to watch a plant and then disappears for a year, or something like that. I'm sure I probably found it on here, but I must be overlooking it @iluvshikamaru

Hi! 20a is definitely sowing seeds in the cold palace! Thank you so much, it was driving me crazy!

20b is not lightning in a bottle, but it was a delight to read so ty for the suggestion! I seem to remember that jc shows up to kidnap lz at some point, and that lz was also part of the mob/mafia but has retired from it?

20A)

NOT FOUND! The Legend of Moonflower by JJSIN2020 (E, 135k, wangxian, 3zun, A/B/O, Emperor LWJ, LWJ FUCKS, he has a whole harem of male omegas so of course he does, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Beta LXC, Omega JC, Omega XY, Omega XXC, omega SS, Omega OYZZ, Beta NHS, Mpreg, Wolves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Imperial China, Character Death, Fighting, Blood)

FOUND! 我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

20B)

NOT FOUND! lightning in a bottle by bigbabyjeno (E, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Photographer LWJ, Wedding Crasher WWX, Erotic Palm Reading, Fluff and Smut) fun fact I remembered the fic and that it was a ficus plant and the fic came up when I searched ficus 🤣

FOUND! See What I've Become by Vamillepudding (T, 24k, WangXian, Mob, YLLZ WWX, Hurt/Comfort, LWJ Needs a Hug, Sickfic, Protective WWX)

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[nimonabigbang]

dawn cracks the dark

Written by Vee | @rosemary-frog

Art by Sparrow | @unironicallyresurrected

For as long as Ambrosius could remember, his mother has kept him locked away in a tower for his own safety — until one day, when he strikes up a deal with an outcasted thief and his shapeshifting sidekick to take him to go see the floating lanterns he had always dreamed of.

Art by Sam | @samuell-art | https://samuell.straw.page/

Content warnings and additional tags below the cut:

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandoms: Nimona (2023), Nimona (Webcomic)

Relationships: Ballister Blackheart | Ballister Boldheart/Ambrosius Goldenloin, Ballister Blackheart | Ballister Boldheart & Nimona, Ambrosius Goldenloin & Nimona, Ballister Blackheart | Ballister Boldheart & Ambrosius Goldenloin & Nimona, The Director & Ambrosius Goldenloin

Characters: Ballister Blackheart | Ballister Boldheart, Ambrosius Goldenloin, Nimona (Nimona), The Director (Nimona), Meredith Blitzmeyer, Original Characters

Additional Tags: Nimona Big Bang 2024 (Nimona), Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, Inspired by Tangled (2010), References to Tangled (2010), Adventure & Romance, Fluff and Angst, Temporary Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Child Abuse, Gaslighting, Brainwashing, Child Abduction, Childhood Friends, Magic, False Identity, Slow Burn, Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, characters may be pretty ooc just because of the story change lol, they are not having a very fun time, POV Ambrosius Goldenloin, POV Ballister Blackheart | Ballister Boldheart, Trichotillomania, i know i have another fic about it but its not the main focus here so i'm allowed

Words: 6,224

Chapters: 1/5

[buddierecs]

eddie diaz centric buddie fics

all mature rating!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by: withmeornotatall "eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia" word count: 43k important tags: time loop au, minor buck/natalia, heavy angst, love confessions eddie diaz vs the pta agenda by: mmtion "really, eddie doesn’t care that the pta aren’t his biggest fan. he knows he misses too many meetings, and it’s not like he’s best friends with any of the other parents. it doesn’t affect christopher, so it doesn’t bother him. he’ll pay for the annual fundraising mugs and consider his duty done. but then buck picks christopher up from a class trip and it all goes to hell. like, of course buck is everyone’s dream guy. he’s responsible with kids, and kind, and funny and interesting and hot to touch. that’s obvious. but now eddie’s fighting to keep the pta moms, teachers, and dads, all off an unsuspecting and tempting buck. because eddie is a good friend. right?" word count: 19k important tags: idiots in love, jealous!eddie diaz, oblivious!eddie diaz a thousand ways to say i hate you by: morganofthefairies "five times eddie buys taylor fuck-you flowers, and one time he doesn't need to." word count: 8k important tags: 5+1 things, awkward dates, minor eddie/ana, minor buck/taylor, petty!eddie diaz, pining!eddie diaz light me and i'll burn for you by: woodchoc_magnum "in which an old friend of buck's joins the 118, and eddie does not like him. at all." word count: 31k important tags: mutual pining, soft!eddie diaz, oblivious!evan buckley, team as family save me from the man i've become by: woodchoc_magnum "told through eddie's eyes as he grows up with his uniquely overbearing parents, and gradually learns to accept himself for who he really is." word count: 20k important tags: self-acceptance, angst, growing up, soft!eddie diaz, pre-relationship, getting together love leaves a little runway by: toomanybats "eddie has a problem. a big, huge, ridiculous, gorgeous, mouth-watering problem. evan buckley, man of his dreams and bane of his existence has just arrived at the park wearing a crop top." word count: 8.7k important tags: fluff, pining, getting together, first time wherever you roam (you'll always want me) by: okanus "eddie starts to untangle his complicated feelings about himself, and buck. mainly buck." word count: 28k important tags: character study, catholic guilt, sexuality crisis, slow burn, jealous!eddie diaz, pining tell me about despair by: hattalove "the entity often affectionately referred to as the unrepression fic." word count: 148k important tags: therapy, ptsd, heavy angst, communication, feelings realisation, friends to lovers, slow burn

baby, you look happier (you do) by: frxm_theashes "five times eddie sees buck happy with someone else, and one time he realizes that buck is happy with him (and that, maybe, eddie is allowed to be happy with buck too). word count: 19k important tags: temporary buck/tommy, jealous!eddie diaz, catholic guilt, internalised homophobia, pining, getting together, making out

the persistence of memory by: withmeornotatall "buck gets shot, eddie has to keep reliving the day until he can figure out what the universe is trying to tell him" word count: 58k important tags: time loop, eddie diaz pov, angst, hurt/comfort, temporary character death, gay disaster!eddie diaz, make outs, gun violence

when i was shipwrecked (i thought of you) by: catchingpapermoons "eddie needs to learn how to let himself feel, and one step at a time, he learns how to do just that. (and he falls in love with buck along the way.) word count: 35k friends to lovers, didn't know they were dating, getting together, panic attacks, angst with a happy ending.

[strangersteddierthings]

No Regrets - Part One

Content Warning: mentions of main character deaths but these are temporary because this is a time travel two-to-four-shot and so, they start dead but then get better :3 Also maybe a whiplash warning? In that it starts off kind of dark for a story that's pretty light-hearted in the end.

Here's the first part of the threatened season 4 AU time travel fic where Steve gets thrown back to the moment in family video when Dustin and Max show up demanding the phones. Previously he was 5 years into a grueling apocalypse.

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

Steve has lived his life in regret. Replaying scenarios in his head over and over late at night when sleep eludes him. And sleep is always eluding him these days, weeks, past five years. Steve hasn't known a day without regret since the day they failed to kill Vecna, the day Max almost died. The day Eddie did.

It's five years to the day today.

Steve spends endless nights thinking about how he'd change that spring break. It was the start of the end of everything. Eddie's death wasn't world ending for Steve. It was the end of a what-if. A maybe. But for Dustin. Oh God, Dustin. Who had blamed himself for Eddie's death, who was broken and then never able to get time to recover. To grieve.

Dustin, who pulled away from everyone, from Steve, because of it.

He's not dead, Steve knows, because he still hears his voice on the radio. Separated from the group but vital to their survival. He spread intel on Demo-creature movements, where safe spaces are, news from across the broken and destroyed America, and how to survive the hellscape.

There have been losses. Terrible, tragic losses.

Murray Baughman. Lucas Sinclair. Karen and Holly Wheeler. Will Byers. And those are just the ones he knows. A lot of people scattered to the wind when Hawkins became overran with the Upside Down and its creatures.

He's still two days out on this supply run. Two more days and he'll get to know who is still around. Who they lost this time. It's not always someone they know, but the horrors never cease, and Steve's been gone a total of three weeks.

"Hey," Robin breaks him from his thoughts as she leans over to whisper in his ear, "since you're gonna daydream, you might as well actually dream. Scouts say it'll be a while before we can continue moving."

"I'm not daydreaming, I'm thinking."

"Well, be sleeping instead. You'll be more useful with some rest," Robin pats her shoulder, inviting him to lean his head against it.

"Don't use my weakness against me. You know I love being useful," Steve sighs as he drops his head onto her shoulder.

"I know. It makes you easy to manipulate," Robin teases. He can hear the smile in her voice. "Now, shut up and sleep."

Steve grumbles under his breath. No real words, just grumpy noises as he does shift and get as comfortable as he can leaned against Robin. He is tired, and with nothing else he can be doing, he won't feel too guilty about it.

He closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden brightness of the sun shining through the glass storefront of Family Video. Usually when he dreams of the past, the sun's never this bright. It's been years since he's seen the sun at all, with the red-black sky of the Upside Down looming above them constantly.

He takes a deep breath, basking in the fresh(ish) air of Family Video. How long has it been since he's taken a breath without his mouth covered by a mask, bandana, some cloth or another? Well, he's not really breathing without a mask on, his conscious self has one on, but it still feels good to fill his lungs and release. He has half a mind to jump the counter and go outside to repeat that; see if his unconscious mind will provide a difference in the air, if it remembers enough to do so.

"Hey Steve," Dustin says as he is stepping through the doors with Max at his side. It's then that Steve takes in where the dream has started. The doors have just opened, and Steve's looking partially over his shoulder, towards the doors instead of the TV as it plays the news of Chrissy's death on the screen. The world fades back into motion, instead of the slowness the beginning of his dream started as Dustin finishes his question, "how many phones do you have?"

"Are you seeing this?" Steve asks on autopilot, playing out the scene he knows, but he holds off from stating the someone was murdered part. He's tired of saying it.

"How many phones do you have?" Dustin asks with more urgency.

Steve takes in Dustin and Max while Robin explains the phone situation. It's been so fucking long since he's seen Dustin. Since Max was able to see him. God. He can't let this play out like normal. It's not going to fix reality, he knows that logically, but what would it hurt to live out his fantasy of getting a re-do while he dreams? Wasn't that what he was thinking about while awake?

He tunes back into the conversation when Dustin shoves his backpack across the counter, and then himself. Instead of whining about the tapes, he reaches for the pen and notepad they keep close to the till. "Hey, what's this about?"

"Max, fill them in while I do this," Dustin replies.

Max turns to him and Robin, who is eyeing both Steve and Max but listening. Max explains what Steve already knows. The lights going crazy, Eddie fleeing his own home, and that it might be Upside Down related.

There's a script here. Responses he has memorized because of how often he dreams this moment over and over. An answer Steve usually gives, but this time he finds he can hold his tongue. He doesn't have to speak. Doesn't have to follow the script.

"Okay," Steve says instead. "Dustin, what's the number for the Byers now?

Surprisingly, that actually pulls Dustin from the computer. He spins on the stool to give Steve a confused look. "What? Why?"

If he's being honest with himself, he's never really had this much control over his dreams before. Having this control makes him want to do all the things he's daydreamed about. To change the choices that fill him with regret and guilt. "I want to leave a message for Jonathan," Steve lies, "or talk to him if he's home. Give him a heads up that Upside Down shit might be going on again."

Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, suspicious, "Jonathan?"

"Yeah. Jonathan," Steve says in his bitchiest voice. "Number, dude."

He can tell Dustin doesn't fully believe the lie, but he recites the number anyway.

"Thanks," Steve says as he scoots around Robin and heads to Keith's office to use the phone there. The first thing he does is call the police station and let them know that he saw Eddie Munson at Rick Lipton's place, up by Lover's Lake on Holland Road. The lady who answered starts to ask questions, Steve just says he recognized the trailer on TV as the Munson's and hangs up. He'll swing by later once everyone else has pieced together the Rick Lipton part of this all themselves. If Eddie's still there, he'll drag him to the station himself.

'Cause the thing is, Steve has thought of many scenarios. So many. And even if nothing else changes, this is the bit that will. Eddie cannot be killed in the Upside Down if he is in a jail cell instead. And if the police do follow up on his tip, then they'll take Eddie in for questioning before Fred dies. And that's.

Well.

Steve's living through the end of the world and that changes people. It's changed Steve. Once there would have been a time when allowing someone to die, knowing it was going to happen and not stopping it, would have filled Steve with guilt, regret, maybe even some self-loathing. But Steve's made enough sacrifices for this town. Lost enough of the people he loves to be jaded. Maybe even cruel. If Fred has to die to prove that Eddie didn't do it, then that's what will happen.

His next step is to call the Byers. It surprises him that Joyce actually answers with a hesitant hello. That never happens in the dreams.

"Joyce. I mean, Ms. Byers. It's Steve. Uhh, Steve Harrington," he says.

"Oh. Hello Steve. What, uh, what can I do for you?" Joyce's voice is still hesitant.

"Listen, the Upside Down is back. Or, like, it was never gone? I don't know. But I needed to tell you."

"Oh my God," Joyce sounds horrified, and Steve can hear Murray in the background asking questions. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Vec- sorry, it has already killed a girl. Max was a witness. Well, of the aftermath. But that's not important. What I need is for you to tell El that she's never been a monster and never will be. That everything has been the fault of One. And I think you should tell her Hopper is alive and you're going to rescue him."

There's not an immediate answer. A rustling sound and then faint voices he can't make out. She must be covering the phone with her hand as she and Murray talk. Or argue, knowing Murray. After a moment, Murray's voice comes through the line, "How do we know you are who you say you are?"

It's followed by Joyce shouting, "How do you know about Hopper?" and Murray quickly shushing her and some shuffling noises before Joyce says, "Okay. We're both listening."

"Look, I know you have no reason to believe me so I'll give you something that might serve as proof that I know things I shouldn't. When everyone gets back from the roller rink, be there for El. She's going to- to have a bad night, because of a girl that's been, like, bullying her at school. Then, I need you to get them headed this way tomorrow morning, because you gotta be gone then, too, but like. Be there for El tonight. There will be an incident involving a roller skate. So, if you believe me, call me back after that."

"How do we know you're who you claim to be, Steve?" Murray questions again, while Joyce says, horrified, "El's been being bullied?"

"I can't exactly prove I'm me. But call my house tonight after you've spoken to El and I'll answer. That's the best I can do. I... I don't know if Jonathan or Mike have my number, but Mike can call home and get my number from Nancy. That'll be proof, right? Or Will can get it from Dustin. Whichever."

"And how do you know about something happening tonight at the roller rink?" Joyce demands.

"I know more than I should. So, if the roller rink thing holds up, and you decide to at least hear me all the way out, call my house," Steve hangs up then, not wanting to get into a loop of explanation.

"Steve! Hurry up and come help people while I help Thing One and Thing Two!" Robin calls through the door and Steve takes a step towards the closed door to comply but he stops, hand hanging just above the doorknob. That's how the dream goes. That's what 19-year-old Steve would have done.

But that's a Steve that died five years ago, when the world ended, when the apocalypse started. Steve's not 19 anymore, though he must look it, a master of his own puppet. He's never sought himself out in a mirror when he dreams; he's too busy taking in everyone who has been lost to him in his waking life to bother with himself.

What does he want to do this time?

What does he want to do right now?

He leaves Keith's office to beeline to Dustin, pausing only to pat Robin on the shoulder. He slides around Max and comes to a stop beside Dustin.

"I already told you, I need this for-" Dustin starts to speak but cuts off with a squawk that sounds like a mixture of indignation and confusion as Steve just reaching out and bodily turns Dustin towards him. "Steve, this is important!"

"I know," Steve says and then hugs Dustin. Dustin doesn't hug back, but neither does he pull away. Steve knows he's missed Dustin, felt his loss for many years now, but holding Dustin now, feeling him solid and here feels Steve what he can only equate to grief.

Dustin lets himself be hugged for what is, undoubtedly, an awkward amount of time for him before he thumps Steve's back twice and says, "okay... You can stop now."

Steve lets go and turns to Max, who immediately puts her hands up, "No. Absolutely not."

He chuckles and steps around her. He won't force his affection on her.

Then he takes off the family video vest and sets it on the counter.

"Steve?" Robin asks.

"Sorry, Robs, I can't stay and help customers. I have some things I got to do."

"Steve, you cannot abandon me on a Saturday!"

He can't quite bring himself to feel bad for abandoning her. It is a shit thing to do but right now saving Eddie and Max from Vecna is more important. He's already wasting daylight, so instead of answering his gives her his best 'I'm so sorry' face and bolts out the door. All three of them shout after him but he doesn't slow.

He's got a list of regrets to change.

-

Tagging the besties and all the people that expressed interest when I posted the lil blurb about this. Sorry if I missed you!

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @music9009 @apomaro-mellow @soaringornithopter @reighnofdreams @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @vampirestevie @alex-axolotl @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched